With two battalions ringing the town, any attack the guerrillas made—without benefit of mortars, heavy artillery, or rockets—would be nothing more than a suicide charge on their part.
But he knew the guerrillas would try. And he also knew they would fail; probably the Rebels would wipe them out right down to the last man.
Ben walked the lines of defense, stopping to speak to Rebels often, even if it was nothing more than to say hello. It was a great morale booster for the troops, and besides, Ben enjoyed doing it. But every time he did it, he always felt a little sad afterward. He used to know every man and woman in his command; could call them by name. Now he didn’t even know everyone in his own battalion.
It always flung him back in time a few years, back to when the government thought they’d wiped out all those who believed in the Tri-States philosophy of government; back to when Ben and a handful of others took to the hills and the mountains and the swamps and the plains of America and challenged the might of big government.
And they had won. By sheer determination and cussedness and the belief they were right, they had defeated the forces of what had become a left-wing government.
Now look at the Rebels, Ben thought, as he strolled along in the light rain. The most feared fighting force on the face of the earth. And the SUSA the most productive and stable government anywhere in the world. And the most hated.
The tour of defenses completed, Ben walked back to the small building he was using as a CP and sat down. He cleaned his CAR and his sidearm, and busied himself for a time filling spare magazines. Darkness would come soon, and with it, a suicide attack.
“Scouts report movement in the brush,” Corrie called. “Enemy appears to be getting into position for an attack.”
“How many of them?”
“At least several hundred.”
“No surprises?”
Corrie knew what he meant. “Nothing but light arms.”
“Claymores in place?”
“Affirmative.”
Ben glanced at the open door; or rather, where the door used to be. About an hour until dark. “Pull the Scouts in.”
“Scouts returning. No dead, no wounded.”
Ben nodded. Any hits would have been rare among the Scouts, for Rebel Scouts were among the most highly trained of all Rebels. They could move through any type of terrain with the silence and stealth of ghosts, usually leaving behind them a trail of dead enemy troops, throats cut in silent kills. The Scouts were not a large force, but they were highly effective, and among the most feared of all Rebels.
Both of Ben’s grown kids, Buddy and Tina, had been Scouts, working their way up through the ranks, before taking command of a battalion.
And Ben suspected that in another year or so, Anna would join the legendary Scouts. She had already dropped a couple of hints to that effect. Ben would not stop her if that was her choice, but neither would he ask that any slack be cut for her. That’s the way it was not only in the Rebel Army, but in the Tri-States itself. You pulled your own weight and didn’t ask for favors. If you couldn’t cut it, you admitted it and backed away. There was no stigma attached to it; you were just assigned to another job.
“Scouts back home,” Corrie said.
“Everybody take turns taking a leak,” Ben ordered. “Then everybody button up. It’s gonna get real hairy pretty damn quick. How about the clinic, Corrie?”
“Secure as we can make it.”
“The press?”
“We put them in with Chase and his medical people.”
“Good enough.” Ben looked around the room he and his team would defend. “Positions, everybody. Let’s do it.”
Ben and Cooper took the rear of the house. Anna was at a side window, Beth at the other side. Jersey at the front, facing the outer circle of the Rebels’ perimeter. Corrie would stay with the radio unless things got real dicey.
Ben took a sip of water and munched on a candy bar. Jersey stuffed several sticks of gum into her mouth. Anna was cold as an ice cube . . . as usual. Combat was her forte, and she made no apologies for it. Corrie was busy yakking softly with someone. Beth waited, no expression on her face. Cooper was behind his SAW, waiting.
A few tentative shots came from the brush and jungle. The Rebels did not bite. They waited.
“Give them about a minute of mortar fire, all the way around,” Ben ordered. “High explosive and willie peter. That should give them something to think about.”
The brush and jungle around the encircled town began erupting in flashes of fire and white phosphorus. Screams of pain from badly wounded and burned men shrieked out of the drizzling rain. Several wounded and bloody men ran screaming out of the brush directly into the close kill radius of a Claymore. The blast shredded the men into a mass of bloody chunks and stilled their agony forever.
Ben had ordered the main guns on the tanks dropped to their lowest elevation. “Give the jungle some HE and anti-personnel rounds from the tanks, Corrie,” he ordered.
The ground began trembling as the main guns began pouring out the rounds. Some of the anti-personnel rounds contained small grenades which either burst on contact or in midair. Other HE rounds were filled with shards of steel; both rounds were highly lethal . . . as the guerrillas in the brush and jungle found out. The 120mm rounds were cutting trees in two and sending the guerrillas running in all directions. Many of them made the mistake of running toward the Rebels. That was the last mistake they ever made as the dug-in Rebels opened up with everything at their command . . . which was plenty.
Within minutes the outer ring around the town was littered with the dead and the dying and what was left of the guerrilla force was fading back into the jungle. They had had enough, and Ben did not believe they would be back.
“Hold positions,” Ben ordered. “We’ll count the dead in the morning. Stay heads up, but I think it’s over.”
