Standoff in the Ashes Read online

  “Anyone in your command hit?”

  “No, sir. Not a scratch. You would think they’d have softened us up some with mortars.”

  “I don’t know what’s in the minds of those commanders over there. But they do know they’ve got a hard row to hoe. Right now, I think people in the capital are calling the shots. But that won’t last long.”

  “I figured a bunch of civilians were running things,” Captain Evans replied. “The Federals have sure pulled some dumb stunts so far.”

  “How many Federals you think bought it this night?”

  “At least three, four hundred dead, that many wounded.”

  “Hell of a price to pay for nothing.”

  “Yes, sir. It damn sure is.”

  Ben walked the camp, speaking to each Rebel he met. Some of them were badly shaken from having to fire on fellow Americans. The Federals were not punks and thugs. They were soldiers under orders to do a job. Ben wondered if the men of the North and South had felt the same way a hundred and fifty years back? Some of them, perhaps most of them, he concluded.

  There were no more attempts to cross the little river that night. Ben and his team alternately slept and drank coffee and waited through the long darkness. When dawn finally cut the night with a silver and gold blade, the scene that greeted the Rebels was gruesome: dozens of swollen, bloated, and mangled bodies were caught in the brush on both sides of the river.

  “Good God!” Cooper breathed.

  “I’ll damn sure second that,” Jersey said. “We can’t leave those Americans like that. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Ben looked at her and nodded his head in agreement. “Captain,” he said, “will you notify the Federal commander that we are requesting a cease-fire? We will assist them in retrieving the bodies of their comrades for proper burial.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  “Have someone rig a white flag just to be on the safe side.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rebels and Federals worked for an hour gathering up the dead. At first they worked in silence. Then some engaged in small conversation.

  “Where you from, Reb?”

  “Originally from Ohio, Fed.”

  “Then why are you fighting for the SUSA?”

  “Because I want to live free, that’s why. Why the hell are you fighting for a socialistic government that has its nose stuck in everything you do?”

  “Your government doesn’t do the same?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “You heard wrong.”

  “You got a cigarette?”

  “Sure.” The Rebel smiled. “But I thought smoking was illegal under your form of government?”

  The young Federal grinned. “Yeah. I see what you mean.”

  “Take the pack. Just be careful. You might get caught and be court-martialed.”

  “Don’t worry, Reb. I’ll be careful.”

  On the bank, Ben and the Federal commander stood and talked quietly.

  “Lousy way to make a living, isn’t it, General Raines?”

  “Sometimes, Colonel.” Ben offered the Federal a bag of tobacco and rolling papers.

  The colonel waved them off. “Thanks. I’d like to, but I can’t let my men see me smoking.”

  Ben found that amusing, but carefully hid his smile. “Smoking isn’t good for a person. We all know that. But as adults we have a right to choose.”

  “I suppose so, General,” the colonel said noncommittally.

  “How about just pulling your people back and we all live in peace, Colonel?”

  “Can’t do it, and you know it. A house divided won’t stand.”

  “I see,” Ben said slowly. “So we just go on killing each other?”

  “Unless you want to surrender.”

  “You know that will never happen. So we continue to kill each other until there is no one left to kill on either side?”

  “Looks like that’s the only option left us.”

  “That’s bullshit. There is no reason the USA and the SUSA can’t peacefully coexist. Your nitwit President-for-Life, Claire Osterman, hates me. That’s the bottom line. She’s a goddamn socialist, and you know it.”

  “And you know perfectly well I can’t say anything derogatory about my commander in chief.”

  “Good God, Colonel. You’ve got a brain. Why don’t you use it?”

  “I think this conversation is over. Thanks for your assistance in helping recover the bodies.”

  Ben sighed. “All right. Have it your way.”

  The colonel looked squarely at Ben. “I don’t have a choice, General Raines. I swore an oath to uphold the union.”

  “So did thousands of others in uniform. But they elected to stay out of this fight.”

