Judgment in the Ashes Read online

  “How many small guerrilla units does Mike report operating in Simon’s territory?” Paul Harrison asked.

  “No firm count, Paul. Mike just said there were dozens of them. We’ve been dropping them supplies for weeks, so they should be ready to go.”

  The Russian, Georgi Striganov, stood up and walked over to a huge wall map, staring at it for a moment. He shook his head. “We could very easily be bogged down here for months, even years,” he said.

  “Months is very likely, almost a certainty, but years is not going to happen,” Ben told him. “I’ll pull out and bunker in back home if I see signs of that happening.”

  “Placement of the battalions, General?” Raul Gomez asked what was foremost on all the batt coms’ minds.

  Ben moved to the wall map. “I’ll be taking my 1 Batt and heading west in the morning. Ike will follow seventy five miles behind me.” Ben smiled. “Approximately, that is. The rest of the battalions will stretch out behind Ike, running west to east at seventy-five mile intervals, in numerical order, with the exception of Therm’s 19 Batt, which will be in the center of the line. At El Paso, those remaining battalions will turn north, maintaining the mileage intervals. That will be approximately ten battalions stretched out between San Diego and El Paso. That will leave eight battalions, not counting 19 Batt, to make the turn north, stretching out for some six hundred miles. That should put them almost to Dodge City. I have spoken with various militia leaders and they have agreed to plug the gap between Dodge City and the Canadian border. The southern front pushes north, the eastern front pushes west. That will include the militia. And they have agreed to come under my command, so we will supply them whenever they request it, with whatever they request. We’ve stockpiled enough supplies for a sustained campaign, so we’re going to be loaded, and therefore not able to make much time on these bad roads. That will make us very susceptible for ambush and Simon’s people will be lying in wait for us, bet on that. So heads up all the way. Get your people ready to roll. That’s it.”

  After the batt coms had left, Ben sat outside for a few minutes, smoking a cigarette, Dr. Lamar Chase with him. Lamar had been with Ben since the beginning of the dream of a new form of government, a government whose laws were based on common sense. Lamar gave the cigarette in Ben’s hand some disapproving looks, but kept his mouth shut about it.

  “You’re getting too old for the field, Lamar,” Ben brought up the subject he knew he had to address. “You should sit this one out.”

  Lamar surprised Ben by saying, “I know it.”

  Ben looked at the older man. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Are you going to sit this one out? It’s going to be a rough one.”

  “Of course not. I’ll think about retiring from the field when you quit smoking.”

  “You mean I’m going to have to put up with you for the next twenty years?”

  Lamar smiled. “If you persist in sucking on those damn cigarettes, yes.”

  “I don’t smoke that many a day, Lamar.”

  “That’s what they all say, Raines.”

  “Nothing worse than having to listen to the preaching from a reformed smoker, a reformed drunk, or a reformed whore,” Ben grumbled.

  Lamar laughed at Ben’s expression.

  “Seriously, Lamar. This campaign could turn out to be a bad one.”

  “All the more reason you need me along. Besides, my doctors expect to be here. And speaking of old . . .”

  “I’ll leave the field when I can no longer cut it, Lamar. And you know I will.”

  “Yes, I do know that, Ben. And I do think—hell, I know, I’m your doctor—you’re good for a few more years. But I’m still in pretty good shape for a man my age. I’ll tag along for this campaign.”

  Ben knew to argue more would be futile. “All right, Lamar. That’s settled then.”

  Lamar started to tell Ben his coming along was never in doubt, but he curbed his tongue on that. Besides, there was another reason he stayed behind. Others had been to see him and had convinced him that he should be the one to tell Ben.

  “What’s really on your mind, Lamar?” Ben broke into the moment of silence.

  “I wish you’d stop doing that, Raines,” the old doctor said sourly. “Sometimes you spook me.”

  Ben smiled. “Doing what, Lamar?”

