Courage In The Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Are you serious, Father?” Buddy was the first to speak.

  “Can anybody come up with a better idea?” Ben challenged the group.

  “What alternative are you going to give them, Dad?” Tina asked.

  “Long prison terms, in some cases a rope or firing squad. The choice of the latter two can be theirs.”

  “Very magnanimous gesture on your part, I must say,” the Russian said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. “Hell, I like it, Ben. The French had success with the same idea for years, albeit not on this grand a scale. Although they denied they ever used hardened criminals in the Legion.”

  “It would give us anywhere from three to five more battalions of troops,” Dan said “And we know these people can fight. I request to be their training officer.”

  “You can sure have the job, Dan,” Ben told him.

  “All right, people. I’m not going to force this issue on you. We have to take into consideration that these men, once trained and armed, might turn on us. They might reject the offer. They might all wash out during training. We’re facing a lot of unknowns here.”

  “My vote is yes,” Georgi said.

  “And mine,” Rebet said

  “You already know my vote, Ben,” Ike said.

  “I’m for it,” Therm said.

  “Count me in,” Tina said.

  “And me,” Danjou spoke up.

  “Go for it,” West said. “Hell, half the men in my original battalion were criminals before they joined me.”

  “I’ll vote yes,” Buddy said.

  “Chase agrees,” Ben said. “All right. We’re unanimous. Now let’s find out how the outlaws feel about it.”

  The Rebels halted their advance to give the printers down at Base Camp One time to go to press, running off hundreds of thousands of copies of the Rebels’ terms for surrender.

  Copies were flown to Ben and he approved the final wording. “Start dropping them,” he ordered. “Blanket each state and let’s see the reaction.”

  The Rebels on the ground relaxed while the pilots went to work distributing the leaflets from the air.

  In Kansas, one outlaw leader read the message. “Be a fuckin’ soldier?” he said, then laughed. “That damn Ben Raines. If this don’t beat all I ever seen. That man don’t miss a bet.”

  “What do you think?” a gang member asked.

  “Well,” the outlaw said with a philosophical shrug of his shoulders, “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!”

  In Indiana, members of a gang read the leaflets again and again.

  “It’s a trap,” one said.

  “No,” another disagreed. “No, it ain’t. If Ben Raines gives his word, that’s firm. He’s a man of honor.”

  “We ain’t never gonna beat the Rebels,” another said. “If we fight ’em, they’re gonna kill us.”

  “We’re gonna die if we join up with ’em, too,” another voice was heard.

  “How do you figure?”

  “Hell, he’ll use us for shock troopers. We’ll be the ones who go in first.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He stood up and folded the leaflet, tucking it in a pocket. “The notice said to gather in Central Kansas. And to tie a white handkerchief on our upper left arm to show good faith.”

  “And we can come armed,” a man said. “That’s the part that spooks me. It might be a trap.”

  “It’s no trap.” the gang leader said. “If Ben Raines says it’s on the up and up, it’s up and up. I’m goin’ out there. There ain’t no future in what we’re doin’.”

  “Well,” another said, getting up. “There ain’t much future in joinin’ the Rebels neither. But there’s a chance we might come out alive. If we continue to fight them Rebels, we don’t have any chance of stayin’ alive for very long. I’m with you, Bob. Lemmie get my stuff packed.”

  In Minnesota, the leader of the largest outlaw gang left in the state read the leaflet for the umpteenth time. He sighed and put the leaflet in his pocket. “I’m tired of it, people. Tired of running all the damn time. Hell, I’m gonna pack it in and join up.”

  “And the rest of us?” a henchman asked.

  “Do what you want to do. This is one job I can’t order you to take. But I’ll leave you with this: fightin’ the Rebels means you’re gonna die. That’s hard fact. This leaflet says this is the only chance, the last chance that Ben Raines is gonna give us. After this deadline is up, he’s gonna track us down and kill us. To the last person, people. No trial, no courts of law, no nothin’ except a bullet or a rope or gettin’ blown up by long range artillery or bein’ chopped to bits by them damn gunships the Rebels is usin’. If we gotta die violent, let’s do it with some honor for a change. Let’s get on a winnin’ side. God knows, we ain’t done nothin’ right for a decade.”

