Factories began working around the clock, seven days a week now. Ben had personally visited the lab and nutrition people and told them in no uncertain terms that they had better start producing a field ration that tasted good, because if they didn’t his next visit was going to be goddamned unpleasant.
Furthermore, he added, “This highly nutritious and vitamin-packed crap you people have been turning out tastes like boiled camel shit smells! Whatever you have left of it, destroy it and the recipe for it!”
The lab people got the message, loud and clear.
Ben gathered his team at his house one evening for hamburgers, beer, some conversation, and one last peaceful gathering before they hit the road.
“Cooper,” Ben said as he turned hamburger patties on the outside grill, “our transportation ready to roll?”
“Serviced and sittin’ on ready, Boss. When do we pull out?”
“Day after tomorrow, oh five hundred.”
Cooper looked at Jersey and smiled. “That’s five bucks you owe me.”
“What’s this about?” Ben asked him.
“Scuttlebutt had it we’d pull out day after tomorrow at dawn. Jersey bet me it was wrong.”
Ben cut his eyes to Jersey. “You’re losing your touch, Little Bit.”
She shrugged. “I have to let him win every now and then. If I don’t, he pouts.”
There wasn’t a lot of kidding or horseplay among the team members that evening, and that didn’t come as any surprise to Ben. He was sure he knew exactly how each member felt, for he felt the same way: none of them were happy about the upcoming war against other Americans, with the possible exception of Anna. There was a lot of hate in her for the FPPS, and Ben certainly could not blame her for the way she felt. Anna had been raped several times during her time with those rogue agents.
Ben did not like to think about what might happen to any FPPS agent that Anna took captive. Unless he was there to intervene it would be unpleasant. He was sure of that.
Just before the gathering broke up early that evening, Ben told his team, “Gear up, people. I’ll see you all in about thirty-six hours.”
The team helped Ben clean up, and then left. Ben fixed a cup of coffee and sat on his porch, watching the neighborhood kids finish their playing for that day in the waning moments of summer daylight; soon their parents would be calling them in for baths before bedtime.
In the SUSA parents were not afraid to allow their children to play outside. In all of the SUSA, child molestation was almost unheard of. Molesting a child in the SUSA was one sure way for a pervert to guarantee himself a very short life. Punishment for molesting a child was certain to be very quick and very final. There were no mutterings of psychiatrists about how the pervert’s psyche had been bruised as a child because his mother had been frightened by a catfish . . . or some other such blathering bullshit as was so often allowed in courts outside the SUSA.
A couple of neighborhood kids rode their bicycles past Ben’s house and waved and called a greeting. Ben smiled and waved at the kids. It was a tranquil scene. Something right out of Norman Rockwell, Ben thought as he drank his coffee and listened to the sounds of kids at play.
And why not? he silently questioned. Isn’t this the way it’s supposed to be: A neighborhood where kids can play safely and parents can allow them to play without worry? A neighborhood made up of individuals, each person with his own likes and dislikes about TV programs and reading material and music, people who agree—for the most part—on law and order, and right and wrong, and morals and values and honor?
“It’s damn sure worth fighting to preserve,” Ben muttered. He drank his coffee and went into his house to watch some television, but there was nothing on that he cared to see. He looked over his selection of video tapes and couldn’t find anything that piqued his interest, either.
“Well, to hell with it,” Ben muttered. He was just about to call it a day and go to bed when his phone rang.
“Ben,” Cece said, “the Federals have broken through our lines and crossed the border in three places. You’d better get down to the ready room, right now.”
“On my way.”
Ben beeped Corrie. “Get the team together and out to the airport. Stand by to travel. Have Coop get the wagon ready. I’ll be in the ready room with Cecil and Ike.”
Ike was staring at a huge wall map of North America when Ben walked in. Ike turned to face him.
“Ben,” drawled the Mississippi born Ike. “The Federals busted through in my sector right up here in this little bitty corner where New Mexico and Oklahoma meet. They spread out all over this grassland area here, and are pushing the Home Guard back. Regular troops are still not in there. It’ll be several more days before they can plug the hole.”
“And in my sector?” Ben asked, walking over to the map, his face grim and set in anger.
Ike thumped the map. “Central Tennessee, and up here in Western Virginia. They poured across in Tennessee. Intel says they must have been coming in small groups for days, as civilians. Ben, we’re so goddamned spread out we can’t rely on intel anymore. It either comes in too late, or doesn’t come in at all.”
“I know, Ike, I know. We’ve got a couple of thousand miles of border to protect.”
Ben traced the long border with a finger. “But they’ve got the same thing to protect with a lot of green troops. And there is this: many of the residents of the USA are just not going to fight. They don’t have anything to fight with. The government up there has outlawed militias and taken away the citizens’ firearms, and a very large percentage of those chickenshit liberals who chose to live up there are just too damned yellow to fight. They want somebody else to do their fighting for them.”
“We’ll get these holes plugged when all the Home Guard gets mobilized and in place.”
“We don’t have time for that, Ike,” Ben told him. “Get all our fighters and bombers and gunships in the air, and tell them to get ready to go to work.”