  “You know perfectly well what. Getting into peoples’ heads as you do. Look, Raines, I might as well get this over with. He’s been seen again.”

  Ben experienced a slow, cold chill creep up his backbone. He cleared his throat. “Who has been seen again, Lamar?”

  “You know who, Ben. The old man with the robes and the staff.”

  “The prophet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Right here. Out at the Air Force Base. Back at Base Camp One. He almost scared the shit out of the Secretary of State.”

  “When?”

  “Two nights in a row, Ben. Just before midnight. All places at once. You know the drill.”

  “What the hell was Secretary Blanton doing up at midnight?”

  “Getting a drink of water, so I heard. He turned around from the sink and there the old geezer was.”

  Ben chuckled and the ominous sensation that had crawled up his spine slowly faded. “Why do I get the impression the old boy wants to see me?”

  “If he’s real, Raines.”

  “Oh, he’s real, Lamar. He’s no figment of anybody’s imagination. I can assure you of that.”

  Lamar stood up and stretched. “I guess you’ll be outside about midnight, then?”

  “You bet. Lamar? Why were people afraid to come to me with this?”

  “Because of who you are, Raines. Hell, you should be used to that by now. And speaking of spooking people: where is that damned old Thompson you carried around for years?”

  “Close by.”

  “You retired it, I hope.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Whatever the hell that means.” Lamar stared at Ben for a moment. “See you on the road, Raines.”

  Ben lifted a hand and watched as Lamar walked away. So the bearded old man dressed in robes and carrying a walking stick was back. Ben couldn’t recall exactly the last time the man called the prophet had shown up . . . years, at least.

  Ben looked up as Jersey stepped into view. “Did you know about the Prophet, Jersey?”

  “Just rumors, boss. You know how the troops shut up around us.”

  Ben knew she meant his personal team. He nodded his head. “I’ll be right here around midnight, Jersey. Alone.”

  “All right, boss. I’ll pass the word. Boss, you think this old man is, well, real?”

  “Yes, I do, Jersey.”

  “Where does he come from? What does he, I mean, what is he?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is he’s been showing up at various times for years, making predictions. Usually about me.”

  “But he shows up at several places at the same time!”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “That means he’s a . . . well, you know.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s got Cooper really spooked, boss.”

  Ben smiled. “I can just imagine.”

  “You want me to be out here with you tonight?”

  “No, Jersey. But thank you.”

  “Okay, boss. I’ll tell the others you said to stand clear.”

  “Thank you, Jersey.”

  At eleven forty-five that evening, Ben stepped out of his quarters, taking a wood and canvas camp chair with him. He placed the chair in the shadows, away from the building he was occupying. He went back into his quarters, poured a mug of coffee, walked back outside, and sat down in the chair. He rolled a cigarette, lit up, and leaned back and waited.

  A few minutes later, a voice came out of the darkness. “Are you afraid, Ben Raines?”

  Without turning his head, Ben said, “No. Should I be?”
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  “Aren’t you going to look at me?”

  “I’ve seen you, remember?”

  “Your cause is a noble one, Ben Raines. At first I had my doubts. But you are not fighting for personal gain or power. And I have to admit I am impressed.”

  “Whoever you are.”

  A chuckle sprang out of the night. “What do you think I am?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Except you are no longer of this earth.”

  “I was never really of this earth, Ben Raines.”

  Ben had always suspected that. “How’s God’s mercenary, Michael, these days?” Ben tossed the question out.

  Again, that chuckle. “He sends his regards.”

  “Good to know that ol’ warrior is on my side.”

  “From the beginning, Ben Raines.”

  “Are you anywhere else right now?”

  “No. Ben Raines, Simon Border is not at all what he seems. He is an evil man using God’s name to satisfy his perversions. God will not frown when that man is destroyed. You must not allow Simon Border to spread his filth across the land. He must be stopped, and stopped now.”

  “Perversions?”

