Judgment in the Ashes Page 3

  “The name fits you, Ben Raines,” one older man with colonel’s eagles on his shirt collar said.

  Ben squatted down in front of the ranking officer. “Are you so stupid you’ve bought Simon Border’s line of bullshit hook, line, and sinker?”

  The colonel’s face reddened. “I am not a stupid man, General.”

  “You must be, Colonel. If you believe all that crap Simon Border is spoon-feeding you.”

  “He’s a good man, General. Sometimes he goes off on a tangent, but our way of life sure beats anything your political philosophy has to offer.”

  “So you personally don’t believe that Simon is actually Lord on Earth?”

  The colonel smiled. “It doesn’t matter whether I do or not. Millions of others most certainly do believe it.”

  “You’re about a half-assed mercenary, aren’t you?”

  The colonel’s smile widened. “I am a professional soldier who has finally found his salvation, General. I am fighting for the Lord.”

  “Along with how many others of your, ah, chosen profession?”

  “Enough.”

  “Enough of you to lead hundreds of thousands of lambs to the slaughter, Colonel?”

  “The men and the few women under my command came willingly, General. They were not forced. They came because they believe our way is the best way. And with that, our conversation has ended. From now on, you will get my name, rank, and serial number, and that is all”

  “You’ve told me quite enough, Colonel. Thank you.” Walking away, Ben muttered, “Mercenaries. Simon’s hired mercenaries. Now it’s going to get interesting.”

  “How so, boss?” Corrie asked.

  “Regardless of what preconceptions people might have of mercenaries, many of them are good fighting men, with a solid grasp of tactics. That’s what Mike was talking about during one of our conversations. It was only a rumor, and Mike didn’t go into it to any extent. But that’s what he was talking about.”

  “That’s why he waited all these weeks before attacking,” Jersey said.

  “That’s it, Jersey. Corrie, bump Mike and tell him about this. I want to know how many mercenaries, where they’re from, the whole nine yards. Tell him to bleed his sources dry, but get that information to me. It’s important.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Bruno Bottger,” Ben murmured. “Has to be that son of a bitch. He’s buying time.”

  “What, boss?” Cooper asked.

  “The Nazi, Cooper. Bruno Bottger. I’ll bet you a steak dinner with all the trimmings that Bruno contacted Simon and offered his assistance. Of course, with no strings attached. And Simon jumped at it.”

  “But of course there are strings attached,” Beth said.

  “Sure. But Simon, unless I’m badly mistaken about the man, doesn’t realize that. Or if on the remote chance that he does realize it, probably thinks his army can handle Bruno’s men. Which is laughable.”

  “Boss, that means Bottger is getting a toehold here in North America,” Cooper said. “Or has already got one.”

  “That’s right, Coop. And it just might be a solid one. You can bet that bastard has been busy setting up little Nazi cells all over America. Damn!”

  Ben walked around in small circles for a moment, then paused and motioned for a Rebel captain to join him. He quickly told the captain about the mercenaries and about Bruno Bottger’s linking up with Simon Border. “Polygraph all the prisoners, Captain. Carefully. Any that are suspected of being part of Bottger’s army are to be sent back to Base Camp One for confinement.”

  “And the others, sir?”

  “We’ll turn them over to local resistance groups as we make contact with them.”

  “That’s probably a death warrant for them, General,” the captain pointed out.

  Ben nodded. “Yeah. It probably is, Captain. But we’ve learned how those who resisted Simon’s rule are treated—very badly. And besides, a very famous general once pointed out that war is hell.”

  The column was on the move at dawn, moving very slowly, due to the increasingly terrible condition of the highways. Ben had spoken with all batt coms and with Cecil back in the SUSA, advising them of this new development. He had not yet heard back from Mike Richards. Mike was probably out in the field, recruiting volunteers for resistance groups . . . or killing Simon Border supporters. The roads were so bad the column only made twenty-five miles the first day out of El Centro.

  “Simon never intended to settle this part of his territory,” Ben said, after chow. “My guess is he was going to let the punks and gangs and the dopers have it.”