Ben turned to Cecil. “Cece, I’ve got an idea. Have you a line to Madame President Osterman?”
“Oh, yes. One has been established.”
“I would appreciate it if you would give that bitch a bump and warn her that the consequences will be dire if she continues to push this war.”
“I’ll do that, Ben.” Cecil smiled. “Buying a little time, are we, Ben?”
Ben returned the smile. “You better believe it, ole’ buddy. I sure am. The longer we can stall that socialistic feminazi the better off we’ll be.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“I’ve got troops moving as fast as is humanly possible, Ben,” Ike said.
“If we can stall Madame President for three days we’ll be in place. Just three days.”
Ike grinned at Cecil. “Cece, you could always offer to fuck her.”
Cecil suddenly looked as though he was about to barf. Ben was still laughing as he walked out of the office.
Twenty-nine
The scene beneath them was peaceful as the big cargo planes roared north to a Rebel base in Southern Tennessee. The fields thousands of feet below looked fresh and green in the early summer.
Ben had been unusually silent during the flight from Base Camp One, and his team had not made any attempt to break into his thoughts. For all his worldwide reputation as a warrior Ben had thought of and rejected a dozen or more ways to possibly avoid a war that was sure to tear the nation apart.
The terms that Madame President Osterman wanted above all else were ones that Ben would not even consider: surrender and the dissolution of the SUSA.
Ben could see no way that a civil war between the SUSA and the USA could be avoided.
“ETA thirty minutes, General.” The words crackled through Ben’s headset.
Ben unbuckled and walked back to where his team was sitting. The huge cargo plane was carrying Ben’s personal vehicle, tons of supplies, and a platoon from Ben’s 501 Brigade.
“Coop, as soon as we touch down we
’re heading straight for the front lines,” Ben said.
“OK, Boss,” Ben’s driver acknowledged.
“Corrie, has there been any word from any of the other hot spots?”
“Nothing, Boss.”
“Word from Cecil?”
She shook her head.
Ben nodded and returned to his seat. Just moments before Ben’s plane took off from Base Camp One, Cecil had informed him that Osterman had agreed to a seventy-two hour cease-fire during which representatives from both governments would meet to discuss the main sticking points between the two sides.
Osterman had inquired if General Raines would be present at the talks.
She was informed that he would not.
“Good,” she had replied. “Just the sight of that man makes me nauseated.”
When Ben had been informed of her comment, the lone reporter Ben would allow anywhere near him decided immediately that it would be best Ben’s reply not be printed.
Cooper pointed the nose of the big, nine-passenger wagon north, and within a couple of hours after landing he was facing the Federals’ front lines, about a thousand meters away, studying the situation through binoculars.
Ben lowered the long lenses, turning to the colonel commanding the battalion of the Home Guard assigned to this sector. “Looks good. Looks real good. You hold for seventy-two more hours, Colonel, while the cease-fire is in effect, just three more days, and by the time it’s over you and your people can fall back for a much deserved rest and perhaps see your families for a time.”
“That would be wonderful. I’ll tell the troops. Oh, we’ll hold, General. You can count on us.” He smiled. “Although some of my people are getting a bit long in the tooth for this sort of thing.”
Ben chuckled softly. He could empathize with the colonel’s remarks . . . at least to some small degree. His own close-cropped hair was almost all iron-gray now, with only a few specks of brown, not at all unattractive on him. “I understand that, Colonel. I’m sure as hell no young strutting rooster anymore, myself. But your people are doing one hell of a job. If I could, I’d shake every hand here and personally congratulate them.”
“I’ll pass that word along, General. It’ll sure tickle my people to know you said it.”
“Let’s see the lines, Colonel.”
The battalion commander was momentarily startled. “Ah . . . all of them, General?”
“All of them, Colonel. Every inch of the lines from west to east.”
“They stretch for miles, General,” the colonel said doubtfully.
“We have time,” Ben replied with a smile.
“Would you like to rest for a while first, General?”
“No.”
“Something to eat, perhaps?”
“No.”
“All right, General. We’ll check out the lines.” He smiled. “All fifty or so miles of them.”
By the end of the first day at the front, Ben had not been able to see all of the miles long front, but he had seen enough to know the Home Guard, the militias, and the few reserves that he’d managed to get into place were in good shape, both in equipment and in spirit.
They were ready for anything the Federals might decide to throw at them.
“Osterman certainly has nuclear capabilities,” the colonel said.
“She won’t use them,” Ben replied. “For one thing, the Rebels are so spread out the nukes would mostly kill civilians. As much as Osterman hates me, she won’t be responsible for the killing of innocent civilians . . . at least, I don’t think she will.”
“Personally, I think the woman’s crazy.”
“Oh, no, Colonel,” Ben corrected. “She’s not crazy. Not in the least. But she is a democrat/socialist, and to their way of thinking that means they’re one hundred percent right about all things and there is no room for compromise. You’re close enough to my age to remember all the squabbling the old Democrat and Republican parties used to have. They usually managed to hammer things out . . . eventually. Then, only a few years before the collapse and the Great War, it seemed to all go to shit. The Democrats changed, their philosophy becoming more hard-line socialism and new world order. Open borders and go easy on criminals. It’s not pure socialism. It’s a unique form of socialism that belongs solely to the democrat/socialist party.” Ben waved a hand and grimaced. “Ah, what the hell? It’s all moot now. The old Republican party has all but been outlawed, the democrat/socialists are firmly in power, and the nation is split. So here we are.”
