Betrayal in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ben took a grease pencil and drew a line, running north to south, from Dusseldorf down to Monaco. “Right there is where he’s going to stop us. From that point on, our advance, if any, is going to be measured in feet, not miles.”

  “You think it’s going to be that bad, Boss?” Corrie asked.

  “Yes.” He tapped the map. “Here, the MEF will be fighting on their own soil, and they’ll fight to the last drop of blood.” He straightened up and thanked Corrie for the fresh cup of coffee. “We’ve got to destroy or at least damage that underground lab in Poland to buy us some time. But I don’t know how in the hell to accomplish that.”

  “Send Emil Hite,” Cooper suggested.

  Ben smiled. Over the years since Emil had linked up with Ben and the Rebels, the little con man and his followers had turned into a fine, tight fighting unit, if one could just put up with his antics. “He’d go if I’d suggest it, Coop.”

  “Yes, he would, Chief. But I don’t know whether I’d wish Emil on the Polish people.”

  “Why don’t you go?” Jersey suggested. “And take your mouth with you.”

  “Only if you go with me, my lovely little unplucked desert flower,” Cooper responded, and took off for the door, Jersey right behind him.

  “I said unplucked, Jersey!” Coop hollered on a dead run.

  Doctor Chase stepped aside just in time to keep from being trampled.

  He stepped into the room and said, “Someday those two will probably get married. They’re made for each other. If she ever gets over her crush on you, Raines.”

  Corrie and Beth smiled at that. The entire Rebel Army knew that Jersey was in love with Ben Raines. But it was purely platonic and she and Ben both realized it and intended to keep it that way.

  Chase waved off the offer of coffee and sat down. “The press has finally caught up with us. I thought you would enjoy that bit of news.”

  “I’m thrilled.” He did not have to add that he hoped the press would stay the hell away from him. With the exception of a very few members, the media kept a wide berth from Ben, knowing that he did not like them. He did not trust most journalists to report a story fairly without resorting to a liberal viewpoint, pissing and moaning and stomping on hankies.

  Cassie Phillips, Nils Wilson, and Frank Service—all major network reporters—traveled with Ben’s One Batt . . . and they were the only ones he would allow to get close to him.

  “Casualties are amazingly light, Ben,” Doctor Chase said.

  “They won’t be for long, Lamar. In a couple of days, Bruno is going to turn and make his stand.”

  Chase smiled. “Did your crystal ball tell you that?”

  “Something like that. Are your supply trucks pulling up with your MASH units?”

  “My trucks are up even and we’ve got plenty of whole blood. Those captured troops of Bottger’s we examined are all healthy as horses. Bruno Bottger may be a nut and something of a monster, but his followers are as fit as the Rebels.”

  “Then if we run short of blood, take it from them.”

  “Look, Ben. I—”

  “Take it from them!” Ben said, his eyes flashing a warning that, as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.

  “If the press learns that we forcibly took blood from prisoners, there’ll be hell to pay, Ben.”

  “Fuck the press. Not one in ten has the sense to understand that we’re over here fighting this war, in part, so they can continue to spew and print their babble. If they get in my way again, I’ll shoot the lot of them and have done with it.”

  Chase laughed and stood up. “You are a mass of contradictions, Raines. You know that?”

  “So I’ve been told. By you. Often.”

  Chuckling, Chase left the room.

  Panting, Cooper stuck his head through an open back window. “I finally lost her. Man, she can run!” He started to climb in, and Jersey grabbed him by one leg and started pulling him back out. “Oh, shit!” Cooper hollered. “Don’t let this heathen get me. She’s going to ravish my body!”

  “Beat him up if you want to, Jersey,” Ben called. “But don’t ravish his body.”

  “Fat chance of that!” Jersey hollered, struggling to pull Cooper out of the window. But Coop had a death grip on the sill and wasn’t about to turn loose.

  Ben sat down and opened his map case. “It’s going to be a long night,” he muttered.