  There was no reply. Ben twisted in the chair, first one way then the other. But he was alone in the night. “Perversions?” Ben again spoke the word aloud.

  “Did you say something to me, General?” a guard called from some yards away.

  “No, son. Just talking to myself. You seen anything strange this evening.”

  “No, sir. Nothing moving at all. Everybody is sacked out.”

  “Good. Thank you. Good night.”

  “Good night, General.”

  The guard walked on. Ben waited until he had faded into the night, then muttered, “Prophet, you just put my mind at ease about this campaign. But I wish I knew what perversions you were talking about.”

  The night wind sighed. But if it brought an answer, Ben could not read it.

  In her bed, Jersey sat straight up, sweat pouring from her body. She threw back the covers and slipped from the cot. She’d just had a vision. Her ancestors had been speaking to her. But what had they been trying to tell her? It had all been so jumbled and vague. Except for the screaming. The screaming of children, Jersey was sure. But why were they screaming? And there had been an evil man in her vision, but a man without soul.

  “Now how do I know that?” Jersey muttered, turning to the open window and letting the cool night wind dry the sweat on her body. “How do I know he had no soul? And if he had no soul, what happened to it?”

  She caught a glimpse of a tall shadow in a clearing between buildings and knew it was Ben Raines. He was just standing there, gazing up at the starry sky. She wondered if he had met the Prophet and if he had, what had they discussed. Suddenly, she shivered as a chill crawled over her body. She quickly slipped into fresh nightclothes and stretched out on the cot, hoping that sleep would take her dreamless into a few hours’ rest.

  Ben stood for several moments after the sentry had faded from view. He never knew quite how to feel after an encounter with the prophet. He wasn’t sure if he should feel honored, or whether he should put on a dunce hat and go stand in the nearest corner for acting a fool and really believing the old man was real.

  But Ben was sure in his guts the old man known as the Prophet was very real.

  “A noble cause,” Ben muttered, as he walked back to his quarters. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that.”

  Ben pulled off his boots and stretched out on his cot to catch a few hours’ sleep. He was asleep within five minutes. Outside, a young sentry shook his head in disbelief at what he had just seen—or thought he’d seen.

  It was a shooting star. But instead of falling toward the earth, the shooting star appeared to be traveling upward, toward the heavens.

  But that was impossible.

  Wasn’t it?

  THREE

  Ben and his 1 Batt pulled out at dawn, heading west on interstate 8. Scouts had reported no signs of impending trouble between Tucson and Yuma in the over two hundred miles of highway between the two cities. When the Rebels had moved into Southern Arizona in force, those who supported Simon Border moved north, most of them out of the state. Rebel intelligence had intercepted radio transmissions from Simon ordering his people out. Simon controlled a huge chunk of real estate; there was plenty of running room and plenty of land for resettling.

  The old interstate was in reasonably good shape, probably due in part to the dry climate, but the convoy still could not maintain any speed: thirty miles an hour was about average. On their first day out, the convoy settled in for the night about fifty miles east of Yuma.

  “Scouts report we’re clean all the way down to the Mexican border and for fifty miles north,” Corrie reported.

  “West?” Ben asked.

  “We’re going to start running into trouble at the California line.”

  “Punks or Simon supporters?”

  “Both. Intell reports large gangs of punks have supposedly changed their evil ways and accepted Simon Border as Lord on Earth.”

  “Repented their evil ways, eh?”

  “So we are supposed to believe.”

  “And Simon Border is now Lord on Earth, eh?” Ben said with a smile.

  “That’s what a number of people are calling him.”

  “Among other things,” Ben said drily.

  Beth held out an old tourist pamphlet. “It says in here that the sun shines more in Yuma than in any other city in the United States.”

  “We won’t be there long enough to enjoy it,” Ben said. “Unfortunately.”

  “How far from Yuma to the California coast?” Anna asked.

