Fire in the Ashes Read online

  “We're coming through—one way or another. I'm not going around you bastards.” His voice boomed through the early morning mist. “You men can live to tell your grandchildren about this moment, or you can die where you are and be damned with you all. It's up to you. You've got one minute to make up your mind."

  To the federal police, the column seemed to stretch for miles. And then they heard the snick of ammo being snapped into chambers; the rattle of belt ammo being fed into machine guns. The federal police heard too, the rustle of leaves and vegetation on the road banks that surrounded them. They knew to fight now would be stupid. They would die. They looked at each other, nodded, and holstered their sidearms and laid aside their rifles and shotguns. One of the men waved the column through. The lead vehicle passed and then Ben's Jeep stopped by the side of the road, by the blockade.

  “You men showed good sense,” Ben told them. “Now go on home until the people tell you to go back to work."

  “Who is going to keep the peace?” Ben was asked.

  “You've got to be kidding!” Ben said. “You men don't really believe you were keeping the peace, do you?"

  They shuffled their feet and looked everywhere except at Ben.

  “That's what I thought,” Ben told them. “We're arming the people as we go. So my advice to you men is to go home and keep your heads down until the smoke clears. If any of you had a hand in torture or intimidation around here, my suggestion would be to hit the trail and keep your head down. And pray none of the victim's family or friends finds you."

  Ben put the Jeep in gear and moved out, leaving a frightened group of ex-federal police standing beside the road.

  An hour later a scout radioed back to Ben. “About seventy-five federal cops and the local National Guard have set up roadblocks just up the highway, General. Town of Marion. They're getting ready for a fight of it."

  Ben rolled his column to the outskirts of town and then made his way carefully to visual distance of the roadblock. He checked positions and called for mortars.

  “I'm not going to lose men fighting those silly bastards,” he told Cecil. “Have they been informed they may surrender?” he asked a scout.

  “Yes, sir, several times."

  “Their reply, if any?"

  “They told us to come and get them."

  Ben looked down the deserted street. “Have you checked the area for civilians?"

  “Yes, sir. The local cell took care of that. It's all clear except for the federal cops and guardsmen."

  Ben sighted through a range finder. “Call it 700 meters. We'll use that telephone pole just to the right of them for an aiming stake. Give them ten rounds of twelve-pounders, HE. That ought to clear it out."

  The order was given and the thonk of mortars drifted to them, then the slight fluttering as the projectiles accelerated through the air. The barricade erupted into a mass of wood, burning metal, and mangled flesh. On the rooftops, civilians opened fire with weapons they had, until only a few days back, kept hidden.

  In a very few moments, those survivors surrendered. “What do we do with them, General Raines?” a civilian asked.

  Ben looked at the man. “Turn them loose or shoot them. I don't give a damn."

  * * * *

  The wire services and the networks reported the Rebel push without asking permission from the government censors. There were no repercussions; every ham operator in the nation and anyone with a CB unit was reporting on the Rebel's progress.

  Krigel's Rebels were raising hell in Mississippi, Arkansas, and Louisiana. Conger's people had pushed up into West Virginia, securing areas as they drove in. General Hazen's people had already secured more than a third of their designated area of operation, and Hector Ramos was driving hard through North Carolina, picking up support as he went, heading toward South Carolina.

  “Welcome to the state of Arkansas,” the governor greeted General Krigel from his new state capital of Pine Bluff. “Am I to understand the government's police state is over?"

  “It is in this area,” the general replied. “You may inform your police they are no longer under the auspices of the federal government."

  “You mean they are under my control?” the governor asked with a smile.

  “No,” Krigel told him. “They are under the control of the people."

  * * * *

  “You can't just walk into a town and take over, declaring martial law!” a police chief in Kansas loudly protested.

  “We just did,” Captain Gray said, his British accent sounding strange in the Kansas flatlands.

  “But ... but...” the police chief sputtered. “What about the constitution?"

  Both Captain Gray and Tina Raines smiled. Gray said, “Standing behind that badge, wearing that federal flash on your shoulder, and with your jails and prisons full of innocent men and women, do you really wish to discuss the constitution?"

  “I guess not,” the chief replied. He sighed. “What do you want me and my boys to do?"

  “Direct traffic,” Tina told him. “Maybe you can do that without fucking it up."

  * * * *

  The column of Rebels moved slowly through Virginia, meeting only scattered and usually light resistance from federal police and some guard units still loyal to VP Lowry. They were given a chance to surrender. If they refused, the Rebels hit them brutally, many times, taking no prisoners. Whenever they came to an armory, the Rebels took everything that wasn't nailed down, sometimes caching it for later use, sometimes giving it to the people, sometimes taking it.

  They burned all police stations to the ground, first gutting them with fire and then using explosives to destroy the buildings. They destroyed all government records of the personal lives of citizens and turned the job of peace-keeping over to the people.

  They armed all adults who wanted to be armed and told them to protect themselves against arrest should the federal police or troops come in after the Rebels left. In most areas of southern Virginia, the back of the police state was broken.

