Smoke from the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Buddy walked into the bedroom, to stand over the blood-soaked bed. He turned away and walked out of the house to the Jeep. There, he transferred all his gear from the motorcycle and covered it with a cammo tarp he had found folded in a utility room.

  The Jeep started at the first try, the engine running smoothly. The gas tank was full, and there were two five-gallon gas cans secured on the rear of the Jeep. Letting the motor warm up, Buddy checked the spare gas cans. Full. Walking back to the drivers’ side, Buddy glanced into the back seat; one final check before pulling out. There was a knapsack on the floorboards. He checked it. Heavy with spare clips and ammo for an M-16 and eight or ten grenades.

  “Well, now,” Buddy said, smiling in the misty night. “The odds are improving in my favor.”

  He loaded the M-16s he’d taken from the headless men and laid them within easy reach. He backed out of the drive and looked up at the sky. It would be breaking dawn very soon. Best to hunt a hole right now.

  Buddy clicked on the radio mounted under the dash of the Jeep and began searching the bands. He heard chatter that was almost military, except that they used nicknames. He knew that was not any of Raines’s Rebels. He carefully searched the frequencies.

  He smiled as he heard, “Recon four to Eagle base.”

  He knew that General Ben Raines was often referred to as the Eagle.

  “Go, Recon four.”

  “We’re between Delaven and Wilsey. Have secured a portion of Fifty-six for an LZ. Please advise the general.”

  “Ten-four, Recon. Will do. Eagle base clear.”

  Buddy checked his old and well-creased road map. He was well north and some east of that area. And from the communications just overheard, General Raines was some distance from the just secured landing zone. But where? North, south, or west of it? Not east of it, for that would put the general inside of Big Louie’s claimed territory.

  Buddy reached around behind him and took out two grenades from the knapsack, laying them on the seat beside him. He had made up his mind. There was a lake just west and south of his present position. He could make it before dawn. He’d go there and rest and hide; listen to the radio. When General Raines arrived at the LZ, Buddy would know.

  The young man had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his mouth was dry just thinking about meeting General Raines. He would not deny the truth: He was afraid of Ben Raines. Most people he had ever talked with about Ben Raines admitted that they, too, were afraid of him.

  Buddy had fought outlaws, warlords, crazed people, and mutants. He had killed many times in defense of his life. He had, of course, known fear many times.

  But not this kind of fear. This kind of fear was different.

  Buddy put the Jeep in gear and pulled out, glancing once more up at the sky. It looked like the dawn was going to bring a beautiful day.

  The feelings that both Ben and Tina had awakened with had vanished, both of them experiencing the lifting of tensions just about dawn. Although they were not together at the time, each knew.

  The old prop-job planes from Base Camp One had left at five o’clock, their time. They should be landing, barring any unforeseen difficulties, late that afternoon.

  Ben gathered all his commanders in his big tent, around a table, a map of the area spread out.

  “As usual,” Ben said, “we’re going to be spread thin. If we had more people, it would be a very simple matter to destroy this Big Louie. We’d just put him in a box and squeeze it tight. But we can’t do that. But what we can do is terrorize those living in his territory; those who willingly accept and take part in the slavery and torture. And from all the intel we’ve received, that is just about everybody. We’re going to hit and burn and run, freeing all slaves as we do so.

  “This Big Louie has very thin control of the area south of Highway Fifty-four. The people we talked with say Louie’s people are struggling to get a toehold in that part of the state. Dan has teams in that area now, quietly talking to the people and raising a little hell with Big Louie’s people. The survivors are joining our ranks. I’m giving command of that area to Tina; she’ll be leaving as soon as the planes arrive and she and her people can resupply.”

  Dan nodded his head in agreement. “She’s earned her command, general.”

  The others gathered around nodded their heards in accord.

  “Dan,” Ben said. “You and your group will work north from Highway Fifty-four. In a curve. Run your teams from Iola east to the Missouri line, then curve your eastern groups north and work them westerly.”

