Judgment in the Ashes Page 8

  Beth looked up. “Damn! The artillery barrage. It’s stopped. That’s what’s the matter. We’ve grown so accustomed to it I didn’t even notice.”

  “Get ready,” Ben said. “Everybody in body armor. Button up.”

  The sounds of small arms fire reached the group.

  “It’s started,” Ben said. “Now our work begins.”

  “Jesus H. Christ!” Jersey breathed the words.

  “The fools didn’t even dig bunkers,” Beth said.

  It was carnage any direction one chose to look. Bodies and pieces of bodies littered the ground. Smoke from fires started by incendiary rounds clung close to the earth in the early morning hours.

  “Plenty of courage, but damn little military know-how,” Ben summed it up.

  “Intelligence with the first wave estimates about twenty thousand dead,” Corrie said, after acknowledging a transmission. “Our artillery caught them flat-footed.”

  “I don’t understand these people,” Beth said, staring at a severed hand still clutching an M-16. “Are they all crazy?”

  “They’re digging in, preparing to make another stand in the old national forests north of the city,” Corrie informed the group.

  “I thought they would,” Ben spoke quietly. “Well, we have to dig them out. The commanders are probably hoping we’ll bypass them and leave them at our backs. They’re wrong.”

  Corrie waited for orders to transmit.

  “Get trucks and tanks with scrapers up here,” Ben said. “Scoop out mass graves. This many bodies left to rot would create somewhat of a health hazard.” After Corrie had transmitted the orders, Ben said, “Prisoners?”

  “Being interrogated now. But there aren’t that many. Most chose death over surrender.”

  “Let’s go see them.”

  A few miles to the east, Ben spoke to an intelligence officer. “What are you getting out of them?”

  “Very little, sir. And I think the reason for that is, they don’t know anything. Their commanders are deliberately leaving them in the dark.”

  “That’s the first smart thing Simon’s people have done,” Ben said. “How many officers did we take?”

  “Only a handful. And nothing above company commanders. Their ranking officers either bugged out, or were never on the front lines.”

  Ben was silent for a moment. “And what does that tell you, Captain?”

  “I, ah, don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  “I think it means that Simon is suffering from a shortage of experienced officers. He’s got plenty of volunteers, plenty of cannon fodder, but damn few men to lead them. Take that tack when questioning them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Away from the prisoners, Ben told Corrie, “Bump Ike and the other batt coms. See if they captured any ranking officers. I’ll wager they didn’t.”

  That took Corrie only a few moments. “Nothing above a captain, boss,” she reported.

  “That’s what I figured.” Ben smiled. “Simon’s got himself a real problem: no leadership. We’ve had years to develop officers, years of actual combat experience around the world. Simon had to start from scratch and he’s hurting in that department.”

  “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak,” Anna stated softly.

  “Something like that, dear,” Ben said. “Corrie, get me aerial recon of the national forests. Let’s see where the enemy is concentrated.”

  “All over the damn place,” Ben muttered, after studying just-delivered photos of the national forests. He straightened up with a sigh of relief and removed his reading glasses, then rubbed his eyes, tired from hours of close work.

  Simon’s army was huge, that was for certain. Mike Richards had finally radioed in, confirming that Simon had reserves waiting to throw at Ben that numbered in the thousands and thousands. And since the militia people who were helping to protest Ben’s eastern flank were not nearly so well equipped as the Rebels, Simon could probably bust through anywhere along that line anytime he chose to do so. The one thing Ben had on his side was winter. Up north, winter was closing in fast; up along the Canadian border, snow was already piling up, closing the roads at least temporarily.

  “Our front is hundreds of miles long,” Ben muttered, throwing a pencil on the tabletop. “Too damn long.”

  The Rebels had no more tanks and heavy artillery to send to their militia allies, who were spread thin from the Canadian border down to Kansas, and seventy-five percent of Ben’s reserve had to remain back at Base Camp One. The SUSA must be protected at all costs.

