Judgment in the Ashes Read online

  “I’m beginning to think along those same lines, Ike. All right, ol’ buddy. I’ll give you a bump if I run into anything I can’t handle.”

  “No, you won’t!” Ike said with a laugh, and then broke off.

  Chuckling, Ben handed the mic to Corrie. “Well, let’s go visit Los Angeles, gang. Who knows, we might be able to stir up some trouble.”

  But the convoy was unable to proceed much further. The roads were almost completely blocked by debris . . . and not all of it from the shelling of the Rebels years back. Southern California had experienced quite a number of earthquakes since the Rebels had waged intensive war in Los Angeles, obviously not all of them small in size. The quakes had wreaked havoc, piling debris up and blocking the streets.

  Ben walked up to one of the Scouts who was kneeling down beside a pile of rubble. “What’s wrong?”

  “These piles were man-made, General. And I don’t like it a damn bit.”

  “Not one sign of life has been reported here,” Ben reminded him.

  “They went deep underground, General. That’s the only thing that makes any sense. But these piles of rubble were definitely placed here.”

  Ben looked behind him. The column was stretched out for several miles. He looked all around him. “Dandy place for an ambush,” he muttered.

  The wind picked up as the skies darkened, and with the wind came the unmistakable smell of creepies.

  “Oh shit!” Jersey said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Hunt a hole, gang,” Ben ordered. “I think we’ve just been suckered—big time!”

  SEVEN

  “Here they come!” a Rebel shouted. “They’re all around us.”

  The Rebels moved quickly, but with no sign of panic. Cooper got his SAW (squad automatic weapon) out of the truck that always followed Ben’s vehicle, and Anna and Beth grabbed two extra canisters of ammo for the weapon.

  Ben did not hesitate. He picked up his old Thunder Lizard and slung a bandoleer of full magazines for the M-14 over one shoulder. Corrie grabbed a rucksack filled with grenades and Jersey grabbed another filled with full magazines for the team’s CARs.

  Then they all scrambled for position behind what was left of a bomb-shattered wall. Corrie pointed to a large piece of broken front window glass and Ben nodded, a smile faintly creasing his lips. The store had once housed a famous bookstore chain.

  “Wonder if they sold your books here, boss?” Corrie called with a smile.

  “I once did an autographing here,” Ben told her, then laughed. “Nobody showed up.”

  “Goddamnit, get behind cover, General!” a Rebel sergeant yelled, exasperation in his voice.

  “Keep your pants on,” Ben said, bellying down behind the low wall.

  Jersey, Beth, Corrie, and Anna all grinned at each other, for the sergeant was considered a very handsome man among the females in the Rebel army . . . and a few of the men.

  Ben caught the grins and grimaced. “Get it off your minds, ladies. Especially you, Anna,” he added grimly. “You’re far too young to be thinking such thoughts.”

  Anna smiled sweetly at her adopted father, then when Ben turned his head, made a horrible face, crossed her pale eyes, and stuck out her tongue at him.

  But Ben had anticipated such a move and had not entirely averted his eyes. He hid his smile at her antics, and over the ever louder screams and wild yells of the charging creepies, said, “Now wouldn’t you be a nice-looking young lady if your face froze in that position?”

  Anna looked startled for a moment, wondering how Ben had seen that. Then there was no more time for conversation as Ben yelled, “Will the tanks kindly start laying down some fire on those creepie bastards? And if it isn’t too much trouble, the mortar crews can drop a few down the tubes as well. It would be much appreciated.”

  “Will you get off your goddamn asses and go to work!” Jersey yelled at the frantically working crews behind her, in her own inimitable way.

  Ben pulled his M-14 to his shoulder and snugged the butt in tight, lining up the sights on a creepie who was just getting into range. He gently squeezed the trigger and the Thunder Lizard bumped his shoulder. The creepie went down bonelessly amid the rubble and lay still.

  “Chalk one up for the boss,” Ben muttered.

