Battle in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  A hour later, the Rebels came to a tiny creek, the water no more than a few inches deep, and took time out to splash cold water on their faces.

  “Where in the shit are we?” Cooper whispered.

  “Alive,” Jersey told him.

  They walked on. They were bone tired and nerve-taut, but each careful step put them that much further away from enemy territory.

  Just before dawn, during a much needed rest period, Beth suddenly perked up, sniffed, and asked, “What’s that smell, General?”

  “The river. I smelled it a few minutes ago. That’s why I called this break. I want to wait until light to look it over. I think we’re clear. I think I know where we are. If it hasn’t been blown, there should be a bridge about two miles to the east of here.”

  “I sure could use some hot food, clean socks, and a bath,” Cooper said.

  “The bath, I certainly agree with,” Jersey stuck it to him. “But stay close, you smell so bad you’re keeping the mosquitos away.”

  “You’re just too kind to me, Jersey,” Cooper popped back, putting a hand on her knee. “I always knew that deep down you really cared.”

  Jersey looked down at the hand on her leg. “I’ll break it, Cooper.”

  He removed his hand. Quickly.

  “Sleep,” Ben put an end to the harmless bantering that had been going on between the two for years. “All of you. I’ll stand first watch.”

  The team slept until the warm rays of light filtering through the trees woke them. They looked around. Ben was gone.

  The first team to have bugged out of the town had reached a Rebel patrol and reported. Ike had flown in to where Ben was supposed to have been, a few miles north of I-20, and was studying a wall map.

  “If they made it through all those patrols and gun-ships,” he said, “I figure they should be at the river by now. We know there are Blackshirts east of the river, but only in very small patrols. We have more patrols working there than they do.”

  “Settle down, Ike,” Dr. Chase told him. “If anything had happened to Ben, one of his team would have radioed in. You know that.”

  “Unless the whole team was whacked,” Ike said grimly. “And we’ve got to consider that.” He started pacing the floor and cussing.

  “I swear to God, Ike,” Chase said. “If you don’t settle down, I’m going to tranquilize you. And with a butt like yours, I couldn’t miss with the needle.”

  Ike tried to look hurt. He couldn’t pull it off. “I’ll have you know I’ve lost a few pounds, Doc.”

  “Well, you found them again. Sit down, Ike!”

  Ike stopped his pacing and sat down. Chase poured him half a glass of bourbon. “This was found buried a couple of days ago. Several cases of it. I can’t think of a better time to get loose. Drink up, Ike. Ben will make it. He always has.”

  “Luck has a bad habit of running out on a man, Lamar. And Ben’s been doing this for a long time. Too long, I’m thinking.”

  “I stopped trying to get him out of the field entirely a long time ago. He’ll die in the field, Ike. You know it, and I know it.”

  “Yeah,” Ike said softly and cut his eyes to the silent field telephone on the desk.

  Hoffman had been in a blue funk since his troops had found no bodies in the rubble of the old town. That elusive son of a bitch Raines had slipped out like a silent snake. Hoffman had poured twenty thousand troops into that area and still Raines had slipped away. It was quite impossible, of course. But Raines had certainly done it.

  Incredible. The man and his Rebels moved like ghosts and fought like possessed demons. And obviously they took General von Hanstein with them. They would probably torture him. Poor von Hanstein. He would have the divisional chaplin hold a service for him. Yes. That would be the Christian thing to do. And Jesus Hoffman certainly considered himself to be a Christian man. He went to mass every Sunday. And didn’t he have the good of everyone in mind? Certainly he did. It was just that some people were born to lead and others were born to serve. Or be exterminated. Hoffman didn’t consider that unchristian at all.

  An aide knocked and entered. Hoffman looked up. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “That fellow up in Mississippi and Alabama, Moi Sambura? He wishes to speak with you on the radio, sir.”

  A grimace passed over the fine Christian features of Field Marshal Hoffman. “I thought the Rebels were jamming all their frequencies?”

  “They have stopped. Momentarily, I’m sure.”

  Hoffman rose to his boots. “Oh, very well. I wonder what that damn nigger wants now?”

