Vengeance in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “If you didn’t know, you couldn’t have talked under torture.”

  “Makes sense,” Frank said. “I guess.”

  A vehicle roared past them, the driver slammed on his brakes, and spun around in the road.

  “Open fire on that vehicle,” Ben shouted to those in the rear.

  The night roared with automatic-weapons fire and the car behind them left the road and crashed into a huge old tree. If there were any survivors, they posed no immediate threat. Ben drove on into the night. At the old abandoned airport, Ben whipped in and drove to a hangar, parking inside.

  “Are you insane?” Carol yelled from the rear of the truck. “We’ve got to get away!”

  “Running away is not something I do well,” Ben told her and the others. “You people find something to dig with. Move!”

  Ben ran to the old office building, which had been gutted by fire years back. Ben centered himself at the building and walked ten steps.

  “We’ll dig here,” he said, as Larry handed him a shovel with half its handle broken off.

  A few frantic minutes later, Ben’s shovel hit metal. He pried open the cleared lid and started handing out boxes to the group. “Load the truck and then meet me back at the road.” He opened a long box. “Ann, grab as many of these as you can carry and come with me.”

  “LAWs?” Paul questioned.

  “You got it,” Ben said. “Come on, Ann.”

  “Well, I’ll just be damned,” Paul said.

  “Some of Jackman’s people soon will be,” Ben told him, and took off at a run for the road. He could see fast-approaching lights in the distance.

  “It’s going to be close,” Ann panted by his side.

  “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” Ben replied, kneeling down in the center of the highway. He pulled the safety pins and extended the inner tube, cocking the LAW. “Stand clear and have another one ready for me,” he told Ann, shouldering the LAW and sighting in.

  “Jesus,” Ann said. “Fire the damn thing!”

  “Too far away. They’ll be in range in about five seconds.”

  Ben did a slow count and fired the 66mm rocket. The lead car exploded in flames and the driver of the car behind it jammed on his brakes. But it was too close. The second vehicle slammed into the burning mass of twisted metal just as Ben fired the second rocket. The roadway was turned into a blazing death trap, the explosion blowing part of a body through the shattered windshield. A third vehicle tried to get the hell gone from that area, the driver attempting a state trooper turnaround in the road, and the vehicle stalled out, exposing its right side for a moment. That was all the time that Ben needed. He fired a third LAW. No one would be using that highway for a while.

  “Bye-bye, assholes,” Ben said, standing up just as the now-heavily-laden truck pulled up.

  “We got most of it and piled lumber and other stuff over the hole,” David said. “I don’t think they’ll find it.”

  “We have other caches around the area,” Ben said, getting into the back. “Let’s go find someplace safe to rest and have something to eat. Excitement always makes me hungry.”

  Ann shook her head at his words. “Everything I ever heard about him is true.”

  THREE

  They smelled the smoke before they saw the flames. Then they heard the explosions. Frank turned off on a weeded-up country road, drove a couple of miles, and pulled onto what had once been a logging road and brought the truck to a halt.

  “Jackman’s people have hit the resistance camp from the north,” Ann said. “We told them it wasn’t safe. We suggested they move their operations further north, up into Missouri. They wouldn’t listen.”

  Ben nodded his head, then realized the nod could not be seen in the night. “Doesn’t matter now. We’re on our own and we’d better accept that.”

  Carol sank to the cool earth. “Sometimes I just want to give up.”

  “When you decide to do that, Carol,” Ben told her, “do it without me. You’re all just tired and scared and desperate and probably hungry, too. I know I am. Hell, folks, I’ve been in a lot worse jams than this. Now get a flashlight out of one of those boxes and show me on a county map where we are. There are maps in with the other stuff.”

  A map and flashlight were found and Ann pointed to a spot. “See this maze of county roads? We’re right here.”

  “Oh, well, good,” Ben replied cheerfully. “About a mile from here is an old long-abandoned sawmill, right?”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “How did you know about that?”

