Rebels were attacking at fifty different locations up and down the front, but this attack on the pass was different for this was a vital link and Bruno would have troops standing close by.
“Get those ATs out as quickly as possible,” Ben called.
The anti-tank mines were rushed up and laid out as fast as the Rebels could work.
“And take it easy arming them,” Ben added, knowing that the Rebels, when setting the single or double safeties on the timer (depending on the type of mine), sometimes cut it very short. “If we can cripple the lead tanks, they’ll block the road and give us even more time,” Ben said to no one in particular.
“And we’re going to need some time,” Corrie called. “MEF tanks are on the way in a hurry. I’m locked on to their frequency.”
“Our MBT’s are one hour away at top speed,” Beth said.
“The roads are shit,” Cooper spoke around a wad of gum. “Make it ninety minutes max for them.”
“For once I agree with you,” Jersey said.
“Thank you, my lovely little desert sandstorm,” Cooper said, edging around so Ben was between him and Jersey.
“Dragons in place,” Corrie said.
“Tell those gunners I want the lead two tanks to pass their positions,” Ben told her. “When they set off the ATs, fire; then knock out any between the hits. Got it?”
Corrie radioed the orders, knowing why Ben was doing this. If he could have six burning tanks blocking the two-lane road, they had a chance of holding until help arrived.
“We’ve got to get across the St. Bernard Bridge and hold it from the other end and keep Bottger’s men from blowing it,” Ben said. “We’ve got to keep that bridge intact.”
But he had no way of knowing whether or not the twisting bridge was wired to blow.
The rainy night suddenly boomed as anti-tank rockets were fired and were right on target. The darkness was briefly illuminated as tanks rolled onto ATs and set them off. Two more explosions were heard, and Ben was up and running out of the tunnel toward the bridge, yelling for his people to follow him—Jersey, Beth, Corrie, and Cooper keeping pace with him.
“Goddamnit, General!” Lt. Bonelli hollered. “Will you wait for the rest of us? Goddamnit!”
Ben shouted, “Come on, people. Come on. Let’s take this bridge and do it now!” He disappeared into the rain-swept darkness.
Rebels surged forward out of the tunnel, following Ben into the unknown.
Far ahead of him, Ben could see dozens of headlights pocking the rain and darkness, the drivers pushing their trucks as fast as they dared in the rain; the trucks were carrying troops from Bottger’s MEF.
“Who’s got the M-60?” Ben yelled.
“Right here, sir!”
“Set it up and take out that first truck. Aim just above the headlights.”
The M-60 roared and rattled, and the lead truck suddenly slewed to one side as the 7.62 mm rounds shredded the windshield and took out the driver and anyone else in the cab. The truck tipped over and the sounds of grinding metal against concrete was loud in the night; sparks flew for a few seconds. When the sparking and grinding ceased, the bridge was effectively blocked—at least for a short time anyway. Ben was running toward the lights, his Rebels right behind him.
They ran past the first of the burning tanks and the sickeningly sweet smell of seared human flesh coming from inside the hollow steel hulls. Not that far away, Ben could see other figures running toward them.
“Here!” he panted to the M-60 crew. “Take them down.”
Cooper was carrying his SAW and he added his own .223 melody to the 7.62 mm song of the M-60. The first row of enemy soldiers crumpled and went down. Another truck began wobbling from side to side, banging against the heavy, steel-reinforced concrete barriers on each side of the bridge, and then toppled over onto its side, sliding to a halt.
Ben led the first wave of the Rebels into battle, going mano a mano with the lead troops of Bottger’s MEF.
Bottger’s troops had met many an enemy before this stormy, rainy night, but they had never faced the savage fury of the Rebels in hand-to-hand combat. It was no contest and it didn’t take the MEF long to realize that.
When the magazines in Rebel weapons emptied, they either took the weapons away from the MEF and used them or started swinging their own weapons like heavy clubs, smashing heads and splitting skulls. Some Rebels pulled out long-bladed knives and went to work, cutting and slashing. The blood mixed with the rain on the long bridge.