  “Ike and Dan and West are reporting they are under heavy attack,” Corrie yelled, just as the tanks began cutting loose with their main guns and the mortar crews began dropping the rounds down the tubes. “Georgi and West want to know if you want them to swing around and start a push in our direction?”

  “Negative,” Ben said. “That just might be what the creepies expect. Tell them to gear up for a fight. I think one is coming at them.”

  “They’re swarming at Ike right now!” Corrie said. “Mary says it’s a combination of punks and creepies and God only knows what else.”

  Mary was Ike’s radio operator, having been with him almost from the beginning.

  “Is Ike cussing?” Ben asked, smiling at Corrie.

  Corrie laughed. “Mary says he’s roaring like a bear with a sore paw.”

  Cooper opened up with his Squad Automatic Weapon, rocking and rolling, spitting the lead out. One entire line of attackers went down under the unrelenting fire.

  Anna had managed to drag out her favorite weapon, a seventy-six-pound Mark 19-3 automatic grenade launcher, affectionately called a Big Thumper, and was steady slamming out the 40mm grenades. She had enlisted the help of a more-than-willing young Rebel to feed the belt. All Anna had to do was smile at a young man and he was apt to walk into trees for several days afterward.

  “That bastard Simon Border made a deal with the creepies and the punks and the gangs,” Ben muttered. “Has to be it. He’d leave them alone in the ruins of the cities if they’d aid him in fighting us. Shit!” Ben shouted, his one-word epithet clearly heard over the booming of fire.

  “You hit, boss!” Corrie yelled.

  “No. Hell no. But have all units throw up a rear guard as quickly as possible. That’s why we hit no trouble in the ruins of San Diego. The creepies and punks and gangs wanted us to bypass them so they could launch an attack from the rear. Call in the planes and the gunships, Corrie. This is about to get dicey. That goddamn semi-sanctimonious Simon Border. That fake-assed psalm-singing fraud. If I ever get my hands on that snake-oil salesman I’m going to beat him to death.”

  Ben’s team had nothing to say after that. Ben was pissed, and when the boss got pissed, the best thing to do was leave him alone.

  Anna had never stopped working the Big Thumper, and Cooper had been keeping up a steady ranking fire with his SAW, both of them keeping the attackers at bay. But now the attack was intensifying and some creepies and their allies were getting close to the first line of defense.

  Ben was still muttering and seething with anger as he turned his attentions toward the attack. He let his M-14 help to vent his rage. The old Thunder Lizard could reach out and touch the enemy at very long range, and Ben did just that time after time that morning. Ben picked his shots carefully, and his aim was true. He made about ninety percent of his shots before the first wave of attackers broke and retreated. That gave the forward Rebels some time to catch their breath.

  But several miles behind Ben’s location, conditions had worsened.

  “B and D companies are engaged,” Corrie reported. “Coming under heavy attack.”

  “Move half the tanks around to back them up.”

  Corrie had anticipated that. “Done.”

  “What’s the ETA for air support?”

  “Thirty minutes, tops.”

  “Any reports of injuries during the first wave?”

  “Two. Private Kovak from Company B fell out of a truck and has a slight concussion and Private Harris cut himself on the hand while fixing his bayonet.”

  “What the hell was he doing attaching his bayonet? Come to think of it, what the hell was he doing with a bayonet? We don’t issue those.”

  “He got a little nervous. He was just flown in three days ago from the repple depple. It’s his first time in combat. He’s just seventeen, boss.”

  “So am I,” Anna said coldly. “I think.”

  “Harris’s world has been somewhat calmer than your world to date, dear,” Ben told his adopted daughter.

  “Bah!” the girl said.

  Anna had never exhibited any signs of fear; indeed, she seemed to thrive on combat, the closer in the better. She was incredibly deadly with a knife and even the Scouts were in awe of her ability at silent killing.

  When Ben had first adopted the girl, over the objections of Doctor Chase and others, Anna had been no more than a feral child, having been on her own since she was about six years old . . . or less. Anna did not really know exactly how old she was, but she was about seventeen—give or take a year.

