A brick thrown by a citizen smashed through the window of what used to be a store and was now the CP of the enemy forces. Everyone in the room hit the floor. The brick-thrower vanished into the darkened alleyways of the town.
“Guerrillas attacking at a dozen points in both towns,” the commanders were informed.
“Well, how the hell did they get across?”
“I would imagine by boat, sir,” the weary radio operator said.
That got him a very dirty look. “Fall back,” the commander finally said. “Regroup at Athlone and Tullamore. Let’s go.”
But Ike and his two companies had swung wide around the town and were waiting at the crossroads. They turned the retreat into a slaughter.
“Will you be the American Rebels?” a boy asked Ben.
“That’s right, son. Do you know where the headquarters of Hunt’s army is?”
“Indeed I do, sir. Next block up on the left.” He smiled. “It’s got a fairly busted window from a brick.”
Ben and his teams caught the commander and his staff attempting to leave by the back door. The Rebels turned the dark alleyway slick with blood and the old bricks pocked and scarred by bouncing lead.
The streets suddenly filled with angry citizens, armed with axes and hatchets and clubs and chains and shotguns and old pistols and whatever else the men and women and kids could get their hands on. Ben grabbed one boy – about eight or nine – and turned him around – very carefully The boy had a butcher knife in one hand.
“Whoa, son! Easy now, we’re friends. Where are you going with that pig sticker?”
“I’m off to find the man who done them bad things to my sister,” the boy solemnly informed Ben. “Now kindly turn me loose, sir.”
“Why don’t you let us do that?” Ben asked. “And you stay here. We’ve got hot chocolate all ready to fix.”
“Real hot chocolate?”
“Real as can be.”
Cooper began stoking up the stove and Jersey dug out a packet of hot chocolate mix from her pack.
“But I’ll keep my knife, sir,” the boy said.
“That’s fine,” Ben told him. “That knife is, ah, sharp, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead, sir.”
“And your sister you spoke of?”
“Dead. After them men used her bad they killed her.”
Linda knelt down. “Where are you staying?”
“Down by the docks. I fish and catch small game and sometimes rats.”
“You eat rats?” Cooper asked.
“Sure. Lots of folks do that. Jack Hunt’s men take all the food.”
“Go on inside and get your chocolate,” Ben said. “You’ll not have to eat a rat again, boy. I promise you that.”
The boy, dressed in ragged clothing, walked up the steps. His shoes were nothing more than two pieces of old tire rubber. “They’s folks starvin’ in this town, mister. Folks that’s been hurt and can’t get no medicine. Little babies dyin’ more often than they live.”
“We’re here to help, son,” Ben told him, as a group of citizens walked up.
“Is it really General Raines and the Rebels?” a man asked, leaning on a cane.
“Big as life, Mayor,” the boy said. “And he’s brung food and medicine, too. They got hot chocolate in yonder.”
“Lord love us!” an elderly woman spoke up. “I ain’t tasted hot chocolate in years.”
“ ’Tis a fine evenin’ for Ireland,” the man said. “Welcome to Ballinasloe, General.”
Cooper took the only packet of rations he’d brought with him out of his pack and stepped forward, handing it to the woman. He had suddenly lost his appetite. “This’ll tide you over ‘til the ration trucks get here, ma’am.”
“With yer permission, lad, I’ll take it to my granddaughter. She’s ill with the fever and needs food more than me.”
“Just as soon as the town is clear,” Ben said, “they’ll be doctors in. Is your hospital building intact?”
“Yes, sir,” the Mayor said. “It’s in fine shape. But nobody exceptin’ Hunt’s men could use it. His people vacated the buildin’ when the first shot was fired this evenin’.”
Ben looked around him and found Buddy giving his food packet to a little girl. “Buddy. Take a team and go with this gentlemen here. Secure the hospital and get it ready to receive patients.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Ike reports the town is ninety percent clean,” Corrie called. “And Dan says he has neutralized Bangher.”
