Judgment in the Ashes Read online

  “It’s the truth, sir.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t buy it. I think God has turned away from this fight for a moment or so. And His moments just might be a couple of millennia in length. Colonel, don’t you know what Simon Border is, or has turned into?”

  “Rumors, sir. Just vicious lies, probably spread by your own people. I’m sure of that.”

  Ben sighed patiently. The counter-rumor mill was working from the other side. Well, hell, he had expected that. His people would have done the same thing if conditions had been reversed. Propaganda warfare was just a part of the game called war. He asked the man more questions, received either noncommittal grunts or cold stares for his efforts, then finally called for a guard to take the man back to the holding area.

  Ben leaned back in his chair. So far, it had not been much of a war . . . which suited him just fine. The enemy had taken some hard losses, and the Rebels practically none.

  But Ben had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that all that was about to change. Simon Border, nuts or not, was not the type of individual to keep on taking heavy losses. Besides, Ben knew only too well how fickle the gods of war could be.

  He had a hunch that the Rebel advance was about to hit a snag. Whether they would merely stub their toe or break a leg was something he could not predict, but he had learned never to discount his hunches.

  Corrie walked in, a grim look on her face, and Ben knew his hunch had been correct. “A Rebel patrol sent out by Georgi just got ambushed, boss. Wiped out to the last person. Georgi is roaring like an angry grizzly. It was a group of civilian women and young teenagers, boss. They suckered our people in like bees to honey.”

  “It had to happen,” Ben replied, a sick feeling washing over him. “Simon is pulling out all the stops. Now it’s going to get down and dirty. What kind of pitch did they use to pull our people in?”

  “Sick kids. They begged for Rebel help. You know we’ve never turned down a request for medical aid from civilians.”

  “We’re about to start, Corrie.”

  “This war is getting dirty, boss.”

  “And it’s going to get dirtier. We can throw the rule book out the window now.”

  “What do I tell Georgi?”

  “Tell him to keep his dick in his pants.”

  A faint smile crossed Corrie’s lips.

  “Or words to that effect,” Ben added.

  ELEVEN

  “Scouts report the enemy has laid down mines,” Corrie said to Ben. The column had just pulled out and had been on the road no more than thirty minutes before the radio transmission came in.

  “What type of mine?” Ben asked.

  “All types, boss. From claymores to homemade. Looks like Mike was right on the mark again.”

  Mike Richards had reported that Simon was mass-producing mines in factories all over his territory. And the factories were heavily guarded, with little chance of a guerrilla raid being successful. Many of them were deep in the mountains, underground, thus preventing any type of air attack.

  “Simon’s been planning this for a long time,” Ben replied. “Perhaps even before the Great War. This is not something that was spur of the moment. I’ll give the man credit for that.”

  “Exactly what was this nut before the Great War?” Cooper asked, stopping the big wagon in the center of the road.

  Ben opened the door to step out, then paused. “At first, Coop, most people tended to dismiss him as a fanatic. But his popularity continued to grow. By the time it was discovered that he was actually a dangerous advocate of the ultra-religious right, the war came and he was soon forgotten.”

  Standing on the road, Ben turned to Corrie. “Bump all battalions. Tell them to halt where they are and start checking for mines.”

  Seconds later, a bullet just missed Ben’s head and he hit the cracked old highway and scrambled for the protection of a truck. “Ambush!” he shouted.

  Ben had left his M-14 in the big wagon, not expecting any trouble. He clawed at his holster and pulled out his sidearm just as the lead began flying all around him.

  He heard the whir of turrets and then the boom of the MBTs’ main guns. The high embankment along the side of the road, now all grown up thick with brush, began exploding in a roar of dirt and rock for hundreds of meters along the highway as the high explosive rounds impacted. Broken bodies and various bloody body parts sailed out of the brush to land on the highway with a disgusting thudding sound. Then the heavy machine guns on the tanks opened up, raking the roadside. Ben lay under the big deuce and a half with his team, and watched and waited.

  The barrage ceased and Scouts rushed forward, disappearing into the brush along the side of the road.

