Terror in the Ashes Read online

  “Who give you all the answers?” a man shouted, his voice hollow and echoing in the dank tunnel under the city. “Who made you some sort of goddamn expert?”

  “Six years of hard study helped; but I’m no expert. But I am pretty good at reading between the lines. And when you read the Bible, you better read between the lines.”

  “I wish I had a Bible,” a woman said. “It would be a comfort to me now.”

  “I’m sure it would,” Faro said, his tone dry enough to make the world’s most perfect martini... if he just had a little gin. “I used to have trouble preaching. I wanted to crack up with laughter when I looked down into the faces of hypocrisy all looking up at me. I saw people who, six and a half days out of the week, willingly and knowingly committed every one of the seven deadly sins: Pride, Avarice, Lechery, Anger, Gluttony, Envy, Sloth, and on Sunday morning they all dressed in their finest, politely ignored the sick and old and hungry and needy on their way to the House of the Lord, and lo and behold, they were Christians for a few hours. They were washed in the blood and their sins were swept away. Hallelujah, brothers and sisters, I’m such a good person. It made me want to puke. So I turned it into a game.

  “And after church, that afternoon, what would these good Christians do, after they had feasted on a grand Sunday dinner, while half the world starved? They’d go out to the golf links and swill beer and cuss and whack away at a little white ball, telling filthy jokes and eyeballing the asses of the ladies, who dressed as provocatively as they could, knowing the men would lust after them, and wanting them to. Or they would plop down in front of the telly, spending the afternoon getting half-popped on beer, watching the most ridiculous of games, go to movies and watch half-naked, or totally naked, men and women engaging in the most vile and degenerate behavior . . . oh, hell, the list is endless. Depressingly so. I met a few good people while I ministered, but not many. Not many.”

  “Then why did you stay a minister?” Butch asked.

  “For comic relief. I told you, it became a game with me. I wanted to see just how long people would actually continue this charade. Hell, they’d do it right up to death’s door, and then call for a preacher to hold their hands. It was laughable.”

  “I think you’re disgusting,” a woman told him. “Pretendin’ to be a minister of the Lord and liftin’ ladies’ skirts all the while.”

  Faro laughed at her. The earth above them began to tremble from the impacting of artillery shells.

  “All them that was out is either dead, or they made it to the city,” Butch said, as the intensity of the incoming rounds picked up. He looked at Faro. The man was smiling at him. “Insufferable ass,” Butch muttered.

  Ben kept the pressure on the besieged city, the rounds crashing in twenty-four hours a day, a never-ending thunder that tore and ripped open nerves of those outlaws in the city. Artillery crews were changed every half hour, to give them some relief from the bombardment and to preserve hearing, even though the Rebels wore ear-protectors.

  The devastation inside London was enormous, comparable to the German blitz of the Second World War. But Commander Drake had given Ben the green light to bring the city down, and he had done so without hesitation.

  After seventy-two hours of constant bombardment, Ben ordered the shelling stopped. The silence took a little getting used to after three days and nights of pounding.

  Ben ordered planes to fly low over the city, dropping hundreds of thousands of rat poison pellets he’d had flown over from the packed Rebel warehouses located all over what was once called the United States. Rebels saved everything. If they discarded it, it was worthless. They used machinery until they wore it out, then they rebuilt it and used it again. They had billions of nails, millions of rounds of ammunition, ten million commodes and toilet seats, thousands of tons of brick and concrete blocks; they had located, hauled in, fixed up, and stored all the vehicles they could find, of all discriptions. They had stripped hundreds of warehouses of shingles and roofing felt and tar. On the orders of Ben Raines, if somebody, someday, might be able to use it, they took it and brought it to a depot. They had millions of miles of all sorts of wiring — name anything, anything at all, from plutonium to pantyhose, and the Rebels had it labeled and stored, somewhere.