  Dan studied his map for a moment, marking in his perimeters.

  “We’re going to have to cache supplies inside enemy territory. Where you put them is your business. We obviously can’t carry enough on our backs for a sustained operation. Ike, as soon as you and your people get resupplied, take off north, to the Nebraska line. When you get my word to jump off, strike south. Everybody stay well clear of Kansas City.

  “I’m spreading my people along the old Kansas Turnpike and pushing eastward. We’re leaving them lots of holes to escape; that’s fine. I don’t give a damn if they all run. Chances are they’ll never regroup. But one thing for certain: We have to kill Big Louie and this Ashley person. That’s it, gang. Now all we have to do is wait for the planes.”

  “General Khamsin. Many planes have taken off from the Rebels’ Base Camp.”

  “Heading in which direction?”

  “West, sir.”

  “Heavily laden?”

  “They appear so, sir.”

  “Resupplying General Raines out West. He’s found him another windmill to tilt. Did General Jefferys leave with the planes?”

  “No, sir. No troops left.”

  “Damn!” Khamsin hit the desktop with a balled fist. He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head. He swiveled his chair and gazed out the window for a moment. Without turning around, he asked, “What is our latest estimate on the Rebels in North Georgia?”

  “An estimate is all it would be, general. There are new arrivals daily. And General Jefferys keeps shifting his troops around, making it impossible for us to tally them.”

  “Your best estimate, then.”

  “Between two thousand and forty-five hundred.”

  “And here I sit with my divisions,” Khamsin said, a bitterness in his voice.

  “The men will follow The Hot Wind, sir.”

  The wind blows hot from hell, too, Khamsin thought. He rose from his chair and walked to a large map. He leaned closer and peered intently at several spots along the Savannah River. “Gather your best, your very best assault troops. Start them infiltrating into Georgia. Very small teams, carrying as much high explosives as they can. Have them spread out, east to west, all across the top third of the state, staying south of this highway.” He tapped the long line indicating Interstate 20. “Move the teams out one hour apart and start them immediately. In seventy-two hours, and if they’re careful, it will take that long for the plan to be discovered by Rebel intelligence, I can have a thousand troops in Georgia. Tell them to seize transportation from civilians. Kill the civilian men, of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “And the woman and children, too, if they present much of a problem. Every twenty hours, double the size of the teams.” He began pacing the room, growing excited with his plan. “Yes. Yes. Not one thousand men in seventy-two hours, but five thousand men.” He looked at his XO. An intense, fanatical light was shining in Khamsin’s eyes.

  The XO waited.

  “Perhaps,” Khamsin said, “if Allah smiles upon us, when Ben Raines returns from his adventures in the West, he will find his precious Base Camp One nothing more than smoking ruins and his so-called undefeatable army in headlong retreat, panic and fear in their eyes, and their women here!” He thumped his desk. “Toys for our loyal troops to play with at their leisure.”

  Khamsin rang for coffee.

  The dark bitter coffee poured, Khamsin lifted his cup. “To victory!”r />
  The general and his XO toasted.

  A bit prematurely, some might say, for they were forgetting a number of very important things.

  Like about three thousand Rebel troops, under the command of one Cecil Jefferys.

  NINE

  “What’s wrong?” Cecil asked the radio operator.

  “Sorry to have disturbed you, sir,” the Rebel communications officer said, “but I wanted you to hear this.”

  Cecil listened. “I don’t hear a thing.”

  “That’s right, sir. Nothing. I just scanned all the frequencies The Hot Fart uses . . .”

  “I believe that’s The Hot Wind, lieutenant,” Cecil said with a smile.

  “Yes, sir. Hot Wind, hot shit, whatever. He’s still a lump of camel turd. But the silence is what bothers me, general. All of a sudden, about two hours ago, all the chatter stopped. I mean, there is nothing being said.”