  “Traitors. Every goddamned one of them.”

  “You’d like to see them court-martialed?”

  “You’re damn right I would.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. Because I’d like to quit this mess before it really gets started.”

  The colonel looked at Ben and shook his head. “It won’t happen. This nation must be made whole once again.”

  “Not as long as there is one Rebel left alive who can pick up a gun and fight. Not as long as the USA is governed by democrats/socialist.”

  “Very well. Good day, General Raines. Once again, thanks for the cease-fire and the help in recovering the bodies.”

  Ben watched the Federal colonel make his way down the bank and step into a boat. He turned to his team. “Well, I tried. Not much point in continuing to beat my head against a stone wall. But I probably will . . . for a while longer.”

  “They want a fight, Pops,” Anna told him. “From President Osterman on down. We might as well make up our minds to give them one and get it over with.”

  “Problem is, Kiddo, once it starts for real it’ll never be over.”

  “Get down, General!” a Rebel shouted. “The Feds just jerked down the white flag.”

  Ben and his team ducked for cover just in time. Gunfire raked the top of the bank where they’d been standing.

  “Bastards!” Ben said, spitting out a mouth of dirt and grass he’d eaten as he hit the ground hard and bellied down. “Pour it on!” he shouted to the Rebels. “Give them a taste of everything we’ve got.”

  For ten minutes the Rebels hammered the Federal positions across the river with mortars, 40mm grenades, and machine gun fire. Then Ben called on the few artillery pieces this Rebel contingent had backing them up, and they began dropping in everything but the kitchen sink. That did it for what was left of the Federals on the east side of the river.

  “They’re pulling back, General,” Captain Evans said. “The fools are retreating under heavy artillery fire.”

  “They won’t be fools for long. In a few weeks, those left will be seasoned combat veterans.”

  “You really think this fight will last that long?”

  “It’ll probably last for years, Captain, in one form or another.”

  “And we’ll win it?”

  “Oh, we’ll win the battles. I have no doubts about that. But the hatred will last for years and years. This civil war won’t be like the first one, a hundred and fifty years ago. Many of those veterans shook hands and forgave one another. They posed together for pictures and paintings. Had parades. This is a brand new war, Anna—the USA’s godless totalitarian government against the SUSA’s small government offering maximum freedom for its citizens. We’ll win the war, but to do it we’re going to have to virtually destroy the states aligned with the USA. And that, my dear, is going to rip this country apart, so far apart it will leave a wound that might never heal.”

  * * *

  Ben and team pulled out that afternoon, heading first south, then cutting back east, running along the Tennessee/Kentucky border.

  “This has to be the longest front in history,” Cooper remarked.

  “Several thousand miles, Coop,” Ben said. “And much of it undefended, except for spotter outposts every few miles, manned by volunteers from the home guard. All in all, it’s a hell of a way to run a war.”

  Ben turned in the captain’s chair to look at Corrie. “Anything coming over the air?”

  “Nothing of any importance, Boss. Just Rebel chatter.”

  Ben smiled. “Warning the boys and girls I’m on the way, hey?”

  Corrie laughed. “Something like that.”

  Ben glanced at his watch. “I’m getting hungry, gang. Coop, find us a spot to chow down.”

  That was often easier said than done. In addition to Ben’s security detail—a full platoon, which was always with him—a full company from Ben’s old original battalion, including tanks, traveled with him.

  “Spotter plane looking at us, Boss,” Corrie said.

  “Ours?”

  “Negative. It’s Federal.”

  “Let them look.” Ben dug out a map. “We’re only a few miles from the Kentucky line. Probably making the Feds nervous, wondering what we’re up to.”

  “The ruins of Clarksville just up ahead, Boss,” Cooper said. “We can pull over there and eat.”

  “Sounds good. Where is the nearest Rebel contingent of any size, Corrie?”

  “Thirty miles to the east. Part of our 501. Want me to bump them?”

  “They know we’re here. Find us a place to eat, Coop. Let’s give those in that spotter plane a thrill.”