“Verruckt leute!” more than one MEF troop yelled. Crazy people!
Twelve hundred yelling, screaming, shouting, and cursing Rebels now crowded onto the bridge, literally forcing the MEF troops into retreat. It was eyeball-to-eyeball fighting in the cold rain. The MEF had never seen anything like it, and they soon discovered they had no stomach for it. The MEF turned and began running eastward, trying to get away from the shrieking mass of crazy people on the bridge.
The Rebels gave chase and, for the first few minutes of the cold wet fight, offered no chance for surrender. Bottger would receive field reports from some of the survivors stating that Rebels bodily picked up MEF troops and hurled them over the side of the bridge. Others stated that the Rebels behaved like lunatics and fought like savages.
And it was not just at this one point where the Rebels showed the MEF what they were made of. All along the hundreds-of-miles-long front, the Rebels and the resistance forces slammed into Bottger’s troops and put them into a rout, fighting with a seemingly wild fury and a cold dedication the enemy had never before encountered and simply could not withstand.
At the pass, Rebel tanks arrived and shoved the ruined enemy tanks and trucks over the side and rumbled across the bridge.
“Take a break,” Ben finally ordered when his people were several miles deep into Italy and on the outskirts of a small town. “Let’s find out where everybody else is north and south of us. Check the bridge for explosives. This day is ours.”
ELEVEN
Just as dawn was splitting the skies, the rain ceased, the fog lifted, and the sun began breaking through, lighting the bloody morning. The mayor of the small town of Courmay rode out to meet with Ben. He was so happy to see the troops of the World Stabilization Forces, tears were running down his face. Ben thought for a moment the mayor was going to kiss him.
Bonelli stepped up and translated for Ben. “The MEF stopped running when they reached Aosta, the capital of this valley. It’s called Valle d’Aosta. He says that Bottger’s troops were badly mauled.”
“You guys kicked the shit out of them, Joe,” a boy of about ten said in English.
Doctor Chase walked over and looked at the boy.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” Ben demanded of the chief of medicine.
“Oh, shut up, Raines,” the doctor said, inspecting the boy. “He’s in pretty good shape. I’ll start setting up for mass inoculation of the children.”
“The mayor says his people have prepared a feast for us,” Bonelli said.
“Can we trust him?” Ben asked.
“Oh, yeah, you betcha, General Raines,” the boy said. “Everything’s cool with us.”
Ben laughed at the boy. “What’s your name?”
“Mario.”
“All right, Mario. You go with Doctor Chase here and do what he tells you to do, O.K.?”
“O.K., General. I’m hip.”
Mario walked off with Chase. Bonelli listened to the mayor for a moment, then said, “The boy’s family was killed by the MEF two years ago. They were all resistance fighters. He has no one and lives hand to mouth. The mayor said the boy is a savage. He’s been known to slip into MEF camps at night and cut throats while the soldiers slept.”
“Sounds like our kind of people,” Ben said. “If he wants to go, we’ll take him with us.”
The press, in the form of Cassie, Nils, and Frank, had pulled up and were listening, taking notes.
“I know just the family back h
ome for him,” Bonelli said.
“If he wants to go,” Ben cautioned. “Tell the mayor we’ll be in his village later on today. Have scouts recon the town and make sure it isn’t a trap. Corrie, let’s get set up and start receiving field reports.”
Bonelli said, “The mayor wants to know what happens to those people who collaborated with the enemy?”
“It’s his town,” Ben replied. “Do what he thinks has to be done.”
Bonelli translated, and the mayor’s eyes turned hard. “It will be done,” he said in French, for this was mostly a French-speaking part of the country.
Ben did not need a translation for that.
* * *
As Ben worked through the morning, he could clearly hear the sounds of gunshots coming from the small village down the valley. Those who had gotten in bed with the troops of the MEF—sometimes literally—were paying a heavy price for it. Ben did not interfere with the executions. He was here to stabilize the country and help set up a workable government. The citizens knew how best to deal with traitors.