  A woman stood up and slung her AK-47. “Hell, Curt, let’s go.”

  In Missouri, several small gangs came together for a meeting. “What’d you think, Ned?” a woman asked the leader of a rival gang.

  “I’m takin’ the offer, Bette,” he said without hesitation. “Look at it like this: we’re facin’ thousands of Rebels. They got tanks and artillery and helicopter gunships. We got a bunch of rifles and pistols and wore-out cars and trucks and that’s all we got. Jesus, people,” he said, turning to look for a second at everyone present. “Look at us. We’re dirty, we’re ragged, we smell bad. We’re on the run from people in Rebel outposts. We’re really something, aren’t we? Big, tough outlaws. Is this what we started out to be?”

  “The cops pushed me into this life,” a man said. “They was always hasslin’ me.”

  The others laughed at him.

  Ned said, “Oh, fuck off, Pardham, Nobody pushed you into bein’ what you are anymore than they did me or any of the rest of us here. We walked into it with our eyes wide open. If you got rousted by a cop—back when we had cops—you probably deserved it. I know I did . . . lookin’ back. We thought the laws didn’t apply to us. We thought we could just steal something and we shouldn’t get punished for it. Don’t hand me any of that headshrink bullshit about society bein’ at fault.”

  “I ain’t goin’ for this amnesty crap,” Pardham said. “I’m stayin’ right here and doin’ what I been doin’.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” a woman told him. “Ben Raines has got this country put back together . . . at least he’s got a good jump at doin’ it. And the man that’s gonna run this country while we’re overseas—that’s right, Pardham, we—Cecil Jefferys, is just as hard-assed as Ben Raines. Without a Rebel I.D. card, you’re not goin’ to get medical care, food, protection, money, nothing. The day of the criminal is over, and I think it’s gonna stay over. You know what happened just a few miles from here when that guy got drunk last month and run over and killed that little boy. They tried him for murder and hanged him, Pardham. The laws in this country is all different, now. The old ways will never return, Pardham. Never. The people will never stand for that. Our day is over and done with. Times are closin’ in on us. Not to mention the Rebels,” she added softly. “And those people scare me, Pardham. They don’t jack around with criminals. They just shoot you!”

  Pardham shook his head in disgust. “What ever brought the country to this? And I don’t necessarily mean the Great War, neither. How come ever’body started listenin’ to Ben Raines?”

  “’Cause the law abidin’ people of the country was tired of people like us,” a man told him. He smiled. “Tell the truth, I’m tired of people like us.” He picked up his rifle, stood up, and slung the weapon on one shoulder. “I’m headin’ out to meet with the Rebels.” He pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and tied it around his left arm. “I got room for four in my car if anybody wants to ride with me.”

  “It’s an incredible sight, Father,” Buddy radioed to his father. Ben was staying about ten miles from the rendezvous site. Buddy and Dan were seeing to the placement of tents at the site. Already, the outlaws were getting a taste of how the Englishman plann
ed to run the camp.

  At first, the outlaws pitched their tents and parked their raggedy-assed trailers every-which-way. When Dan walked onto the scene, all that quickly changed.

  “Get those goddamned tents lined up and spaced properly!” he roared through a bullhorn, startling the hell out of the outlaws. “Good Heavens! I’ve never seen such a ragtag bunch of good-for-nothings in my life!”

  Colonel West hit the area, yelling at the top of his lungs. He waded into the camp of heavily armed outlaws and jerked the rifle from the first man he spotted. He jerked the bolt back on the M-16, locked it in place and eyeballed down the barrel. “Disgraceful!” he yelled at the man. “This weapon is filthy.” He threw it back at the man. “Clean it! I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to check it.” He stalked away.

  The outlaw looked at his friends. “Are y’all just real sure you want to do this?”