  “That’s where we put the largest cache of supplies long before we resettled the town.”

  “Radios?” Paul asked.

  “No. The batteries would be worthless after this long a time, anyway.”

  “The food?”

  “Maybe. I think so. We’ll soon know. Come on. Let’s unload this truck and hide what supplies we can’t carry. After that’s done, move the truck up the road a good mile or so. Who’ll volunteer to do that?”

  Larry raised his hand.

  “Fine. We’ll wait for you right here.”

  When Larry rejoined the group, Ann took the point and they moved out down the now barely recognizable old road. At the old sawmill, Ben told them all to relax, eat, and get some rest. They would dig up the second cache in the morning. They all wondered why he was smiling as he patted one of the boxes from the truck.

  “Plastic explosives,” Ben said. “C-4. With all the necessary doodads to make it go boom whenever we want it to.”

  “What’s that thing?” Ann asked, pointing.

  “Radio-controlled detonator.”

  “I thought you said we didn’t have any radios,” Carol said.

  “We don’t. Not the kind you’re thinking of. But we have the equipment to send a signal to one of these things that will make it go bang.” He grinned like a little boy who had just found a whole box of Oreo cookies.

  “You’re just not a bit worried,” Ann said, looking strangely at Ben. “This is . . . you’re actually looking forward to this, aren’t you?”

  “Sure,” Ben said brightly. “Why not? We’re free. We’re just as well-armed as those we’re facing. We have food, water, plenty of weapons, lots of ammo and explosives, clean clothes, soap that I’m going to use in a little while to take a bath down at the creek, and medical supplies that I’m going to use to help kill all these goddamn chiggers on me!”

  “General,” David said, “we are surrounded by several thousand enemy troops. Troops of Jackman and black-shirts from South America. I mean, we are completely surrounded, General Raines. We’re in a really lousy position.”

  Ben smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Relax, David. After we dig up the other supplies, then we’ll take a bath, and get the grime off us, and then I’ll show you how seven people can successfully take on fifty times that number and win.”

  “Win,” Ann repeated. “You really think that seven of us are going to win against five hundred times that number?”

  “Oh, sure,” Ben said. “Piece of cake.”

  The others, none of them trained Rebels, looked at him as if he were totally bananas.

  Ben worked on the M-16s, attaching 40mm aluminum bloop tubes in place of the forestocks, the modification on each weapon taking about twenty minutes. “This lever here on the left side releases the launcher’s barrel,” Ben told them. “It slides forward for loading. The magazine is your handgrip when using the bloop tube. With the M16A2 rifle the bloop tube has an effective range of about 460 meters. This Uzi here is just a dandy weapon, but from now on, I’ll be carrying a rifle with a bloop tube just like the rest of you. Believe me when I say that when the seven of us pull out of here, we will have among us some awesome firepower. We’re going to be traveling light on food and heavy on weapons. For the next several nights, we’re going to be caching equipment all around Mountain Home and mapping out locations where we can duck in and hide. Now then, enlighten me. I knew that back
before the Great War there were a lot of survivalist groups in this area, but I didn’t know the majority were Nazis.”

  “They weren’t,” Ann said. “Most were just guys who liked to dress up like soldiers and shoot guns. All of us grew up in this area. When the Rebels declared it an outpost, we all returned and life was good for several years.” She looked at Frank.

  “Then it turned to shit,” Frank said. “Very quietly and very subtly, Hoffman began sending people in. They were smooth and likable and worked hard. We had no idea of the number and certainly had no idea that they were planning a takeover. One day we looked up and Jackman and his bunch just began slaughtering the few Rebels who were stationed here. It’s like you said, General: we’re not trained professional Rebels. We’re teachers and carpenters and pharmacists and so forth. We’ve all had a little training with weapons. We know how to use them, have used them, and will again. We’re a . . . little bit more expert now. But Jackman just rolled over us.”