  The convoy pulled over at Coop’s signal, and guards were posted. Field rats were opened and the Rebels ate and relaxed for a time.

  “These new field rations aren’t half bad, Boss,” Beth remarked after swallowing a mouthful of hash. “You must have read the scientists the riot act.”

  Ben chuckled. “You might say I tol
d them if the new rats weren’t eatable, I would stick them up their ass.”

  “That would certainly get my attention,” Coop said.

  Ben looked up, studying the sky. The spotter plane was heading back north. “We just might get some sky visitors in a few minutes. Let’s be sure we’re ready for them.”

  Corrie spoke briefly into her headset, then returned her attention to her lunch.

  The Rebels used several types of SAMs, but the two most widely used were the much newer and greatly modified versions of the Stinger and the Armburst. Ben’s scientists had improved on each weapon, including range and warhead. The Stinger had more range, but the Armburst could be fired inside a closed space with no danger from back-blast. The Armburst was used quite often in Rebel ambushes.

  The Rebels finished their lunch and disposed of the wrappers and containers, then waited for the action to start . . . and they all felt it was coming.

  “Choppers!” a Rebel yelled. “Coming straight in from the north.”

  Ben lifted his binoculars and counted a dozen gunships, coming in low and fast. “Get to cover, gang. The shit’s about to hit the fan—big time!”

  The gunships came in with everything they had, hammering and yowling. The Rebels lifted their shoulder-fired launchers and cut loose. Five gunships exploded in midair, showering the ground with hundreds of pieces of hot metal and various body parts. One huge propeller went cartwheeling end over end across the ground and out into a field, digging up dirt until it finally came to rest.

  One gunship made the mistake of coming straight in, readying its rockets to destroy a Rebel Main Battle Tank. The gunner in the MBT had been tracking the chopper. He got off one lucky round from her main gun, and the 155 HE round literally blew the gunship into a million pieces. Nothing bigger than a matchbox was left. The tiny pieces began dropping to the ground, clinking as they bounced off Rebel vehicles.

  “Damn!” Ben breathed in awe after witnessing the horrific explosion. “That doesn’t happen very often.”

  With half their force destroyed, the gunships began quickly backing off just as a Rebel Scout radioed frantically back to Corrie.

  “Ground troops coming at us hard!” she yelled to Ben. “About six thousand meters away.”

  “How many?” Ben yelled over the sounds of battle.

  “A whole shitpot full was what he said.”

  Ben had to smile at the report. “Tell him to get out of there.”

  “His feet were working as he radioed in.”

  “I bet they were. OK. It’s too late to make a run for it. You’ve radioed for air support?”

  “Affirmative. But there is none anywhere in this area.”

  “Then we’ll handle it ourselves.”

  Ben did not have to give any orders concerning positioning of troops or equipment for the upcoming fight. His people knew exactly what to do, and did it quickly. Tanks were repositioned, machine gun and mortar pits were quickly dug. Cans of ammunition were handed out from supply trucks. Troops got into position. The Rebels waited.

  “Federals have stopped their advance,” Corrie reported. “Approximately three thousand meters away.”

  “Give them some mortars. HE and fragmentation.”

  “Scouts have stopped on some high ground. They’ll act as FO.”

  “Good enough.”

  The mortar crews began dropping in the rounds. Corrie called out the corrections in elevation as soon as the FO’s radioed them in.

  “That’s it.” She spoke into her headset. “You’re right on target. Pour it on.”

  A few heartbeats later Corrie said, “They’re advancing. Two thousand meters. Several hundred in strength.”

  Ben looked skyward. The gunships were gone. “Whoever’s running this show doesn’t know shit from Shinola,” he muttered. “This kind of luck can’t hold for us.”

  He held up a hand. “Cease firing,” he ordered. “Let them come.”

  “Cease firing?” Corrie questioned, not sure she correctly understood.

  “Cease firing,” Ben repeated.

