Blood in the Ashes ta-4

by William W. Johnstone

  “And there is this: Nina told me about meeting warlords wherever she traveled. Warlords, Ben. The country is spinning backward fifty years with every passing month. This has to be reversed, somehow, or we’re going to be in ever-deepening trouble. Willette and Hartline and Silver and this fruitcake Voleta … hell, they’re all one and the same. Put “em in a big sack and shake ‘em up and you couldn’t tell ‘em apart.” Ike caught his breath and his temper and gripped Ben’s arm. “I gotta go, buddy. Luck to you.”

  “The same to you, Ike. Let’s put an end to the terror in these mountains today, friend.”

  “I heard that, buddy.” Ike turned and walked toward his waiting teams. They vanished silently into the deep timber.

  Now, as the first silver fingers of light fought to open against the misty horizon, painting the east a deep gray, Ben stood alone in the center of the encampment, listening. The sergeants had rolled their people out an hour before. The men and women of Raines” Rebels had awakened and become active with the same noises troops had made for thousands of years. Coughing, clearing their throats,

  hacking and spitting, grumbling and bitching. Caesar’s Legions probably sounded much the same as they rolled out of their blankets and reached for swords and shields and spears.

  Ben looked around him. No light betrayed their position. “I want a cold camp,” he had ordered. “No lights.”

  Two full combat companies had quietly joined Ben’s ranks as his people had moved into position just south of Murphy, North Carolina the afternoon past. Two more full combat companies were waiting at Murphy for the general. It brought his strength up to a short battalion.

  Cecil and his command were spread out north to south, from Ducktown in North Carolina, to just west of Higdon in Georgia. Mark and Juan had their people covering north to southeast along Highway 11, from the junction of 19 and 129, down to Blairsville in Georgia. The remainder of the Rebels, under the command of a Major Woodward, which included Abe Lancer and his people and the older of Wade and Ro’s young people, were covering the area running west to east in Georgia, from Higdon all the way over to Blairsville.

  Colonel Gray and his Scouts, and Colonel McGowen and his teams would engage the enemy in a guerrilla type action, while acting as spear-headers for the main forces, moving in from three directions, slowly pushing the troops of the Ninth Order toward Juan and Mark, who by now had their troops dug in deep and heavily fortified with .50-caliber machine guns, M-60’s and mortars.

  The Ninth Order, without realizing, had stepped

  into a box, and the doors were closing around them.

  Ben’s troops were mounted, in full battle gear, ready to roll, when Ben’s radio crackled. Cecil’s voice was firm and strong. “We have the enemy in sight and are engaging them.”

  “Luck to you,” Ben said.

  Ben’s radio crackled again. “Have found the enemy and driving them northward,” Major Woodward reported.

  “Good luck,” Ben said.

  “In position and dug in,” Juan’s radio operator said. “Waiting for the enemy to show.”

  “Good luck,” Ben told him. “Move out,” he told his troops.

  Cecil’s troops slammed through the line of Ninth Order defenders. They took no prisoners. His troops, with Cecil leading them, moved through Higdon, Copper Hill, and McCaysville simultaneously: one long, hard, coordinated, violent punch. They struck the enemy and hit them totally without mercy.

  After the Ninth Order had fled eastward in panic, and Cecil’s troops rolled in with APC’S and light battle tanks and Jeeps and trucks filled with troops, many civilians slowly came out of their homes, relief and welcome in their eyes.

  “Are you people the army of the United States?” a woman asked. “God, I hope so. Who is president? Will there be help in here soon?”

  “There is no government of the United States,” Cecil said. “It collapsed two years ago and has never been reformed. I’m doubtful it ever will. We are from

  the army of Ben Raines. I’m Colonel Cecil Jefferys.”

  “That’s even better, Colonel,” a man said. “At least Ben Raines had more than his share of common sense in running a nation. I’ll be more than happy to follow his rule. Those people from the Ninth Order been holding us virtual slaves in here for near’bouts two years. Them and their damned off-the-wall religion. If that’s what you want to call that mess.”

