Ambush in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

“I sure would like to see some lions and tigers,” Cooper said.

  “No tigers here, Cooper,” Beth told him, for about the umpteenth time. “Lions yes, tigers no.”

  “They were in all the Tarzan movies,” Cooper insisted.

  “Oh, shit, give up, Beth,” Jersey urged. “Cooper has a mind like a steel trap—one that is rusted shut.”

  “That locks in all my knowledge, my beautiful little sun-baked flower,” Cooper responded.

  “Stick it up your kazoo, Coop,” Jersey told him.

  Corrie walked up to Ben. “No survivors anywhere in the town, boss,” she reported. “Or for several miles around in any direction.”

  Ben nodded his understanding and stood up. “We’ll have to wait for the official report from the mobile research team, but I’m pretty sure it was a man-made bug that killed these people.”

  “Then he could use it on us just as easily,” Corrie stated softly.

  “He won’t do that,” Ben told her. “He knows we’ve got nuclear capability as well as massive stockpiles of nerve agents, and he knows we have the delivery systems to annihilate him.” Ben’s smile was not pleasant. “And he knows I’ll do it. Corrie, tell security to bring Paula Preston, Marilyn Dickson, and Alex Marsh to my CP immediately upon landing.”

  “Right, boss.”

  The two reporters and whatever the hell Paula Preston was were scared and could not hide it. Alex Marsh was sweating and trembling, Marilyn Dickson was bug-eyed with fear, and Paula kept blinking her eyes and wiping the palms of her hands on a moist handkerchief.

  “Interesting game you three were playing,” Ben opened the dance. “Fortunately for me, very unfortunate for you it didn’t work out as planned.”

  “Whatever in the world do you mean, General?” Marilyn managed to squeak.

  “Yes. What are you accusing of us?” Alex asked, his voice breaking.

  “Oh . . . consorting with the enemy and espionage | will do for starters, don’t you think?”

  “You can’t prove any of those charges!” Marilyn I blurted.

  Ben smiled. “Not, ‘what are you talking about?’ Not, ‘I didn’t do anything.’ Just, ‘you can’t prove it.’ That just about says it all, doesn’t it?”

  “The Union must be restored!” Alex finally found his balls and shouted the words.

  “Even to the point of getting in bed with some low-life scum such as Bruno Bottger?”

  “You talk about someone being low-life scum?” Marilyn said. “You are one of the vilest men to walk the face of the earth. You . . . you . . . filthy beast!”

  Ben chuckled. That phrase reminded him of one of his favorite Cary Grant movies, but he couldn’t recall the name of it. “Very convenient of all you press types to get away just before the assault. How’d you manage that?”

  The three of them stood silent before him. They said nothing.

  “Let me guess,” Ben said. “Paula here had a radio. Set on a scrambled dark frequency straight to Bruno. It’s possible it’s just a receiver. He alerted you when the attack was to take place and you simply walked out of camp and got clear. Maybe he even had vehicles waiting for you. I don’t know. But you sure as hell didn’t hoof it from the attack site to Jega.”

  The three said nothing.

  “I don’t know how many others are in on this with you, maybe none of them. Maybe all of them. But nevertheless, they’re all homeward bound as I can arrange it. I can’t risk spies wandering around our camps.”

  “You have no proof to back up any of these accusations,” Marilyn said, her words dripping with hatred.

  “Oh, but I do,” Ben corrected. “My intel people back home have now directly linked you and Marsh here to the takeovers outside the SUSA and the recent overthrow of the government. Paula here works for the intelligence section of the state department. Always has. She’s the only real pro in the bunch. The rest of you are just whiny left-wing liberals—of the worst type: the pukey kind.”

  “May we sit down, General Raines?” Paula asked.

  “Certainly. I’ll even have coffee or water brought in for you, if you like.”

  “That would be very nice. Thank you. Coffee for me.”

  “And for me,” Marilyn said.

  “Give me liberty or give me death!” Alex suddenly shouted.