“Get the people across the bridges,” Ben ordered. “Start trucking in supplies from the harbor.” He looked at the ever-growing crowd of ragged and hungry people; ragged and hungry, but with no defeat in their proud Irish eyes. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Five
At dawn, the Rebels had completed their flushing out of members of Hunt’s army who had taken refuge in basements and sheds and abandoned houses. At Ben’s orders, any taken alive were turned over to the townspeople. Trials were held and justice was handed down very quickly at the end of a rope. The dead troops of Hunt’s army were buried in a unmarked, mass grave on the outskirts of town.
Ben slept for a few hours, checked in with all his people, and then began an inspection of the town. Ike had rejoined his battalion, and Rebet and Tina’s people were safe and being repositioned. All the other battalions west of the river were resuming their search-and-destroy missions against Jack Hunt’s army and the turncoat sympathizers who stayed with them.
There were some among them who wanted to give it up. But the Irish people have long memories, and the atrocities that had been committed against them were neither easily forgotten nor forgiven. The ranks of the Free Irish troops began to swell, taking some of the pressure off the Rebels, and putting a hell of a lot more pressure on Jack Hunt’s people. Those of Hunt’s army who were trapped west of the rivers soon realized they had only one thing to look forward to: a grave.
With each town or hamlet or village liberated by the Rebels, the citizens were organized, armed, and given a stock of ammunition. From the reports sent back to Ben, he doubted that any government would ever disarm these people again.
“Lord help anyone who even tries,” Ben remarked.
And Irish doctors and nurses began surfacing. They had been forced to practice their profession underground, so to speak, for not a one of them wanted to work on any of Hunt’s people. Chase put them to work immediately.
For a couple of weeks, the drive east was halted along the rivers while the Rebels moved equipment and supplies across the only remaining bridges and engineers worked to build temporary bridges across the rivers. At the end of two weeks, it was reported to Ben that the Counties of Clare, Galway, Mayo, and Roscommon and most of Sligo could now be declared effectively neutralized.
“We push on in the morning,” Ben ordered.
“It’s crazy, Jack!” one of his commanders said. “You can’t stand and slug it out with these people. That’s been proved true time and time again.”
Jack shook his head. “No, Vernon, no. We’ve got basically the same equipment he’s got – except for the gunships. But we’ve got three times the troops. Why drag this all the way over to England when we can settle it here?”
“I agree with Jack,” another commander said. “Raines got lucky on his sneak attack. But wars aren’t won on luck.”
“Thank you, Frankie. Anything else?”
“Yes.” The man stood up. “You’re forgetting the Free Irish that Raines is arming.”
“What about them?”
“Don’t sell them short. He probably has better than a thousand of them right now.”
“I doubt it. More like five or six hundred, tops. So what. We’ve still got Raines outnumbered. I say we hit him hard and keep hitting him.”
“You mean for us to go to him?” another battalion commander questioned.
“No. Let him come to us.�
�
“Why that way?” another asked.
“Because I’ve learned that Raines is not going to destroy all this ancient shit on the island. That’s the deal he made with the Free Irish.”
“So?”
“So when we set up our lines, we set them up in old churches, around prized statues and all that crap. Raines will not, repeat, will not, destroy all that old shit. That means we can put fire out, but he’s not going to return it. He’ll be depending on his ground troops alone.”
“You got that information firm?”
“Firm, Harris. That Free Irish asshole held out for hours, but we finally got it out of him.”
“Well, now,” Vernon said. “That makes me feel better. All right!”
Jack moved to a huge map of Ireland. “Artillery is in place here, at Tullnally Castle, and down here, at Durrow Abbey. Men are right now being set up in every castle, every church, and every ruins from Ballyhaise to Castle Gardens. If we have to fall back, I’ve ordered equipment, food, and ammo to be placed in those ruins and churches and castles behind the new lines. Every time Raines has to stop for one of these old broken-down pieces of shit, we hammer them. Maybe use the people for shields around the old dumps and churches and the like ...” He paused as a messenger came in and handed him a sheet of paper. “Scouts report that it looks like Raines is about to pull out come the morning. Let’s get cracking, boys. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Ben read the message and said a few very choice words about Jack Hunt and men like him. He poured him two fingers of good Irish whiskey that a man had presented him in deepest gratitude — which Ben had accepted in even deeper gratitude — and drank it down neat. Then he calmed himself and rolled a cigarette. With a sigh, he said, “Corrie, advise all commanders that Hunt has put heavy artillery and heavy machine gun emplacements in all abbeys, monasteries, churches, castles, historical houses, and ruins. The son of a bitch.”