The Rebels stayed on alert all during the long night, but no more attacks came. When dawn broke, they began counting the dead. Ben stopped them at two hundred and fifty dead.
“We’ve broken the backs of the guerrillas. Take the weapons of the dead, scoop out a grave for the bodies, and shove them in.
“It’s over here.”
TWENTY
The column moved slowly across the top of what was left of Liberia. The route was yoyoish: north to Voinjama, south to Zorzor and Gbarnga, then north to Ganta, then south to Saklepea and Tappita, then east to Tobli. They finally crossed over into Côte d’Ivoire and brought the column to a halt in Toulepleu, where they were met by a small contingent of army troops. Since the engagement with the guerrilla troops, several weeks past, the Rebels had encountered no more trouble.
A smiling army colonel walked up to Ben, saluted smartly, then extended his right hand.
Ben returned the salute, then took the hand while the colonel’s men cheered.
“It is so nice to see a friendly face, Colonel,” Ben said.
“Welcome to our country, General Raines. We have been following your progress with much interest. Following as best we could, that is.”
“Well, we only had a couple of minor run-ins with guerrillas in Liberia.”
“The People’s Army of the Democratic Front? Or some such nonsense as that?”
“That’s the one.”
“A pack of idiots, the lot of them. Collectively, they have managed to destroy their country and cause us no small amount of grief in the process.”
“We saw very few people on our way across Liberia, Colonel.”
“Many fled the fighting.” He shook his head. “But many more were slaughtered in ethnic cleansing. Isn’t that such a polite way of describing genocide, General?”
“But it’s politically correct, Colonel.”
Both men started laughing at that and a new friendship was born on a rainy afternoon.
“Come,” the colonel said. “We can start our journey to the capital in the morning. Right now, let’s get you and your people settled in a
nd fed and rested.”
“And while we’re doing that, you can bring me up to date on what Bruno Bottger is doing.”
The colonel cussed for a moment. “That bastard!” he spat out the word. “He sent people into this country in an attempt to subvert our political process. We hanged them all.”
Ben looked at the man and smiled.
“Those we didn’t shoot,” the colonel added.
“They’ve managed, in the face of great adversity, to correct many of the woes that faced their country for several years,” Ben said to Dr. Chase that evening. “Also, just before the Great War, many of the French businesspeople returned. And that helped.”
“I wonder why they moved the capital from Yamoussoukro back to Abidjan?” Nick asked.
“Probably ’cause no one could pronounce it,” Cooper said from across the room.
“Go back to reading your girlie magazines, Cooper,” Jersey told him. “This is an intelligent conversation. That lets you out.”
Cooper gave her the bird and she returned two of them.
“All right, children, calm down,” Chase chastised the pair.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Ben told him.
“I’m older,” Chase popped right back. “That gives me special privileges.” He smiled, pushed back his chair, and said, “And with that, I bid you all a good night.”
His security people were waiting just outside the door, and they trailed along a few steps behind him.
“I don’t think we’ve got much to fear in this country,” Ben said. “But nonetheless, we’ll post our own guards to augment the one provided by the good colonel.” He smiled. “I’ll sleep better.”
His team all laughed at that. Everybody in the Rebel army knew that Ben Raines required less sleep than anyone; he had been that way all his life. Just a few hours’ sleep was all he needed. And despite being middle-aged, he could keep going far beyond many men half his age. His team knew, too, that Ben never slept deeply. Any unnatural sound would wake him instantly.
The colonel did not try to hide any illness or hunger as he and his security force led the column south toward the capital. Whenever Ben signaled for a halt, whether for an hour or for several days, he never hesitated.
“With the addition of the medicines and food you are providing, maybe we have more than a fighting chance to make it,” he confided in Ben one afternoon. “We’ve been spending most of our resources on defense . . . fighting to keep the communists out of our country.”
“And you’ve done a good job of it,” Ben complimented the soldier.
“At the expense of our people. I will tell you a hard truth, General. We are almost out of everything. The fight with General Field Marshal Bottger—or whatever that bastard is calling himself now—has just about wiped us out. When we heard the news about your coming to Africa, the entire country rejoiced. I must warn you that once we reach the capital, there will be a holiday and a parade in your honor. I hope you do not take offense at us for doing so.”
Ben clasped the man’s shoulder with a big hand. “Colonel, that will be wonderful.”
The colonel sighed with a relief that Ben did not fully comprehend. “That is a load off my mind, General.” He looked at Ben for a moment and with a straight face said, “We were afraid you would be offended. Americans are such strange people with very weird customs.”
No liberating army ever received such a welcome as the Rebels received in Abidjan. The people turned out by the thousands, lining the highways and streets. They were dressed in their finest and their sincerity touched even the most hardened Rebel.
“We’ve made another friend in Africa,” Ben radioed to Cecil after the parade and a short first meeting with the president of Côte d’Ivoire. “Not that you didn’t know that already.”