  Ben had moved his CP about halfway between London and Gatwick Airport, south of the city. Thousands of Rebels, Free Irish, and British Resistance Forces now ringed outer London on three sides, while heavily armed patrol boats kept watch in the Channel. No one was getting out, and everyone knew why Ben was not attacking. Those closest to the city could smell the stench of the dead. They could see the smoke from burning piles of bodies. It made good sense to the men and women of the Rebels.

  Why risk Rebel lives when the Black Death could do their jobs for them?

  Not that many of those trapped in the city had not tried to get out, for many had. Not one had made it to within five hundred meters of a Rebel position.

  “What happens when the city is dead, Ben?” Georgi asked.

  “We fumigate it, time and time again, until nothing could live in there, using a variety of chemicals so the fleas cannot develop immunity to it. Then teams go in wearing protective gear to assess the damage, then we seal it off and let it rot. That’s my plan; the BRF may have something else in mind. It’s their country.”

  The Russian studied the American for a moment. “What is troubling you, my friend?”

  “It is that obvious, Georgi?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t go back the way we came?”

  Georgi blinked. “What on earth is preventing us from doing so, Ben? Or should I say, what on the sea is preventing us?”

  “Pirates.”

  Georgi blinked a couple of times more. “Did you just say pirates, Ben?”

  “Yes, Georgi. Pirates. As in, ‘Ho, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum.’ ”

  Georgi stared at him for a moment and then smiled. “You are having a joke with me, old friend.”

  “I wish. No, it’s no joke. I’ll tell you now, then go over it more fully when we have a briefing in a couple of days. Pirates are operating out of Cuba, the Bahamas, Puerto Rico, and those islands in the Lesser Antilles. You know why you haven’t seen Ike and Therm and Emil for the past week?”

  “I wondered about it.”

  “They’re helping to get some smaller British warships ready for the trip back home. They’ll serve as escorts. A lot of Brits and Irish who were serving on these ships are going back with us.”

  “The pirates are stealing people for slaves?”

  “Yes, among other things. It’s like we’ve been suddenly catapulted backward in time a couple of centuries. From what Cecil has been able to learn, their equipment is not fancy, but it can damn sure sink us. They have cannon and are able to launch torpedoes from the deck, and there are a lot of them raiding all along the coasts of Central America and the northern tip of South America. It’s a damn miracle we slipped through the first time. The last supply ships that came through were attacked. None was sunk, but several were damaged. Now they’re waiting for us. From now on, everything has got to sail north of the Sargasso Sea — well north of it. As for us, do you want to cross the upper part of the North Atlantic in the middle of winter?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “It’s moot anyway. We’re not going back home just yet.”

  “Oh?”

  “No.”

  Georgi waited.

  “We’re going to Hawaii.”

  “Around Cape Horn?”

  “Yes.” Ben smiled. “With a few stops along the way just to sightsee.”

  “But of course,” Georgi said dryly.

  Ben smiled. “Relax, Georgi. It’s only approximately twenty thousand miles away.”

  Ten

  “With your permission, sir,” Commander Drake said to Ben, “we’ll wrap up this campaign.”

  “You certainly have my permission, Commander.”

  The British Resistance Forces now number
ed over five thousand and growing.

  Commander Drake saluted smartly and said, “I speak for all the people when I say thank you, General. We are forever grateful to you and your Rebels.”

  “Corrie,” Ben said. “Have our people stand down. From now on, we act as observers and advisers only.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Anticlimactic, Ben,” Ike said. “We came in with a roar and leave with nary a whimper.”

  “That’s the way I like it, Ike. Another part of the world is free and we suffered only minimal losses.”

  “My people want to sightsee, Ben.”

  “As long as they go armed and in squad-sized groups, it’s fine with me. Tell them to have at it. But I know what they’re off to do.”

  Ike smiled. “We’re all Americans, Ben. It’s the American way to help a country once it’s liberated.”