  And Ben also knew that the vast majority of the people living outside of the SUSA, while most had no great love for that goofball Simon Border, had even less love for Ben Raines and his Rebels and their political philosophy. Ben could count on no help from that quarter.

  Except for a few thousand militia allies, Ben and his Rebels were in this fight alone.

  As usual.

  What else was new?

  Ben picked up the other just-decoded report he had received and re-read it. The Nazi, Bruno Bottger, had succeeded in setting up dozens of cells of supporters all over what used to be known as the United States, even in Simon Border’s territory, right under the man’s nose . . . the thought of which brought to Ben’s mind a perverted sort of amusement.

  But the amusement was very fleeting.

  Ben had no troops to spare to combat the growing number of Nazi supporters and he could see no way to prevent Bruno’s people from spreading their hate and filth across those areas where cells were in place. At least not until he had dealt with Simon Border and his forces.

  “Ike on the horn,” Corrie broke into his thoughts.

  Ben took the mic. “Go, Shark.”

  “What’s the scoop on dealing with the hostiles in the woods, Ben?”

  “I’m open to suggestion.”

  “I guess we’re going to have to go in and flush them out. We lay down artillery in there and we’ll have fires burning for months.”

  “What do your people think about it?”

  “Rarin’ to go, Ben.”

  “The others feel the same?”

  “All the way.”

  “All right, Ike. I’ll get back to you in a few hours.”

  Ben walked outside his mobile HQ and stood for a moment, staring toward the north. Like ant commander, Ben hated to lose troops, but like any commander, he knew it was inevitable. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  If they went in those brush-overgrown forests to flush out Simon’s troops, a lot of Rebels were going to be hurt and killed.

  But Ben couldn’t see where he had any choice in the matter.

  He heard bootsteps coming up behind him. He turned. Corrie was standing there. “All right, Corrie,” Ben’s words were almost a whisper. “Bump all batt coms involved. We’re going in.”

  TEN

  Ben had shifted his 1 Batt west over to the Santa Ynez Mountains. Ike had pulled his 2 Batt over to Santa Barbara, Dan west to Ventura, and the rest of the battalions shifting west to fill up the gaps in the front. There had been a lot of rain during the year, and the vegetation was lush, the forests green, and the underbrush thick.

  “It’s gonna be a son of a bitch,” Cooper muttered, looking at a map outlining the area from Santa Maria east to Palm Springs.

  “It is that, Coop,” Ben agreed. “And we get the Sierra Madre Mountains.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Anna said impatiently.

  “Keep your pants on, kid,” her adopted father told her. “Literally and figuratively,” Ben muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat. “They’ll be plenty of action to go around.”

  “Scouts reporting the heaviest troop build-ups are to the east,” Corrie said.

  “Crap!” Anna muttered.

  “Those ranges are much more heavily wooded,” Beth said, quickly consulting a well-worn and tattered tourist guide of Southern California and its mountain ranges.

  “What’s the word on our objective?” Ben tossed the question out.

  “Very light resistance,” Corrie said. “Scouts have penetrated several miles into the range and reported only scattered fighting. Nothing they couldn’t handle.”

  “Prisoners?”

  “Just a handful. The enemy keeps pulling back. They act as though they don’t want to fight.”

  “They’re trying to sucker us into something,” Ben said. “Get me the latest aerial recon photos. We may have run up against a field commander with some combat experience.”

  But the aerial photos showed nothing out of the ordinary. Still, Ben was suspicious; something was nagging at the back of his mind. He had spent too many years in combat to be easily suckered into a trap.

  “What’s highway 101 look like?”

  “Clear, for the most part. It’s in bad shape, but Scouts report it’s passable, if we take it slow.”

  “This town, Santa Maria, how about it?”

  “About forty-five thousand before the Great War. We tore it up pretty good last time we were here. There shouldn’t be much left.”

  “Well, then, where in the hell are Simon’s settlements?” Ben asked. “We have yet to find one of any size, and damn few of those.”

  “Colorado, Oregon, Washington, North California, Nebraska, Western Kansas, parts of Idaho . . .”