  At noon, Jim Slater and Paul Green landed their twin-engined craft at the small airport of Radford, Virginia. Except for a few curious stares, no one said anything about the way they were dressed, their guns, or what they were doing in Radford. Everyone knew long before they landed. They were met by a Virginia federal highway patrolman. He wore the bars of a captain. Another patrolman, the stripes of a sergeant. They walked to within a few yards of the Rebel pilots and their gunners, the gunners armed with M-60 machine guns.

  “I gather it would be rather foolish of me to try and arrest you people?” the captain said.

  “Considering the circumstances and all,” Jim replied, “I'd say it would be downright dumb."

  “I know you are the vanguard of a much larger force of Rebels,” the captain stood his ground. “And I know you people have destroyed any law officers who tried to stop your advance in Kentucky and Virginia. Just how much bloodshed do you anticipate in this area?"

  “That is entirely up to you people,” Jim told him.

  The captain looked at his sergeant. Both men shrugged. “Under this new system we keep hearing about,” the captain said, “will there even be cops?"

  “Peace officers,” Jim replied. “We're going to try to keep cops to a minimum. You men think you can handle the title of peace officer?"

  “What's the difference between a peace officer and a cop?” the sergeant asked.

  “You enforce the laws the people tell you to enforce and you don't hassle."

  “I think we can handle that,” the captain said dryly. “We were both police officers years before the federalization order came down. All right, count us in."

  “Y'all sure give up easy,” Jim's gunner said. “What's the catch?"

  “Simple,” the captain replied. “You people are going to win the first round of this war. I have no intention of dying fighting you. You're still going to need officers to investigate accidents, patrol the highways, take care of drunks, and pick up the bloody piec
es of stupid fools who shoot themselves with all those guns you people are passing out—right?"

  Jim grinned. “Maybe you two will make good peace officers after all."

  The highway cops didn't see the humor in it. The captain made that clear. “We've always been good cops, Reb. So have a lot of other men. But we needed a job. I never tortured any citizen in my life, and neither did Harry here,” he nodded at the sergeant. “Lots of cops didn't. I like to think we probably saved some people from that fate."

  “Okay,” Jim smiled. “I think you guys will be all right. I'll take you at your word. Now then, how many troopers in your district are good cops and not bully boys with a badge and a gun?"

  “Not very many,” the captain said reluctantly. “Not like it was before the bombings of ‘88. Maybe ... thirty percent of the troopers are still good cops."

  “How about the sheriffs and deputies and local cops?"

  The sergeant spat on the ground. “Shit!” he said. “Asshole buddy system prevails there. They got their friends who can do no wrong—everyone else gets hassled. Not a whole hell of a lot different from before the bombings, if you know what I mean."

  “I do,” Jim said. “Okay. You two have a lot of work to do if you want to prevent bloodshed. You get in touch with the men and women you think will work with us, cull the rest. Maybe we can pull this nation upright again—if we work together."

  * * * *

  “I wonder how Roanna is doing?” Jane asked. Sabra glanced at her. “Last word I got from her she said she was pulling out with the Rebels. Should be a hell of a story if she makes it."

  The women locked gazes. “Something, Jane?” Sabra asked.

  The small woman sighed. “For all the feeling of ... unclean I have after the other night, I have to say this, Sabra: Al Cody is not an evil man."

  “I know, Jane. I got the same impression. Tell me, did you get the feeling the VP is not playing with a full deck?"

  “Yes,” her reply came quickly. “I certainly did. And that phone call he got. I listened on the extension; I know that voice."

  “Who was it?” Sabra asked, excitement evident on her face.

  “It was muffled; I think intentionally so. I couldn't place it, but I've heard it before, many times, I believe."

  “You said Lowry kept repeating, ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir.’ Who would Lowry say that to? I know he wouldn't say it to the president."

  “No. Certainly not.” The woman sighed. “All I can think about is the invitation for next week. I feel like a kid going to the dentist's office."

  Sabra said nothing.

  “How's Nancy?"

  “Coping. Very well, I should think. Hartline has ... taken her several more times. I don't know what to do, Jane. I've never felt this powerless in my life. This ... helpless to deal with a situation."

  “Then we'll just have to do what Nancy is doing,” Jane said.

  Sabra looked at her.

  “Cope."

  * * * *

  At one o'clock in the afternoon, Ben's column of Rebels rolled into Radford. Two squads of Rebels rounded up all the police, disarmed them, and put them in jail.

  “You can't do this!” the sheriff squalled. “I'm the law around here."

  “Oh, shut up,” a Rebel told him. “Stop bellyaching. If you don't like it in jail, just tell us, we can always take you out and shoot you.” The sheriff did not see the wink at another Rebel.

  “Luther, goddamn!” the chief of police said. “Will you, for Christ's sake, keep your big mouth shut?"

  In the downtown area, many people stopped to witness the arrival of the Rebels. Many thought they were regular Army troops.

  “Hey, what outfit you guys with?” a bystander called. He took a second look. He blinked. “Holy Christ!” he said. “There's women on those trucks; and they're armed, too."

  A crowd gathered around the lead vehicles of the convoy. A hundred or more people. They fell silent when Ben pulled up and got out, carrying his old Thompson SMG.