  Ben looked toward the city. Fires in London were burning out of control; even ten miles away the stench of death was in the air. Rebels, Free Irish, and the BRF had burned a half mile stretch of land on the west, north, and south side of the city, then literally doused it with pesticides. There wasn’t an insect known to humankind that could cross that area and live. Most would be dead seconds after entering the zone.

  “Thousands are dead on the Continent, Ben,” Chase informed him at a staff meeting. “No one will ever know for sure how many died. But from the information my people have received, we believe the disease has run its course. We were awfully lucky, Ben. This could have turned into a disaster.”

  “You have adequate vaccines and medications for our voyage, Lamar?”

  “Oh, yes. When do we shove off?”

  “It’ll be another month, even with people working around the clock. Those troop transports are going to be heavily armed in case we come under attack from . . . pirates,” Ben said the last with a note of incredulity. Pirates in the twenty-first century was just a bit too much. “If those sea-going bandits attack this convoy, they’re in for one hell of a surprise.”

  “The BRF have taken prisoners out of the city,” Georgi said. “Amazingly, none of them are contagious. But they say things got real bad in there toward the end. Drake told them it was a pity they all didn’t die. The English attitude toward crime and criminals has certainly toughened.”

  Ben moved to a wall map of the world and picked up a pointer. “Tankers will be in the center of the convoy for protection. We won’t try to break any speed records. This is our route, gang. Madeira Islands, Canary, Cape Verde. When we get clear of the northern part of South America, we’ll pull in closer to the shore and see what we can see. We might send parties ashore; we’ll play that by ear. When we get opposite the Gulf of San Jorge, we’ll cut down to the Falklands, then around the Horn and up to Easter Island, over to Pitcairn, Tahiti, up to the Marquesas Islands, then on to Hawaii.

  “From what our communications people have been able to pick up, we’re going to have a very tough fight of it in the Hawaiian Islands. We can’t pick up any sign of resistance forces battling the outlaw element.

  “I don’t know what we going to find on these smaller island chains we’ll be visiting. If the criminal element has taken control, we’ll kick them out. We now have proper landing craft — thanks to the British — and the ships to handle them. This will be the largest convoy to set sail since the Great War. A lot of Brits and Irish will be going with us. Without them we couldn’t make this trip. Many have asked to join the Rebels. Of course I said yes. They understand the Rebel philosophy and agree with it.

  “Now, people, we had a lot of help and a lot of luck taking Ireland and England. We’re going to need a lot more taking the Hawaiian Islands, because we damn sure won’t have much help. It’s going to be a very long trip, and very tedious. The British have loaned us hundreds of books and we’ve scrounged a lot of old movies and projection equipment to help ease the boredom. We sail out of Portsmouth. Start moving your people down there immediately. Our job here is done.”

  The Rebels left the smoking ruins of London behind them and started their move south to Portsmouth. So many Irish and English joined up that a new battalion was formed. Pat O’Shea now commanded Ten Battalion of the Rebels . . . complete with bagpipers puffing and honking and shrieking.

  The tankers pulled out first, followed by the supply ships, then one by one the transports left the harbor to the sounds of bands playing and people waving. Several dozen Rebels had requested permission to stay, including Linda, and Ben granted them their wish.

  If she was at dockside when the ships left, Ben did not see her.

  Commander Drake of the British Resistance Forces and Mr. Carrington were at dockside when Ben’s flagship was tugged out. They saluted him as the bands played, and he returned the salute. The armada put the coast of England behind them on a cold and snowy New Year’s Day.

  Ben watched the coastline slowly disappear into the mist. “We’re off to see the wizard,” he muttered. “But I’m afraid the yellow brick road is going to be stained with blood.”

  “Isn’t it always?” Lamar Chase said, leaning on the railing beside Ben. “When hasn’t it been? There is always somebody, leading some force, that rises out of the ashes of war. This time it was you.”

  “Us, Lamar.”

  “No, Ben,” the old doctor said. “You.”