  “No other units reporting ambushes,” Corrie said, lying on her belly beside Ben.

  “It’s an isolated thing, then,” Ben replied. “But it might be something that we can look forward to with more and more frequency.”

  A few minutes later a Scout yelled, “Clear!”

  Ben and team crawled out from under the truck, brushing the dust from their BDUs. “Call for air, Corrie. I want the teams clearing the roadway of mines to be protected from snipers . . . as much as possible, that is.”

  “They were civilians, General,” a Scout reported. “As near as we can tell from what’s left of them, that is.” The Scout hesitated.

  “Say it all,” Ben urged.

  “Kids. Young people,” the Scout said. “I’d say they were in their mid to late teens.”

  “Shit!” Ben cussed. “I knew it had to happen. Simon’s had years to brainwash the young.”

  “People accuse us of doing the same thing, sir,” the Scout replied. “But I don’t think I was brainwashed in school.”

  “You weren’t. And we don’t brainwash kids. We just teach them facts, that’s all.”

  Critics of the Tri-States philosophy had long accused Ben of brainwashing the young in schools, but there was no truth to it. The public schools and colleges in the SUSA were the finest in the world, staffed with the best teachers. One of the many reasons for that excellence in education is that the teachers could teach without being in fear of their lives from punks. Another reason was that discipline was strictly enforced in the classroom. Still another reason was the one Ben had stated alongside the road: schools in the SUSA taught fact, not myth and half-truths.

  Hardline liberals hated that.

  Simon’s people could and did slow the columns, but they didn’t stop the Rebel advance. And Ben knew that Simon didn’t have the production capability to produce enough mines to lay on every road heading north. Two days and ten slow miles later, the mines ceased to plague the columns and the Rebels surged forward. There had been no more ambushes.

  All columns reported passing through towns filled with sour-faced people, but there had been no hostile acts from Border’s supporters against the columns. Just hard and unfriendly looks from men and women and children.

  “They hate us,” Anna remarked, as she stared back at a young woman who had just made an obscene hand gesture at Ben’s vehicle. Beth returned the hand gesture two-fold.

  Ben hid his smile at the reflection of the usually stoical Beth flipping the civilian two birds. “You’ll get used to it Anna. Our philosophy is not well-loved outside the SUSA.”

  “Only proves the world is filled with very stupid and shallow-minded people,” the girl replied.

  “Many people don’t like change,” Ben told her. “They tend to cling to old beliefs even though they’ve been proven not to work.”

  “Proves my point,” Anna said. Anna was not one to give up easily, and Ben had discovered that the girl usually got in the last word.

  Ben sighed and dropped the subject. “How far to Santa Maria, Beth?”

  “We should reach it early tomorrow morning. Scouts report it’s full of Border supporters. But so far they have not made a hostile move, and don’t appear to be set up for a fight.”

  “That means we’d better be damned careful,” Ben said, without turning around in the seat. “I don’t trust any of these people who embrace the philosophy of Simon Border.”

  “The townspeople have a lot of kids, boss. Many of them are sick.”

  Ben sighed again. There it was. “What kind of sickness?”

  “Childhood diseases, mostly. They’ve never received any type of immunization. Most of the children were born long after the Great War.”

  “Wonderful,” Ben said sarcastically. “Have they asked for our help?”

  “Sort of,” Corrie replied.

  “Whatever that means,” Ben muttered.

  “They haven’t come right out and asked for our help, General,” a Rebel officer told Ben. “But I have a feeling they wouldn’t refuse it if we offered.”

  The long column had stopped on the southern edge of the town of Santa Maria.

  “Then we’ll offer it, in a roundabout way. Have the MASH tents set up, Captain, and tell the doctors to get ready to receive patients. We’ll see what happens.”

  Nothing at first, then, a few at a time, women began bringing their children in to see the doctors.

  “There is no serious outbreak of anything,” a doctor said to Ben. “Which is surprising when you consider that these kids have never been immunized against anything. Dr. Chase has ordered vaccines flown in from Base Camp One.”