  “I get the point, Beth. Everywhere but here.”

  “That’s about the size of it, boss.”

  “Well, we know for a fact the cities have creepies in them, and they’ve made a deal with Simon, so I can understand why no one would want to live close to those stinking, cannibalistic bastards.”

  “Says here that Santa Maria was good wine country,” Beth read from the brochure.

  That perked Cooper right up. “You don’t suppose
. . .”

  “No, Coop,” Jersey interrupted. “Sorry. We stole it all last time.”

  “Boss,” Corrie said. “We’ve got to get off the main highway just up ahead. We blew all the bridges last time around, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember, Corrie. And that is going to slow us down to a crawl.”

  “If we get any slower than we are right now, we might as well get out and walk,” Cooper bitched.

  “We’ll be doing some of that before it’s over, too, Coop,” Ben said.

  “Message coming in from the Scouts,” Corrie said. “Hold on. She listened for a moment, then said, “Scouts say Simon’s people won’t stand and fight. They exchange a few shots, and then keep pulling back.”

  Ben was thoughtful for a moment, then his face saddened. He didn’t want to do it, but felt he had no choice. “Tell the Scouts not to advance any further. They’re being suckered into something. Call for artillery to get in place, anchor down, and get ready, Corrie. I hate to do it, but I won’t lose people needlessly. Advise all batt coms of my decision and have them follow suit.

  “Shit!” Ben said.

  The Scouts cut it close, vacating the area about half an hour before the artillery opened up. But Simon’s people bought the ruse and were still shooting at what they thought were Rebel positions when the artillery came crashing in.

  Just before the barrage began, Ben shifted his 1 Batt west, as far as the highway would permit, over to the small town of Las Cruces, just south and somewhat east of Lompoc, right on the edge of the western boundaries of the Santa Ynez mountains. There they sat out the barrage and waited to confront any retreating members of Simon’s army.

  It was not a long wait.

  The first group numbered an even dozen. They almost walked right into Ben and his team, freezing motionless when they realized what they had done, for they had not expected the small town to be occupied by Rebels.

  “Morning, boys and girls,” Ben told the mixed group of men and women. “Put your weapons on the ground, or die where you stand. The choice is yours.”

  A dozen rifles clattered on the street.

  Grim-faced Rebels seemed to spring silently out of nowhere, completely surrounding the small band of fleeing enemy soldiers. Eight men and four women exchanged disgusted glances, those expressions quickly changing to ones of submission.

  “The Lord will punish you for this, General Raines,” a woman said, instantly recognizing the man clad in old French lizard camo BDUs.

  “I don’t think the Lord is paying much attention to this conflict, lady,” Ben replied. “I think He’s got better things to do.”

  “God is on our side,” a man badly in need of a shave and a haircut popped off. “The Lord God hates a sinner.”

  “Pardon me,” Ben said with a smile. “But I thought that read God loves the sinner but hates the sin?”

  Another in the group began cursing Ben, really slinging the profanity around.

  “Oh, my,” Beth said mockingly. “Tsk, tsk. Now that really isn’t nice.”

  “How un-Christian of you,” Jersey said. “Just remember what Joan of Arc said before she died.”

  “You whore of the devil!” another prisoner shouted at the diminutive Jersey.

  “What did Joan of Arc say?” yet another man asked, stepping right into Jersey’s verbal trap.

  “She said, ‘Shit, I wish it would rain!’”

  Ben could not hide his amusement at the expression on the prisoner’s face as his team broke up with laughter.

  “You filthy blasphemous slut!” the questioner shouted.

  “How dare you allow the holy name of Joan of Arc to pass your evil lips?” a woman prisoner yelled.

  “Oh, fuck you, lady!” Jersey replied.

  Ben cut his eyes just as Ike’s HumVee drove up and the ex-SEAL jumped out. Or rather, sort of rolled out. Ike was picking up a little weight lately; the man actually seemed to thrive on field rations.

  “Have you considered switching to a large truck, Ike?” Ben asked with a smile. “Maybe put a comfortable chair in the bed? That might make it somewhat easier for you to get in and out.”