“Facing the fight of our lives.”
“I think you’re right in saying that, Colonel. Win, lose, or draw, the nation will never be the same after the last shot is fired. Not this time.”
“But we will win, won’t we, General? You don’t have any doubts about that, do you?”
“Oh, we’ll win, Colonel. No, I really have no doubts about that. What I’m wondering is what we’ll win after the last shot is fired.”
“I don’t follow you, General.”
“What will be left, Colonel?”
“Why . . . the SUSA, General.”
“And a completely, totally, utterly devastated neighbor to the north. Factories and highways and newly rebuilt bridges and office buildings destroyed. Lives turned upside down and fresh careers gone. And to make matters worse, the residents filled with hate toward the SUSA.”
“General Raines, the USA has at least five times the population of the SUSA . . . probably more than that. They could easily field five times our number.”
“But they won’t, Colonel. Liberals abhor war. They hate guns. Violence sickens them. They don’t want to fight. They want somebody else to do their fighting. Look what’s been done recently—they’ve scrapped the Star Spangled Banner as the national anthem because they didn’t like ‘bombs bursting in the air’ and other lines that they say glorify war. They’re now squabbling among themselves trying to pick a song that’s ‘soft and pretty.’ Patriotism is “old hat” in the USA. Frowned upon. There is no God. No Divine Being. No Higher Power. Liberals are far too intelligent to believe in such nonsense as that. They’ve lost their direction. And they’ll lose this war. And in a manner of speaking, so will we. The USA will lose many material things, but they can’t lose their faith, Colonel, because the majority of them don’t have any. At least, we will never lose our faith.”
“I understand what you’re saying, General.”
Ben smiled. “Good, Colonel. Now let’s head back and get some chow. I’m hungry.”
The Rebel buildup of troops and supplies continued around the clock for the next three days. Bridges along the border were wired to be blown electronically. Thousands of deadly mines were laid. Since the Rebels were always prepared for a fight, depots around the SUSA were already filled to capacity with millions of rounds of ammunition, weapons, rockets, mines, grenades, spare parts, clothing and boots, medical supplies, and everything else the Rebels would need for a sustained fight.
With just a few hours to go before the seventy-two hour cease-fire ran out, Ike radioed Ben and told him that everything was ready in his sector: his people were in place, and geared up for whatever the Federals might throw at them. There was little else he could do.
“Prayer certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Ben told his longtime friend.
“I been doin’ that, Ole’ Buddy,” Ike responded.
“Keep it up.”
“Don’t worry, I will!”
Then, with only two hours to go on the deadline, a spokesperson for Madame President Osterman asked if the cease-fire could be continued for another three days.
Ben laughed when he read the communique. “Sure,” he told Cecil. “Give them all the time they need. They’re finally getting smart and building up just like we are . . . as best they can with what they have to draw from. Our eyes in the sky picked that up three days ago. Some extra time will benefit us much more than it will them.”
“You’re sounding very chipper today, Ben.”
“I’ve
been doing a lot of soul-searching since we last spoke, Cece. We didn’t start this conflict with the USA. We offered to establish trade agreements with them, offered them protection . . . the whole damn ball of wax. But nothing will appease them except for us to turn belly up and kiss their socialistic asses, and when we won’t they want a damn war. Well, to hell with them. They can kiss my Rebel dick!”
Cecil laughed. “You are feeling your oats today, aren’t you, Ben? Well, I’ve done some soul-searching myself, and I agree with you one hundred percent. You’ll be interested in knowing that some surveys were done here in the SUSA. Something just over ninety-six percent of those surveyed agree with our stand. So, give ’em hell, Ben.”
“I felt the people of the SUSA would be solidly behind us. Anything less would have surprised me.”
“Me, too,” Cecil said. “Ben, are we going to be ready when the Federal push comes?”
“Oh, yes. We’re just about as ready now as we can get. A few more days will enable our people all along the line to get in place. Our fighters are under wraps at an old base south of us, and the pilots are hot to go. I’m sure the Federals know we have quite an air force, but not as substantial as what they’re going to see when the action starts.”
“You anticipate any problems in pushing them back across the border where you are?”
“None at all, Cece. The only reason the Federals managed to penetrate this far into our territory is because this is one of the strips that was never completely cleared and mined. Sugar Babe really screwed up by asking for a few more days.”
“It might be a trick on her part, Ben. Have you considered that?”
“That’s the very first thing that popped into my head, ole’ buddy. We’ll see.”
“All right. You take care, Ben.”
“You too, Cece.”
Ben talked with a few more people that day and he and his team took off in the big, nine-passenger wagon to make a run over to the easternmost outpost of Rebels, on the west side of the Cumberland River, just a few miles south of the Kentucky line. Ben’s personal security platoon was with him, of course, both leading the way and following in half a dozen vehicles.
Hatred in the Ashes Page 24