Standoff in the Ashes Page 4

  “Corrie, have you found the Federals’ frequency?”

  “Negative, Boss. Still looking.”

  “Well, get on some band and tell whoever is listening to come get what is left of their battalion. And to come under a flag of truce or they’ll be in deep shit.”

  “Medics reporting a lot of badly wounded out there,” a doctor told Ben a few minutes later. “You want to set up a field hospital, General?”

  Ben hesitated only a few seconds. “Yes, we might as well. Let’s try to save as many as possible.”

  “We shoot them, then patch them up,” Cooper said. “I just wonder if they’d do the same for us.”

  No one replied, but all who heard it had their doubts if the Federals would care if any Rebel lived or died.

  “I have one of the Federals’ frequencies, Boss,” Corrie told Ben. “I have given them your message.”

  “And?”

  “They say thanks, and they’re on the way. Dust-offs will be coming in very soon.”

  “Advise them I will shoot down any gunship I see.”

  “Will do.” A moment later: “Message received, and they will comply.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Home guard on the horn, Boss. Says they discovered how the Federals got across our no-man’s-strip. They’ve found where the choppers have been landing just inside our territory. Looks as though they’ve been bringing in a platoon at a time.”

  “That clears up that little mystery. Corrie, tell the cooks to set up a tent and make a lot of coffee. We’re going to be here for quite a while.”

  “OK, Boss.”

  In less than fifteen minutes after Corrie touched base with the Federals, the sounds of a dozen big choppers reached the Rebels. They were guided in, and teams of doctors and medics jumped out and were escorted across the road and into the meadow, where Rebel medics and several doctors were working.

  A three-star general in BDUs strolled up to Ben and saluted smartly. “General Raines? I’m General Maxwell. Call me Max, if you will.”

  “OK, Max. I’m Ben.”

  “Thank you for your kindness in helping my people.”

  “No problem. I can truthfully say I wish to hell they had stayed on their side of the line.”

  General Maxwell did not respond to that comment. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  “Sure is. Fresh brewed. Care for a cup?”

  “Love one.”

  Over mugs of steaming coffee, the two generals looked at one another, saying nothing.

  Ben finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “Get used to heavy casualties tangling with us, Max. We’ve been doing this all over the world.”

  Max smiled. “It’ll change when the White House bows out of trying to run things. Not that I’m telling you anything you haven’t already deduced.”

  “Yes. I reached that conclusion early on. But nothing is going to change. We’re fighting for our homeland.”

  “We’ll see, Ben. The gods of war are fickle.” He took a sip of coffee. “Good coffee.”

  “Smoke if you like. In the SUSA we don’t try to run every aspect of adults’ lives.”

  That stung the Federal general. Finally he managed a small smile. “It’s for the people’s good.”

  “Horseshit. It’s totalitarianism, pure and simple. In the SUSA, probably ninety-five percent of the drivers wear seat-belts. But there are no laws forcing them to do so. It’s just common sense.”

  Max looked out at the meadow. “Those were green troops commanded by inexperienced officers. We know that you know there are thousands of mercenary troops waiting for the green light to move in.”

  “Mercenaries die just like anyone else, Max. And I know you know that I could end this in fifteen minutes if I chose to do so.”

  “And I know you know that we have limited nuclear capabilities.”

  “Then let’s just blow each other into cinders and let the survivors start all over. They couldn’t possibly fuck it up any worse than the last two generations have.”

  General Maxwell smiled. “You’re damn sure right about that last bit. But you won’t use nucs, and neither will we.”

  “Nucs aren’t the only thing I have,” Ben said.

  “So you can win more or less humanely? All right. Do it. Turn loose your germ warheads. Kill hundreds or thousands of children and elderly.” He shook his head. “You’d do that only as a very last resort . . . if you could bring yourself to do it even then. And I have my doubts about that. No, for a while, at least, this is going to be a soldier’s war, on the ground. But we have millions more to draw from, General Raines. Eventually, attrition will take its toll on you.”

  “You have it all thought out, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. Just . . . maybe.”

  “I’ll ask you the same question I’ve asked other Federal officers—why do you—”

  Maxwell held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to ask, Ben. And the answer is, because average Americans are just not smart enough to adequately look after themselves. Somebody has to do it for them. Oh, there’s much more to it, but that’s it in a nutshell.”

  Ben stared at Maxwell for a moment. The Federal had a definite twinkle in his eyes. “Bullshit, Max!”

  Maxwell laughed. “Of course it is. It’s power. That’s all any restrictive form of government is—power to a select few. You make the masses more or less content, give them plenty of milk while those at the top enjoy the cream.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned! Somebody finally told me the truth.”

  “And you don’t enjoy the cream, Ben? Come on! Of course you do. You want a position in government? It can be arranged. You want to command a division of crack troops. OK It’s yours. Just toss in the towel and come on over to our side.”

  Ben carefully placed his mug on the camp table and stood up. “Conversation is over, General Maxwell. I can’t say it was nice talking with you.”

  “Don’t be a fool. Sit back down, man, and listen to me. I’m offering you a place at the table. Relax and partake.”