Corrie paused for a moment, staring at Ben.
He nodded his head. “Yes, Corrie. You know what it means as well as I do. It bothered us all to destroy two- and three-hundred-year-old points of interest in America. Now we’re talking about places a thousand years old ... and older. Some, five thousand years old. What will be left for those who come after us?”
Chase had entered the room to stand in the doorway, listening. “How about leaving them a world filled with law and justice and decent people, Ben? How about leaving them a new respect for others and all the creatures that inhabit this planet? How about leaving them democracy and order and books and learned men and women to teach them? And how about pouring me a shot of that Irish whiskey while you’re at it?”
“I can’t see myself destroying those places, Lamar,” Ben said, pouring a generous slug in a coffee cup. A very faint smile creased his lips.
“What are you plotting in that devious brain of yours, Raines?” Chase asked, after a taste of Emerald Isle.
“It would be chancy,” Ben replied. “And something I would have to work out with all the other commanders. But it just might work. It really just might work.”
“What, Ben?” Linda asked.
Ben rose from the chair and paced the room. “Corrie, cancel those orders to move out in the morning. Tell all commanders I want to see them here at 0700, and that includes the commander of the Free Irish battalion.”
“What the hell are you plotting, Father?” Buddy asked, looking up from the chess game he was playing against Jersey, who was beating him soundly.
“Unconventional warfare.”
Beth, the last member of his team, had just rejoined them after spraining her ankle badly in Galway during the invasion. She looked over at him. “I didn’t know that the Rebels ever did anything conventional.”
“Sometimes, Beth,” Ben said with a smile. “Sometimes. But not this time.”
Georgi Striganov, the Russian, roared with laughter after Ben had laid out his plans. “I love it, Ben!” he shouted. “I by God, love it!”
Rebet and Danjou looked at each other and chuckled. It was a wild plan, but it might work.
Ike clapped his big hands and said, “What was it that Ali used to say? Yeah. ‘Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.’ That’s us, Ben.”
West and Tina Raines both nodded in agreement.
Colonel Gray’s eyes were bright with excitement. Now here was something to his liking. “I’m for it,” the Englishman said.
Buddy and Beerbelly both laughed and said, “All right!”
Pat O’Shea, the commander of the Free Irish said, “It’s a wee bit loony, General, but I think it’ll work.”
Chase shook his head. “Raines, you’re crazy. But God love me, I like it.”
“Supplies will be the problem. But once an objective is taken, and we’ll have to be closely coordinated at all times to make sure we don’t get too far ahead of each section, the supplies can roll in.”
“We’ll have Jack’s army spread out from Donegal to Cork,” Beerbelly said, looking at a map of Ireland. “We’ll have them so confused they won’t be able to find their asses with both hands and a huntin’ dog.”
“It’s chancy, people,” Ben dampened their enthusiasm. “And it could backfire on us. I want us all to sleep on this plan. I want you all to think about it and offer suggestions in the morning. We’ve never done anything like this, not on this grand a scale. And once we’re committed, there is no turning back. That is why I want our armored personnel in reserve and ready to roll, and three battalions in reserve in case we have to holler for help. The three battalions will be chosen by drawing numbers. Slowest three numbers stay in reserve. Now, wander around the rest of the day, give this some thought, and we’ll meet again in the morning. That’s it.”
Twenty-four hours later, no one had changed his mind and no one had any suggestions to offer that would enhance what Ben had laid out previously.