  “Which way did the bulk of the Ninth Order troops go?” Cecil asked.

  “They split up. “Bout half of them went thataway, to the east. The other half went thataway.” He pointed north. “Toward the gap and the Fields of the Woods.”

  “Which group was Sister Voleta with?”

  “The one headin” due north. Toward the Fields of the Woods.”

  Cecil’s smile was grim. “Straight into Ben.” He turned around, held his arm straight up, and began pumping it up and down. He ended in a pointing motion, due east.

  The column lunged forward.

  “Luck to you boys!” a man shouted. He took a closer look at the Rebel troops. “And, uh, you girls, too.”

  About three hundred men and women of the Ninth Order decided to cross Highway 11 at a small, deserted town just north of Lake Nottely. They made it as far as the old city limits sign. There they died in the single street leading into the town. They were not expecting an ambush; indeed, their scanty

  intelligence reported no Rebels from Ben Raines’ army this far east.

  About eighty of their members made it out alive and set up positions just west and north of Ivy Log. They dug in and sent word they were prepared to fight to the death.

  “How noble of them,” Juan’s brother, Alvaro said. “I see no point in losing anymore troops to this nonsense, Juan.”

  Juan and Mark looked at the tough little ex-street fighter from Tucson turned Rebel.

  “Yes,” Alvaro said. “You see, the troops of the Ninth Order have further placed themselves in a most unenviable position. They are-was he smiled- “dug in in deep timber. In approximately one hundred acres of timber. The wind is quite brisk today, blowing from south to north. Why not just set it on fire and let nature take care of the rest?”

  Mark smiled, teeth flashing very white against his dark face. “You have a cruel streak in you, my friend.”

  Alvaro shrugged and smiled. “No doubt my Aztec heritage coming to the front.”

  “We don’t want a raging forest fire on our hands,” his brother cautioned. “It could burn unchecked for weeks.”

  “Of course not, hermano,” Alvaro replied indignantly. “I plan to set backfires to contain the main blaze. I have nothing against nature. Only the troops of the Ninth Order.”

  “A splendid idea, Alvaro,” Mark said. “Why don’t we do just that?”

  Raines’ Rebels shot the troops from the Ninth

  Order as they ran screaming from the man-made inferno. General Raines had said no prisoners, and that was the order of the day.

  When the killing was over, and the fires had been contained, Juan turned to Mark.

  “I cannot understand why we have to fight. Why can’t we all just live in peace? What is it within the beast called man that prevents that?”

  “When that question is solved, my friend,” Mark replied, “we will be entering the gates of heaven.”

  “Here they come,” Colonel Gray said, removing his headset. “It’s Captain Willette and his bunch.”

  Ike and his teams had linked up with Dan Gray and a small contingent of Scouts at the ruined and deserted town of Mineral Bluff. Tina Raines was among Gray’s Scouts.

  Gray said, “They’re about three miles outside of town, traveling south on Highway 245. A full company of the bastards.”

  “Haulin’ their asses, huh?” Ike said with the contempt of the professional soldier. Or, as in his case, the professional sailor.

  “That would appear to be the case,” the Englishman replied calmly. “And heading south intrigues me. Preparing to link up with Silver,
perhaps?”

  “We’re gonna have to deal with that scumbag someday,” Ike said.

  “Quite,” Dan said.

  Ike turned to a young Rebel. “I want Captain Willette alive, son. Pass the word down the line.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Rebel replied, lifting his walkie-talkie. He spoke softly, then looked at Ike. “Done, sir.”

  Gray clicked his weapon off safety and onto full auto. He glanced at Ike. “What do you propose doing with Willette, Ike?”

  Ike’s eyes were cold. “I propose to hang the son of a bitch-slowly.”

  “Rather a nasty business, what?” Gray said with a slight smile.

  “Quite,” Ike mimicked the Englishman.

  “Closing,” the radio operator said. “Be in the center of town in a minute and a half.”

  The Rebels waited motionlessly. They were concealed in old buildings, on the rooftops, behind junked and ruined cars and trucks, behind packing crates and in alleys. They softly clicked weapons off safety and onto full auto. The Rebels would be outnumbered three or four to one, but that was something they were accustomed to; it had helped sharpen their fighting skills. They waited.

