Vengeance in the Ashes Read online

  His son tossed him a sloppy salute and left the CP, hollering for his team.

  Ben looked at the map of the island. “I can’t break up the battalions on a hunch. But on the other hand, I can’t wait for them to infiltrate us.”

  Ben turned to stare out the window. “I can’t order attack helicopters in to rocket and strafe suspected punk positions on the islands because of the civilian population. I can’t order the ships closer in to shell for the same reason. We’ve got to take the chain island by island. But by doing it that way, it gives the enemy time to beef up and make plans and get set.” He turned and thumped the table a couple of good whacks with his fist. “All right, folks. Each of you will pick one full company to be broken up into small groups and start them head-hunting. We’ve got plenty of local volunteers to act as guides. It’s going to be slow and bloody, with the terrain as it is. And if this island is going to be bad, the big island of Hawaii is going to be a bloody son of a bitch!”

  Books Houseman, the newly elected supreme commander of all the slime, crap, crud, and those with unhappy childhoods that drove them to a life of crime, read the report and tossed it on the desk. “It didn’t take him long to figure it out,” he said, with grudging admiration in his tone. “About five minutes. But it’s going to take him precious days to clean out Molokai. By that time, we’ll be set up all over the place.”

  “But the citizens will be free,” one of his men mentioned.

  “It can’t be helped. There is no other way to fight Ben and his Rebels. Believe me when I say that all others have been tried. They failed.”

  “You really think we have a chance, Books?”

  “Yes, I do. Albeit a very slim one. This type of warfare is slow and bloody. Both sides are going to take tremendous losses. And that’s where we have the advantage. We have thousands more men than the Rebels.”

  “Books?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you a general now?”

  Books threw back his head and laughed. “That’s a good one, Pete. Me, a general. No, I think not. But for a time I did make a lot of money as a lieutenant . . . by selling secrets to the Russians.”

  “Did you ever get any of that Russian pussy, Books?”

  “Oh, yes. That was part of the arrangement. I slept with several very lovely young Russian ladies. My last contact killed herself rather than be taken alive. Some agents of the CIA wanted her rather badly. They were working in the United States quite illegally, of course. The bastards.”

  “Ben Raines used to work for the CIA.”

  “Yes,” Books said softly. “I know. That’s why I want to take him alive. It would be very interesting to see just how much pain he can tolerate.”

  Buddy held up a hand and motioned his Rat team to the ground. He smiled and pointed straight ahead of him toward a tangled rise of land. The local who lay beside him grinned and whispered, “There is a ravine that runs to the east of that knoll. It curves and comes in right behind that rise.”

  Buddy nodded and said, “Lead the way, Pilipo.”

  The team silently made their way into the rocky ravine and worked around until they were behind the outlaws’ position.

  “Do we ask for their surrender?” Pilipo asked in a whisper.

  Buddy smiled. “We did, last night. We only ask once.” Buddy took a fire-frag from his harness and held it up for the others to see. Within seconds, all the team held fire-frags in their hands. “Now,” Buddy said, releasing the spoon and chunking the grenade in a deadly arc.

  “Grenades!” the shout sprang from the thickness of green.

  The vegetation-thick knoll erupted in fire and shrapnel as the mini-Claymores blew. Wild screaming and howls of pain followed. One outlaw, apparently unhurt, ran from the carnage and was cut down, stopped in his tracks and flung backward from the many rounds that tore into him. The Rat team lay silent, waiting to see if the combat would draw others.

  No one came to investigate. “Check it out,” Buddy said.

  The woman slipped to the blood-splattered rise and seconds later called, “Come on.”

  “Six-man teams,” Buddy said, squatting down beside the torn body of an outlaw. A walkie-talkie lay beside the body. It was on, the volume turned down low. Buddy motioned his team to rest and he wiped the blood off the handy-talkie and wrapped a bandanna around the cupped mouthpiece to muffle his voice and waited.

  “Jocko,” the voice sprang out of the speaker. “What’s happenin’ over there?”