  BOOK TWO

  The Constitution preserves the advantage of being armed which Americans possess over the people of almost every other nation . . . where the governments are afraid to trust the people with arms.

  - James Madison

  ONE

  “What are you listening to, Corrie?” Ben asked.

  “Some interesting exchanges between Hoffman and that nut that General Jefferys hates so, Moi Samburu. You want to listen?”

  “No,” Ben said. “You can tell me the gist of it after those two clowns stop their babbling.” Ben paused in the rolling of a cigarette. “I thought Moi was being jammed?”

  “I got a burst from Base Camp One about five minutes ago. General Jefferys ordered the jamming stopped for a time so he could find out what Moi is up to.”

  “Good idea.” Ben lit up and watched Corrie take notes of the conversation between the Nazi and the nut.

  Ben and team were about fifteen hundred yards from a bridge that spanned the Brazos, the Rebels hidden amid the thick vegetation. So far, Scouts had reported no signs of life on the other side, but Ben was not convinced. If they were caught under fire while crossing that bridge, it would be over for them. Rainfall had been heavy and the river was up.

  Corrie rolled her eyes and grimaced. Ben smiled. Moi must really be on a verbal rampage. Back before the war he was an extreme militant who advocated and preached loudly that blacks should declare war and kill all whites. Just as Wink Payne hated all blacks and wanted them all dead. Now they were both aligned with Hoffman against the Rebels. Neither man had enough sense to understand that if the Rebels were defeated, Hoffman would turn on them and kill them both. It was, as Ben had said before, a very unholy alliance. Not to mention very unstable. Both Moi and Wink possessed unpredictable and volatile personalities. Ben had hoped for several years now that they would meet and kill each other. No such luck.

  Corrie sighed and removed her headset. “Moi and Wink have had a major falling-out. Moi wants to attack Wink’s position and Wink wants to declare war on all blacks. Hoffman told both of them to maintain peace or he’d send troops in to be sure it was done.”

  Ben was reflective for a moment, then he smiled. “Now that is interesting. When we get out of this hole we’re in, we’ll just have to see if we can agitate them both a little bit.”

  “Rebels coming in!” a lookout passed the word. “About forty of them.”

  A half a dozen teams of Rebels and GSG 9 troops, all looking weary and bedraggled entered the camp. Ben stood up and shook hands with Major Dietl.

  “It certainly is good to see you alive and well, General,” the major said with a smile. “It’s been a rather dicey couple of days.”

  “It has for a fact,” Ben agreed. “Sit down and rest. Eat. We’ll cross over just as soon as I’m sure we’re not walking into an ambush.”

  Major Dietl sank to the ground with a sigh of relief.

  A Scout walked into the encampment. “Barry’s back, General. He said it was an easy swim. He says it’s clean on the other side.”

  “Easy swim for him,” Ben said with a smile. “He’s Ike-trained. He’s got web-feet and gills. All right, Paul. Take your Scouts across and cover the other side for us. We’ll be along presently.”

  “Right, sir.”

  The Scouts secured the east end of the bridge while Ben and the others packed up their meager supplies and began the crossing. They
marched for another ten miles and saw no signs of human life. They passed only a few deserted farms; most had been destroyed by the retreated Rebels. Ben had left precious little for Hoffman’s army.

  Ben called a halt and told Corrie to start sending out very short coded messages. “Let’s see what we get in re-ply.”

  They got nearly every team that had bugged out of the old town. The teams were all within a five mile range of each other.

  “Tell them to start heading north,” Ben said, pointing to a spot on the map. “We’ll link up there.”

  Cecil had Rebel personnel on the Texas-Louisiana border and intercepted the coded messages. He sent word to Ike and planes were waiting on the small strip when Ben and his group arrived. Two hours later they were back in Ben’s CP just north of I-20.

  “Where you worried about me, Ike?” Ben asked with a smile, removing his filthy shirt and tossing it aside.

  “Not a damn bit,” Ike said stiffly. “I’m tired of worryin’ about you.”