  “Nobody’s worked on that damn road in years, that’s for sure,” Cooper said.

  Ben laughed. “The roads back home have spoiled us all.”

  “For a fact, boss,” Beth said.

  Ben had received more intel about Simon from Base Camp One late that afternoon. It was troubling, but not terribly surprising . . . more importantly, now more of the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit together. It had been confirmed by several people who had managed to break out of Simon’s tight security around his territory that Simon was a practicing pedophile. And if that wasn’t disgusting enough, Simon had been getting increasingly inventive with his sexual appetites toward young boys. He still liked females, the escapes told the Rebel intelligence officers, but only if they were girls . . . young girls. Grown women, they said, intimidated Simon.

  And both the girls and the boys were getting younger.

  Ben had not shared that information with anyone in his command—yet, for he knew what their reaction would be. First it would be outrage, and then that outrage would turn to cold, murderous fury. For as far as Ben knew, about 99.9 percent of the Rebels were quite normal with their sexual desires; normal being defined as conforming to the standards of the majority.

  Ben would wait for a time before telling his batt coms about this latest development about Simon Border.

  And there was more in the coded communiqué from Cecil. There was trouble in the SUSA. Simon’s people—and Cecil was certain now their numbers were greater than first thought—were rising up and making themselves heard in the form of terrorist acts. So far no one had been killed and only a few residents of the SUSA wounded. But Cecil felt the terrorism would intensify as the war in the west dragged on.

  “You’re quiet tonight, Ben,” Ike McGowan’s voice came out of the quickly gathering night.

  Ben smiled and turned his head. Ike might be a bit overweight, but he could still move like a ghost. “What are you doing up here with 1 Batt, Ike?”

  Ike waved one hand and Ben’s team rose and walked off a few meters, leaving the men alone. Ike sat down in a camp chair beside Ben. The camp chair creaked and groaned in protest and Ben chuckled.

  “No smart-assed remarks about my weight, Ben.”

  “I didn’t say a word, Ike.”

  “No. But what you thought. Listen, Ben, I’ve heard some pretty disgusting rumors about Simon Border. I wanted to know if they’re true. Any truth to them?”

  “There’s trouble back home, too, Ike,” Ben hedged the question.

  “Cecil can take care of himself, and you know it. Besides, the citizens won’t put up with terrorism. What about the rumors?”

  What Ike said about the residents of the Southern United States of America was very true. They wouldn’t tolerate Simon’s supporters and their terrorist acts for any length of time before they retaliated, with or without approval by President Cecil Jefferys. The first child that was hurt in a terrorist bombing or shooting and Simon’s supporters—and they were known—would quickly show up hanging from a tree limb. The SUSA was definitely not a place for those who wanted to buck the system, so to speak. Crime was virtually unheard of there . . . because it simply was not tolerated. The penalties for felony crimes in the SUSA were very harsh.

  “I heard the rumors about Simon, Ike. Heard them several days ago. Now they’ve been confirmed.”

  “He’s molesting c
hildren in the name of God?” Ike’s voice was thick with ill-disguised anger and disgust.

  “That’s the word I get.”

  “You know what’s going to happen when this news reaches the troops?”

  “I can imagine.”

  “And? . . .”

  “And what, Ike? There is nothing I can do to prevent rumors from spreading. Especially when the rumors are true. But the one thing we don’t lack in this army is discipline. And discipline will be maintained.”

  Ike raised a big hand. “Don’t concern yourself with failing discipline, Ben. That won’t happen. What I’m saying is when the troops find out about Simon’s, ah, kinky side, so to speak, they’re not going to treat his followers very gently . . . male or female. Many of them have to know about this.”

  “Or at least suspect.”

  “Yes.”

  “And have done nothing about it.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Our people damn sure don’t need any more initiative to fight, Ben.”

  Ben sighed and leaned forward in his chair. He rolled a cigarette but did not light it. Turned his head and looked at Ike. “We’ll sit on this news as long as we can. But once it becomes widespread among the troops, we won’t lie to them. We’ll confirm it.”

