Fury in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Better?”

  “We’ve got a chance to start over. And we’re doing it. Every sweep the Rebels make means we clear the crud and leave the good. There are people not fifty yards from us who were once criminals. They were the smart ones. They saw the writing on the wall and realized that the only thing that faced them was a bullet or a noose. We gave them a chance to redeem themselves, and they took it. But those days are over, Linda. There are too many outposts where people could surrender. Few do. What we are now facing is the hard-core criminal element. Those punks south of us know we’re coming. They could surrender, and we’d accept it. But only for the next few days. After that, no.”

  “It seems so brutal.”

  “It’s practical.” He glanced at her. “I’m curious about something.”

  “Ask.”

  “With your almost total lack of combat experience, why did you choose to be a part of a combat team?”

  “Honestly?”

  “That’s the only way around here. You’ll learn that.”

  “To try to understand you people. See what motivates you. Ever since the Great War, I’ve heard about the Rebels and Ben Raines. How you defied the government and carved out the Tri-States.”

  “We were looking for peace, Linda. For a place where we didn’t have to lock our doors and live behind bars and chain locks and elaborate security systems. The United States wouldn’t offer us a place — and they could have — so we built one of our own. It worked, and the government couldn’t stand it. No one went hungry, no one was homeless, everybody had a job, no one was denied medical care, every child got a good education, and the life expectancy of thieves and punks and thugs and rapists and murderers was about fifteen minutes. The United States government couldn’t stand our success. They destroyed the Tri-States, but they couldn’t kill the dream. We just fought on.”

  “And you’ve been fighting ever since.”

  “That is correct. And we won’t quit until we’ve won.” He smiled at her. But his eyes were still unreadable.

  Linda knew, somehow, at that moment that what Beth had told her was true. This was a very dangerous man. Dangerous not only because of his skill with weapons, but because thousands of men and women would follow him unhesitatingly through the gates of Hell in pursuit of their dream.

  Was she one of them? She wasn’t sure.

  “Lamar Chase gives you high marks,” said Ben. “He says you’re a fine nurse.”

  “That’s a crusty old man. But I like him. Isn’t he a little old to be out in the field?”

  “Lamar will die out in the field, Linda. I long ago ceased attempting to put him back in research at our base camp. Just as he has given up trying to tie me down to a desk or to make me stay behind the lines.”

  “You enjoy it, don’t you, General?” she asked softly. “The fighting, the violence?”

  Ben did not have to give that much thought. “I let myself get out of shape for a time, Linda. I was making lots of money and drinking too much. That was years back, when the world was more or less functioning; that is to say, when governments were still able to produce results, however small. I would sit and read the newspaper and watch the TV evening news and hear how grown men were able to kidnap small children, keep them prisoner for years, rape and sodomize them, and when caught, receive a five-year prison sentence. That’s true, Linda. It happened more than once. How gangs of teenage punks could beat and rape and leave for dead in a ditch some unlucky person, and in many cases draw no prison time at all because some group of judges who sat on high had decreed that anyone under the age of seventeen was not responsible for his actions. But still he could get a driver’s license. We had some strange laws, Linda. And I stress had. I would read or see how a family would come home from work and find their home vandalized, every precious memento they had gathered over the years destroyed, and when caught, the guilty parties would get a slap on the wrist and be turned loose. How perverted assholes could torture helpless animals and be guilty of no more than a misdemeanor. How people who dared stand up for their rights and use a gun to defend self, home, or loved ones, would sometimes go to prison and the crud who broke into their homes or cars or attacked them on the streets could sue for damages. Did you ever stop and ponder that, Linda? That a criminal was allowed to sue his victim for damages? And in many cases collect!

  “There were those of us who wrote letters to newspapers and national TV networks and news magazines. We said that in our opinion something was terribly wrong with our system of justice; it was warped, bent in favor of the criminal. Many of the media people would immediately brand us as bigots, or gun-nuts, or crazies. Therefore fewer and fewer of us chose to voice our opinions. Those who persisted were sometimes harassed by federal agents. I know that to be true, because I was one of those who were harassed.

  “But because I had achieved some degree of fame as a writer, with a respectable, if not a massive following, I was not harassed nearly so relentlessly as others with no clout.”

  She noticed Ben’s smile and wondered about that. He cleared it up.

  “Of course, I had some years in the intelligence community too. That probably helped with the government, if not with the liberal media. An example, Linda. At one point in time, the federal government was turning loose murderers, rapists, and armed robbers, and sending agents out to arrest people who owned home-satellite systems capable of picking up signals from the public airways.

  “Stupid? Sure, it was. But that didn’t stop the government from doing it. Our government was spending millions of dollars enforcing the dumbest of laws while children were being beaten to death by abusive parents. State governments were spending millions of dollars nationwide to subsidize high school sports, and our elderly were freezing to death in the winter, dying of the heat in the summer, or starving to death.

  “Our welfare system was a disgrace, public housing was a profane joke, our highways and bridges were falling apart, the hands of the police were tied, the cops and schoolteachers were underpaid — the cops couldn’t enforce the law because of judges, and teachers couldn’t teach or maintain discipline for fear of lawsuits — drug dealers were peddling death on the street corners and killing innocent people who got in their way, and the government was sending out agents to disarm law-abiding citizens.