  “Why not?” Ben questioned sarcastically. “We might as well take care of the whole goddamn world. For the rest of the world seems incapable of taking care of itself.”

  The doctor smiled and walked away, back to his MASH tent. The lines had grown longer, and not just women with children: grown men were beginning to gather, seeking medical aid.

  “No sign of weapons, so far,” Jersey commented, standing with Ben out
side his mobile CP.

  “Why should there be weapons?” the voice came from behind Ben and Jersey. They turned to face a clean-shaven, neatly dressed middle-aged man. “We’re farmers and sheep-herders and weavers, not warriors.”

  “Your name?”

  “Charles Emerson. I’m the leader of this group of people.”

  “I’m surprised you would speak to the likes of me, Mr. Emerson,” Ben said with a smile. “I’m the great Satan. Haven’t you heard?”

  “Horseshit! You’re no more Satan than I am.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Let’s put it this way: I don’t buy most of that verbal crap Simon Border spews, either.”

  Ben laughed. “Now I am confused.”

  “I was here before Simon enticed his so-called ‘flock’ to come here. I saw no reason to leave.”

  “You don’t attend his church?”

  “Hell, no! I wouldn’t put up with that mindless drivel if you held a gun to my head.”

  Ben chuckled at the expression on the man’s face. He waved a hand. “The rest of these people?”

  “Most of them pay Simon lip service, that’s all. Out of the five hundred or so people here in this community, perhaps, oh, fifty actually are followers of Simon Border. We really didn’t know what sort of treatment we would receive from you people.”

  “We’re generally pretty friendly until someone starts shooting at us,” Ben said, waving the man to a camp chair. Jersey stood off to one side, the muzzle of her CAR not pointed directly at Emerson, but at the ready. “Where are those supporters of Border?”

  “They ran away. To join other supporters in a couple of tiny towns to the east and south of us.”

  “Then they’ll run smack into Ike McGowan and his 2 Batt. You’re probably seen the last of them.”

  The man gave Ben a long stare. “What if they offer no resistance, General?”

  “They’ll be disarmed and left alive. We can’t have armed resistance nipping at our rear, Charles.”

  “We have guns in this community, General. Most of us are armed. Are you going to take them from us?”

  “You haven’t been hostile toward us. Yet,” he added.

  The civilian caught the “yet,” and smiled. “General, the mountain lion has made quite a comeback in the mountains, as has the bear. They don’t give us much trouble, but we like to be prepared when they do.”

  “Can’t blame you for that. How about the punks?”

  “They used to give us more trouble than the puma and the bear.” He laughed. “Of course, that was before they ‘saw the light’ so to speak, and embraced Simon Border as Lord on Earth.”

  “And you believe that, Charles?”

  “Hell, no. I’m not saying that punks can’t change; stranger things have happened, I’m sure. It’s just that the gangs that used to prowl around here are totally beyond redemption.”

  “I totally agree with you, Charles.” Ben was smiling, but in his head, every invisible alarm bell he possessed was ringing and dinging and donging out a warning. Charles Emerson was not only just too good to be true, but Ben was certain the man was lying through his teeth.

  The whole community was one great big trap. While he and Charles had been talking, Ben had received several hand signals from Rebels indicating a trap and to be ready. Cutting his eyes to Jersey, Ben knew she had picked up on the silent signals and was ready.

  “Well, Mr. Emerson,” Ben said, careful to keep his face expressionless and his voice bland. “I’ll level with you: we have absolutely no intention of disarming you or any of your people.”

  “I’m real glad to hear that, General. Trust is a wonderful thing, isn’t it.”

  “It certainly is, Mr. Emerson.”

  “Mr. Emerson is so formal. Why don’t you call me Charles.”

  “I’ll do that, Charles. Tell me, what are your plans?”

  “Why . . . to live quietly and peacefully, General. How does the old saying go? To build a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man?”

  “Something like that, Charles.” Although I think it reads: To live in my house . . .

  Ben didn’t think this was the time or place to be correcting anyone on misquotes.

