“You’re certainly welcome, sir.”
“Get some body bags down here. Carry them out for a proper burial.” He glanced at the grotesque sprawl of death. “At least there aren’t any kids among them.”
“Is that a blessing?” Jerre asked. “Considering where they might be.”
“You’re right, Jerre,” Ben conceded.
She gave him a look of amazement. It seemed to say: What? You’re admitting I was actually right about something? Will wonders never cease!
“Let’s get out of here,” Ben said.
Back on ground level, Ben waved Buddy over to him. “We can’t keep pumping tear gas into the ground indefinitely. So I want you to take your team underground with all the explosives you can stagger with. Those tunnels all connect. Follow them and start sealing them off down to . . .” He spread a map out on the sidewalk. “. . . One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Street. I’ll have Ike and Cecil send teams in from their sectors and they’ll be working north. It’s not going to be pleasant, son. And I won’t make it an order. If you refuse, I certainly won’t blame you.”
“Piece of cake, Father. No sweat.”
“You be careful down there, boy.”
Buddy smiled. “As careful as you are up here, Father.”
Ben grimaced. “Git out of here!”
Buddy ran to get his team together and outfitted.
“He acts like he’s actually looking forward to going down there,” Jerre said, pointing to the sidewalk.
“He probably is,” Ben told her. “One thing for certain: it’ll be a hell of a lot warmer down there than up here.”
Jerre shook her head at the pure cold nerve of the Rebels. They faced battle like thinking Viking Berserkers. They could make jokes when in the most ungodly situations. Like now, she silently added.
She glanced up at Ben, looking down at her through eyes of love. He abruptly turned away. “Let’s go hunt some trouble.”
It wasn’t hard to find.
Even though the Rebels had cut into the numbers of creepies, the Night Crawlers still outnumbered them badly. Ben and his little team almost walked right into an ambush. Ben had spotted dark movement across the street and shouted his people down just as automatic-weapons fire cut the cold, gas-sharp air. He had grabbed Jerre by the seat of her field pants and brought her down with him.
“Relax, kid,” he told her, as the bullets zinged and popped over their heads and slammed into the body of the rusted old limo they lay behind. “I’m not getting amorous.”
The pounding of combat drowned out her reply; but Ben was a fair lip-reader.
He laughed at her.
Beth radioed for help, and within a couple of minutes a Duster rounded the corner and began unleashing its deadly 40mm rounds through twin cannons. The alleyway was turned into a tiny corner of Hell.
Dan Gray came running up to admonish the general, a very exasperated expression on his face.
“General Raines!” the Englishman, ex-SAS member, commander of Gray’s Scouts, and mother hen to Ben said. “Will you please return to your CP where you may be properly guarded?”
Ben got up and grinned at Dan. “Dan, if you didn’t have me to fuss over, what would you do?”
“Relax!” Dan popped back. He shook himself like a big dog. “General, I have been going over some blueprints found by some of my scouts. Are you aware that there are more than sixty-two hundred miles of sewer tunnels under this city?”
“Sixty-two hundred miles?”
“Yes, sir. And many of them large enough for a man to walk in.”
“More problems,” Ben said glumly.
“Yes, sir. There is no way Buddy and the others are going to be able to effectively seal off escape routes. They’ll be wasting their time and risking their lives unnecessarily.”
“We can’t let up on the pressure against the creepies, Dan. I think the only reason Khamsin hasn’t shelled us is because the Night People have been forced above ground. But we can’t go on pumping tear gas underground indefinitely.” Ben was thoughtful for a moment. He turned to Beth. “Have the crews stop pumping, Beth. Let’s get out of these damn masks for a time.” To Dan: “Let’s work out a plan to pump tear gas in a couple of times a day, at staggered intervals. Double the pump stations for more effective coverage. As long as we can keep the creepies guessing, they won’t reenter the tunnels. And move the pumps around to different locations every day.”
“Good idea, sir. I’ll get on it immediately.” Dan wheeled about and took off at a run.
“You still want teams under the city, General?” Beth asked.
“Yes. Make certain all teams have plans showing which manhole covers have not been welded closed.” Ben took off his mask for a moment. The air was still bitter, but not unbearable.
“Katzman, sir,” Beth touched Ben’s arm.
Ben took the handset. “Go.”
“My people have broken the Libyan’s code, General. We can relax some; there won’t be any shelling from Khamsin.”
“That’s good news. I never did like artillery coming in on me.” He grinned. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t shell them, does it?”
Katzman laughed. “Damn sure doesn’t, General. You want me to give the orders?”
“Yes. Shell for a few minutes, then have the tanks shift positions. We can make things damned uncomfortable for the Hot Wind and his mini-farts.”
“Done, sir.” Katzman broke off.
“Get the boys and girls on scramble, Beth.”
She took off her backpack and changed frequencies. She would broadcast to Katzman, who would bounce the signal out to all locations. Beth handed the mike to Ben.
“All tank commanders on the west side with range capabilities commence shelling when ready. Let’s make it unpleasant for the Hot Fart. All other units continue search and destroy. Let’s kill as many crud as we can before the Libyan invades us. Tunnel Rats move out as quickly as possible. Good luck.”