“He contacted me, Ben,” Cecil replied. “I told him you would assess the situation and we’d start trade talks after I talked it over with you. The parade and holiday was already planned long before you reached the country. The president at first wanted to cancel the event, thinking you might take it the wrong way.”
“It was wonderful, Cec. It touched us all. You’ve started the surplus grain ships moving this way?”
“That’s affirmative, Ben. They should dock within a few days. I ordered them loaded as soon as I spoke with the president. I knew you would approve.”
“I certainly do, ol’ buddy. Get some businesspeople moving this direction ASAP to assist in the rebuilding of this nation. This is an important port and we want to always be welcome here.”
“Will do. A flight will be leaving within 48 hours. I’ve spoken with the French and they pledged their full support. They’re working with us in a way they never worked with America before . . . at least not in my memory.”
“You’re the politician, Cec. I’ll leave all that up to you and your cabinet. I’ll just fight the wars.”
“I think you’re getting the better end of it,” Cecil said wistfully. “How about our little surprise? You ready for them yet?”
“Not yet. Keep them under wraps until I bump you. Is everyone fully trained and combat ready?”
“You bet. Rarin’ to go.”
Thousands of miles away, Ben chuckled. “Won’t that set Bruno’s fascist ass on fire?”
“I certainly hope so. Literally as well as figuratively. What do you have on tap for tomorrow?”
“Meeting with trade people. Which is why I want some help over here. What the hell do I know about oil-palm kernels and coffee, cocoa, and bananas?”
Cecil was still laughing when he signed off.
Many of the younger Rebels spoke French, since in the SUSA school system, the studying of foreign languages was a requirement, not an elective subject. In the SUSA, kids began taking foreign language courses in the early grade school years. Since Côte d’Ivoire was one of the French-speaking countries in Africa, the troops got along easily with the residents.
By the end of the first week, the Rebels had been completely resupplied and the Ivoirians were unloading emergency food and medical supplies from the recently docked freighters sent by the SUSA, the French, Germans, Britons, and a few other aligned countries.
Back in the States, Cecil reported that the government of the newly reunified states was furious with the Europeans for aiding the Rebels. The reunified states were unable to send anything in the way of aid since they were just barely producing enough to feed themselves. Instead, the politicians were stressing the importance of being politically correct, teaching sensitivity training, enforcing new and highly restrictive gun-control laws, kissing the butts of criminals, and all that other important stuff that liberals love to jam down the throats of everyone . . . or stick up the ass of citizens, whichever orifice would accommodate the foolish babblings of the reunited states’ left-wing nincompoop politicians.
Ben toured the city of Abidjan and was impressed. It was clean and functioning. The streets and highways were well maintained, considering the country had been all but isolated for years.
After being resupplied, Nick and his 18 Batt left the city and headed back north, to travel the far north of Côte d’Ivoire just south of Burkina Faso. Paul Harrison’s 17 Batt was traveling through Burkina Faso, and Ben had been warned that his troops would find death, sickness, desolation, and civil war there. Many of the refugees had tried to settle in Côte d’Ivoire but had been driven away; the country could just barely feed their own—and the several million refugees who had fled across the borders and been allowed to stay—on very meager rations. Côte d’Ivoire just could not handle any more.
“It was a hard and cruel thing for us to do,” the president explained. “But our own people’s safety and security must come first.”
“I fully understand that,” Ben told the president. “What about Ghana?”
The president waggled his right hand from side to side in a very European gesture. “They are doing not quite as well as we here in Côte d’Ivoire. But they are surviving and r
esisting that son of a whore Bottger’s advances. They will be very grateful for the medicines you bring and the doctors to see the sick. Ghanaians are still a very friendly people. I doubt you will experience any trouble.”
“Togo?”
The president frowned and shook his head. “Togo is a no-man’s land, and has been for years. It is a country ripped apart by civil war. All we really know about Togo is that it is a place to avoid if one values his life.”
“But unfortunately for us . . .” Ben trailed that off.
“I know. You must go. And it is a fine and noble mission you are on. You and your people will be in all our prayers, General Raines.”
Ben smiled. “We’ll take all the help we can get, Mr. President.”
It was only about a hundred kilometers from Abidjan to the Ghana border; the roads were in good shape and the column made good time. When they reached the border, Ghanaian border guards were waiting to escort them to the capital of Accra. Doctors were waiting with the border guards and after a brief conference with Dr. Chase, the convoy rolled on. To save time, the medical supplies would be off-loaded in Accra and the Ghanaian military and civilian doctors would then spread out across the country, seeing to the sick and the needy.
The column stayed on the coast road and the towns and villages they rolled through were in good shape and the people appeared to be in pretty good physical shape.
“We won’t tarry long here,” Ben told his team. “Côte d’Ivoire and Ghana are working closely together to reach some sort of normalcy. The supply ships have docked and are being off-loaded as we speak. Everything is orderly and without trouble. Togo is where the fighting starts.”
“Why don’t we just avoid the damned country?” Anna asked.
Ambush in the Ashes Page 14