  Dan Gray had once called her a first cousin to a Tasmanian Devil.

  Anna was a beautiful young lady, and a dangerous one.

  But really, no more dangerous than most Rebels, for the Rebels were known world-wide as the undisputed experts in all types of warfare . . . especially in the down-and-dirty, hit-and-run type of guerrilla warfare.

  “Ike and Dan?”

  “They’ve beaten back the first attack with only minor injuries. Everybody is standing tall.”

  Lieutenant Hardin suddenly showed up in the small area that Ben and the team occupied. “Sir, I think it would be best if you moved back about a mile.”

  Ben looked at the young officer. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. I readied a CP for you. It would be much safer.”

  Ben’s team all exchanged grins at this.

  “Well, thank you, Lieutenant Hardin, but I think I’ll just stay right here. I’ve grown rather fond of this place.”


  The young officer’s face took on a crestfallen expression and he opened his mouth to speak.

  Ben waved him silent with one hand and patted him on the shoulder with the other, shushing him. “I know that Ike and Cecil and the others asked you to keep an eye on me, son. And I really do appreciate the effort, but I’ve been doing this for a long, long time. You just get on back to your people. You’re doing a fine job.”

  “Ah, why, thank you, sir.”

  “Think nothing of it, son.”

  With a faint smile, Ben turned back to his position. But the smile was for the benefit of the young officer and no one else. There was really nothing to smile about. The Rebels were in a lousy position, boxed in, and there was no ground relief coming. Air support would help, sure, by taking off some of the strain for a time, and the tanks and mortars could keep up a barrage for days, if need be, for ammo trucks rolled with each convoy and were constantly being resupplied. But the Rebels were still in a box, and it was up to those in the box to find a way out. Ben knew it would be by one of two means: sneaky or brute force. Those were the only options open.

  “West just reported in,” Corrie called. “They’ve beaten back the first attack with only minor injuries.”

  “The other battalions reporting any action?”

  “Negative.”

  “What is recon telling us about the regular troops of Simon’s?”

  “Still dug in tight to the north of us. No movement being detected.”

  “Simon wants, hopes, we’ll take heavy casualties and sustain heavy losses and be so weakened when we hit his regular troops they’ll be able to defeat us. The son of a bitch has another think coming.”

  “I would certainly hope so,” Corrie said, a twinkle in her eyes.

  Ben smiled at her. The morale of the Rebels was always high: the thought of defeat just never entered their minds.

  “Right, Corrie. Right.”

  * * *

  The pilots of the souped-up P-51E’s and the helicopter gunships could not have timed it better. Simon’s allies had just begun their second attack of the day when the P-51E’s came roaring in, machine gun and cannon howling out death and destruction. The second pass brought napalm and a nearly solid wall of flames leaped from ground high into the air.

  “Cooked creepie,” Cooper said, with no small degree of satisfaction.

  “Bar-B-Qued bastards,” Beth said.

  “Roasted rat-asses,” Jersey came through.

  “Same results to the south of us,” Corrie said, after speaking with companies B and D.

  Only a few minutes ticked past until the familiar whack-a-whack of helicopter blades slicing the air reached the Rebels. Now that the P-51E’s were long gone, the attackers were readying themselves for another attack and were caught exposed. The helicopter gunships opened up with everything they had, which was plenty, and Simon’s first line of defense had no more stomach for the fight.

  “They’re breaking and running,” Corrie reported.

  “No pursuit to the south,” Ben ordered. “We’ll let the gunships and the planes handle that for the time being. Breakthrough—right now! Tanks spearhead. Scouts follow. I want some prisoners. Move, move!”

  The Main Battle Tanks surged forward, the Scouts right behind them, a few minutes later, Ben waved the two companies defending the north sector forward. “We’ll wait until companies B and D join us and bring up the drag.”

  That made Lieutenant Hardin very nervous. “It will be about an hour before they get here, sir,” he pointed out. “You’re here with only a few Rebels to protect you.”