  “And you’ve been searching the bands ever since?”

  “Yes, sir. Total dead silence.”

  “Is the equipment working properly?”

  “Yes, sir. I called the engineer in and had her check it. Then we contacted several of our long range recon patrols; one of them up in Ohio. Everything is five by five, general.”

  “I think The Hot Wind just blew out whatever surprise he might have had in store for us, lieutenant.” He turned to a runner. “Get the XO over here, right now!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “What do you think it is, sir?”

  “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it isn’t good news for us. I’m very glad you picked up on this, lieutenant. Go to Code C and tell any patrols close to home base to get back in here, pronto.”

  His XO at his side, Cecil said, “Everybody up, Joe. Red alert. But keep the hustle and bustle down to a minimum and no talking about it. Mark and his brother, Alvaro?”

  “They’ve got their people down near the Interstate, general. Just east of the Oconee National Forest.”

  “I don’t want any unnecessary chatter on the air, Joe. Send a light plane down to their camp. Advise them that Khamsin is up to something. What, we don’t know. Yet. Tell them to go to full alert. But do it quietly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Many of the Rebel company commanders had gathered around the two men, standing quietly, listening.

  Cecil looked at them, then briefed them. “Get your people together, but do it easy. Quickly, but calmly. Full battle gear, five days’ rations. Get your people ready.”

  The COs saluted and left.

  Back in his command post, with his senior commanders around him, Cecil stood and stared at a large wall map.

  “If I were the Libyan,” he said, “I would hit us full force. He’s got thousands of combat-ready troops; he could overwhelm us with numbers. It’s amazing to me that he hasn’t already done it. For some reason, he’s very hesitant. But then I have to consider that Khamsin was schooled as a terrorist; Abu’s student and his best. And because he is basically a terrorist, that makes him several things. A fanatic in his mind, totally ruthless, and a coward at heart. The troops he has is all he’s got . . . right now. So Khamsin is not going to personally die for Allah. Not if he can help it. But he will send a couple of thousand to their deaths, in order to gain . . . what? A toehold? Yes. Certainly. But where? And using what methods?”

  Cecil stepped back from the map and sat down at his desk. “A few thousand men, slipped into our area in very small teams, to be used as . . . sappers!”

  Colonel Williams looked at Cecil. “Like ’Nam, general?”

  “Yeah,” Cecil said. “But more than sappers, Joe. Men schooled in the art of sabotage. There are no communications lines to cut — not anymore. So their mission would be multiple. Terror, sure. But more than that. They’d be good troops. Some of, if not, his best. If they could get inside our territory, we’d have a full-scale guerrilla war on our hands.”

  “And if Khamsin’s troops could establish a front,” Joe said, “it would be only a matter of time before his main forces would roll right over us. Like the Tri-States,” he added softly. Joe had been a company commander back in those days, gradually climbing the rank ladder to become second in command of the eastern-based Rebels. Joe was a good solid soldier, one hundred percent loyal to Ben Raines, Ike McGowan, and Cecil Jefferys.

  “Yeah,” Cecil said. “Like the Tri-States, Joe.”

  The planes were, at first, only tiny dots in the blue sky. Then they took shape, did a fly-by of the LZ, and began setting down on the old highway.

  Ben shook hands with the pilot of the first plane down. “How are things back at Base One?” he asked.

  “Well, general, they were fine when we left. But the last communication we received was, well, odd.”

  “Odd, how?”

  “General Jefferys came on the horn. Said a front was moving in, probably from the south. Advised us to stay out here. Said the old birds were too valuable to risk getting caught up in a hailstorm. General Raines, I checked the weather shack just before leaving. There are no systems anywhere back East. And there sure as hell isn’t any hail.”

  “Khamsin is making a move, Ben,” Ike said. “Cec isn’t sure where or how; that’s why he said ‘probably from the south.’”