  “Very funny, Ben,” Ike said. “Hysterical.” He looked at the knot of prisoners, sitting on the road. “You get anything out of them?”

  “No. Haven’t tried. We’ve just been exchanging a few pleasantries.”

  “Son of the devil!” another prisoner yelled at Ben.

  “Yeah, I can see how well y’all been gettin’ along,” Ike drawled. “I can just feel all the love flowing.”

  One of the prisoners suddenly jumped at Ike, knocking the burly ex-SEAL sprawling and cussing. Another leaped at Cooper and landed a lucky punch, knocking Ben’s driver flat on his butt. Then everybody was mixing it up and no one dared fire a shot for fear of hitting one of their own.

  One of the women jumped on Ben’s back and rode him to the ground, pummeling him with hard fists. Ben tossed the woman to the ground, then just as she was getting to her knees, popped her on the jaw and returned her to the ground, stunned.

  The fight had turned into a real brawl, as other Rebels joined in, fists swinging.

  Jersey had squared off with the woman who had made some disparaging remarks about her and the two were exchanging blows, Jersey getting the better of the other woman.

  Cooper had gotten to his boots, his mouth bloody, and was busy giving the man who had hit him a fast and furious combination of lefts and rights. The eyes of the man on the receiving end were beginning to glaze over.

  Another group of about two dozen prisoners were being led into the area just as the fight broke out. The new prisoners spotted what was happening and broke away from their guards and ran to join in the fracas. The Rebels guarding them couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting other Rebels.

  “Aw, shit!” one Rebel sergeant yelled, and tossed down his weapon and jumped right in the middle of the fight, landing on a man’s back. They rolled on the ground, cussing and punching each other.

  Anna squared off, briefly, with one stocky man. He made the mistake of calling her a whore and she kicked him between the legs, the toe of her boot connecting solidly with his nuts. He turned chalk-white, howled in pain, and hit the ground and stayed there, both hands between his legs.

  Ben found himself face to face with a man with a red face and a wild glint in his eyes. “Satan himself!” the man yelled. “I’m facing the devil.”

  “Oh, screw you,” Ben said, and popped the man on the nose with a hard right fist. The blood spurted and the man yelped, putting both hands to his busted and bleeding beak. Ben set both feet and slugged the man on the jaw. The prisoner’s eyes glazed over and he hit the ground, not unconscious, but definitely out of the fight for a few minutes.

  The fight ended abruptly when a Rebel officer lifted his M-16 and let go with a full magazine. He didn’t hit anything but air, but he did stop the fight.

  Ben had a fistful of a man’s shirt and his right fist drawn back, ready to pop the brawler on the snoot with a hard left. He turned the man loose and the man sank to his knees, his mouth bloody from Ben’s fists.

  A dozen Rebels ran into the mob, pushing and shoving prisoners back. Lieutenant Hardin came rushing up to Ben. He looked at Ben’s face. Ben had a cut over one eye, a bruise on the side of his face, and his mouth was bloody.

  “My God, General!” the young lieutenant blurted. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Just ducky,” Ben said, then grinned. “Damn, but that was fun!” he shouted the words.

  Lieutenant Hardin stared at Ben for a moment, then slowly shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t think he would ever understand the general.

  “So you people thought you could sucker us into an ambush?” Ben asked the older man, who wore the insignia of a bird colonel.

  “It almost worked,” the prisoner said, a very smug smile on his lips.

  “It never came close to working,” Ben verbally shot him down.

  The smile on the man’s face slowly faded and a look of discouragement and resignation took its place, He stared at Ben for a moment. Ben’s face was bruised in a couple of places, but other than that, he seemed fine. As a matter of fact, the general seemed almost happy, and the prisoner really didn’t understand why he should. “God is on our side, sir,” he finally stated.

  “Oh, bullshit, Colonel!” Ben lashed out. “All you religious fanatics spout the same line of dogma. Can’t you at least come up with something more original?”