  “Oh, sit down and be quiet, you silly twit,” Ben told him. “If you were interested in true liberty you wouldn’t be a fucking liberal looking for big government to solve all your problems. At least know something about history and politics before you start flapping that foolish mouth.”

  “Bring him a glass of water,” Paula said. “Coffee makes him very nervous.”

  “Goodness, we certainly can’t have that,” Ben muttered.

  With Paula and Marilyn sipping their coffee and Alex gulping at his water, some of it running down his chin—or what passed for a chin—Paula said, “I can’t speak for the others. I’m not qualified to do so. I can only speak for myself.”

  “Go ahead,” Ben said. The entire conversation was being recorded by a technician in the next tent, which butted up against Ben’s CP.

  “Bruno swore to us that he would never commit genocide. He said it was all sorts of diseases that were responsible for the deaths of so many people here in Africa.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “Yes. Many times since his arrival in Africa.”

  Ben cut his eyes to the reporters. “You two met him?”

  “No,” Marilyn said. “Only his emissaries.”

  “And you all believed him?”

  “Yes,” Paula said. “Up to a few weeks ago.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Survivors of the germ attack. Something is wrong with the . . . germs, or gas, or whatever it is he uses. Something is out of balance. I don’t know. I’m no scientist. But it drives people mad. Many of them have survived and are hiding in the bush, some in the cities. Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. It . . . distorts their features. Makes them bug-eyed. Their lips are enlarged, tongues are slightly swollen, faces all puffy. Great open sores all over them. They’re . . . hideous.”

  “Good ol’ Bruno,” Ben muttered. “Always good for a laugh.” He cleared his throat. “Then where we are, here in Argungu, might be filled with these . . . people, waiting to come out of hiding and pounce on us?”

  “I would imagine so.”

  “Oh, goody,” Ben said. “That’s just fucking wonderful. Excuse me. I feel I just might need to alert my people now. I’ll be back.”

  He was back in a few moments. Outside, the encampment had gone into action. Ben sat down and fiddled with his empty coffee cup. When none of the three before him would speak, Ben said, “Somebody better talk to me.”

  “Only a few people involved in the recent takeover back home know anything about our alignment with Bruno,” Marilyn spoke in a low voice. She was crying, tears running down her face. “None of us knew Bruno was . . . well, such a monster.”

  “I told you he was!” Ben said, suddenly very exasperated with the whole situation. “I told you all about Bruno Bottger. All of you.”

  “We didn’t believe you,” Paula said, her misery very evident in her voice. “I mean, well, we had to take into consideration who you are, your reputation, and what you represent.”

  Ben just didn’t feel like pursuing that line. He was suddenly very weary of years of fighting the overt evil of the world and the covert evil of a bunch of half-assed do-gooders back in the States.

  “What are you going to do with us?” Alex asked.

  Ben sighed. Shook his head. “I don’t know. I probably should shoot all three of you.”

  “We didn’t know the assault was coming!” Marilyn almost shouted the words. “As God is my witness, we didn’t know. All we knew is that we were contacted and told to get out; get ready to come to South Africa. That we would be picked up and taken out of harm’s way.”

  Lying, Ben thought. They’re all lying. They knew. The rest o
f the reporters probably did not know, but these three did. They knew all along what Bruno planned to do. Or at least had a pretty good idea. The other members of the press were being questioned. Ben would wait until he talked it over with his intelligence people before making up his mind what to do with these three. But he already knew he couldn’t shoot them. The liberal press outside the SUSA would have a field day with that.

  “You three have just confirmed what I have suspected all along about the left wing of your political party,” Ben said softly. “I have long felt that you people are totally ruthless; that you will do anything to gain power. I felt that was true before the Great War, and I certainly feel that way now. The end justifies the means, right? You people are much more vicious than I have ever been. Back before the Great War, you used government agents to harass and sometimes—and as the end approached—oftentimes kill any citizen who attempted to break away from your Orwellian dictates. Any citizen who formed a tax protest group, any citizen who refused to pay more than what they considered their fair share of taxes, any citizen who joined a militia or survivalist group, any citizen who dared to loudly protest the government’s giveaway programs, any citizen who spoke or wrote too harshly about you liberal cocksuckers was setting themselves up for all sorts of trouble. You hated and feared the military, yet sent our young men and women all over the world directly into harm’s way for ‘humanitarian reasons.’ You goddamn liberals make me want to puke. Jersey!” Ben shouted.

