Judgment in the Ashes Read online

  “Let’s clear it out,” Ben ordered, and moved forward, his team doing their best to keep him as far behind the spear-headers as they could . . . which was no easy task, for Ben liked to be right in the middle of things.

  They had not gone a hundred yards into the timber before a Scout threw up his arm and halted forward movement. Ben started forward and Jersey and Cooper stepped in front of him. Neither of them said anything, but Ben got the message and smiled, nodded his understanding. He stayed where he was.

  “Trip wire,” a Scout called. “Attached to a homemade bomb. It’s crude, but damned effective.”

  The explosive deactivated, the Rebels moved slowly forward, deeper into the forest.

  “Down!” a Scout called, and hit the ground just a half second before the woods exploded in gunfire from an ambush.

  Ben dropped immediately, without thinking, acting instinctively, from long years of combat experience, his team with him. Low limbs and leaves were cut by the raking gunfire from automatic weapons. Ben heard the unmistakable and unforgettable clatter of an M-60 machine gun and the heavier boom of high-powered hunting rifles, followed by the rattle of a few M-16’s.

  “Somebody on the other side has some experience in setting up ambushes,” Ben said. “They’re pretty good. Dug in and camoed well.”

  “They have us in a box,” Corrie called, after affirming a transmission. “It’s almost a full semicircle, working from about ten o’clock over to two o’clock.”

  “Grenades,” Ben calmly ordered. “Everyone with bloop tubes use them. Let’s give these asshole perverts—no play on words intended—something to think about.”

  Several dozen bloop tubes were loaded and fired, the forest erupting in a ring of explosions.

  “Keep it up,” Ben ordered. “Pour it on.”

  When the ambushers saw that the 40mm grenade barrage was not going to cease, many of them broke and tried to run. They were cut down by Rebels waiting for them to do just that.

  Ben lined up several running together in me sights of his old Thunder Lizard and let her roar. On full auto the M-14 is a man-sized weapon to handle, hard to control and punishing if one is not familiar with it. Ben was very familiar with the old weapon. The heavy 7.62 rounds chopped the dopers down. They lay still on the forest floor.

  “Flankers in position?” Ben asked.

  “Left and right,” Corrie told him.

  “Tell them to do their stuff.”

  The teams of Rebels that had swung around and flanked the enemy positions opened up with 40mm grenades. The fight ended moments later with what dopers remained waving handkerchiefs tied to the ends of their rifles.

  “We yield!” one called. “Jesus Christ, man. We give up. Stop shootin’ at us.”

  “Cease fire,” Ben ordered.

  Ben moved to a small depression in the ground just to the left of his original position and sat down on the lip of the natural cup in the earth, unscrewing the cap on his canteen and taking a pull. He rubbed his shoulder where the M-14 had pounded him firing on full automatic. He ejected the half-empty magazine, stowed it in his magazine pouch and slipped home a full one.

  Rebels marched two of the ambushers over to him and both of them sat down across from Ben.

  “Stand up, you sons of bitches!” Ben barked at the pair. “No one told you to rest.”

  The two men, both looking to be in their mid to late thirties, jumped to their feet.

  “You be Ben Raines, right?” one asked.

  “That’s right.” Ben held up the cardboard wanted poster. “Which of you is responsible for this?”

  Both thugs exchanged quick, furtive glances and remained silent.

  “Names?” Ben asked.

  “Big Jim,” the larger of the pair said.

  “Highway Harry,” the other said.

  Jersey laughed at the nicknames and both the thugs gave her hard looks.

  “Are those looks supposed to frighten me?” Jersey asked.

  “You be wise to watch that smart mouth, bitch,” Highway Harry said. “You folks ain’t clear of these woods yet.”

  “I am so frightened I might have to sit down,” Jersey said scornfully. “My knees are trembling from fear.” She looked at Beth. “Aren’t yours, dear?”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Beth said. “I really believe the last time I saw anything that even remotely resembled this pair was when we watched that old movie about two turds that attempted to take over earth. How about you, Corrie?”

  “Oh, definitely,” Corrie replied. “Anna, dear, are you frightened?”

  “Fear has all but stilled my tongue. Just the sight and sound of these two cretinous ass-wipes is almost too much to bear. I will try my best to curb my first inclination to run screaming into the woods. However, I might puke at any moment,” she added sarcastically.

  Ben and Cooper laughed at the expressions on the faces of the thugs. Rebel women could be as feminine as any women on earth—when they wished to play that role. But they could also be as salty and randy and profane and tough-as-nails when they chose to be.

  Big Jim and Highway Harry stood speechless, jaws hanging open. They were not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner by women.

  “Close your mouths, shit-for-brains,” Beth told the pair. “You might swallow a bug.”

  Ben waved at a group of Rebels standing close by and listening to the exchange . . . and smiling. “Get these two out of here before I turn my team loose on them.”

  A Scout walked up just as the pair was being led away. “This was a bunch of former outlaw bikers, General. The real West Coast bad boys. We found a bunch of old newspaper clippings in their hooches. They’ve been involved in everything you might care to name. Rape, murder, assault, dope, pornography . . . you name it. Most of them started as teenagers and never looked back.”