  “Our wildlife was being killed off, entire species gone forever, because our forests were being raped by money-hungry developers and loggers and big farmers, our water supply threatened by the runoff of poisonous chemicals, and our elected officials were wringing their hands and stomping on their hankies saying that they couldn’t do anything drastic to combat worldwide terrorism or international drug-trafficking because that might violate the criminals’ constitutional rights.

  “The whole damn world was going to hell in a handbasket. The Amazon rain forest, which at that time was producing about one third of the world’s oxygen, was being destroyed by humankind, and very few of us even gave a damn. And those of us that did were told to shut up.

  “When the Great War came, Linda, some of us seized the moment to break away, form our own society, and rebuild. And we did. I got back in shape and vowed I was going to put together an army and kick the ass of every punk and thug and crud we found. So that’s why we keep fighting, Linda. That’s why we’ll always keep fighting until we win. That’s why the Rebels have got to win. We have to. We can’t even think about defeat. We’re the last known barrier against total, worldwide anarchy. If we fall, the whole damn world falls with us.”

  TWO

  Linda was rolled out of her sleeping bag in the middle of the night by Jersey. “Up and at ’em, Medic. Coffee’s ready in the general’s quarters.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Three o’clock. Time’s a-wastin’, so let’s go.” She grinned down at the woman in the dim light provided by starlight. “You’ll get used to it — believe me.”

  Linda sat up and groaned, fumbling for her boots. She was accustomed to wearing sanda
ls most of the time, not heavy combat boots. “What’s the rush? Is it breakfast yet?”

  Jersey laughed softly. “Cold rations and hot coffee when we’re pulling out, Linda. Don’t worry, you won’t be able to see what you’re eating, so it’ll taste all right. It’s when you can see it that it gets rough.”

  After washing her face and brushing her teeth, Linda felt like she might make it, and the walk to Ben’s quarters completed the wake-up process.

  The entire team was assembled there, standing around the coffeepot. Beth grinned at her. “I risked life and limb saving you a cup, Linda. You’d better grab it before we’re both attacked.”

  She gripped the camp mug and sipped at the strong brew, lifting her eyes to Ben. Since she had first laid eyes on him, several days back, he’d never seemed to change, always looking calm and collected and ready to tackle any situation.

  “Welcome aboard, Linda,” Ben said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Jersey, did you check her out with the M-16?”

  “She . . . ah, did her best,” Linda interjected, saving Jersey the explanation. “But I’m afraid I’m not very good.”

  “It’ll come to you. Don’t try to push it. When we bivouac this afternoon, I’ll take you out and go through the steps with the weapon.”

  Jersey rolled her eyes and said a silent prayer for the general’s safety.

  “Uh . . . thank you,” Linda said. “I’d like that.”

  “Now then,” Ben said. “Leadfoot and the Wolfpack have found survivors in Yreka. Several hundred of them. We’re going to stop there for a time today and set up another outpost. Then we’ll move on. For you people who weren’t with us some years back, this is the second time the Rebels have been in this area. We went down the state to just north of San Francisco. We did not enter the city at that time.” He paused and sighed.

  “I want to warn you all of a few things. There are mutants in the area just south of us. There are also tribes of people who call themselves the Woods Children, headed by two young men named Ro and Wade — if they’re still alive. And a tribe called the Underground People. Both of those are to the east of Interstate 5. They will see us. It’s doubtful that we will see them unless they want us to. Leave them alone. They are for the most part peaceful people. They have fought alongside us and they believe in our ways. They live in the forests and are caretakers of it. Personally I wish we had more like them. They are not meat-eaters. They educate their young properly, and when they need medical treatment or advice, they seek out some Rebel patrol or outpost.

  “The mutants? Well . . . leave them alone and they’ll usually leave you alone. No one knows what caused them to be as they are. Perhaps they’ve always been here and they just avoided us. Perhaps the chemicals that poisoned the people had something to do with their growth. I don’t know and neither does anyone else I’ve ever talked with.”

  He paused as Corrie announced a fresh pot of coffee was ready and they all poured and sugared and creamed. Ben said, “A question I’ve been asked is why didn’t we encounter the warlords and creepies and street punks back then. For one thing, we didn’t enter the cities and that’s where they concentrate. And too, most of us were in mild shock because we’d been led to believe San Francisco and Los Angeles had taken nuclear hits and were gone. We just didn’t have the time or the forces to move south.”

  Linda looked away. The others were listening, but she got the impression that this update was for her ears more than for anyone else.

  “We’re going to take our time on this sweep, people, and do it right. We’re going to clear this state of crud and crap, establish as many outposts as possible, and then stand down for the whiter in preparation for the exploration of Alaska. Ike says there is a good possibility that there are adequate ships still anchored in ports in Alaska that are suitable for our use. If we find that is the case, we’ll load up and head for Europe from Northstar. If not, it’s back to the East Coast for us.