  “There is a camel walking along the beach,” Buddy said, looking through binoculars at the shoreline of one of the islands in the Canary chain. “A camel, Father?”

  “Yes. They used them for draft animals.” Ben watched as the ladder was lowered and Ike scrambled up. He knew what Ike was going to say and held up his hand. “Easy, Ike. West speaks fluent Spanish. He’s taking a party ashore. I’m not going.”

  “That’s a relief. Ben, we’ve been laying off for more than an hour. I haven’t seen any sign of life.”

  “Nor have we. These islands had a population of a million and a half before the war. Somebody’s there. I’m sending West in after dark in dinghies, just in case of unfriendlies.”

  “Radio room has contact with the island, sir,” Corrie said. “They are warning us away.”

  “Tell them we are not a hostile force. Tell them we wish to buy, or barter, for fresh fruit.”

  “They say to leave immediately or they will launch an attack.”

  “Repeat: we are not hostile. We wish to come ashore, a small party only, and gather fruit.”

  “Leave,” Corrie said.

  “Ask them if they would like for me to blow their goddamn island off the face of the earth,” Ben said, his temper rising. They had come in peace, had broadcast repeatedly who they were and why they were here, and wished only fresh water and fruit.

  When a giant offers you peace and friendship, only a fool becomes hostile.

  “No response, sir,” Corrie said.

  “Let’s assume they have artillery capable of reaching us,” Ben said. “Tell the captain to get us out of range.”

  When the ships had pulled back well out of range, Ben called for all commanders to assemble on his ship. The Rebels had scoured Ireland and England for every map they could find prior to this voyage, and the commanders pored over them. “The city is Las Palmas,” Ben told them. “Population over two hundred thousand before the war. We aren’t going to soften it up with artillery because I don’t want innocents hurt and killed — even though there might not be any innocents on the island. So we’ll do it the hard way. Ike, send your SEALs in at dark. Dan, take your special operations teams in right behind them. West, your people will go in directly behind them. Once the docks are secured, I’m coming in. That’s the way it is. No arguments. We’ll be going in very fast and without a lot of knowledge of our objective. And they’ll be ready for us — make no mistakes about that. Coordinate your operations and study the maps of the town carefully before you leave this ship.”

  Ben stood by the railing, watching the sun go down bubbling into the sea. He was dressed in full combat gear, including inflatable life
jacket. Communications was scanning all frequencies and had not picked up any long-range messages from the island calling for help. What they had picked up was inner-island chatter.

  A man who called himself Oso — the Bear – was in control of the islands. His army, and it was a fair-sized group of outlaws and malcontents and thugs of all nationalities, had enslaved the people and were using them as forced labor, forced prostitution, and forced everything else that was vile and inhuman. All that was about to change.

  Orange and scarlet softly changed to hues of gray and black around the ships.

  “No bogies anywhere on the water,” Corrie said.

  “What’s over in that direction, General?” Cooper said, pointing.

  “Morocco. We won’t be going over there.”

  “SEAL teams over the side now,” Corrie said softly. “Special Operations teams getting in place.”

  The island of Gran Canaria lay silent and without lights. A huge dark shape in the peaceful-appeared subtropical night. It was about to become anything but peaceful.

  “Special Operations teams over the side and moving,” Corrie said.

  The moments ticked by. “West and his people seaborne, General.” Corrie said.

  “Just as soon as they are clear, order landing craft up to the ship. One Battalion, stand by the side,” Ben said. “Let’s go, people.”

  “SEAL teams reporting they have made contact with the enemy,” Corrie said, as tiny flashes of light could be seen on the shoreline. “Fighting is intense.”

  “Come on, people, over the side,” Ben shouted, climbing over the railing and grasping the rope ladder. His boots quickly touched the deck of the landing craft.

  The flat-bottomed craft quickly filled and they were off, heading toward the sights and sounds of battle.

  “SEALs and SP teams report they have a toehold, but just barely,” Corrie shouted over the roar of the engine and the rush of water.