  “Turn me loose, Jersey!” Cooper yelled.

  Ben smiled. “And a noisy one, too.”

  SEVEN

  Bottger raced troops in from the East to plug the gap between Groningen, and Almelo and Ben did some fast reshuffling and moved troops around to the west side to meet them. Now the line was complete.

  Afterwards, deep in thought, Ben stared at map after map. He considered taking some of his Rebels to beef up Smithson. Then he decided to shift his own people around and take command up North. Then he rejected both options. Georgi had positioned himself close enough to see and correct any tactical errors that Billy might commit, although he sure hadn’t made any thus far—except for being a bit eager—if that could be called a flaw.

  Ben looked again at the map. Although Cannes and Nice had already been taken once by the Rebels, while the meeting in Geneva had been taking place, Bottger had moved troops up and the Rebels had backed away.

  Ike was down near Marseilles, Dan just north of him. From there on, south to north, it was West, Re-bet, Danjou, Tina, O’Shea, Greenwalt, Jackie Malone, Gomez, Nick Stafford, Jim Peters, and Ben at the far north of the Rebels’ sector. Georgi was in command of the resistance groups; and Buddy and his special ops people, among them many ex-Air Force combat controllers, were held in reserve. Ben knew that sooner or later some dirty job would need to be done and Buddy’s special ops people would be called upon to do it.

  Corrie turned in her chair. “Bottger’s forces have turned to make their stand, Boss. Exactly where you said they would.”

  “Bump Georgi in code and tell him to keep an eye on Billy and his people. Don’t let them screw up.”

  “Right.”

  “Put everyone on high alert. Advise the batt coms we shove off at dawn. There is nothing to be gained by a lot of tiptoeing around. Bottger can see us and we can see him.”

  “Where are we going, Chief?” Jersey asked.

  “Straight across just as hard as we can drive. Before we’re through, our lines are going to resemble an elongated L-shape, the bottom angle just as long as the side. If we’re successful with this maneuver, Bottger can only run one way: straight east into Russia.”

  Cooper was studying a map, being careful to hold it over his face to hide his grin. “I always wanted to visit Italy. Those Italian women will never be the same after I get there.”

  Jersey made a terrible gagging sound.

  Cooper started singing, very badly, “Indian Love Call.”

  “Oh, God!” Jersey said, standing up, holding her M-16 like a club.

  Cooper lowered the map and got ready to take flight. “Did you say something, my lovely little cactus flower?”

  And the chase was on.

  “We have enough votes to impeach,” Vice President Hooter said proudly, looking around the room.

  “Wonderful!” Immaculate Crapums cried, clapping his hands.

  “Right on, sister!” Rita Rivers bellowed, then jumped up and did a little dance.

  All the rest of those present in the conference room nodded their approval. I. M. Holey could do little more than nod; he was drunk.

  “What about the military?” Wiley Ferret asked.

  “We’ll order them disbanded and use that money for something else. I need some roads that go nowhere in my state,” Senator Arnold said. “Some more roads that go nowhere, that is,” he added.

  “Let’s use some of the money to hire more secret police so we can spy better on our constituency,” another liberal suggested.

  “Wonderful idea!” Zipporah Washington yelled.

  “We’ll use so
me of the money for an ad campaign,” Senator Benedict said. “The slogan will be: Joining The Republican Party Is As Dangerous To Your Health As Smoking Those Ol’ Terrible Nasty Horrible Cigarettes.”

  “Wonderful idea!” Zipporah Washington yelled.

  “I have a better idea,” another liberal said. “Let’s use some of the money to outlaw the Republican Party. Once that is done, we can put a bounty on the head of any Republican left alive.”

  “Wonderful idea!” Zipporah Washington yelled.

  “Yes,” Senator Arnold said. “After all, everyone with any sense knows that only liberal Democrats know what is best for everyone.”

  “Wonderful idea!” Zipporah yelled. Zipporah was not widely known for her originality.