  Ben laughed at him and Ike exploded. He outlined, for the umpteenth time, all the reasons why Ben should stay out of the field and start acting more like a commanding general. Lamar Chase came in and sat down, after pouring himself a cup of coffee. He listened and chuckled occasionally at Ike’s antics. He knew that Ike’s words were bouncing off Ben like water off a duck.

  Finally, Ben, showered and shaved and dressed in clean clothing, looked at Ike. With a bland expression on his face, Ben said, “I’m sorry. Were you speaking to me, Ike?”

  Ike stood sputtering and stammering and flapping his arms like a fat bear. He finally stalked out of the room, muttering about associating with crazy people. He slammed the door behind him.

  “You going to lecture me, too, Lamar?”

  “Nope,” the doctor said. “It wouldn’t do any good, would it?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “So our little talk of a few weeks ago is right out the window, huh, Ben?”

  “Not entirely, Lamar. But if I see that my taking a chance will accomplish something, I think it’s worth the risk. You want to argue that?”

  “No.” The doctor was strangely quiet.

  “Are you sick?”

  Lamar smiled and shook his head. “No. Just glad you’re back, Ben.” He lifted his coffee mug in a salute in Ben’s direction, then left the room.

  “What the hell’s wrong with him?” Jersey blurted.

  “He’s getting mellow in his old age, I suppose. Have our spooks gotten any information out of von Hanstein?”

  “Nothing that we didn’t already know,” Beth said, her hair still damp from the shower. “I talked to one of those weirdos from intelligence, and it’s like we thought all along: Hoffman doesn’t really have much of a plan. The spook thought von Hanstein was telling the truth.”

  “Beth, you make damn sure the general is not physically harmed. Some of our people are certain to be taken prisoner, and I want to be able to have something to swap . . . unharmed.”

  “Field Marshal Jesus Hoffman on the horn, General,” Corrie said.

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding, sir.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Ben said, taking the seat Corrie just vacated for him. He keyed the mic. “This is Ben Raines.”

  “General Raines,” Hoffman’s voice sprang into Ben’s ears. “This is Field Marshal Hoffman. I believe you have one of my generals.”

  “That I do.”

  “He is an old and dear friend of mine, General.”

  “General von Hanstein has not been harmed nor will he be, Field Marshal. I expect the same treatment to be accorded should any of my personnel be taken prisoner.”

  “I assure you that will be the case.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, then, General Raines. Shall we discuss the release of General von Hanstein?”

  “Oh, I think not, Field Marshal. Von Hanstein is really quite comfortable here and we have many, many things to discuss.”

  “He will tell you absolutely nothing, General.” Hoffman’s tone turned a bit cooler, losing some of its geniality. Ben felt all that buddy-buddy crap was forced anyway. “Not even under torture.”

  “Field Marshal, I have no intention whatsoever of torturing von Hanstein. He is in comfortable, if not lavish quarters. He is eating the same food we are, and except for some sore feet from all that walking we did bugging out of that little town before you starting shelling it, your general is in fine shape.” Ben chuckled and that seemed to infuriate Hoffman. Ben heard his sharp intake of breath.

  Hoffman’s tone turned to ice. “You cannot win, General. Your position is quite unenviable. I assure you of that.”

  “Oh? That’s news to me, Field Marshal.” Ben smiled and winked at his team. In order for them all to hear, he had turned on the speaker and cut the volume low to prevent feedback. “Seems to me like my people have been kicking your goose-stepping ass all over the place.”

  Hoffman almost lost it at that. Ben could practically feel the hate coming over the airwaves. Hoffman took several deep breaths and said, “You will live to regret that remark, General Raines.”

  “I doubt it, Hoffman.” Ben dropped all pretense of formality, since neither of them meant any of it. “But I will tell you something I really believe: this just might be the end for both of us.”

  Hoffman was silent for a time. Then he sighed. “All right. I will admit that has crossed my mind. But it does not have to be, General.”

  “I don’t much care for any of the options you’re about to present me, Field Marshal.”

  “Surely you recognize I represent the master race?”