“All right, let’s do it,” Ben said. He dropped slips of paper into a helmet, each slip with a number on it between one and nine. Each commander drew. The three battalions to stay behind were Striganov’s Five Battalion, Thermopolis’ Eight Battalions, and Tina’s Nine Battalion.
“Shit!” Ben’s daughter said, disgust in her voice.
“Breaks of the game, kid,” Ben said.
Of the commanders in the room, seven knew that Ben had rigged the slips of paper. Only three of the slips had numbers on them. One, two, and three. Thermopolis’ battalions, because he and his people had the least experience in guerrilla tactics; Striganov’s battalion, because Ben needed someone with a lot of experience to stay behind and run the operations’ board; and Tina’s battalion, to help ferry supplies to the forward troops. Georgi Striganov had agreed in advance to his part in the rigged game; he was a career soldier who knew his duty and did it without any static.
Thermopolis and Tina might have suspected that Ben had rigged the numbers, but neither of them would question him about it ... for the moment, at least. Thermopolis would question a stump, but for now he left it alone.
“Rebet,” Ben said, picking up a pointer and slapping the map with it, “take your people north to Leitrim and Longford and split them up. Draw supplies and move out. I’ll take Westmeath and Offaly. Ike, you’ll have a heavy load in Laois and Waterford. West, start in Tipperary. Dan, Limerick and Kerry. Danjou, that leaves Cork for you. It’s going to take us several days to get in place. Pick your teams now. We travel in full battalion columns and don’t split up until we’re in our objectives. Once there, start moving out at night. We’re going to terrorize these people, gang. We’re going to make them so scared they’ll shit their drawers at the slightest noise. If this works, the men that Jack spread around the castles and abbeys and churches and ruins are going to be so demoralized they’ll finally run back to Hunt like frightened children. And Jack won’t know where to strike, because we’ll be all over the country. This operation will either be an enormous success or the Rebel Army will be whipped for the first time since our inc
eption.”
Ben let those words sink in for a moment. “You three battalions in reserve, stay loose. We’re counting on you. If someone hollers, come in hard. If armor and artillery has to destroy a church or other historical place to save Rebel lives, so be it. But I’m hoping we can pull this off without that happening. We’ll damn sure know in a few days. Move out, people ... and good luck.”
“What the hell is he doing?” Jack tossed the question out as he stood before a huge wall map. “It doesn’t make any sense. It appears that he’s drawing very thin battle lines north and south of his present location.” He shook his head. “No. No. Raines is too good a soldier for that. He knows that would never work. We’d bust through his lines and box him in. He’s pulling something, but damned if I know what it is.” He wheeled about to face an aide. “All our people in place?”
“In place and dug in tight. Food and ammo enough for weeks.”
Jack Hunt nodded and turned back to the map. “Goddamn you, Raines. You sneaky bastard. Just what are you trying to pull now?”
Six
Three days later, Jack Hunt and his other battalion commanders were still scratching their heads and wondering what was going on when the Rebels just seemed to disappear into the air and the mist of Ireland. The mystery was about to deepen as an aide told Jack a forward recon leader was on the horn.
“What the hell do you mean, you don’t know where they are?” Jack screamed into a mic, his face reddening and his blood pressure soaring. “Trucks and Jeeps and five thousand goddamn people just don’t fucking disappear!”
“Well, they have!” the scout said, not knowing that the Rebels had carefully and as quietly as possible hidden their vehicles in barns and abandoned homes and camouflaged them carefully in woods and thickets and shady glens.
“Well, find them!” Jack screamed. He tossed the mic to the table.
Butch Smathers, a thug from London who had brought a mob across the Irish Sea to help Jack, sat in a chair and grew thoughtful. He liked none of this. He didn’t like Ireland or the Irish. But he disliked Ben Raines even more. Butch and the other warlords who had carved up London and the English countryside like a pie had been expecting Ben and his Rebels for several years. They were ready for him in England. But this operation was beginning to smell. Jack simply wasn’t as smart as Raines, and that ignorance just might get them all killed.
Terror in the Ashes Page 5