  “What the hell happens now?” Cooper muttered under his breath.

  Ben heard the muttered question and smiled. “We meet them eyeball to eyeball.”

  Cooper flushed. The Boss wasn’t supposed to have heard that.

  “Ready all Big Thumpers and machine guns,” Ben ordered. “Everybody on full auto. Tell the tank commanders to level all main guns.”

  Corrie cut her eyes to Ben for a second. He met her gaze. “Do it,” Ben said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, then radioed the orders.

  “Jesus Christ!” Beth whispered. “Those Feds are running into a wall of steel and lead.”

  “We’ll be here a friggin’ week pickin’ up all the pieces,” Jersey said.

  “One thousand meters,” Corrie said.

  “Can those types of tanks fire their main guns point-blank?” Anna asked, awe in her voice.

  “I think they have to do some adjusting,” Cooper answered. “Or something. Hell, what do I know about tanks?”

  “Same as you know about anything else,” Jersey said, not about to let the opportunity pass by. “Nothing.”

  “Aw, now, my pretty cactus flower,” Cooper replied. “Despite it all, you know your love for me runs as deep as a river.”

  Jersey made several gagging sounds. “Excuse me while I puke.”

  “Five hundred meters,” Corrie said.

  Ben waited, his face expressionless.

  A Rebel’s words drifted to Ben and team. “Christ’s sake, there they are, crossing that field.”

  “I’ll court-martial the first person who fires without my order,” Ben said, raising his voice.

  “Four hundred meters,” Corrie said.

  “Must be six or seven hundred of them,” another Rebel said. “Damn near a full battalion.”

  “Like ducks all in a row,” the Rebel next to him replied. “This is wild.”

  “Three hundred meters.” Corrie called it out. Again she looked at Ben.

  “I can’t believe the Federal commanders are this stupid,” Ben muttered. He stood and watched the slow, steady advance of the Federal troops across the green and yellow-speckled meadow.

  “The sun is in their eyes,” Anna observed. “Hell, maybe they can’t see us.”

  “But they know we’re here,” Beth said. “They just keep on coming. They’re not even trying to hunt any cover. This is crazy!”

  “Two hundred meters,” Corrie counted down.

  The Federal troops broke into a slow trot and began yelling. The yells were a mixture of bravado and profanity, the profanity directed at the Rebels and the SUSA.

  “That is going to make it a lot easier,” Jersey said.

  “Damn sure is,” Beth said.

  “Goddamn bunch of communists,” Cooper said. He was only slightly wrong in his political applications.

  “One hundred and fifty meters,” Corrie said nervously, again cutting her eyes to Ben.

  “Almost,” Ben said. “Get ready.”

  “We been ready,” Cooper muttered. “Are we gonna invite them in for coffee?” He was careful this time to make sure Ben didn’t hear his remarks.

  Ben lifted the old M-14 he had taken from the rear of the big wagon and jacked in a round. The Rebels lying close to where he was standing smiled. The old Thunder Lizard was one hell of a weapon. On full auto it was a son of a bitch to hold.

  “One hundred meters,” Corrie said. “Damn, Boss!”

  “Fire!” Ben yelled.

  The meadow across the road turned into a killing field as the Rebels cut loose with everything at their disposal.

  FOUR

  It was carnage. Nothing else would describe the scene in the meadow. The Federals walked right into a hot wall of death. There was no escape.

  Ben kept up the nearly point-blank barrage for three long minutes. When he finally ordered a cease-fire, the silence seemed almost audible.

  Out in the meadow, only a few yards from the two-lane road, there was little movement and only a few moans of pain.

  “Son of a bitch!” Jersey breathed, standing up and looking out at the bloody meadow.

  “Small group of Federals hightailing it to the north,” Beth said, looking over the scene through binoculars. “Some of them have thrown away their weapons. Or lost them.”

  “Check the field for survivors,” Ben ordered.

  “I don’t see how anyone could have survived that,” Anna remarked.