  “Several days, the way we’re traveling,” Ben told her. “But don’t expect to see much in San Diego. We pretty much left that city in ruins.”

  “And when we hit the state line, we can expect the ambushes to begin,” Cooper said.

  “Right. That’s why I gave the orders for everyone to be in full body armor. About noon tomorrow, I figure it’s going to get real interesting.”

  The first ambush came on the outskirts of El Centro, a town that, before the Great War, had boasted a population of about thirty-five thousand. It came first in the form of mortar rounds that did little damage, for the crews were using the old walk-in method of sighting, and that told the Rebels Simon’s people did not have modern sighting systems.

  The column immediately spread out, the trucks putting more distance between them, and Rebel tanks wheeled about, main guns ready to fire.

  “Put us right over there,” Ben told Cooper. “Among those ruins.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cooper knew better than to argue. Ben liked to be right in the middle of things.

  Cooper just barely had the big wagon stopped before Ben bailed out.

  “Here we go,” Jersey muttered, jumping out right behind Ben and running to catch up.

  Ben and his team spread out along what was left of a wall, about chest high, Corrie calmly radioing their position.

  “I saw movement dead ahead of us,” Ben told Jersey. “And that’s too close in to be the mortar crews.”

  Gunfire ripped the afternoon, the machine-gun rounds chipping away at the wall, sending bits of concrete block flying.

  “Now we know,” Ben said with a smile.

  “Convoy coming under attack at a dozen locations up and down the line,” Corrie said. “The road is blocked about ten miles ahead. Scouts in a heavy fire-fight.”

  “Are they in trouble?” Ben asked.

  Corrie smiled her reply to that.

  “Right,” Ben said. “Tell them to try to take a few alive, will you?”

  “Ten-four, boss.”

  The one problem with using CAR’S is that the barrel is too short for a bloop tube and grenades must be tossed by hand. The distance between Ben and his team and the ambushers was too long for that.

  A young Rebel lieutenant came sliding in on his belly and looked at Ben. “Sir, if you had
stayed with the main column you would be out of harm’s way now.”

  “Yeah? And if your aunt had balls she’d be your uncle.” Ben looked at him. “You’re new.”

  “Yes, sir. I joined your battalion two weeks ago, replacing Weintraub.”

  “How is Bernie?”

  “He’s okay. But he’s out of the field. Assigned to the home guard battalions back at Base Camp One. Ah, sir? This is sort of a strange time to be holding a conversation, isn’t it?”

  Ben chuckled. “What is your name?”

  “Hardin, sir. Mitch Hardin.”

  “How many Rebs with you, Mitch?”

  “A squad, sir. We came to get you out of this mess.”

  Ben’s team all looked amused at that.

  “What mess, Mitch?”

  “You’re pinned down, sir!”

  “Oh,” Ben said. “Well, not really.”

  “You could have fooled me, sir.”

  Ben laughed at the serious expression on the young officer’s face. “Cecil told you to look after me, didn’t he?”

  “Cecil, sir?”

  “President Jefferys.”

  “Ah . . . well, yes, sir. He did.”

  A burst of machine-gun fire cut short the conversation for a moment. “Corrie? Are the tanks in position?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell them they may neutralize the enemy position whenever they are ready.”

  “Right, boss.”

  Two Rebel tanks cut loose with their main guns and all unfriendly fire from the ambush site stopped. Ben smiled at Lt. Hardin. “You see, Mitch. I told you we weren’t pinned down.”

  But the Rebels took a few casualties that day, and Ben halted the column and told everyone they would stay the night. One Rebel later died after surgery, and several had to be flown back to Base Camp One for a lengthy hospital stay.

  The Rebels buried quite a few of Simon’s followers and took a number of prisoners. They were, for the most, sullen and defiant as Ben approached the small group of officers, held away from the other prisoners.

  “No one is going to hiss, point, draw back in horror, and call me the great Satan?” Ben asked the group, sitting on the ground.