  “I see,” Ben said slowly. He sat down. “Osterman thinks she’s running the show, right? She’s a figurehead. You people are the power behind the throne.”

  Maxwell smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He refused to speak.

  “You people made a deal with a gang of mercenaries. You’re getting rid of a bunch of idealistic green Federal troops who are one hundred percent behind Osterman. As soon as they’re gone, there will be nothing to stop you. But you’re forgetting those commanders who stood their troops down and refused to get mixed up in this fracas. What about them?”

  “They will be dealt with. We don’t worry about them.”

  “What is to prevent me from going public with this information?”

  “Who would believe you Ben? You rank right up there as one of the most hated men on the continent.” Maxwell chuckled. “So go right on with this fight. You’re doing us a favor, really. Kill off our green troops while you suffer casualties as well. You see, there is no way for you to win.

  If you’re smart, you’ll join us. Think about it. You don’t have to die needlessly. We have a place for you.”

  “Forget it. No way I will join you.”

  “It’s up to you, Ben.”

  “You people were setting all this up while I was in Africa. That’s why white mercenaries were so scarce over there. You people had most of them under contract . . . or were working on doing just that.”

  “Very good. But I really wish you hadn’t gotten rid of Bruno. He was doing the world a favor by getting rid of millions of niggers. My one regret is I wish he had finished what he started. He would have if you hadn’t been so goddamn persistently successful.”

  “Once again, the Rebels are going to be all that stands between freedom and . . .” —Ben shook his head—“. . . God only knows what form of government you people have in mind. I don’t even know what to call the government now in power . . . not really. It’s the worst mess I’ve ever seen.”

  Maxwell grinned. “It is screwed up, isn’t it? A liberal with a hard socialist bent can fuck up an anvil. But we’ll fix it once in power.”

  “Fix it? Fix it into what?”

  “Oh, get rid of all the sexual perverts, run the greasers back to Mexico, do something with the niggers, put the ladies back into the home and the kitchen where they belong, then whip the country back into shape.”

  Ben shook his head. “You’re dreaming, Max. None of that is going to happen. You really will have a civil war on your hands if you try that crap.”

  “We won’t try it all at once. It’ll be done gradually, over a period of time. If you’re still alive, you’ll see it happen, I promise you. Now, if you wish, go ahead, call a press conference and tell the world all I told you. I don’t care, because no one will believe you.”

  Ben knew that Maxwell was telling the truth about that. No one outside of the SUSA would believe him. “No, I won’t do that. No point in it.”

  General Maxwell rose from the bench. “Think about what I told you. Think about my offer. It’s yours if you want it. But if you persist in making war, the offer will be withdrawn.”

  “You can withdraw it now. Win, lose, or draw, my answer is no.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You would have been an asset.” He lifted his mug and drained it. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Anytime.”

  Ben sat and watched the general walk back across the road, rejoining his own troops. “Interesting, but not surprising,” Ben muttered. He sighed and looked down at his own coffee mug. “The second civil war,” he said. “Compliments of all you assholes back in the nineteen sixties, seventies, and eighties who just couldn’t keep your goddamn hands off the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. You j
ust had to screw up a good thing. I hope you’re all alive and witnessing this. And I hope you choke on it!”

  FIVE

  Ben moved his column eastward, staying just inside SUSA territory, along the Tennessee Kentucky border, until he linked up with part of his 501 Brigade, the day after the near total wipe-out of Federals in the once peaceful meadow.

  “Somebody on the other side is finally getting smart, General,” a batt com said to Ben. “They’re massing troops instead of having everybody spread out thin as paper.”

  “We’ve been getting intel all day confirming that. What’s your take on it?”

  “I think they’re getting ready for one hell of a push.”

  “All along the front?”

  The colonel didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. I’d bet they’re going to slam into us at a dozen points.”

  “I feel the same way.” Ben moved to a wall map in the CP. “The Federals are concentrating at these points.” He pointed to a dozen locations, from South Texas to the Virginia coast. “But according to our Eyes in the Sky only five push points have artillery and armor to back them. I’m betting those will be the places where we’d better concentrate our air strikes. I’ve already talked with Ike about this, and he concurs. On these seven other locations, and that includes our immediate area, we’re probably going to lose some ground. That’s all right. We’ll fall back gradually, let the Feds think we’re on the run while we do an end-around and box their asses in. Then we’ll teach them something about Rebel warfare, Sneaky Pete style.”

  The colonel grinned. “Now you’re talking, General. Down and dirty and close-in.”

  Ben alternately walked and rode the front lines with the colonel, shuffling and repositioning some troops until the lines were as strong as he could make them. He made certain every company commander and exec knew the bug-out plans, and exactly where they were to go and what they were to do when that order came down the line.

  Ben decided to take his team and security people on east about fifty miles, to beef up a small detachment of Rebels and home guard stationed there. They made the run and were in camp by late afternoon.

  “We’re glad to see you, General,” the captain in command of the Rebel company greeted Ben. “In more ways than one. We’re out-gunned about five to one by the Feds just over that ridge there.” He pointed. “Across the strip. And they’re receiving reinforcements every few hours.”

  “Armor?”