  “All right, Coop, check out the wagon. Corrie, advise all commanders we shove off at 0500. Linda, get your gear together and Beth will show you how we pack the wagon. Let’s go, people, we’ve got a war to fight.”

  From the blue waters of the Pacific east to the Nevada line, main battle tanks began roaring into life; M-42 Dusters as well, almost petite next to the big MBTs cranked up. Dozens of tanker trucks, carrying precious fuel, made ready to pull out. Rebels broke camp, packed up, and tossed their gear into the backs of deuce-and-a-halfs and climbed in. 155mm self-propelled howitzers coughed into life and lumbered into their positions in the lines. The RDF light tanks moved forward, most equipped with 75mm cannon, a few with 76mm cannon, which operate with about the same pressure as a 105mm.

  “Scouts out?” Ben asked Corrie.

  “Yes, sir. Colonel Gray sent his people out an hour ago. They’re in position ranging three to five miles in front of the main columns.”

  “Load up and move to the front of the column,” Ben told his team. “I’ll meet you up the line.” Ben walked from his quarters to the front of the long column, chatting with Rebels along the way, his M-14, affectionately referred to as a Thunder Lizard, slung on one shoulder.

  “Come on, boys and girls!” Ben heard Sergeant Major Adamson roar. “Grandma moved faster than this.”

  “Here we go again, General!” a woman called from the cab of a truck.

  “You bet, Jenny,” Ben shouted back. “Time to kick ass and take names.”

  “What’d you do with the old sergeant major?” another Rebel shouted.

  “I retired him to a desk back at Base Camp One. You all know and love Adamson.”

  Friendly boos and jeers greeted that, but Ben knew it meant nothing. Adamson was a former French Foreign Legionnaire who was all soldier and all Rebel. The men and women of the Rebel army liked and respected him.

  Ben stopped by a light tank and looked up at the woman commander, her head sticking out of the open hatch. “You sure you know how to drive this thing, Susie?” He smiled with the verbal jab.

  “Hell, no!” she fired back. “I just give the orders.”

  Ben laughed and patted the armor plate of the tank in reply and walked on.

  The Rebels were made up of all races, all nationalities, all religions. The Rebel army knew no discrimination along racial, religious, or country-of-origin lines. It was not tolerated. Ben Raines had also taken the theory that women had no place in combat and tossed it on the junk pile.

  The Rebels did discriminate against human trash of any color, usually just as long as it took to put a bullet in them. But there were no haters of people of another race in the Rebel ranks. Of any color. No pre-judging of a person based solely on race or religion. The Rebels took each person as an individual and reserved judgment — if any — until later. Among the Rebels, there were chaplains representing all religions, from Hindu to Seventh-Day Adventists. Whenever there was a break in the action, most Rebels went to some sort of worship service. It was not required that they do so. Religion and the worshiping of one’s God was a personal matter and nobody else’s business.

  Not everyone could or would — as was usually the case — adapt to the Rebel way. The old Tri-States had been harshly criticized because Ben had admitted that perhaps no more than one person out of five — if that many — could or would live under and by the simple rules that the Rebels adopted. It was true that the Rebels took the best of people and culled the rest. The rules were simple. One did not steal anything, ever. One did not lie or cheat. You treated others fairly and with respect. You respected the land and the wild creatures that lived there. You respected the property of others. Loudmouths did not last long in the Rebel army. Bullies seldom made it through the first day. Those who were cruel to animals were not even considered. The Rebels were not perfect — far from it — but they tried. That was what Ben demanded of himself, and he could ask no more from those who followed him.

  “Move, Smoot,” Ben said, getting into the big armor-plated wagon. Th
e Husky pup jumped into the back and landed in Beth’s lap.

  “You ready to go to war, Coop?” Ben asked the driver.

  “Beats the hell out of a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, General.”

  “Give the orders, Corrie.”

  Hundreds of Rebels in tanks and trucks and Jeeps and Hummers and self-propelled artillery surged forward, moving across the Oregon line into Northern California.

  In Cresent City, a warlord listened to radio transmissions from his forward observers. He paled.

  “Holy shit!” he said, looking around him at those who had chosen to follow the outlaw way. “Ben Raines is on the move. The first bunch is about ten miles away and pushin’ hard towards us. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  They grabbed whatever they could find that was readily at hand and got into their cars and trucks and roared south.

  “This ain’t legal!” one of the warlord’s lieutenants said. “There ain’t no justice in this. Ben Raines ain’t got no right comin’ in here and tellin’ us what to do.”

  The warlord, who had called himself Larado for so many years he had difficulty remembering his Christian name, looked at the man, disgust in his eyes. “The Rebels don’t pay no attention to that happy crap, man. All that legal jive is out the window. Ben Raines is gonna bring back law and order and he’s gonna do it at the point of a gun. He’ll roll right over anybody or anything that stands in his way.”

  “Where the hell we gonna go?” The question was frantically tossed out.

  “We got no choice. We got to head south to L.A. and link up with them gangs down there.”

  “Why not Frisco?”

  “All them cats in Frisco is gonna do is delay Raines. They’ll buy us some time, but Frisco is gonna fall. Bet on it, man.”

  “There is another choice,” another outlaw said.