  “Well, folks,” Ben said. “We’re about to start doing some rolling ourselves. Rock and roll.”

  The team worked for three nights, caching supplies and checking out possible hidey-holes. Several times Jackman’s patrols came within a few yards of where they lay, but always they walked on.

  “They’re scared and being overcautious,” Ben told the small group. “But I don’t understand why they’re not using the dogs.”

  “They’re probably using them over in the lake area, east of us,” Larry said. “That would be my guess. They’ve caught a lot of people who tried to hide over in that area.”

  Ben nodded and returned to his map. They were going to strike this night.

  “Intelligence has broken the code!” Ike was informed. “Ben’s alive and is reported working with resistance groups somewhere. But we don’t know where. Why doesn’t the general radio in to us?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Chase grumbled. “Because he’s having a ball, that’s why. He’s running around somewhere playing a middle-aged Rambo, blowing things up and taking chances, and shooting people and enjoying the hell out of it. He doesn’t have to listen to us bitch at him about it.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Rebet protested.

  “The hell he wouldn’t,” Thermopolis said. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

  “Well,” Ike said, surprisingly easy on Ben. “There is this, too: Ben might not have access to a radio. And even if he did, if I was in his boots, I wouldn’t use one for fear of being tracked. I think I like my version better, folks.” Ike smiled. “But you’re right, Lamar. Ben is having fun.”

  ***

  “Here they come, gang,” Ben said, bellying back down on the cool grass. “A nice short and fat column. Spread out and get ready. You say they move a lot of ammo and gear up north, Ann?”

  “Yes. Beefing up their friends who are in the timber just across the line. Getting even a light plane into those areas is just about impossible.”

  Ben smiled and screwed the cylinder containing rocket propellant into the warhead section of the 40mm rocket. He loaded the round, uncovered the nosecap, and pulled the pin. He lifted the old RPG-7 to his shoulder and sighted in. “Come on, you goose-stepping bastards. Come to the Eagle.”

  There were eight trucks in the column, and they were running close together. “Stupid,” Ben said, and pulled the trigger.

  The rocket impacted against the side of the slow-moving lead vehicle and it blew. The truck must have been carrying high explosives, for the explosion rocked the ground. The rest of Ben’s team began firing their bloop tubes, with surprising accuracy, Ben noted, and the entire convoy was blazing and blowing within seconds.

  “Let’s get the hell gone!” Ben said.

  They ran back into the brush, and as they left the brush heading for a hidey-hole, a patrol of black-shirts rounded a curve in the old animal trail. They were as surprised as Ben’s team, but slightly slower in reacting.

  Ann, Carol, and Frank fired 40mm rockets at the now-bunched-up patrol as Ben, Larry, Paul, and David opened up with automatic fire. They left the patrol dead and dying on the cool ground and vanished.

  * * *

  Jackman was furious. He paced his office and shouted and cussed. Back and forth before the swastika hanging on the wall. “Goddammit, you mean to tell me that six or seven people are out there screwing up this entire operation and you trained soldiers can’t contain them?”

  His commanders sat in silence. They could do little else, for Jackman was telling the truth.

  Jackman paced back and forth before the Nazi flag. “We capture the commanding general of the Rebel army and my people don’t have sense enough to place an adequate guard on the man. That same man then frees six prisoners from holding pens and in the process kills every guard at the facility. What the hell were the guards doing, standing around with their thumbs up their asses? Two nights ago they attack a convoy ferrying supplies to the north. Wiped out. That same night they ambush a black-shirt patrol. Wiped out. The next day they destroy a sentry post, blow up a storage area, and ambush one of our patrols. That night they launch a rocket attack against a barracks. The next day this pissy-assed little band of malcontents, being led by a middle-aged man, shoot down a plane as it was taking off and then proceed to shell the new airfield. Then that night they kill more than fifty of our people. Goddammit, do something!”