  “Not much. We’re about even on that score, a little ahead on artillery . . . for now, that is.”

  “The big push is going to be to our west about fifty miles. But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to take some shoving here. If we can’t hold without significant losses, we’ll fall back a few miles and hope they follow.”

  The captain grinned. “Down and dirty time, General?”

  “You bet. Eyeball to eyeball and junkyard mean. I want every Claymore you’ve got ready to be picked up when we bug out. If the Feds are stupid enough to follow, we’ll have some nasty surprises waiting for them.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Ben unfolded a map. “We’ll all head southeast, toward this crossing of the Cumberland River, then we’ll blow the bridge. That will delay them for several hours and give us time to regroup.”

  “I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

  “I’ll put my people over to the east. That appears to be your weakest point.”

  “Yes, sir. Only one platoon of home guard over there, and some of those ole’ boys are getting a little long in the tooth for this type of work.”

  Ben nodded his head as he hid a smile. Those ‘ole’ boys’ the young captain was talking about were rough as a cob, and mean as a rattlesnake when they got pissed off. The Tennessee ‘boys’ would damn sure hold more than their own when it came down to the nut cuttin’. Many of them had been part of civilian militia units before the Great War and the collapse.

  Ben and his people didn’t have long to wait before the Federals launched their offensive. They had just finished eating evening chow, with two hours of daylight left, when a Scout who was stationed on the ridge overlooking the no-man’s-land radioed in.

  “Gunships coming in from the north. A lot of them.”

  “They’ll be troop carriers all mixed in with those Cobras and Apaches,” Ben warned.

  “Choppers coming in from the west and east,” spotters radioed. “They’re doing end-arounds, and coming in fast. Several dozen already on the ground and spilling troops on our side of the strip.”

  Artillery began dropping in, and the Federals were dead bang on target. One round landed off to Ben’s right, and the concussion put him on the ground and sent him rolling. He was unhurt but knocked flat on his butt.

  “Shit!” he hollered, crab-crawling over the ground toward the bunker. Before he reached the bunker, he saw Cooper turn several somersaults in the air from an incoming. Coop crawled to his knees and shook his head. He appeared to be unhurt.

  Ben never made the bunker. Shrapnel was whistling and howling all around him. He found a depression in the ground and crawled in. Unless a round landed right on top of him he would be relatively safe, for the depression was about three feet deep.

  The Feds were really pouring on the rounds, forcing the Rebels to keep their heads down while they advanced toward Rebel positions.

  Ben jerked his small handy-talkie out of the pouch and started giving orders. “All tank commanders, get the hell out of this area. Back it up. Get out of range. We’ll need you later. Move it!”

  “The Feds are going to be all over us in a few minutes, Boss!” Corrie radioed.

  “General!” the CO of the outpost yelled into his radio. “Airborne troops landing at locations we talked about west and east of us.”

  “Any sign of paratroopers dropping in on us here?”

  “Negative, Boss. We’re just getting the shit pounded out of us, that’s all.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  “Feds landing more troops by chopper,” the Scout on the ridge broke in. “Already several hundred on the ground. I’m out of here.”

  “OK,” Ben radioed. “Time to bug out, folks. Grab what you can, and get gone. If we stay here we’re dead meat.”

  Ben pulled his rucksack to him and slipped the strap over one shoulder. He gripped his CAR and waited until there was a very short lull in the shelling. He left cover in a rush, running for about twenty-five yards before he heard incoming. He hit the ground belly down and stayed put until another lull came, then heaved himself up and ran another few yards. This was repeated half a dozen times until he reached a stand of thick timber. He rested for a couple of minutes, catching his breath, then took off running once again.

  He saw a dozen other Rebels, dark shapes in the thick timber running hard out for safety and a dozen more dead and mangled on the ground. He did not stop. Behind him, the shelling had intensified. He had been correct in ordering the bug-out. The outpost was being destroyed by the Federal shelling.

  He did not connect with his team. He had no idea where they were. He knew only they had bugged out several minutes before he did.

  Ben headed southeast through the timber until he came to a clearing. Deciding not to cross it, he stayed at the edge of the timber and worked his way around the meadow. Then he climbed to the top of one of the rolling hills and scanned the area through binoculars. The outpost had been destroyed, smashed into nothing. One Rebel tank was burning off to the west.

  “Shit!” Ben muttered, casing his binoculars. He moved on.

  Then he heard the gunships coming in low and fast from the north. Ben ducked into some brush, squatted down, and waited until they had passed.

  He counted a dozen gunships, the latest version of the old Apache. The Rebels had hundreds of them, and obviously the Federals had their share, too. The Apache gunship packed more firepower than many World War Two attack bombers.

  Ben cautiously slipped from cover and once more headed southeast. The gunships had been heading due south.

  He walked for about half a mile, then again scanned the area. “Damn!” he muttered, spotting teams of Federals slowly working their way south. They were stretched out for as far as Ben could see.

  Ben looked more closely. The teams were not moving the way green troops would; they moved as though they knew exactly what they were doing and had done it many times before. They held their weapons relaxed, but ready. Their trigger fingers were on trigger guards, not on the triggers. They appeared to be doing everything right.