  She stuck her head into the tent.

  “Get these assholes out of my sight and keep them out of my sight until I decide what to do with them.”

  The trio gone, Ben sat alone for a time in the silent confines of the big tent. He wasn’t really all that concerned about the new left-wing government outside the SUSA making any moves against the SUSA. The newly self-appointed leaders of the left were fully cognizant that Cecil would throw open the gates and introduce them to a taste of Hell if they tried an assault against the SUSA. But he felt that another civil war in the States would come in time. It was inevitable: the left just couldn’t leave well enough alone. They weren’t content with half a loaf; they wanted the whole bakery.

  He sighed. But that was in the future. Perhaps the near future, but not something he had to worry about right at this moment.

  “Boss,” Beth stuck her head into the tent. “There are a bunch of, well, people, I guess you’d call them gathering all around the edges of our perimeter.”

  “Refugees?”

  “I don’t know what they are. They look like something out of one of those old sci-fi movies. I mean, they’re really weird-looking.”

  “Survivors, if that’s what you choose to call them, of Bruno’s germ warfare.” Ben stood up and picked up his CAR. “Well, let’s go meet our new enemy.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Ben was accustomed to traveling with an oversized battalion and forgot momentarily he was now commanding an oversized brigade. The encampment was huge. Ben was, for a moment, lost. Then he got his bearings (with Beth pointing the way) and was off and running.

  Ben reached the outer ring of the encampment and slid to a halt. He stood and stared at the people who were gathering around, pointing and grunting and slobbering. Some of them were naked, others dressed in rags. Still others were dressed in the skins of animals. “Good God!” Ben said.

  “Their bite might be infectious,” Dr. Chase said, jogging up to stand by Ben’s side. “It might be more than that,” he added. “It might be lethal.”

  “Wonderful,” Ben said. “I think I’d rather be facing a horde of Night People.”

  “What do we do, General?” a Rebel called.

  “Nothing, yet,” Ben told his people. “Pass that word, Corrie. Don’t fire on these people unless they attack us.”

  “Well, they’re about to do just that,” Cooper said, running up holding his SAW. “They’re working themselves up into some sort of frenzy.”

  Ben couldn’t argue that. The mob of misshapen and deformed men and women were jumping up and down and making all sorts of disgusting sounds.

  “Everybody into gas masks!” Ben shouted. “Drive them back with tear gas and pepper gas. Get into masks and start tossing the gas—now!”

  Within two minutes, the air was thick with choking, tearing, and eye-burning gas.

  “See if your people can grab a couple of those . . . poor bastards,” Lamar said, his voice muffled through the mask.

  Corrie relayed the orders just as a few of the maddened natives rushed the outer defense line and were clubbed unconscious. They were dragged inside the line, tied hand and foot, and carried over to a MASH tent.

  Lamar wandered off to oversee the testing of the survivors of Bruno’s experiment in germ genocide.

  The mob dispersed, the hideously deformed men and women running and crawling and staggering blindly away.

  “They’ll be back,” Ben said. “And the next time, we’ll have to shoot them. So just get yourselves ready for that.” Ben drove over to the mobile field lab, one of the units parked behind a MASH tent.

  “Pus,” Lamar said to Ben. “And don’t come any closer. Their brains are filled with pus. Nearly all thought process has been virtually destroyed. Except one: survival.”

  “Are they infectious?” Ben asked.

  “Oh, yes. Not fatally so, but it would be a nasty wound and difficult to heal. The wound would be much like the bite of some snakes and spiders: the flesh would rot around the wound. These people are walking dead, Ben. Killing them would be an act of mercy.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Ben muttered under his breath, then turned and walked out of the lab.