  “I don’t know what you’re gonna do, Pat,” a friend told him. “But I’m a-fixin’ to clean my rifle.”

  Ben ordered fully armed Hind, Cobra, Apache, and converted UH-1B Huey gunships to do a very slow flyby of the sprawling camp. The outlaws looked at the machines of war moving very slowly over their heads with all their weapons visible.

  “Good God,” an outlaw leader whispered. “And we were gonna make a stand against that?”

  “You might be interested in seeing this,” the voice came from behind him.

  The outlaw and his friends whirled around. The Russian General, Georgi Striganov and a dozen of his big Russian special forces (Spetsnaz) men faced the group. No one had heard them approach.

  “Whatever you say, sir,” a man in ragged and dirty jeans said.

  “Follow me,” Georgi told him. His men whirled around in perfect unison and marched away, following their commander.

  The outlaws followed, gathering up others as they went. “Where are we goin’?” one asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m just doin’ what I’m told to do.”

  “Them’s the meanest lookin’ bunch of guys with him I ever seen in my life. Who are they?”

  “Russians, I think.”

  “Russians! Hell, I thought we was at war with Russia?”

  “Naw. They’re our friends now.”

  “Well, I’ll just be damned.”

  Unbeknownst to the outlaws, Ben had massed all his troops within a forty-mile radius of the gathering place. There was no point in sweeping the nation; most of the outlaws were gathering here. Those that didn’t would be taken care of by the people manning the outposts.

  A dozen old cars and trucks had been dragged up into a field just over a rise. Half a hundred old mannequins—salvaged from stores, filled up with ketchup and then dressed in old uniforms—were standing around the vehicles.

  “Tell the attack ships to give us a show,” Striganov ordered. He faced the now several hundred outlaws standing on the ridge. “This is what you would have faced had you chosen to fight us. Watch.”

  Half a dozen Hind and Apache gunships came hammering in, firing everything they had at the cars and trucks and ketchup-filled dummies.

  It was a sight that swayed any outlaw who might have been thinking the Rebels offer of joining them was not his or her cup of tea. Thick, red ketchup splattered all over the ground for fifty or more yards. The mannequins exploded under machine-gun and cannon fire. The vehicles went up with very loud explosions—since, unknown to the outlaws, the Rebels had planted boxes of old, unstable dynamite in each car or truck. Clouds of greasy smoke and bits and pieces of vehicles were blown hundreds of feet away.

  The area was very silent for a time, after the last bit of metal, rubber, and glass had hit the earth. Striganov turned to look at a group of men and women who wore very shocked looks on their faces.

  “Of course,” the Russian said, “that was just for show and your entertainment. We become much more serious about war once it’s for real.”

  He walked away, tapping his thigh with his swagger stick every few steps, his men right behind him.

  “How much more goddamn serious can you get?” a woman asked.

  “I got a hunch we’re all about to find out.”

  “That suits me,” she replied. “Just as long as I’m on the side that’s giving and not receiving.”

  Buddy walked through the camp, a few members of his team with him. He wore what was by now his trademark—a bandana tied around his forehead—and his handsome face caused many an outlaw woman to get weak-kneed. Buddy’s fatigue shirt strained against the muscles in his big arms.

  “Ben Raines’ kid,” a man whispered. “Buddy Raines. When he ain’t commandin’ a full battalion, he runs a bunch of headhunters called the Rat Pack.”

  “He can pack my rat anytime he wants to,” a woman said, and several other women giggled and agreed.

  “What the hell is this?” a hard woman’s voice jarred them out of their erotic fantasies. “A damn sewing circle?”

  The women turned to stare at Tina Raines.

  “I’m going to tell you pussies something,” Tina said, fighting to keep a straight face. “You’re going to find goddamn little to laugh about if you land under my command.” She circled the women, a look of disgust on her tanned face.

  “When’s the last time you ladies took a bath or washed your hair? I shudder to even ask about other, more personal forms of female cleanliness . . .”

  “You can’t talk to us like that!” a woman yelled. “We . . .”

