Warriors from the Ashes Page 7

  After lunch, the team proceeded to Bergman’s office, where he sat waiting for them, looking over their papers on his desk.

  When they were seated, he went through their applications one by one.

  “Harley, I see you were an officer in Ben Raines’s Army,” he said.

  Harley nodded. “Yeah, until I slugged an officer and got court-martialed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t like Buddy Raines’s attitude, so I decked him one night in the officers’ club.”

  “Buddy Raines? Any relation to Ben Raines?” Bergman asked with upraised eyebrows.

  “His son.”

  “Shit. No wonder you got canned,” Bergman said.

  “He’s an arrogant little pissant who’s gettin’ by on his daddy’s reputation,” Harley said with a sneer.

  Bergman nodded, going on to the next sheet. “Cooper, it says here you were on Raines’s personal team . . . as a driver.”

  “I was, until I porked his main squeeze,” Coop said, sticking to the story Mike Post had put in his file. “Then I found myself pulling every dirty job in the business. Figured I’d better get out before I got fragged by one of his friends.”

  The interview went on like this, with each of the team having a story that would account for their leaving the employ of the Army of the SUSA.

  Finally, Bergman leaned back, sticking a cigar in his mouth and lighting it as he looked at the group. “Well, other than your obvious discipline problems, you seem like soldiers who will do us some good.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure to get our licks back against Raines and his soldiers,” Harley said with feeling.

  “I think I’ll have your team take over as my drill sergeants here at the training camp,” Bergman said. “You obviously have some special skills we can use in our training program.”

  “Before we sign on, we’d like a few questions answered,” Harley said. “Like, just who are we working for and what kind of action can we look forward to.”

  “That’s on a need-to-know basis,” Bergman said, dismissing the question. “All you need to know is the pay is excellent, especially for staff personnel, and that we’ll have the best equipment money can buy when we go into combat.”

  Harley nodded, too cautious to press his questions now. He’d wait until later, when he could do some snooping around the office without being observed, to find the answers he needed.

  “How long do we have to get these troops combat-ready?” Hammer asked. “From the looks of those we’ve seen, it’s gonna take a while.”

  “Less than a month,” Bergman said. “So, you’d better get busy whipping them into shape.”

  “Yes, sir!” Harley said, standing up.

  As they filed out and headed to the barracks to find their places, he asked each of them if they’d found out who the head man was. None had.

  “It’s like none of the troops know who the boss man is,” Coop said. “They’re as much in the dark as we are.”

  “Well,” Harley said, “keep digging. We can’t leave here until we find the answer.”

  “I did learn there’re a hell of a lot of troops already finished with basic training,” Jersey said. “Several battalions at least.”

  “Shit,” Harley said, “and from what Bergman says, they’ve got modern equipment and lots of it to use against us when the time comes.”

  “Why not just have Ben call an air strike against this place?” Anna asked.

  “’Cause he’s not ready to start a war with South America,” Harley answered. “No, we’re gonna have to wait until they start to move out and get in neutral territory before we can do anything offensive against them.”

  “Did you catch that comment Bergman made about having the troops ready within the month?” Jersey asked.

  “Yeah,” Harley said, “and that’s some info we need to get back to Ben as soon as we can. I don’t think he has any idea things are moving that fast.”

  Coop nodded. “That probably means Perro Loco’s gonna start his offensive in Mexico any day now.”

  “Jerse and I’ll get out to the communications gear tonight and try and let Ben know what’s going on.”

  “Why don’t you tell him we’re gonna line these bastards up and let Jersey kick the shit out of ’em one at a time?” Coop said with a grin. “That way he wouldn’t have to worry about them helping Loco out.”

  She cut her eyes at him. “I know just who I’d start with too,” she said, giving him a flat look.

  NINE

  Bruno Bottger, Rudolf Hessner, and Sergei Bergman made their way to the scientific lab Bottger had built on the outskirts of his mercenary training facility.