  A Scout strolled up. Just a little too nonchalantly, Ben thought. He handed Ben a slip of paper. “Message from General Philpot, sir.”

  Ben hid his smile as he took the message. There was no General Philpot in the Rebel army. “Thank you. Excuse me, Charles.”

  “Certainly, General.”

  Ben opened the folded paper and read: “IT’S A TRAP. WOMEN ARE CARRYING ARMS UNDER THEIR LOOSE CLOTHING. TEENAGERS ARE ARMED AS WELL. SEVERAL GROUPS OF MEN ARE SLIPPING IN, ATTEMPTING TO SURROUND THE TOWN.”

  Ben looked up at the Scout. “Radio General Philpot that I am well aware of the situation, son. Tell him that we are ready for any eventuality.”

  The Scout smiled very faintly. “Yes, sir. I told Colonel Jersey that I thought you were on top of the situation but he insisted you be reminded.”

  “Yes. Tell Colonel Jersey I said thanks.”

  “Right, sir.” The Scout turned and strolled away.

  “Trouble, General?” Emerson asked.

  “Oh, no, Charles. Just a matter of logistics, that’s all.”

  “Glad to hear it. Say, General, I have an idea. My wife is a real good cook. Why don’t you come over to our house for some food? She’d be tickled pink to have you and she puts out quite a spread.”

  “What a good idea. I’m honored. Yes, indeed. Honored is the word. But I couldn’t unless my team is invited. Six of us might be too many.” Ben hid his grimace, thinking: If I had written dialogue this lousy years back my editor would have sent it back for rewrite with a nasty little note.

  “Oh, not at all, General! Oh, my, no. The more the merrier, they say.”

  “Well, then, sure, Charles. Why don’t we do that. I’m sure in the mood for a good home-cooked meal.”

  Charles stood up. “Come on, General. It’s not far. I’ll lead the way.”

  Ben rose to his boots, picking up his M-14. “I’ll follow you, Charles.”

  “This way, sir.”

  Ben’s team had been slowly gathering around, and they followed Ben. Anna’s eyes were glinting with a savage light. Cooper had slipped a few more grenades into a side pocket of his field jacket. Jersey’s expression was one of amusement. Beth had silently slipped her CAR off safety. And Corrie, with her back to Charles and Ben, had been whispering into her mic.

  “You’re sure this won’t be an inconvenience, Charles?”

  “Oh, no, not at all, General. My wife just loves company.”

  I hope she likes surprises, Ben thought. ’Cause she’s damn sure about to get one . . . her last one, probably.

  “Hi, Pete,” Jersey spoke to a Rebel whose name was Chuck.

  “Hi, Gladys,” Chuck replied.

  Again, Ben hid a smile. You can grab your partner and walk out onto the dance floor anytime you like, Charles, he thought. We’re ready to strike up the band.

  Ben passed by Lieutenant Hardin and nodded. “Everything all right, Lt. Wilson?”

  “Ah . . . yes, sir,” Hardin replied. “Everything is A-Okay. Sitting on ready.”

  “That’s good, Lieutenant.”

  As they strolled along, Ben, looking around, thought: Well, it is a pretty little town. At least what I’ve seen of it. He sighed. Might as well get the show on the road. “Oh, Charles,” he said.

  “Yes, General?”

  “You’re a goddamned liar, Charles. But a pretty good actor. You ready to start this little war?”

  Charles stopped, his back to Ben. Ben watched as his right elbow bent. Going for a pistol tucked under his shirt. “Why, I don’t know what you mean, General.”

  A brick home was just a dozen yards away, to their right. Ben nodded his head in that direction and Jersey said, “We got it, boss Anytime you’re ready.”

  “Have you said your prayers, Charles?” Ben asked. “For you are standing closer to death than you have ever stood.”

  “What gave us away, General?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  Charles Emerson whirled around, a pistol in his right hand and his face dark with fury. Ben shot him in the belly, the heavy rounds from the old Thunder Lizard knocking the man off his feet and sending him sprawling on the sidewalk.