  “All right, Ben.”

  “You have anything cheerful to tell me, Ike?”

  Ike smiled, wiping years from his face. “Thermopolis has agreed to look after Emil Hite and his people.”

  “Thank God!”

  “That ex-hippie has really turned into a full-fledged Rebel.”

  “Oh, I knew several hippies before the Great War, Ike. Whole families of them. Most people had a gross misconception of hippies. Some were peace and love and wouldn’t step on a bug. But most were just people who wanted to be left alone to enjoy their lifestyle as much as current mores would allow. Mess with them, and they’d go to fist-city just as fast as anyone else.”

  “You’re a strange conservative, Ben,” Ike said with a chuckle. “You actually liked most hippies.”

  “I sure did.” Ben frowned. “Of course, I thought their music sucked.”

  The two old friends enjoyed a good laugh at that. Whatever tension there was between them melted away as quietly as twilight creeps in to darken the day. After a moment, Ike sobered and said, “You think we’re in deep shit with Bottger’s entrance in this fight, don’t you, Ben.”

  “I think it’s going to be the toughest fight we’ve ever faced. Not necessarily in terms of actual combat—even though that’s going to be bad enough—but in its long-term effects.”

  “You think there is a chance we could lose this one, Ben?”

  Ben lifted his eyes and stared for a moment at Ike before replying. “Yes, Ike. In the long run, I sure do.”

  FOUR

  “Did you know,” Beth said, reading from one of her tourist brochures. “That the San Diego Zoo was founded in 1916 by a doctor Harry Wedgeforth?”

  “Beth,” Ben said, twisting in the seat to look at her. “Where do you get these pamphlets? And where do you keep them?”

  “I’ve been gathering them for years, boss. I keep them in trunks in one of the supply trucks. I like to know about the places we visit.”

  “I don’t like to think what happened to many of the animals in zoos,” Anna said. “I know what happened to many of them in the old country.”

  “Sea World was also in San Diego,” Beth continued. “I’d forgotten much of this. Seems like ages ago when we were there.”

  “It was a few years back,” Ben conceded.

  There had been no more trouble along the old interstate since the failed attack by Simon’s people in El Centro. Flyovers showed hundreds of troops moving north, and they were digging in hard just north of Los Angeles, stretching west to east for miles.

  “Get your rubbernecking done while you can,” Ben warned. “Which won’t be much because the city is in ruins. For when we hit what’s left of L.A., it’s going to turn rough.”

  “How far from San Diego to Los Angeles?” Anna asked.

  “About a hundred and twenty-five miles,” Beth told the young woman.

  “Hollywood and Beverly Hills—where all the movie stars live,” Anna said softly, the kid in her surfacing, something that rarely occurred. “Used to live,” she corrected, her voice changing, becoming harder, more mature. “What happened to all the movie stars?” she asked. “With their fine homes, expensive cars, and millions of dollars?”

  “We all became equal,” Ben replied. “Trying to survive in a world gone mad. To tell you the truth, Anna, I really don’t know what happened to all the movie stars and popular singers and so forth. I’m sure many of them were killed during the few hours of the gas attack. Probably more were killed in the rioting and looting and savagery in the days that followed. It was a wild time in America, I can tell you that for sure.” Ben smiled in remembrance. “I roamed this nation for a year or more; started out with the intention of writing a book about how Americans were coping with this tragedy. And I can tell you firsthand, most were not coping with it very well at all.”

  “Americans had grown fat and lazy,” Anna said. “I know many things about Americans from reading old journals and magazines and newspapers. They would spend hours sitting in front of their expensive televisions letting their brains rot watching the most stupid of games.”

  Ben chuckled. “I can’t argue with you on that point, Anna. For the most part, you’re correct.”

  “It was very bad in my country, too,” Anna said. “But I think Americans suffered much more. For any number of reasons.”

  “Even though I really don’t remember much of it,” Beth said. “I have to agree with Anna.”