  When it comes to firearms, the American public is conditioned to react in a measurable way. There are people who will tell you, quite honestly, that a .22-caliber bullet will not kill a person. Those people are not very bright.

  An M-1 rifle will bring this reaction: “Oh, yeah. My Uncle Harry has one of those. Uses it to deer hunt."

  Many people still think of the M-16 as a toy.

  A BAR is not that well known.

  A 155 howitzer just sits there.

  But lay the old Chicago Piano on a table, the .45-caliber Thompson submachine gun, and there is a visible sucking-in-of-the-gut reaction.

  My God, boys! That thing can kill you.

  “There is no need for any panic,” Ben told them. “We're not here to harm any citizen. We'll spend the night and be gone in the morning."

  “You people are the Rebels,” a woman said. “You must be General Raines."

  “That is correct, ma'am."

  Dawn walked up to the Jeep, drawing a number of frankly admiring glances from the men. She ignored a few hostile looks from several women. “The local cell has a town meeting set for this afternoon at five,” she said. “They want to know if that's all right with you?"

  “Let's see what the citizens have to say.” He faced the ever-growing number of townspeople.

  “How would you people like to have a town meeting this afternoon? If there is a law you don't like—change it. It's your town, you live here."

  “Where are the federal police?” a man called out the question.

  “In jail, along with the sheriff and the chief of police."

  Another citizen shared the grins of many in the crowd. Several men and women laughed aloud. “Now, that's a sight I'd like to see."

  “They haven't been good lawmen?” Ben asked.

  “They were appointed after the federalization order went into effect,” he was told. “Being out there in the Tri-States like you were, you probably didn't—couldn't—know all that was going on out here. They got awful high and mighty once they realized the ordinary citizen couldn't touch them in any way; when the private guns were rounded up and only the cops and a few of their friends were armed. You know what I mean, General."

  “Yes, I do,” Ben said. “Well, all that is going to change—shortly."

  “We'll see you at the school at five."

  * * * *

  The parking lot of the local high school was full to overflowing, the Rebels forced to park cars in the nearby streets. Inside, teenagers were placed in charge of the very young children, classrooms used as childcare rooms. The adults, those seventeen and older, were packed into the auditorium.

  The sight of armed, uniformed Rebels had served a twofold purpose: piquing the curiosity of the citizens and quieting them down considerably. Still there was a low hum of quiet conversation. This was the first time the people had been allowed to meet, en masse, since the government had reformed after the bombings of 1988 and the relocation efforts of the government.

  When Ben stepped onto the stage, the hum of conversation ceased.

  Ben looked the crowd over and they looked back at him. He clicked the mike on and spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

  The amplifier was set too high and the huge room was filled with electronic feedback. The amplifier was adjusted and Ben continued.

  “My name is General Ben Raines. I am commander of what the press has termed The Rebels. Your police and sheriff's department no longer exist, as such. This town, for the moment, is under martial law."

  There was a roar of conversation and Ben hastened to reassure the people.

  “Let me explain, folks; I think you probably have the wrong idea."

  The people showed no sign of quieting, so Ben leaned against the podium and waited. After a moment, a man stood up and began walking down the aisle. Midway, he stopped. “I'm Ed Vickers,” he said. “Mayor of Radford. What in the hell is going on in this country? Particularly here in this town?"


  “We—the Rebels—are taking control from the government,” Ben told him. “And returning it to the people, hopefully,” he added.

  “Good luck,” the mayor grunted. “Where are the federal police?"

  “Outside in the hall, alive and well, under guard. The only thing hurt about any of them is their dignity."

  “Too damn bad about their dignity,” a man's voice rumbled from the depths of the crowd. “You give that blond-headed, young, smart-mouthed city cop to me and I'll hurt more than his dignity."

  It was going just as Ben thought it would. He listened for a moment as some others began shouting out their complaints concerning the federal police and their high-handed tactics. Ben propped the butt of the old Thompson on the podium and let his features harden in the harsh lights. He looked tough, dangerous, and very competent.

  The packed auditorium grew silent.

  Ben laid the Thompson on a low table. “What we are going to do this evening, people, is something I have long advocated for all states of this nation."

  Roanna was carefully recording every word. She did so with a faint smile of admiration on her lips. If she came out of this alive, she felt she would win the Pulitzer for this story.

  “You people are going to have a town meeting. An old-fashioned town-hall meeting. It's your right to do that. This is your town, you live here, your tax dollars help support it—you certainly have a right to have a say in the way it's run. Within reason, and keeping in mind that every law-abiding citizen has his or her rights, you people may govern this town the way you see fit."

  One man, seated in the rear of the auditorium, jumped to his feet. “I'm the local DA,” he said. “And I want to go on record as being opposed to everything you and your band of outlaws stand for."

  A man seated across the aisle got to his feet, stepped across the aisle, and punched the DA in the mouth, knocking him back in his seat.

  “Excuse me, General,” he said, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. “But a lot of us have wanted to do that for a long time. He's federal, just like the cops, and he's come down hard on a lot of us."