  “Pinned down,” Buddy replied, opening and closing the talk switch, deliberately breaking up the transmission. “Come help us.”

  “You’re breakin’ up bad. How many?”

  “Looks like about ten.”

  “On the way. Stay loose. We’ll come in from the north.”

  “Drag that dead man up here with the others,” Buddy ordered. “Then get set.”

  Pilipo looked at Buddy and smiled. “You are a tricky one, Buddy.”

  “You have to be when you’re always outnumbered. No noise now.”

  The outlaws walked into it. When they got within talking distance, the leader called, “Jocko? You okay?”

  “I’m hit!” Buddy called. “Come on. They’re gone.”

  Six more outlaws went down hard and kicking. One was only slightly wounded. He was taken prisoner. “Take all the weapons,” Buddy ordered. He looked at the badly frightened outlaw. “Let’s get this one back to base.”

  Teams of Rebel head-hunters came back jubilant, carrying dozens of weapons and bringing in a few prisoners. Some of the prisoners were openly defiant, sneering and cursing at the Rebels and expecting the worst. They got it. But most were frightened and willing to cooperate in exchange for their lives.

  Even Ben was somewhat shaken when he read the reports after the interrogations.

  “Works out to be about nine to one,” Beth said, after doing some quick arithmetic.

  “And very well armed,” Thermopolis said, standing beside Tina Raines. “But the plan of this Books person may very well backfire as we re-arm the citizens.”

  “Yes,” Ben agreed. “That’s what I’m thinking. There is this, too: if he’s breaking up his forces into teams on all the islands, the men and women who were being held as slaves will have to be freed. Therm, you and Tina take your battalions and move to the island of Lanai. It was sparsely populated before the war; only about two thousand residents. But it was the pineapple capital and I imagine the thugs have slaves working the old plantations. You’re going to have to make the crossing in small boats.”

  Tina said, “I’ll get on the transportation end right now.”

  The hippie-turned-warrior met the eyes of Ben. “You were right, Ben. This is going to be long and slow and bloody.”

  Ben held out his hand and Thermopolis shook it. “Good luck to you.” He smiled. “Take care of Emil.”

  Therm rolled his eyes and left. Emil Hite had turned into a good soldier, but you just never knew what the little con artist might try to pull next. But like all Rebels, he was one hundred percent loyal to Ben.

  Ben returned to his studying of maps of the islands, talking to himself, even though his staff was sitting in the CP listening. Beth, the official keeper of things that Ben had to do. Cooper, the driver. Corrie, the radio operator. Jersey, Ben’s bodyguard. “We’ll take Maui next,” Ben said. “Seven hundred and twenty nine square miles with a prewar population of eighty-five thousand.” He looked up as another half-dozen prisoners were marched in, their hands tied behind their backs. So far, the Rebels had suffered only one wounded and no dead. But Ben knew that would soon change.

  “General,” Jersey called softly.

  Ben turned. A Rebel had brought one of the prisoners to him. “Excuse me, General,” the Rebel said. “This misbegotten soul says he was second-in-command of the punks on this island.”

  “I demand that I be untied and treated in accordance with the rules of the Geneva Convention,” the thug said.

  “There were se
veral Geneva Conventions,” Ben replied. “Which one are you referring to?”

  “You know damn well which one I’m talking about.”

  Ben sat down behind the desk and picked up a 9mm pistol. He clicked it off safety. The prisoner was watching him closely. Ben said, “We don’t have to abide by those rules. So far as I know, Geneva no longer exists. Besides, you’re not in uniform. What’s your name?”

  “Paul Morris.”

  “And you were second-in-command of the crud and crap who controlled this island?”

  “I resent being called crud and crap!”

  “I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what you resent, you goddamn sorry overage punk. Soldier, take this bastard out and shoot him.”

  “Now wait a minute!” Paul said, blood draining from his face. “For God’s sake, General . . .”