The Rebels of One Batt rested and dried out wet clothing under the warmth of the sun. Supply trucks came through, and everybody got two pairs of fresh, clean, and dry socks. Take care of your feet, and your feet will take care of you.
Ben studied the latest communiqués: Denmark had acted, and their troops had thrown up a barrier along their border with Bottger’s New Federation, cutting off any escape in that direction. But Norway and Sweden had their hands full. Both countries had troops along the Finnish border, for outlaws from Russian prisons had escaped just after the outbreak of the Great War and now controlled much of that country, threatening to spill over into Sweden and then into Norway. Their numbers had swelled as more and more outlaws poured into the country, either killing or driving out most of the decent folks and enslaving, or attempting to enslave, the rest. There were a number of Finnish resistance groups scattered around the country, but they were vastly outnumbered by the outlaws.
“If we don’t get any response out of Russia, I know where we’ll probably go next,” Ben muttered.
“I can hardly wait,” Corrie said. “I have this picture of Cooper on skis. What a sight.”
“Oh, boy,” Cooper said. “Great big blonde Scandinavian babes!”
Jersey groaned.
And Beth, who almost never entered into the banter, looked up from her paperwork and said, “You mean you’ve finally outgrown magic fingers, Coop.”
Coop left the room with as much dignity as he could muster, doing his best to ignore the laughter.
Bruno Bottger was silent in thought. He had just received word that all the people he had sent into Russia to organize groups had been found—hanging from tree limbs just inside the Polish border with Belarus. Notes found pinned to their coats left no room for doubt about the feelings of the people there toward Bottger’s policies and tactics.
He had no place left to run now that his northern borders had been sealed tight by those damnable Danes. Oh, well, he thought with a sigh, who wants to go to that dismal country anyway?
And Bruno, vain though he was, knew at last for a fact that his MEF would never defeat the Rebels. He smiled sadly. It wasn’t the end of the world. Just the end of him. But his dream would never die. He reached into a desk drawer and took out a Luger, the same pistol that his grandfather had carried while serving the greatest leader the world had ever known: Adolf Hitler. Bruno Bottger lifted the muzzle to his temple.
* * *
Ben looked at Corrie, speechless for a moment. “Would you repeat that, Corrie?!’
“I said Bruno Bottger is dead. He killed himself at his castle in Eastern Germany about an hour ago. Some of his generals want to discuss surrender terms.”
“One defeat and he kills himself?” Ben questioned. “No way. I don’t believe it. Some of his generals?”
“Right. A lot of the MEF refuse to surrender.”
“It’s a trick, Corrie. Bruno Bottger is not the suicide type. They might have a body, but it isn’t Bruno.”
“I said that, Boss. Their reply was to come to the funeral if you doubted it.” She held up a hand. “Just a minute.” She listened and then said, “Troops of the MEF are surrendering by the hundreds up and down the line. It’s over, Boss. It’s really over.”
“Get me whoever is in command of the MEF, Corrie.”
A moment later, she handed him the mike. “General Max Heinrich, Boss.”
“General Heinrich, this is Ben Raines.”
“Ah, General Raines! Yes, it is true. Bruno Bottger put a gun to his head and killed himself only hours ago. I have assumed command of the armed forces and have ordered an immediate surrender of all our troops. I beg you to treat the men in a humane manner.”
“They will be treated well, General Heinrich.”
“Thank you, sir. Now, as to the funeral, I can but assume that you would want to personally view the body and that you think this is some sort of trick. I assure you, it is no trick. However, name the airport and I will have the body flown to that airport for viewing and/or autopsy, if you wish.”
“Geneva.”
“Very well. When?”
Ben waited on the tarmac for the plane to land. Ike and Georgi had flown in, as had General Matthies, commander of the German Resistance, a man who had known Bruno personally for years.