Ben checked his Thompson. “Let’s go to work, people.”
Buddy and his team entered a strange and eerie and almost totally silent world under the city. They entered through the hole found by Dan’s Scouts. They passed the spot where the prisoners had been found, dead, and moved on into the dark unknown.
They found an elaborate system of lights throughout, leading one Rebel to comment, “They bled off the city’s power. These people have been down here for no telling how many years.”
“The filth is unbelievable,” Buddy said, scratching at a flea bite. “I am certainly glad Chase gave us booster shots. God alone knows what kind of diseases are leaping all around us.”
“Why didn’t it kill the creepies?”
“Probably grew immune to it after two or three generations.”
The teams placed charges as they went, some to be electronically detonated when they were once more above ground, but most of them booby traps. The charges were large enough to effectively seal off the tunnels, but not large enough to do any structural damage above ground.
They hoped.
They found communal living quarters, and the stench and filth was appalling; the stink rising above the sharp odor of tear gas.
And they found more bodies of naked and mutilated innocents.
“What do we do with them, Buddy?”
Buddy shook his head. “We’re too deep to carry them out. Let’s stack them close to the explosion points. The debris will cover them. I think that is about the best we can do.”
The team moved farther and deeper under the city, finding a makeshift hospital where the creepies had treated their wounded—and then eaten those that died.
“Nice people,” Buddy said, disgust in his voice.
They moved on through the stinking dankness, seeing no creepies and planting their charges at what they felt would be stress points.
They followed a dozen or more tunnels leading away from the main tunnel; they all led to a rabbit hole up to the city, usually coming out in some deserted buil
ding or basement. At each tunnel offshoot they laid a charge.
Some of the offshoots led to gratings and ventilation openings on subway tubes; others led into sewer systems. It was very plain to Buddy and the others that the Night People had been around a long, long time.
The team lost all track of time in the gloom, broken only by the beams from their flashlights; batteries had to be replaced often. Finally, with only a few batteries left, Buddy started looking for a way out. They pushed open a manhole cover and were startled to find it was almost night, and they were at 172nd Street.
Buddy lifted his mike. “Tunnel Rat One to Eagle.”
“Eagle. Where the hell have you been, boy?”
“Exploring. Scramble, Eagle.”
On the scramble frequency, Buddy asked, “Do we have any supplies cached around One Seventy-second Street?”
“Ten-four, Rat. Amsterdam and One Seventy-third. It’s an outdoor swimming pool. Look around, you’ll find something to eat. Have you planted your charges?”
“Yes, sir. I believe they’ll be effective in closing off everything north of our location.”
“Other teams report good progress, but they’re on the far end of the island. We’re going to start pumping in gas now, so clear out.”
“I’ll bump you when we’ve settled in for the night.”
“Ten-four, Rat. Job well done.”
Above ground, Buddy and his team could hear the booming of 155s and 105s as they pounded Khamsin’s position in New Jersey.
“When they hit us,” Buddy said, jerking his thumb toward New Jersey, “the fun is really going to begin.”
“Spookies,” a team member said softly. “Down!”
The Rebels hit the sidewalk and belly-crawled behind a line of abandoned cars, many of them parked haphazardly on the sidewalk.
“I make it about twenty of them,” Buddy whispered. “Question is, do we give away our position or let them pass?”
That question was answered for him as the creepies began angling across the street, heading straight for the Rebels’ position.
“Spread out and let them get closer,” Buddy ordered.
The five-person team of Rebels lay on the cold and still-patchy snow-covered sidewalk and waited. Diane lifted her M16 after receiving a minute nod from Buddy. She knew without being told she was to take the first four or five spookies to her left. Harold lifted his M14, set on full rock and roll; he would neutralize those creepies to his right.
“Now!” Buddy whispered, and pulled the trigger back, holding it.
The near-empty street hammered with the sounds of gunfire. The Night People, caught by surprise, for no Rebels were supposed to be in this area, went down like shattered bowling pins.
The Rebels were up and running toward the bloody scene before the sounds of gunfire had died away. They swiftly and brutally finished the wounded and took their weapons and ammo belts, then were running toward the cache of supplies, slipping away into the night just as other creepies began popping out of their hiding places, surprised looks on their hood-shrouded faces.
It was obvious that their kind had been ambushed; but where were the hated Rebels?
The bloody street lay silent before them. The Night People did not approach their dead comrades, not being in any hurry to join them in that long sleep.
Those few moments of hesitation and indecision gave Buddy and his team the time to reach their cache of supplies and settle in quietly.
Pete dug in the food packages and began handing out sealed packets of food.
“What is this stuff?” Judy asked, smelling the contents.
“Be thankful that it’s dark and we can’t see it,” Buddy said, spooning some into his mouth and grimacing. “Now if Chase and his people could only come up with a pill to momentarily kill the taste buds!”
THREE
The tanks spat out their lethal messages all through the cold night, sending out a few rounds and then shifting positions, confusing the gunners of the Hot Wind, preventing them from getting any accurate fix.