  “Ben!” Lamar’s sharp voice halted him on the steps.

  Ben turned around to face the doctor.

  “You have to look at it that way, Ben. Pass that word to the troops. It’s an act of mercy. These people are much lower than animals. Much lower. Animals are driven by instinct . . . and I believe, some limited ability to think. These people cannot think, they cannot reason, and they don’t have millions of years of instincts to rely upon.”

  “All right, Lamar,” Ben said. “I’ll pass the word.”

  The troops didn’t like the idea of shooting at insane people any more than Ben did, but all realized they had no choice in the matter.

  Ben walked over to where Paula, Alex, and Marilyn were being held under guard. He stared at the trio for a moment, disgust very evident in his gaze, then said, “I’m not going to harm you, so you can relax. As soon as we can get to some sort of airstrip that will handle the traffic, I’ll put you on a plane and ship your butts back stateside. I’m sending all the press back home. Thanks to you people, I don’t know who to trust.”

  “We did it for our country,” Paula replied.

  “Your country?” Ben questioned. “No lady, you did it for power. You people just can’t stand the prosperity of the SUSA and the success of the Tri-State philosophy of government. You people didn’t seize control of the government out of compassion for your fellow man. It was a power grab, that’s all it was. But I don’t have time to discuss it now, and really have no inclination to do so. For now, you people just sit tight. We’ve got a little minor skirmish to handle here. We’ll be on our merry humanitarian way in the morning.”

  “After you’ve slaughtered these poor unfortunate survivors?” Alex asked.

  Ben laughed at the young man, the mood more scornful than humorous. “Jesus, you liberals really don’t know up from down, do you? First you send out frantic radio calls to come rescue you, then when we haul your scared asses out of harm’s way, you criticize us for doing the only thing we can do with the people who were threatening you. I guess I should feel sorry for you. But it’s rather difficult to work up any sympathy for a bunch of people who crawled into bed with the enemy and tried to have me killed.”

  Ben left the trio sitting in the tent. He closed the flap and turned to the guards. “If they try to escape, let them.”

  T
he sentry in charge of the guard unit smiled. “Yes, sir. With pleasure.”

  Back at the easternmost edge of the defense line, a company commander said, “If they rush us, General, they’re gonna get slaughtered.”

  “Oh, they’ll rush us,” Ben replied. “You can bet on that. They’re no longer . . . human. You have to think of them in that light. Even though what’s happened to these people is not in any way their fault, it’s all come down to us or them. Keep that foremost in your mind.”

  “Yes, sir. If you say so, sir.”

  The buck always stops here, Ben thought, as he walked away to another defense point. Well, my shoulders are big enough to take the load.

  Ben walked the eastern perimeter, stopping to chat with troops along the way. It was easy to see from the look in their eyes and the expression on their faces that none of them liked what they were about to do, but they would do it. They would do it simply because they had no choice in the matter.

  It started with a low rumble in the distance.

  “What the hell is that?” a young Rebel asked. He was one of the new replacements, fresh from the peace and tranquility of the SUSA.

  “The crazy people,” a platoon sergeant told him. “That’s hundreds of bare feet slapping the ground. Hold your fire until I give the word.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Ben met the sergeant’s eyes and the combat-experienced noncom arched an eyebrow in a silent expression of, We’ll see.

  Ben checked his CAR and waited. This was as good a place as any to stand and fight.

  “Ah, General,” the noncom said. “Wouldn’t you like to back off a few hundred yards?”

  “No,” Ben told him.

  “Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.” The noncom looked at Jersey and received a hard look that said, Mind your own business, buster. That’s the boss. He can do whatever in the hell he wants to do.

  The rumble grew louder.

  The gunners behind .50 caliber and 7.62 machine guns chambered rounds and waited.

  “Are we going to face this all the way down to Bottger’s territory, General?” the noncom asked.