  “Find any prisoners they were holding?” Ben asked, in a very deceptively low voice.

  “Some grown men they use for barter. Slave use, mostly. Women they trade back and forth between gangs. And some little kids, boys and girls, average age about ten. Both boys and girls telling some horror stories. Medics say they’ve all been sexually abused. In just about every way possible.”

  Ben’s team stiffened in anger at the words.

  “Nice bunch of people living in these woods,” Ben muttered. “Are the children up to identifying their attackers?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “Have them do so.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”

  “When the attackers of the children have been positively I.D.’d, dispose of them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  That would take several days, for the Rebels would not rely on just the word of the victims. Eye-witnesses were notoriously inaccurate . . . although in this case, probably not. But there would be polygraph tests, and in the event of any doubts, chemicals would be used. If there were still lingering doubts, the accused would often be turned loose. Rebel justice was harsh, but in many ways getting there was fairer than the system of old. And if the criminal did live long enough to stand trial, the facts of the case were presented, both pro and con, and manipulative antics by defense attorneys were not permitted. The facts of the case on trial were presented, not a witness’s past life. The Tri-States philosophy of justice was based on common sense.

  “We’re going to be in these woods for a while,” Jersey said, not posing it as a question.

  “Several days,” Ben said. “And that might be very optimistic on my part. I’ve got spec ops people jumping in on the southern end of the park, and helicopters and fixed wing aircraft up and heading this way to plug that section. If we’re going to clear this area, we might as well do it right.”

  “Several of the outlaw leaders want to talk to you, boss,” Corrie said.

  “They’re being held at that old reception station close to the highway.”

  “All right. Let’s go see what they have on their minds.”

  Jersey, Corrie, Beth, and Anna all responded with some very unladylike words.

  Ben chuckled. “Come on, ladies. Keep it clean.”

  “Those snake-headed ass-wipes don’t have a mind,” Beth said, which was very much unlike her, for she was usually reserved in her comments and did not use profanity lightly. “Cut open the top of their heads and all you’d find is a bunch of little pussies.”

  “Damn, Beth!” Cooper muttered.

  Ben waited, for he knew the ladies were not yet through venting their spleens. No Rebel took child-molestation lightly, and in the SUSA the penalty was usually death. But unless the molester was actually caught in the act, there were few cases of vigilante action, for that was frowned upon in the Southern United States of America.

  “I think we ought to cut off their equipment,” Jersey suggested. “With a dull knife.”

  Cooper shuddered at the thought.

  “Brand them on the forehead,” Anna suggested.

  “And on both cheeks of the ass,” Corrie added.

  “Whoa!” Cooper said.

  “You people have seen cases of child-molestation before,” Ben said, puzzled at their lingering hot anger. “What’s so different about this one?”

  “Have you see the kids yet, boss?” Beth asked.

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you should,” she said shortly.

  “That bad, eh?”

  “Worse than anything I’ve ever seen,” Jersey answered.

  Ben left the MASH tent as shaken as he had ever been. He had never seen kids so badly abused. Several of the youngsters were still in surgery, getting private parts of their anatomy repaired and stitched up from long abuse at the hands of adults.

  Ben sat down on the ground, his back to a tree, and slowly
rolled a cigarette. Several of the doctors had told him they had doubts about some of the kids ever recovering mentally from the abuse they had endured. They would be flown back to Base Camp One and the doctors there would try to heal their young minds.

  Ben was just thankful that Lamar Chase was not rolling with his One Batt, for after seeing what had happened to the kids, Lamar would have taken a gun and killed the outlaws himself.

  Ben was tempted to do that very thing. But of course he wouldn’t. He’d wait until all the evidence was in.

  Then he’d personally shoot the outlaws.

  FIVE

  Ben walked over to the clearing where the outlaws were being held and stood for a moment, staring at them. Ben noticed with a small amount of amusement that whoever had assigned the guards, had assigned all women Rebels to guard the outlaws, and the women were very grim-faced.

  “Them damn kids lie, General!” one outlaw called. “We ain’t abused nobody.”

  “Yeah, General,” another shouted. “Them kids had already been buggered out good when we got them.”

  One of the women guards slowly lifted the muzzle of her M-16 with white-knuckled hands, then got control of her temper and lowered the muzzle.

  A Rebel interrogation officer walked up to Ben’s side and stood for a moment. “General, I honestly believe this is the most worthless gathering of human trash I have ever encountered.”

  “They’ve all been tested?”

  “Every one of them. They’re the biggest pack of liars we’ve ever tested.”

  “I thought we had more prisoners than this?”

  “They’re beginning to turn on each other, trying to save their miserable lives by ratting each other out.”

  “You’ve talked to the kids?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Those that are capable of talking, that is. Some just point to their tormentors.”

  “Are these men and women all ex-bikers?”

  “No, sir. Actually, only a few are. The rest are just plain old-fashioned scum.”

  “I see. The women with them, they took part in the sexual abusing, too?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well . . . I mean, how? Women aren’t exactly equipped for that sort of thing.”

  “Artificial means, sir. If you know what I mean.”

  Ben sighed. “Son of a bitch!”