And through the night, Ben’s Rebels dug in deeper amid the buildings of the great city, cold in winter’s harsh grip. It gave them more time to fortify their positions; snipers moved up several stories and set up their silent, lethal positions, waiting.
And the Night People found many of their hidey-holes and escape tunnels. But they only used them once. The first to enter were splattered all over the tunnel walls as the booby traps blew, not only killing those creepies who triggered them, but blocking the entrances and exits under tons of rubble. This was something the crawlers did not expect and were not prepared for. It sent many of them screaming and running for the surface of the city. For generation after generation, the Night People had had almost complete control of the underground; it was their kingdom. Now, all that was changing. They were being forced upward.
And their food supply was running short.
They turned to eating their own dead and any Rebel dead they might find. But those were very few.
For the first time in anyone’s memory, the Night People began to sense that they might be defeated.
“Tell the tank crews to cease firing and to stand down,” Ben ordered.
All along the Hudson River, the thunder ceased and the cannon smoke faded.
The first gray fingers of dawn had been replaced with bright sunlight, slowly spreading over the great city, and bringing with it an unexpected but very welcome warming. The snow began to melt, and the Rebels could peel out of some of their layers of clothing.
“Spotters stay alert,” Ben told Beth. “And give me initial reports of damage to Khamsin’s positions.”
“Spotters report several enemy tanks burning and several hundred dead along the waterfront.” Beth relayed the reports as they came in.
“Khamsin can spare them,” Ben said grimly. “We can’t.”
“You want spotter planes up, sir?”
“No. We want to keep them as our ace in the hole for as long as possible. When they start across the river, we’ll bring in the Puffs. But only then.”
“General Ike on the horn, sir.”
“Go, Shark.”
“We sustained no hits during the night, Eagle. Hawk reports the same. West has not been in contact as yet.”
“West here,” the mercenary’s voice crackled. “All quiet in midtown. Too quiet for me. Something’s in the works, I’m thinking.”
“I’m thinking the same thing. Khamsin’s too good a soldier to try to cross the river in daylight. So he’s probably leaving any strikes to the creepies. Our underground sensors have reported a lot of big booms down there. The creepies have found their tunnels and holes have been booby-trapped. It’s probably put them in a state of panic. I’m hoping we’ll have a few hours’ respite before they can rally their people for any type of strike. This night is probably going to be a real lulu, though. Advise your people.”
“Hawk, here, Eagle.”
“Go, Cec.”
“Everything is too quiet. But I think I know why. I think the creepies are scared, now. For the first time. We’ve invaded their underground world and they don’t know what to do. We’ve cut off their rabbit holes and destroyed a lot of tunnels. They’re not geared to fighting above ground. But that doesn’t mean they won’t pull themselves together damn quick.”
“You’re probably right. We’ll use this time to dig in deeper. Hang tough, brother.”
“You, too, Ben.”
Ben turned to Beth. “Have you been in contact with Buddy?”
“Yes, sir. He and his team are back in the tunnels. Went back in at dawn. They know when we’re going to start pumping in gas and to get out at noon.”
Ben walked outside to squat down on the sidewalk. His personal escort and several of Dan’s Scouts went with him. This time, Dan was making sure the general did not slip off by himself.
Jerre was with the group, but she hung back, staying away from Ben. She felt his eyes on her and turned her head, m
eeting the steady gaze.
“What are you thinking, General?”
Ben’s jaws clenched, but that was the only sign of his temper. He had told her a hundred times since she walked back into his life to call him Ben. But she would do that only when they were alone—something that Ben tried to avoid whenever possible.
“I’m thinking about destroying this city,” Ben said flatly.
All eyes turned toward him.
They stared at each other. Neither Ben nor Jerre would blink. “I thought you were opposed to that?” she finally said.
“I am. It would be only as a last resort, and only when Khamsin and his men get on the island.”
“How would we get off?”
“I don’t know.”
She blinked. “Do keep me informed.”
Ben stood up. “You’ll know no earlier than when the rest of the troops are informed.” He walked away.
“One for the general,” Jersey muttered, and hurried to join him.
“The soap operas must have been fun,” Beth said, picking up and slinging her backpack radio. “I just remember them. But they couldn’t have been any more fun than this.”
“I never cared for them,” Jerre said tightly.
“How much time do we have?” Judy asked, her voice metallic through the built-in gas-mask speaker.
“What happened to your watch?” Buddy asked. “You had it last night.”
“I don’t know. When I woke up this morning, I couldn’t find it. But I’d swear I didn’t take it off my wrist.”
Buddy held up the patrol. The last time he’d checked they were at 164th Street, and that had not been long ago. “Those small footprints we saw this morning. The ones we dismissed as not being human but nature-made. Do you think . . . ?”
“They’d have to be very small kids, Buddy,” Pete said. “And where would they come from?”
“Runaways from the breeding farms, probably,” Diane answered.
“How would they survive?” Harold asked. “The canned foods here in the city have lost any nutritional value. And there are no cats or dogs in this city.”
“Trapping rats,” Buddy replied. “Stealing from the gardens of those around the Central Park area.”
Trapped in the Ashes Page 2