  “For God’s sake?” Ben shouted, rising to his feet. The prisoner backed up, frightened at the look on Ben’s face. The muzzle of the Rebel’s M-16 stopped him. “God? You dare to mention God? You’re just like every two-bit thug I’ve ever had the misfortune to come in contact with. Big tough boys until your hand is called and then you’re pure shit clear through, calling on the Almighty to help you. Why should He help you? Why shouldn’t I shoot you? Have you ever done one decent thing in your entire life? Answer me, you putrid bag of batshit.”

  “I . . . uh . . . It’s my daddy’s fault I turned out like I did. My daddy beat me when I was young.”

  “He didn’t beat you enough,” Ben told him. “Soldier, get this craphead out of here and over to interrogation before I personally shoot him.”

  “Oh, let me shoot him, General,” Jersey said, winking at Ben and lifting her M-16.

  “You people are crazy!” Paul hollered.

  “I’ll match you for the honor,” Cooper said. “I got a coin here in my pocket.”

  “No, let me shoot him,” Beth said, reaching for her M-16. “I haven’t shot anyone all day.”

  “Fine,” Ben said. “Go right ahead.”

  “Good leapin’ Jesus Christ!” Paul screamed. “Get me out of this crazyhouse.”

  The Rebel winked at Ben and turned the prisoner toward the door.

  “Look, man,” Paul started babbling. “I’ll wash dishes, I’ll mop the floors, I’ll clean out the toilets. I’ll do anything. You can’t just shoot me down like I was hog for slaughter, man. Give me a break. I ain’t really a bad person. I’m tellin’ you, man, I got information in my head. I . . .”

  He was still babbling as the Rebel led him off.

  “God,” Ben snorted. “It’s amazing how so many of these slimeballs can turn into a one-man revival when captured.”

  “Speaking of revivals,” Beth said. “Here comes Emil Hite.”

  “General, my general!” Emil shouted, bouncing into the room. The man had more energy than a generator. “I have found my land of dreams on this beautiful island. Like George Fenimore Cooper and his Paradise Lost . . .”

  “That’s Milton, Emil,” Ben corrected. “John Milton. And it’s James not George.”

  “Whatever,” Emil said. “This is where I wish to spend the rest of my days and like Admiral Byrd, let this be my final resting place.”

  “Byrd is buried on these islands?” Beth asked. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Charles Lindbergh is,” Ben said. “Over on Maui, I think.”

  “General, I heard the most beautiful singing this afternoon. It was so . . . so inspirational, touching a part of me I thought would never be touched again. I thought it had died when my youth faded away. It moved me to tears of joy. It really did. I hadn’t experienced anything quite like it since I got drunk one Saturday night and woke up the next morning on the back pew of the Mount Hollyoak MB Colored Church outside Jackson, Mississippi. That was spiritually uplifting too.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Cooper said.

  “You got drunk and passed out in a church?” Corrie asked.

  “I think Jim Nabors lived somewhere around here,” Ben said. “Maybe you heard him singing to his macadamia nuts?”

  Emil looked confused. “What kind of a nut?”

  Ben had started to rise from his chair to physically throw Emil out of the CP when bullets started flying, knocking out windows and putting everybody on the floor.

  “Even this is better than having to listen to Emil,” Jersey muttered.

  TWO

  Those attacking the CP probably thought Ben had broken up all his battalions into small teams to work search-and-destroy. No one will ever know what they thought because the thousand or so Rebels still in the area chopped the attackers into bloody bits in less than half a minute. The fight was over before Ben could reach his M-14.

  “That’s it, General,” a Rebel said, sticking her head into the CP. “They crawled through a big drainage pipe to get here. Twelve of them. They’re all dead.”

  “Barbarians,” Emil muttered darkly, getting to his feet and brushing dust off his clothing. “People must be mad to defile such a lovely place with unwarranted violence.”

  “Get back to your battalion, Emil,” Ben told him. “You’re going to Lanai.”

  “What’s over there, General?”

  “Pineapples. Move!” Ben walked out of his CP to watch as the bodies of the attackers were stripped of weapons and ammo and dragged off to be buried in a mass and unmarked grave.

  Those who elected to take up arms against the Rebels were accorded very little respect when it came time to be buried.