  I. M. Holey grunted, belched, lifted his leg and farted, and went back to sleep.

  “I have a question,” Wiley Ferret said, looking nervously around him. “What happens when we tell the army that we are now in control and they tell us to go to hell?”

  “They wouldn’t dare!” Vice President Hooter said. Hooter hated the military. During a grab-ass party years back, hers was the only ass that hadn’t been grabbed by a military hand. She had been deeply offended.

  “Go to hell,” General Bodison told the vice president. “And get out of my office.”

  “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” Harriet Hooter hollered. “I am the Vice President of the United States.”

  “Carry your ass,” the general told her. “Blanton is President and he’s going to remain in that job until the people vote him out.”

  “Congress has spoken!” Hooter thundered.

  Bodison waited until the ringing in his ears had subsided and said, “Leave or I will have you removed, Ms. Hooter.”

  “I’ll have your job for this!”

  “Out!”

  Outside the new Pentagon, Rita Rivers asked, “Did he ravish your body?”

  “No.”

  “Next time, send me. I have a way with men.”

  Yeah. For ten bucks. Five on a slow night.

  Corrie woke Ben up. Ben looked at his watch: Nearly three o’clock in the morning. He had slept as much as he usually did, for Ben required only a few hours of sleep. He grabbed for his pants. “What is it?”

  “Hooter and those aligned with her made their power play against Blanton just a few hours ago,” she told Ben. “The military stood tall and backed the President all the way. But the politically correct gun-grabbers swear they are the ones in power and are rallying a lot of people.”

  “The police?” Ben asked, pulling on his boots.

  “Most of them back the military.”

  “Consensus?”

  “A lot of blood is going to be shed before it’s all over.”

  “All right. Get me Blanton on the horn.”

  Ben pulled a mug of coffee and picked up a doughnut from the tray while Corrie dialed the President. “Homer, I hope you realize that your back is up against the wall now.”

  “I do, Ben.”

  “You ready to play in my ball park now?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  “All right, Ben. Lay down the rules.”

  “I’m sending you four or five battalions of Rebels from the SUSA—as many as Cecil can spare. Can you put a muzzle on Harriet Hooter?”

  “I’d have better luck attempting to muzzle a grizzly.”

  “Make an effort. Advise the lady and her followers that you now have the full backing of the SUSA, the United States military, and most of the police. She’ll have to think about that before making any rash moves, which will give us time to get Cecil’s Rebels in place. You’re running a shattered, fragmented, and demoralized bunch of states, Homer. And I do not mean any criticism by that remark. Only that those against you will have little or no real organization. Tell General Bodison to arm those citizens who support you and whip them into shape. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  Ben could hear the President sigh. “If you say so, Ben. I guess you’re right.”

  “You didn’t think your friends would ever turn against you, right?”

  “Are you a mind reader, too, Ben?”

  “No, I’m just good at guessing. Homer, before this is over, we both are going to have friends turn against us. And when the dust and smoke finally settles, I firmly believe that North America will be the temporary home of anywhere from four or five to a dozen or more separate nations. I saw that coming back in the late ’80’s. Some of those nations won’t last as long as it takes for the ink to dry on their constitutions; Billy Smithson’s all-white state won’t last. It won’t last any longer than an all-black state or nation, and that’s coming, too. There’ll be Latins who want their own state or nation, and Indians, and so on down the line. None of them will be permanent. But your nation and my nation, Homer, they’ll last. We’ve got a chance to start over here. We can either make something good out of it or fuck it up. But we can’t start by massive give-away programs and pitting one race against the other. We’ve all got to be on equal footing. If we’re not, it won’t work. People have got to learn that they, and they alone, control their own destinies. And if they screw up, it’s nobody’s fault but their own. We have to stop allowing excuses for criminal behavior—or you have to, that is. In the SUSA, we’ve already put a stop to that nonsense. We’ve got to bring honesty back to government and law. And that means if I screw up or you screw up, we pay the price. It’s hard to accomplish, Homer. And I won’t say we’ve done it to my satisfaction in the SUSA, but we’re close. I guess that’s the end of the speech, friend.”