“An autopsy would prove nothing, Ben,” Doctor Chase had said. “We don’t have prints of Bottger; we don’t have dental records or medical records. We have nothing to compare DNA.”
“I will know if the body in the casket is Bottger,” Matthies said. “I’ve known him for years. He has a birthmark on his right forearm, just below the elbow, inside. No way they could fake that.”
“Family?” Ben asked.
“He was an only child,” Matthies replied.
“This whole thing stinks,” Billy Smithson said.
“I agree,” Ben responded. “But if the body in the casket is that of Bruno Bottger and his men continue to surrender, then it’s over for the most part—except for a lot of mop up.”
Ike shook his head. “Something is fishy about this. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“I am of the same opinion,” Georgi said.
Ben said nothing. But like the others, he felt something was wrong. The men of the MEF, from the top general down to the lowest rated enlisted man, were all fanatics. For them to just abruptly quit and lay down their arms, even with Bottger gone, didn’t make any sense.
“There’s the plane.” Ike broke into Ben’s thoughts.
They watched the twin-engine plane land and then taxi up and cut its engines. The doors opened, and a man stepped down the ladder.
“General Max Heinrich,” Matthies said. “I’ve known him for years.”
Heinrich marched up to the group of men and saluted smartly. General Matthies spat on the tarmac and refused to return the salute or to shake the man’s hand.
Heinrich smiled. “We must bury old animosities, now, General Matthies. The conflict is over.”
Matthies grunted. “The body?”
“I will have it removed to a hangar. Which one?”
Ben pointed, and Heinrich barked an order.
Inside the hangar, Heinrich said, “We did nothing to the body except wash it. The, ah, odor, might be strong.”
“He couldn’t stink any worse in death than he did in life,” Matthies said.
“No respect for the dead, old friend?” Heinrich asked.
“Not for this son of a bitch. And I am not your friend.”
Heinrich smiled and ordered the lid to be opened. The smell was bad, but not intolerable. Ben looked hard at the body. What was left of the face certainly looked like Bruno Bottger. Matthies stepped forward and shoved up the shirt sleeve, exposing a small birthmark on the man’s arm. He stepped back.
“That is Bruno Bottger,” Matthies said. “There is no doubt of it. The vulture is dead.”
“Well, I’ll just be goddamned
!” Ike said.
“So will he.” Matthies pointed to the body. “I hope.”
TWELVE
General Heinrich signed surrender papers for the men and women under his command and then took the body of Bruno Bottger and returned to Germany for the funeral.
Ben told Vanderhoot of the Free Dutch, René Seaux of the FRF, General Roche of Belgium, General Plaisance of Luxembourg, and General de Saussure of the Swiss Freedom Fighters they could return home and start helping to set up governments; their part in the fight was over . . . except to watch the Rebels’ backs.
“According to General Heinrich, we’re still facing between fifty thousand and seventy-five thousand of Bottger’s troops who refused to surrender. They’re scattered over the northern part of Italy, and all over Poland, Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia. This war is a long way from being over.”
“How about Russia?” West asked, sitting beside Ben’s daughter, Tina.
“We can’t establish firm contact with anyone there,” Ben said. “All we’re getting is bits and pieces, and that is jumbled and garbled. The same with Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Albania, Macedonia, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, the Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. We don’t know what the hell is going on in those countries. But we will. Eventually.”
“Then we’re pushing on east?” Rebet asked.
“All the way until we’re told to stop.”
“How are things back home?” Jackie Malone, commander of 12 Batt asked.
“President Blanton is back at work for a few hours each day. He’s going to be all right. General Bodison is back as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.” His eyes found Colonel Lee Flanders. “He’s sending another full battalion over to beef up your people, Lee, and he asked me to tell you that you have been promoted to general rank. Congratulations. He’s sending me your stars, and I’ll pin them on you as soon as I receive them. Then you get a salute and you owe me a dollar.”
Betrayal in the Ashes Page 9