  Using the toe of his boot, Ben rolled one dead attacker over on his back. The young man, probably in his early to mid twenties, had taken a dozen M-16 rounds in the chest. His eyes were frozen open in death. Ben knelt down and went through his pockets and found a clear plastic bag containing a white powder.

  “Cocaine,” Buddy said, walking up. “Almost every one of the enemy we’ve killed had cocaine on him. Those we’ve interrogated say it’s a big business on the islands.”

  Ben tossed the bag on the man’s bloody chest and stood up. “I never understood why people use drugs. I’m from a different era, I suppose.” He looked over at Thermopolis. “Of course, I never understood why people wanted to wear their hair down to their shoulders, either. Seems like a lot of fuss and bother to me.”

  Therm smiled. “We’re making a statement.”

  “Horseshit,” Ben said, and walked off.

  Thermopolis laughed and yelled, “You’d look cute in a ponytail, Ben.”

  “Not as cute as you’d look in a crew cut, Therm,” Ben said over his shoulder. Ben smiled as he returned to his CP. He had never given a damn how people wore their hair. He always felt it wasn’t any of his business. “Gather up the crew, Jersey,” he said to his little bodyguard. “We’re moving to the airport.”

  By midmorning of the next day, once Ben was sure the airport and the area around were clear of punks, attack helicopters began hammering in from the ships still at sea, and from the port where they were off-loaded from the ships by crane. There were many airplanes parked around the tarmac—all of them with flat tires—and Rebel mechanics got busy getting as many of them as possible airworthy again.

  Tina and Therm had left for Lanai during the night, making the short run in small powerboats. They had reported only light resistance so far, but they were not advancing very far until the bulk of the two battalions were ashore and geared up. Tina had reported that the civilians living on the island—those they had encountered thus far—were in appalling physical condition, many of them near death due to repeated beatings at the hands of their captors. They were forced to work long hours in the fields, under all sorts of adverse conditions, and were poorly fed.

  “Send them over here on the returning boats,” Ben told her. “Chase has his MASH units up and will receive.”

  “Ten-four, Eagle. Civilians on the way.”

  Striganov joined Ben on the tarmac, a clipboard in one big hand. “Intelligence reports that the military on the islands destroyed most of
their equipment when the end was certain,” the Russian told him. “There is no evidence that the enemy possesses any type of surface-to-air missile delivery systems. They are well armed with various types of automatic weapons and have rocket launchers and probably thousands of hand grenades. But all military planes, tanks, and other large offensive weaponry were rendered useless at the end.”

  “Another plus for our side,” Ben said.

  “Yes. Quite. Also, intelligence confirms what the prisoners have told us. We’re outnumbered about ten to one.” The Russian shrugged his shoulders. “So what else is new?”

  Ben smiled at that. Although he spoke perfect English, Georgi had picked up a lot of American expressions over the years.

  “Armed with the captured weapons, we’ve got about a battalion of locals working with our people in the search-and-destroy teams. The batt coms told me that their teams are letting the locals handle more and more of the missions. They do deal rather harshly with the enemy.”

  “I just bet they do.”

  “Also, night patrols state that a lot of small craft left this island during the darkness. I think the pirates and thugs have fled.”

  “I agree. At least, as many as possible have fled. But I want this island sterile before we move on.”

  “I think that can be accomplished within seventy-two hours.”

  “Good. Then we take Maui.”

  Books listened as the leaders of those who had fled Molokai babbled on, each one trying to talk over the other. Exasperated, he had to hammer on the desk with the butt of a pistol to quiet them.

  “Calm down. I get the point,” he told the group. “But Raines no longer has the element of surprise working for him. We certainly know he’s here and we can prepare for him. We’ve got time. He’ll save Oahu for last. Bet on that. Right now I want you people to get a grip on yourselves and calm your men. You’re in a panic.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, Books,” he was told. “You wasn’t there. Raines’s people are like ghosts. They can be on you before you can blink. They can cut the throat of the man not five feet from you and you’ll never know it until you try to talk to the guy and he don’t answer. And I ain’t lyin’ neither.”