  “I have my personal platoon, Lieutenant. Of which you are in charge. Don’t you think you can do the job?”

  “Why, ah, yes, sir! Of course, sir! I was merely pointing out that . . . ah, oh, to hell with it!” The young officer looked aghast at what he had just said to the commanding general of the entire Rebel army. His mouth dropped open and his face reddened.

  Laughing, Ben once again patted the very flustered lieutenant on the shoulder. “It’s all right, son. You’ll get used to me in time. Set up a perimeter now. A very loose one. We have to be ready to bug out at a second’s notice.”

  “Ah, yes, sir. I remember this maneuver from your lectures in tactics class at college.”

  “Very good, son,” Ben said drily.

  “Yes, sir. We keep the vehicles running at all times and the troops use only light weapons. That way they can move quickly without being encumbered by having to dismantle heavy machine guns.”

  Ben sighed. “That’s the way we do it, son,” he said patiently.

  “A very good maneuver, sir, if I may say so.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

  “Please do.”

  Ben watched the young lieutenant trot off, yelling at his people. Lieutenant Hardin had graduated first in his class from the military academy’s officer training program, and he was very thorough . . . frustratingly so.

  “Companies B and D’s ETA is approximately one hour, sir,” Corrie said, breaking into Ben’s thoughts.

  “Now tell me the bad news,” Ben said with a smile, knowing that Ike had been intercepting their transmissions.

  “Ike is hopping mad about you splitting your command and being caught in the middle here like, as he put it, a goddamn Mississippi bullfrog ’tween a gig and a ’gator.”

  “Ike does have a way with words, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir. That he does. What would you like for me to tell him?” Then Corrie realized her mistake in asking that and tensed.

  “Tell him to go shit in his hat.”

  “Do I have the general’s permission to rephrase that message somewhat?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Ben sat down on the ground and took a swig of water from his canteen. Never any happy middle ground, he thought, grimacing at the taste. When the canteens were metal, the water tasted metallic, and in his opinion the heavy plastic didn’t improve the taste very much. Well, hell, it was wet, highly purified and almost tasteless, thanks to the efforts of the scientists back at Base Camp One. One little pill killed practically every germ known to humankind.

  Ben looked up as the whack-a-whack sounds of huge helicopter rotor blades once more ripped the air. “Now, what the hell are they doing back over here?”

  “Ike sent them,” Corrie said. “He said this was a damn fool thing for you to do and you needed some protection in case of a counter-attack.”

  “What counter-attack?” Ben griped. “I’ve got Rebels north, south, and east, and almost total desolation to the west of us. Plus I’ve got three tanks, half a dozen APC’s and Bradley Fighting Vehicles, mortar crews, several Big Thumpers, an oversized platoon, my own bodyguards . . . Tell Ike he’s getting to be worse than an old woman. Ask him if he looks under the bed every night . . . when we get to sleep in a bed, that is.”

  “I’ll get right on that, boss,” Corrie replied, and pretended to work at her radio.

  “I’m sure you will,” Ben muttered, and stretched out on the ground to rest.

  Ben was the consummate combat man. He was sound asleep in two minutes.

  EIGHT

  Ben’s team became highly amused at the expression on Lieutenant Hardin’s face when he returned to find Ben sleeping soundly on the ground.

  “How can he do that?” Hardin demanded in a soft voice. He certainly did not want to awaken the commanding general.

  “Why not?” Jersey responded. “There’s nothing going on.”

  Hardin sighed. “The enemy is all around us, Miss Jersey.”

  “Yeah, the boss knows that. So what? If he hears any shooting he’ll wake up and shoot back.”

  Hardin stared at her for a moment. Then he turned and slowly walked away. He just did not understand the CG—not at all.

  Ben opened his eyes and sat up when he heard the sounds of approaching tanks. The nap had refreshed him. He stood up, stretched, and looked up at the sky. The gunships were still circling slowly, about a mile away in any direction Ben chose to look.

  “Tell them to return to base,” Ben ordered.