  “Have there been some new developments by Dr. Krug?” Hessner asked as they wound their way down several flights of stairs to the subterranean basement where the scientist he spoke of did his work.

  Bottger nodded. “Yes, he says he’s solved the problem of the new anthrax biological weapon he’s been working on for the past three years.”

  Bergman shook his head. “I don’t know why he’s continued to work on anthrax,” he said. “We tried that in Africa and the SUSA’s vaccines made it worthless as a weapon. All it succeeded in doing was to kill a lot of animals and aborigines.”

  “Wait until you hear what he’s accomplished,” Bottger said with a sly grin as they entered the laboratory through double-sealed pneumatic doors, a precaution against accidental infection of the training facility.

  As they walked into the room, a tall man with an acne-scarred face and wild hair looked up from a microscope he was peering into.

  “Ah, Herr General Bottger,” Krug said with a smile, wiping his hands on his white lab coat before shaking hands all around.

  “Doctor,” Bottger said, “perhaps you can explain your most recent breakthrough to my associates. They seem to have some doubt as to the efficacy of your bacteria as a weapon.”

  “Follow me, gentlemen,” Krug said, leading them down dark passages into what appeared to be a prison section, walled off with two-inch-thick glass.

  He stepped up to the window and pointed inside. There were six beds in the room, upon which lay four men and two women with the dark skin of South American Indians. Their skin was covered with large, pustular sores and they were soaked with sweat, shivering and shaking as they coughed and hacked until blood ran from their mouths.

  “I sprayed my anthrax into the cell of the man on the left four days ago. He initially developed flulike symptoms which lasted only thirty-six hours, then apparently recovered. I then exposed the others to him. Twenty-four hours later, all were sick and are now as you see them.”

  Bergman shrugged. “So what, Doctor? I see nothing here to indicate any difference in the results from what we had several years ago.”

  Krug shook his head. “Ah, but there are several differences. Notice the animals in the cages around the room? They are unaffected by the bacterium, unlike the previous weapon, which left a barren area desolate of mammalian life forms. In addition, all of these subjects were previously vaccinated with the vaccine in the possession of the SUSA and the U.S. As you can see, it had no preventive effect on the sickness.”

  “Tell them the other part,” Bottger urged.

  “I have been able to make the anthrax infective from a spray that can be released by either bombs or missiles, and, unlike traditional respiratory anthrax, it is infective from person to person, so that the spray does not have to be everywhere to do its work. Once a segment of the population is infected, they stay healthy for several days, long enough to travel and infect hundreds of other unsuspecting citizens.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Bergman said, “we now have a biological weapon that the SUSA and the U.S. have no vaccine against, and it can be delivered by aerial bombs or missiles, and it will spread throughout the country person to person?”

  “Yes,” Krug said with a maniacal gleam in his eye. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

  “Is there no conventiona
l treatment for the illness?” Hessner asked as he peered at the Indians who were near death.

  Krug shrugged. “Yes. If the patients are caught very early in their illness, massive doses of antibiotics will slow or even reverse the illness. But the amount needed will quickly use up the available supplies of even the richest country in a matter of days, leaving the rest of the populace at its mercy.”

  “And you have a vaccine I can use to inoculate my troops against this respiratory anthrax?” Bergman asked.

  Krug nodded. “It is being manufactured on a large scale even as we speak.”

  “Will the SUSA scientists be able to duplicate this vaccine?” Hessner asked.

  “Certainly, given enough time,” Krug answered. “But the rapidity with which the illness spreads means they will lose at least fifty to sixty percent of their fighting forces before they can make enough to do any good.”

  “By that time, our armies should have been able to take control of all of the major cities and facilities in the country, forcing Raines to sue for peace,” Bottger said, his eyes aflame with insane excitement.

  After they’d returned to Bottger’s office, he poured them all brandy and handed out fat cigars to celebrate Dr. Krug’s accomplishment.