  “Friend,” Homer said softly. “I like the sound of that, Ben. Friend. Are we friends?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then we are. It was a good speech, Ben. A very good one.” He took a deep breath. “Nothing is going to destroy what remains of the United States, Ben. I won’t allow it. If I have to lock up my vice president and that entire pack of kooks she has around her, by God, I will.”

  “Hang in there, Homer. I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got a war to fight.”

  “Good luck, Ben. And I mean that, friend.”

  “I know you do. Same to you, friend. Raines out.”

  “Well, I’ll be goddamned!” Lamar Chase spoke from behind Ben. “The world’s biggest liberal and the world’s hardest conservative have made friends. This is one for the history books.”

  Ben got up from the radio and stretched. “What the hell are you doing up at this hour, Lamar?”

  “Went to bed too early. I thought you’d be up and prowling around, so I walked over. I’m glad I did. That was a momentous conversation.”

  “It may surprise you to learn that back before the Great War, I had a number of liberal friends, Lamar.”

  “Nothing about you surprises me, Ben. Not after all the years I’ve known you.”

  Ben poured another cup of coffee and once more glanced at his watch. “Your people up and moving, Lamar?”

  “I imagine so.”

  Ben sat down on the corner of a battered table he’d been using for a deck.

  Chase smiled. “Are you about to say something terribly dramatic, such as ‘This is it, boys’?”

  Ben laughed. “I hope not, Lamar.”

  “Far Eyes reporting movement up and down the eastern side of the line,” Corrie called.

  “Get the people up,” Ben said. “High alert.”

  Lamar drained his coffee cup. “I’d better get back to my boys and girls.” He paused at the door. “It’s down to the nitty-gritty now, isn’t it, Ben?”

  “Yeah.” Ben’s reply was soft. “I won’t kid you, Lamar. It’s going to be a bad one from here on in.”

  “Just how far is ‘in’ going to be, Ben?”

  Ben shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve been attempting to make contact with some Russian resistance groups. But no luck so far. We know they exist, but they’re hesitant to answer us. I sure would like to have them on
our side. With their help, we could put Bruno and his people in a box and nail the lid closed.”

  “What about this serum he’s working on?”

  “Mike’s people were ferreted out and killed. We don’t have anybody left there in any position to let us know anything. We’re going in blind.”

  Chase nodded. “Is Blanton going to hang tough and stay in power?”

  “I think so. I hope so. Cecil can only do so much; and Blanton would never, under any circumstances, accept any help from Billy Smithson’s people.”

  “Ben, should Hooter and her bunch somehow manage to gain power, we could walk over them without a great deal of trouble.”

  “I know. I just want an end to the trouble back home, but I’m afraid that’s not going to be for a long, long time.”

  Chase hesitated. “I’ll see you down the line, Ben,” he said, then walked out into the darkness.

  Ben took a quick shower, then shaved and dressed. He slipped into his body armor and battle harness and picked up his old Thompson. “Pack it up, people,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  EIGHT

  There was no finesse to this battle. As if on cue, the two armies slugged it out, day after long, loud, and bloody day. Billy Smithson’s forces were stopped cold on the outskirts of Dusseldorf and Koln. As Ben had predicted, this was homeland for the MEF and anyone who tried to take it was going to pay in blood.

  Ben began shifting artillery batteries north and flew up to Smithson’s sector. “Start throwing in HE and willie peter,” he ordered the beefed-up artillery batteries. “Around the clock. We’ll burn them out.”

  It had not taken Smithson long to realize that once the fighting ceased and he and his people returned to America, the one person in the world he did not want to tangle with was Ben Raines. While the artillery roared, raining death and fire down on the cluster of cities, Billy, his senior advisors, and Ben Raines withdrew for lunch and conversation.