  The lead Jeep in Willette’s convoy swung onto the street. A man sat in the back seat, an M-60 machine gun at the ready. They were too confident, and that had led them into carelessness.

  Ike figured Willette would be in the center of the column, for safety’s sake, and he had figured correctly. The Rebels let the column stretch out before they opened fire at the front and rear of the column.

  Willette’s people never had a chance. They were more bully-boys than professional soldiers; only a few among their ranks had ever served in any hard military unit. And that worked against them. They did manage to trigger off a few wild rounds, which

  hit nobody. But the ambush was so expertly done, it lasted only a few moments.

  “Cease firing!” Gray yelled.

  Several Jeeps and trucks were burning at the rear of the column. One gas tank exploded, and that triggered a chain reaction among the last few vehicles in the convoy. The gas tanks blew, sending smoke spiraling into the sky. Debris rained down on the street, adding its crashing noise to the moaning and screaming of the wounded and dying. Willette stumbled out of a car, his hands raised over his head.

  “Don’t shoot!” he yelled, panic in his voice. “I surrender. I demand treatment as a prisoner of war.”

  Ike walked toward him, a coil of rope in one hand. “Oh, you’ll get proper treatment, all right, Willette,” he snarled at the frightened man. “The same goddamn treatment you gave those unarmed men and women and kids back at home base. You do remember all that, don’t you?”

  Willette threw up on himself at the sight of the rope in Ike’s hand. A dark stain appeared at the man’s crotch. “I was under orders!” he screamed. “I had my orders the same as any other soldier. Just like any soldier, I obeyed them.”

  “Shit!” a woman Rebel said, contempt in her voice. She spat at Willette’s feet.

  Willette glared at her. “You slimy fuckin’ cunt,” he said.

  “You wanna swing, Willette?” she said with a grin.

  Willette wiped puke from his mouth and cursed the woman.

  She laughed at him.

  Ike approached Willette. He stopped two steps from him and swung the heavy rope, hitting the man in the face. Willette’s feet flew out from under him and he landed on his butt. His teeth clicked together and blood spurted from a bitten tongue. The rope had opened a gash on his cheek and bloodied his nose. Ike hooked the noose of the rope around Willette’s dirty neck and dragged him down the street to a windowless store front. Willette was screaming and cursing. Each time he would get to his feet, Ike would jerk the rope and Willette would slam to the street to be dragged another few yards, howling and protesting.

  Ike stepped up and inside, looping one end of the rope over a support beam. He hauled Willette up, until the man’s boots were a full twelve inches off the littered floor. Ike secured the loose end of the rope and stepped out of the store, leaving Willette gagging and choking and slowly spinning and jerking. Ike did not turn around as he walked off. The act of hanging Willette would not bring Sally or the kids back to life, but it would ensure that Willette never committed another similar atrocity.

  Only when the horrible gagging sounds had ceased did Ike look around. He looked at the swollen, blackened face of Willette. The man’s bowels had moved and the stench was as foul as Willette’s living character. Or lack of it. Ike spat on the concrete and walked back to his team.

  Tina walked to Colonel Gray’s side. “What do we do with the rest of the prisoners, Colonel?”

  “Shoot them,” Gray said.

  First intercepted radio reports, picked up from walkie-talkies of the Rebels, indicated Sister Voleta’s troops were getting pasted by the Rebels. Sister Voleta and her troops had been running hard, pushing their vehicles as fast as road conditions would allow. They now stood at the end of an old firebreak road just south of Angelico Gap, listening to the reports filter in. None contained any good news for Sister Voleta.

  AH the troops of the Ninth Order had discarded their robes for clothing more practical. Only Voleta wore a robe.

  “We’ve had it,” a man told her softly. “Those men who tried to take cover near Lake Nottely were either shot to death or burned to death.”

  “Barbarians!” Voleta spat the word. It did not occur to her that she had ordered the deaths of countless men and women and children by burning at the stake.