  “Do what, Mr. Jackman?” the commander of the black-shirts stationed in that area asked. “They are successful because of their small size. And they are being led by a man who is probably the foremost expert in guerrilla warfare in all the world. I was surprised that Ben Raines did not call his forces in to crush us here. Then it dawned on me why he had not done so. The man is having fun.”

  Jackman’s eyes bugged and his face reddened with new anger. “Fun?” he shouted.

  “Yes,” the black-shirt commander said calmly. “Fun. We know from many, many intelligence reports over the years on Ben Raines that his own people place restrictions, or at least attempt to place them, on his movements. He is a true combat soldier. He long ago found the ‘high’ that comes with intense combat. The rush that hottens the blood when faced with danger. And a great many of his troops are like him in that respect. That’s what makes the Rebels such a formidable force. Yes, Mr. Jackman, General Ben Raines is having fun.”

  The field phone jangled, and Jackman grabbed it and listened for a moment. Then he held the phone out at arm’s length and stared at it. He looked as though he wanted to smash the instrument. With a great deal of effort, Jackman managed to restrain his baser emotions and gently slipped the phone back into its base. He looked at the black-shirt commander.

  “Raines and his . . . team just attacked a twenty-man patrol up at Pigeon Creek. Wiped them out except for one man. Ben Raines gave that man a message to be personally and verbally delivered to me. He’s being brought here now.”

  The black-shirt chuckled. “Now that is a message that should be interesting.”

  “You think this is funny?” Jackman asked.

  “In a grim sort of way, yes. I hope you are all taking notes on this campaign. It’s a valuable program that Ben Raines is conducting.”

  “Taking notes,” Jackman repeated. Before he could blow up in a rage, the sole survivor of the ambush was ushered into the room. Jackman faced the still-badly-shaken man. “You have a message for me?”

  “Yes, sir. But you’re not going to like it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Ben Raines said for me to tell you that, first off, you are a quasi-literate redneck asshole with shit for brains . . .”

  The black-shirt commander contained his chuckle. Ben Raines was certainly right about that.

  Jackman’s eyes bugged again.

  “Ben Raines says that you haven’t got the sense to lace up your boots without an instruction manual.”

  Jackman sat down.

  “Ben Raines says that he’s going to cut off your head and stick it up your butt, which you
probably haven’t wiped since it’s obvious to him that your mother failed to teach you proper personal hygiene.”

  Jackman’s mouth dropped open.

  The black-shirt had to cover his mouth to hide his grin. Raines was baiting Jackman and it was working.

  “Raines said that you were so stupid you were a walking reason for anyone with common sense to support abortion.”

  “That’s enough!” Jackman said, slamming a hand down on his desk.

  “There’s a lot more, sir.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. What is that in your hand?”

  “A package from Ben Raines.”

  “It’s a bomb!” a commander shouted.

  “No, sir,” the messenger said. “It’s Ben Raines’s underwear.”

  “His underwear?” Jackman said.

  “Yes, sir. Ben Raines said that you were so perverted you probably got off sniffing dirty underwear so he sent you his and told me to tell you—”

  “I don’t want to hear anymore of this!” Jackman shouted, jumping to his feet. “Goddammit, get out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Wait a minute,” the black-shirt said to the messenger. “Let’s hear it all. What else did Raines have to say.”

  “I said I didn’t want to hear anymore!” Jackman shouted. “Get out of here.”

  “Stay,” the black-shirt said. He sat silently and stared at Jackman for a moment.

  Jackman got the quiet message and sat down. “Oh, go on,” he said.

  The messenger, obviously very uncomfortable, looked at Jackman and said, “Ben Raines said he is going to bust up your little playhouse and grind you under his bootheel.”

  The messenger went on and on, with Jackman getting angrier and more red-faced. It was one personal invective after another. Finally the black-shirt realized he was not going to learn anything of substance from the messenger and dismissed him.

  “I’ll send Ben Raines to hell!” Jackman said. He pounded big fists on the desk. “I’ll capture him and strip the flesh from him. I’ll—”