  “Yes, sir. General, some of the prisoners wish to talk with you.”

  “I suppose I owe them that courtesy.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  “We’ve set up a squad tent over there, sir.” He pointed.

  Ben walked over to the tent and sat down behind a portable field desk. Jersey stood behind him and to his right, Beth behind him and to his left. Both of them were stony-faced. Cooper and Anna elected to remain just outside the tent. Corrie was busy with her radio.

  Ben had a file on each prisoner in front of him, placed in alphabetical order. He opened the first file, read the first few paragraphs, felt queasy in his stomach, and closed the file. “Send the first son of a bitch in,” he called.

  The man stepped in and stood defiantly in front of Ben. “If you have something to say, say it,” Ben told him.

  “I’m a prisoner of war and I demand to be treated as such,” the man said. “I know my rights and them kids lie!”

  “A prisoner of war,” Ben repeated softly. “I know of no declaration of war that exists between our two groups.”

  “Don’t have to be none. You and your army invaded our state. We got a right to defend our sovereign territory.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I suppose you are going to tell me you never sexually abused any of the children?”

  “That’s right. I never done no such of a thing.”

  “You’re a liar! Some of your own people have rolled over on you.”

  “Them kids wanted it, General. They ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of lyin’ little faggots. Some of ’em’s goofy in the head, anyways. They ain’t never gonna be good for nothin’.”

  Ben wrote two words on the first page of the file, then signed his name below that. “Cooper!”

  “Boss?” Cooper stuck his head into the tent.

  Ben handed him the file. “Give this to the interrogation officer, please. And take this walking piece of shit out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’d you write in that file, Raines?” the outlaw demanded.

  Ben opened the file and held it up so the hulking oaf could see it. Just above his signature he had written, in capital letters: HANG HIM.

  The battle for the old national forest fizzled out after only one day of fighting, with the dopers and the outlaws and the various other human scum and crud turning themselves in by the droves. Some of them were tried and hanged, but most were merely disarmed and turned loose, after being photographed and blood samples taken for DNA identification . . . should they ever again screw up in Rebel territory.

  “You can bet they’ll screw up in somebody’s territory,” Jersey opined.

  “Just as long as it isn’t in the SUSA or any town or settlement who subscribes to our philosophy,” Ben said.

  The Tri-States philosophy was becoming a real problem for newly elected mayors and governors all over the divided nation. There were thousands of people in all sections of America who wanted to live under the banner of the Tri-States doctrine, but did not want to leave the place where they were born and reared. So they decided to stay right where they had lived for most of their lives and adopt the Tri-States system of justice . . . which was not at all to the liking of anyone who subscribed to the hanky-stomping, sobbing-sister, take-a-punk-to-lunch-bunch, it’s-not-the-criminal’s-fault, give-me-something-for-nothing liberal crowd who were once more surfacing in hand-wringing, snot-slinging whiny bunches outside of the SUSA.

  They knew better than to cross the borders into the SUSA with their bullshit.

  Unknown to either Cecil Jefferys or Ben Raines, the governors of a dozen Northern and Eastern states had agreed to meet secretly to discuss how best to deal with those people who insisted upon living outside the SUSA but still refused to recognize any law other than the common sense laws as set forth in the SUSA charter . . . . known halfway around the world as the Tri-States philosophy, and practiced in many foreign countries.

  But what really irked the governors and mayors and other elected officials was while they were battling apathy and high crime in their areas, in those areas that subscribed to the Tri-States philosophy, neighbor helped neighbor to rebuild, and crime was practically nonexistent.

  It was all very irritating to those officials who adamantly rejected the Tri-States philosophy . . . and they were determined to smash the movement before others could adopt it.

  “Attempt anything like that,” one newly elected governor said, “and we’re going to have Ben Raines and his Rebels breathing down our necks. I don’t want that.”

  “President Altman has pledged his support,” another governor said.

  “It will be years before Altman has an army of any size,” the mayor of a rebuilding small city said. “And Altman is weak; he’s afraid of Ben Raines and the Rebels.”

  “And you’re not?” a governor questioned with a smile. “I can tell you all I am, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

  “The problem is,” Governor Bradford, a newly elected governor from the northeast region of the separated nation spoke up, “those who subscribe to this Tri-State philosophy are well-organized and well-armed.” He grimaced. “Ben Raines has seen to that. And they seem to have no respect for anyone who doesn’t agree with them.”

  Governor Willis, a newly elected governor also from the northeast, but a moderate in his political views, shook his head. “I have to disagree with that, Brad. It isn’t that they don’t have respect for others. I’ve found Tri-Staters to be, for the most part, a very law-abiding, hard-working, and respectful group of people . . .”

  Bradford snorted in derision.

  Willis ignored him and continued, “. . . They have agreed to pay their fair share of taxes, they certainly are willing to help each other rebuild—we’ve all observed many shining examples of that. It’s just they . . .” He paused and reflected for a few seconds; smoothed back his thinning and graying hair. “. . . won’t tolerate crime or people who refuse to work and want something for nothing. In many ways, ladies and gentlemen, they personify the spirit of America of three hundred years ago.”