  And the man reporting to her did not bring it up.

  The man continued his depressing report. “We’ve lost contact with Captain Willette and his company. There are teams of Raines’ Rebels working all over the area. Ben Raines-was “I don’t want to hear that name again!” Voleta shrieked.

  “Yes, sister.” The man bowed. He was faithful to the end, and the end was only moments away.

  He opened his mouth to speak and Sister Voleta waved him silent. “I know, I know,” she said. “I thought we were strong enough to defeat… that pig. I was wrong. I shall be big enough to admit it. Very well. We are not beaten. Far from it. We shall someday emerge stronger than ever. But for now,

  we’ll head for the gap and the highway just north of it. We won’t be able to take the vehicles any further. We’ll have to leave them here and walk the rest of the way.”

  “Yes, Sister. I’ll take the point.”

  “No, Lester.” She put a hand on his arm. “You and a few others stay with me. I have a feeling about this.”

  “As you wish, Sister.”

  They walked straight into a deadly ambush. Ben and his people were hidden in the gap and chopped the men and women of the Ninth Order to bloody rags with machine gunfire. After only a minute, Ben called for a cease fire.

  The Rebels picked through the carnage, gathering up all the weapons and ammo and usable equipment. They stripped boots from the dead and any clothing that wasn’t ripped by slugs.

  Sister Voleta was not lying among the dead and dying.

  “That yo-yo got away,” Captain Rayle reported to Ben. “I don’t know how she managed it, but she did.”

  I’ll have to contend with her someday, Ben thought. This isn’t over. Her hatred for me is so intense, she’ll keep trying to kill me, one way or the other.

  I wonder if that baby was mine? he concluded. I guess I’ll wonder all my life. Unless I run into him someday.

  Ben walked among the dead and dying, picking his way carefully among the bloodstained rocks and brush.

  Will this never end? Ben silently questioned the force that controls the destiny of every living thing.

  Will those who follow me ever be allowed to live in peace? Must we, for the remainder of our lives, go constantly armed, forever doomed to wage one battle after another, simply for the right to exist?

  He thought of Gale and muttered, “I wonder how many times so many Jews wondered the same thing?”

  A cold rain be
gan falling, chilling the earth and those who still lived upon it.

  Is that your reply? Ben pondered, remembering the savage night on the motel balcony.

  Ben stopped his aimless wandering along the battlefield and looked down, looking into the eyes of a man who lay dying at his booted feet. The man spat at him and cursed him, the hate within overpowering the pain within and without. His voice bubbled from a chest wound and the rain that fell into his open mouth.

  “It ain’t over,” the man gasped his promise. “You won this fight, but a lot of us got out. They’ll get you, Raines. And you’ll die hard, I can promise you that.”

  “Why?” Ben asked.

  ““Cause …‘cause America didn’t work, that’s why. You … said so yourself, back in “89. All we was tryin’ to do was live our own way.”

  “But your society was based on a twisted religion from the mind of a woman so overcome with hate it defied normal thinking.”

  “Our right,” the man gasped, blood, pink and frothy, bubbling past his lips.

  Lung shot, Ben thought.

  “We’ll get you, Raines,” the man once more

  uttered the death threat. “I wish I could be there to see Sister Voleta burn you at the stake. Listen to you scream and beg for mercy.”

  “Why did you follow her?”

  The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he shuddered several times, his boots drumming on the wet earth. His final reply was a sighing of air leaving his dead body.

  Ben looked at the men and women gathered around him. His Rebels. His.

  I’ve got to get away from this, Ben thought. These people must learn to cope without me. They have to do that, for future generations. I must leave. And not just for their sake, but for my own, as well.

  Ben sighed. “Let’s go home, people.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Joni and George arrived at the slave camp just outside what used to be known as Perry, Florida just as the slaves were finishing with their former captors. It was not a pretty sight. Bodies were hanging from tree limbs, sprawled in death on the dusty grounds, and some had been staked out, spread-eagled naked under the sun, and covered with baby oil. The sun was slowly roasting them to death, in a most painful manner.