  “You blocked it out, too, Beth?” Cooper asked, a surprising gentleness behind his words.

  “I guess so, Coop,” Beth replied. “All of us did, except for the boss, that is.”

  “I was older,” Ben said. “I’d seen the terrible bloody face of war many times. Besides, I predicted the world’s governments would collapse; especially the government of the United States. I would have taken bets the government of the United States would be the first to fall. I’m glad that you all have blocked out the horror—most of it, that is. It was . . . well, very unpleasant.”

  “I remember some of it,” Jersey said. “I’ve told you about wandering around and seeing all the dead and bloated bodies, with the carrion birds eating on them. I remember the vultures so bloated with human flesh they could not fly. They just waddled around on the ground, unable to take off.”

  “I remember being hungry,” Corrie said. “But as far as accurately recalling actual events, I can’t.”

  “I wonder if we ever will remember it?” Beth questioned softly.

  “I hope not,” Jersey said. “Well . . . maybe it would be good if we did. Maybe that would help us all to make certain something like that never happened again, right, boss?”

  “It might, Jersey. But I don’t think there are any guarantees. Hell, look at us. We’ve been fighting for years to restore at least a part of this nation, and we’re still fighting.” Ben didn’t add that they would probably continue the fight for years to come. He really didn’t have to vocalize it, for Beth said . . .

  “I don’t think the fighting will ever stop. I think we’ll all die fighting for what we believe in.”

  “Oh, wonderful thought, Beth,” Cooper said. “Hooray for our side.”

  “I agree with Beth,” Jersey said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Corrie said. “I don’t see any end to it. Boss?”

  Ben sighed heavily, the long bloody years weighing hard upon him. “I don’t see an end to the fighting,” he replied. “Even though all we really want to do is live in peace in our own society. I’ve got kids I scarcely know. I’d like to play some baseball with them. I’d like to see them in a school debating society. I’d like to discuss philosophy with them. Hell, I’d like to get to know them.” He laughed. “Maybe I’m just
getting parental in my advanced years.”

  His team broke up in laughter at that. For even though Ben was middle-aged and could be deadly serious, he was, most of the time, a very young-at-heart middle-age, and in great physical shape.

  The laughter died away and the team fell silent as they rode along in the big wagon. The truck carrying their personal gear followed a few dozen yards behind.

  “Scouts report the old national forest east of the city ruins is clear of ambush,” Corrie said. “As least as far as they could tell. But fly-overs with heat seekers show many warm bodies in there. What do you think, boss?”

  Ben smiled and Cooper cut his eyes and groaned, knowing what that smile meant. “Now that you asked, I think we should stop and take a look.”

  Jersey gave him a very dirty look. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Ben struggled to put an innocent expression on his face. “Why, Jersey . . . whatever in the world do you mean?”

  “Shit!” Jersey muttered.

  The convoy stopped several miles deep into the old national forest. More Scouts stepped out of the brush and immediately surrounded Ben’s vehicle.

  “Lots of folks in these woods, General,” a lieutenant said. “It isn’t safe for you.”

  “The people living in there tell you that, Lieutenant?”

  “In a manner of speaking, sir.” The Scout held up a piece of cardboard with a crudely drawn picture of Ben on it. Under the drawing, the words: TEN FINE-LOOKING WOMEN OR TEN YOUNG BOYS PLUS ALL THE DOPE YOU CAN CARRY FOR THE HEAD OF BEN RAINES.

  Ben’s expression was bleak as he stared at the homemade wanted poster. Then he whirled around and walked to the supply truck. He returned with his old M-14 and a full magazine pouch over one shoulder. The Rebels gathered around exchanged glances. They knew when Ben got out his old Thunder Lizard, things were about to get nasty. “I hate child molesters and dopers. Let’s clear out these woods.”

  Ben assigned guards for the convoy, then spread the oversized battalion out along the interstate, facing both north and south, Scouts and other special operations people that traveled with the battalion spearheading the drive.