  As Bergman puffed his stogie and sipped his brandy, he had a thought. “General Bottger, I have a suggestion,” he said.

  Bottger waved his hand in an expansive gesture. He was feeling good enough to take advice from anyone at this point. “Go ahead, Sergei.”

  “The last time we fought Raines, he learned of our bacterial weapons in time to formulate a vaccine against them. I suggest we keep Krug and his workers completely isolated from the rest of the troops, just in case there are spies around who might tell Raines of our new weapon.”

  “Excellent idea, Sergei,” Bottger said. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. I further suggest that we hold off vaccinating our own troops until the last possible moment to keep any hint of our having new biological weapons from leaking out.”

  “I had already anticipated such a move,” Bottger said. “Dr. Krug assures me the vaccine only takes about a week to do its job, so we’ll plan to vaccinate our troops on the day they move out. At that time, we’ll initiate saturation bombing of Mexico City and points up to the southern border of the SUSA.”

  “Why not bomb the SUSA itself?” Hessner asked, smoke from the cigar trailing from his nostrils.

  Bottger shook his head. “The SUSA is too well guarded, especially from an air assault. I fear none of our planes or missiles would get through.” He paused to drink the remainder of his brandy in one large draught. “No, if we manage to infect a significant portion of the Mexican citizens, they will travel to the SUSA looking for help and thus spread the infection almost as fast our bombs could, and without wasting any of our precious aircraft on a futile assault.”

  Bergman nodded, smiling. “And additionally, in the initial stages of the plague, the SUSA will think their troops are protected from the anthrax, not knowing it is a new bug.”

  “Exactly,” Bottger agreed. “For now, the most important thing is to keep the secret of our new weapon from being discovered by the SUSA or anyone else.”

  “That brings up an interesting point, General,” Bergman said.

  “Yes?”

  “I fear it will be impossible to keep the secret if we start to vaccinate Perro Loco’s troops, or Claire Osterman’s Army in the U.S. Raines would be sure to find out, perhaps in time to develop their own vaccine.”

  Bottger smiled once again. “Who said anything about giving the vaccine to either Loco or Osterman?”

  “But, we’re gonna need their troops to help us in our takeover of the SUSA. We only have about twenty thousand mercenaries in our ranks,” Bergman argued. “Hardly enough to form an assault on Mexico and the SUSA at the same time, even if a large percentage of their troops are becoming sick from the plague.”

  “I know that,” Bottger said. “That is why I intend to hold off on the biological weapon until Perro Loco has taken or is very close to taking Mexico City. Once that has occurred, to hell with him and his troops, we will no longer need them.”

  “What about Osterman’s Army?” Hessner asked.

  “The plan at this point is for her to harass Raines and the SUSA from the north, to divide his attention between her and Mexico. While I don’t plan to bomb the US. itself, the disease will invariably make its way northward once it’s gotten a hold in the SUSA. By that time, Osterman and her Army will likewise be of little use to us. Once the entire continent of North America is reeling under the influence of the plague, I will offer the vaccine on condition I am appointed lifetime ruler of the entire continent.”

  “What is to keep them from going back on their word once they have the vaccine?” Hessner asked. “We can’t possibly hold the entire continent with only twenty thousand men.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” Bottger said, leaning back in his chair and puffing on his cigar. “If there is one thing I’ve found in all my years as a general, it is that there are plenty of people in every country who are willing to switch sides to the winning side in time of war. Just look at the history of World War II, when many of the most idealistic Frenchmen joined the Vichy government and helped Germany rule their conquered country. I have no doubt the SUSA and the U.S. will be little different. I don’t think we’ll have any problem identifying and recruiting men to help us rule, once we’ve attained power.”

  “So, what is our next step?” Bergman asked, stubbing out his cigar in an ashtray.

  “Assign men you know are completely reliable to guard Dr. Krug’s lab and his records,” Bottger said. “I’d suggest you use only men who have been with us from the start, back during the Africa campaign or before.”