  “Shut your fucking mouth!” Tina yelled at her.

  West, Buddy, and Dan stood off to one side, listening, all trying very hard to look grim and stern.

  Tina got all up in the women’s faces, after pulling them to attention. She traced their ancestry back to where they were mating with apes. She got all up in their faces and stayed there for several minutes. She left them with this: “I’ll see you cunts at 0600 in the morning.”

  “That’s my girl,” West said with a smile.

  SEVEN

  The next morning, just after dawn, the camp of outlaws were rousted from their blankets by bullhorns and told to assemble south of the campsite. Like right now, damnit!

  Then they were treated to hot coffee (which wasn’t very good) and a hot meal (which was very good) served on mess-hall stack trays. The outlaws looked down at their trays. Hot cakes with real butter on them. Bacon and eggs and fried potatoes and biscuits and gravy and jam and jelly.

  “I think I done died and gone to heaven,” one outlaw said. “I think I found me a home, boys.”

  “Only if you can make the grade,” the voice came from behind him.

  The outlaw turned and looked into the face of Ben Raines, standing in line just like anybody else. The outlaw gulped a couple of times. Everybody knew the face of Ben Raines.

  “You . . . ah, want to go on ahead of me, sir?” the outlaw said.

  Ben shook his head. “That’s not the way we do things around here. I may slip in the back and fill a tray. I may have one brought to me. But I’ll never buck the line.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s . . . ah, good, sir.” The outlaw filled his tray and got gone.

  The news that Ben Raines was in camp and having breakfast with them spread quickly, with outlaws craning their necks to get a glimpse of the man. Not everyone caught a glimpse of Ben, but it would have been difficult for anyone to not spot the two battalions of Rebels, all heavily armed and mixing in with the outlaws.

  “Lord God Amighty,” one man whispered. “Don’t let nobody pull no gun on Ben Raines or we’re all dead. Pass the word and pass it quick.”

  Ben was amused when Tina came jogging and jody-calling up with about fifty outlaw women in tow, the women staggering around and all looking like they were about to pass out from exhaustion.

  “Fall out and get breakfast,” she yelled at them. “Worst damn shape I’ve ever seen anybody in. Disgusting.”

  She got a tray and joined her father.

  “How far did you run them, kid?” he asked.

 
“About a mile and a half. Easy jog. They’re in pretty bad shape, pop. All of them, men and women.”

  “We’ll get them in shape.”

  After breakfast, the outlaws were assembled in a huge field. Ben stepped up onto a flatbed and took the microphone. “I’ll be very honest with you,” he said, his voice booming over the flats. “None of you have shown me a damn thing yet. You’re going to have to prove yourselves to me. Not just to me, but to your instructors—those of you who decide to stay, that is. And right here is where you’ll be trained. My people will run you until you think you’re going to die. And some of you will. When we’re through with you and you can call yourselves Rebels, you’ll be in the best physical and mental shape you’ve ever been in.

  “There are about thirty-five hundred of you gathered here. I expect about a thousand of you to drop out. If you do, that’s fine, just as long as you gave it your best shot. If you try and see that you can’t make it, for whatever reason, you’re free to go. Just as long as you don’t return to outlawing. If you do that, we’ll track you down and kill you on the spot. If you fail to make it here and you would like to join with a Rebel outpost, we’ll do our best to get one to accept you. But I can’t guarantee that. The survivors in those outposts have long memories. And they might decide to shoot some of you on sight.

  “If you make it through the training, understand this: we are shipping out this coming spring. We are going to Europe. With you people neutralized—one way or the other . . .” He let that sink in. “. . . our work here will be finished. Some of you and some of us will not be coming back. That’s the risk a soldier takes. I’m offering you people a chance to redeem yourselves and become a part of history . . .”

  “Here we go,” Therm whispered to Rosebud. “Now he’s going to wave the flag. There won’t be a dry eye in the crowd when he’s finished.”

  “Hush up,” she told him. “I find it all . . . rather stirring.”

  “Good God!” Therm said.