  Ben laughed. “The master race. You’ve got to be kidding. You’re just like the rest of us, Hoffman. All mixed up. You’ve got German, Spanish, Indian, and no telling what else coursing through your veins. Where do you come off with this master race crap?”

  “I think, General, that you are trying to bait me,” Hoffman replied, avoiding the question. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “This conversation is beginning to bore me, Field Marshal. It’s just about time for dinner, and I’m hungry. Is there anything else on your mind?”

  “Your arrogance will defeat you, General Raines.” Hoffman could scarcely keep his anger in check. He was so angry his voice trembled, for he had radioed on an open frequency and knew that thousands of people—including many of his own—were listening to the exchange. And he was not making a very good showing. “I will bury you all!”

  “A Russian leader said pretty much the same thing, decades ago,” Ben reminded the Nazi leader. “He was wrong, and so are you. You might kill me, Hoffman, but the Rebel movement will go on, and eventually, be victorious. You don’t have much sense, but I think you have enough to know that.”

  Hoffman lost it. He exploded in anger and started cursing Ben, in German, Spanish, and English, the profanity all jumbled up in languages.

  Ben laughed at the man and signed off. He turned to his team and said, “That will blow the lid off, gang. He’s got to recoup his verbal losses. He’ll hit us hard and hit us soon. Put everybody on full alert.”

  “I can’t understand why he radioed on an open frequency.” Beth said.

  “He’s so arrogant he felt his troops would get a morale lift by listening to the conversation,” Ben said, moving to a wall map. “It never occurred to him that he would come off second best.” He studied the map for a moment. “I’m guessing now, but I’ll bet that he’ll probably move up artillery and start pounding us. All along this line. He’ll try to punch through. Corrie, send a runner and tell Chase to pack up and move out. Have him shift all his MASH units back twenty miles. Right now!”

  Ned Hawkins of the New Texas Rangers had entered the room and was standing quietly, listening. “Have we lost Texas, General?” he asked.

  Ben shook his head. “No.” He studied the map for a moment longer. Then he smiled grimly. “But we’re going to let Hoffman have some territory. We’ll let him pu
nch through,” he jabbed a finger at the map, “along this line, and commit his troops. While he’s doing that, we’ll be doing an end-around and harass the hell out of him on three fronts. From the south, east, and west. But we won’t be able to do much in bumble-bee size teams. We’ll reform in company strength and make him fight us along a line that conceivably could stretch for a thousand miles. He’ll have to match us unit for unit or we’ll be all over and around him by infiltration.”

  Ike had walked in with Doctor Chase. “Just as soon as we do the end-around and counterattack, Hoffman will order General Jahn’s paratroopers to surface and hit our northern people hard,” Ike said.

  “Yes. So, Ike, you and Rebet take your battalions and all the latest reinforcements and move north, up to the thirty-sixth parallel. That’ll put nearly seven thousand people under your command. You’ve got to keep Jahn’s paratroopers contained and off our backs. As soon as Hoffman makes his push, Jahn might regroup into a major force and strike . . .” His eyes searched the big wall map north of the thirty-sixth parallel, “. . . somewhere. And he might decide to stay in small units and wage a guerrilla war. I don’t know.”

  “Whichever way he goes, we’ll hold them, Ben,” Ike said. “But where does this put you, Ben? As if I can’t guess.”

  Ben smiled. “In the field, Ike. I’m reforming my company and heading south. We can’t afford to let even one able-bodied person stay back in this fight.” He winked at Ike. “And I do a pretty fair job out there in the field.”

  Ike nodded his head. “I won’t try to talk you out of it, Ben. I’m through with that.” He stepped closer and stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Ben.”

  Ben shook the hand. “Same to you, Ike.” He dropped the hand and smiled. “Maybe someday we can all sit around and reminisce about this.”

  Ike returned the smile, but like Ben’s smile, it was forced. Both men knew this was root-hog-or-die time. That they would never see each other again after this moment was a real possibility.

  Chase knew it, and walked to the table and poured three drinks, about two fingers each. “Drink up, boys. This is no time to be maudlin.”