  Bergman nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, you must get our men in fighting shape as soon as possible. It is my understanding Perro Loco is going to start his assault on Mexico City within the month. We must be ready to step in as soon as he’s done all the hard work. I want our army amassed on the southern border of the SUSA at the tune the bombings with our plague organism commence, for it will only be a matter of days after that when the SUSA will begin to feel the effects of the plague, and our army must be ready to invade on a moment’s notice.”

  TEN

  Ben Raines stopped for a moment outside the hospital room and tried to rearrange his face into a hopeful expression to replace the sorrowful one it now held.

  He knocked on the door and entered.

  In spite of knowing how sick he was, Ben was still surprised by Dr. Lamar Chase’s pale, drawn face. It had been almost twenty-four hours since Ben’s doctor and longtime friend had had his heart attack while playing golf on the headquarters’ course. This was the first time Chase’s doctors had allowed anyone to visit the ailing physician.

  “Hi, Doc,” Ben called as he entered the room, trying to sound cheerful.

  Lamar rolled his head to the side and smiled wanly at Ben. “Howdy, Ben,” he said, even his voice sounding weak and tired.

  Ben knew the man, who was in his sixties, had been slowing down of late, but he’d had no idea his friend was so sick. He took a chair next to the bed and put his hand on his friend’s arm.

  “So, what happened, old friend?” Ben asked.

  Lamar smiled, and Ben could see some of his old personality shine through.

  “Well, first of all it was hot enough to fry eggs on the greens, and I should’ve known better than to try and play on such a day,” Lamar said. “On the next to the last hole, I hit my ball into a sand trap . . . a really deep bunker. After I hit it out—right next to the pin, by the way—I started to climb out of the bunker and felt like a mule kicked me in the chest.”

  Ben nodded. “Your doctors said it was a minor heart attack.”

  Lamar grimaced. “There ain’t no such thing as a minor heart attack, podna,” he said. “I’m afraid I won’t be much use to you in the upcoming
war with those bastards down in Mexico.”

  “Sure you will, Doc,” Ben tried to reassure him, though he knew he spoke the truth. “The doctors say you’re gonna be fine.”

  Lamar nodded. “Sure, if I take it easy and don’t do anything stupid, like playing golf in a hundred-and-ten-degree heat, or traveling to Mexico where a hundred and ten is considered a nice fall day.”

  “Well,” Ben said, “we’ll make do somehow.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Ben. There’s this new young doctor I want you to assign to take my place. He’s a little green, but I’ve never met a smarter or better all-around doctor.”

  “And just what is this young hotshot’s name?” Ben asked. He knew Lamar was a hard taskmaster, and anyone who got such praise from him had to be the real deal.

  “Larry Buck,” Lamar replied. “He’s top-notch, and not afraid to get in there where the action is if need be. He just got off a tour with the scouts as a field medic.” Lamar smiled grimly. “Said he wanted some field experience with gunshot wounds and such.”

  “Sounds like just the sort of man I need on my team. Have you spoken to him about it?”

  “Yes. As soon as I was out of ICU, I called him on the phone and we talked it over. He’s all for it if you’ll have him.”

  “Doc,” Ben said seriously, “I’ve known you almost twenty years. When was the last time I neglected to take your advice?”

  “When I told you to stay out of the field and give up those hand-rolled cancer sticks of yours.”

  Ben laughed. Doc had indeed told him he was getting too old to be traipsing around the world fighting battles. He’d said it was a younger man’s game. In his heart, Ben knew his old friend was right . . . that he was slowing down as he got older and it would be sooner rather than later when he would finally have to resign himself to doing his generaling from a desk instead of a HumVee in the field.

  “All right, so I still smoke occasionally. But other than that, I’ll take your advice and hire this Dr. Buck on as my team physician and the Surgeon General of the entire command.”