  “And the hail is lead,” Ben said. “What else did he say?” he asked the pilot.

  “Well, odd again, sir. He said due to wind disturbances, communications would be difficult. Hell, sir. There was no wind when we took off. It was dead calm.”

  “The Hot Wind,” Ben said. “Get unloaded,” he told the gathering knot of pilots. “Come on, Ike.”

  They walked to a communications van. The engineer had just finished rigging an antenna. “Can you get through to Base Camp One?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, sir. No sweat.” In half a minute, he had contacted the Rebels in Georgia. “Stand by for traffic from the Eagle.”

  Seventy miles away, straight north, Buddy laid by his Jeep, tucked away in a clump of trees, and listened.

  Ben took the mike. “This is the Eagle. Get me the Hawk.”

  The Hawk must be General Jeffreys, Buddy thought.

  Cecil came on the horn. “Afternoon, Ben,” he said cheerfully. “How’s the weather out there?”

  “Very nice, Cec. I hear you have a slight problem with the wind out there. That right?”

  “Definitely picking up, Ben. The temperature, too.”

  The Hot Wind.

  “Well, Cec, I guess all you can do is plug up any holes in the buildings.”

  “That’s about it, Ben. Oh, I think we’ll ride out the storm. I believe a surprise party was initially planned for me, but I got wind of it. I guess that blew the surprise.”

  Ben and Ike smiled. “Yeah, I hate to hear that, Cec. I forgot about your birthday.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Ben. But they’re giving me my present anyway. Someone found an unopened carton of Camels.”

  Ike laughed aloud.

  “They could be bad for your health, Cec.”

  “That’s what I keep hearing. But I’ve got a carton of Luckies in reserve, just in case.”

  This time, it was Ben who laughed. “I heard that, Cec.”

  “What in the hell are they talking about?” Buddy said aloud.

  “Don’t hurt yourself blowing out all those candles, Cec,” Ben said.

  “I shall do my best not to, Ben.”

  “If you don’t need the birds back, Cec, I’d like to keep them out here.”

  “I think that would be best, Ben. You might need them. You take care, Ben.”

  “Same to you, Cec.”

  “He doesn’t sound too worried,” Ike said. “Of course, I never knew him when he sounded worried about anything!”

  “If he needs help, he’ll holler. That’s why he told the pilots to stay here. With these planes, we can jump in a battalion back home, if it conies to that.” Ben was silent for a few seconds, his brow wrinkled in thought. He turned to James Riverson. “James, break out
all those chutes we used back in California. Have the riggers unfold, stretch, and dry them. Then repack.” He looked at Ike. “If Cec calls, Ike, you and your people will fly back and jump in. Understood?”

  “Right, Ben. But that’s going to leave the north wide open.”

  “Can’t be helped. For the time being, if we can push Big Louie and his assholes north of Interstate Seventy, it’ll have to do. And we may lose Base Camp One. I won’t risk destroying everything we’ve managed to accomplish for a piece of ground. Not when the entire nation is open to us.”

  “I wasn’t going to bring that up. I hoped you would.”

  “Cecil feels the same way, Ike. Besides, he has sealed orders he’ll open if conditions warrant that. We’ll move into Louisiana. I’ve had a small team in that area for over a year.”

  Ike grinned. “Close-mouth bastard, ain’t you?”

  Ben returned the smile. “Yep.”

  Teams from the Islamic People’s Army, the IPA, were moving into Georgia, heavily laden with explosives. And General Khamsin, almost drunk with the thoughts of victory, had increased the numbers moving across the Savannah River. A small observer team of Rebels, located just south of Augusta, had been forced to retreat before being overrun. They got off one terse message to Base Camp One.

  Hundreds of troops crossing river. Must pull back.

  Another team of Rebels, also forced to pull back from their position further south, got off this message: Faced with several battalions of IPA troops. Cannot contain them. Pulling back. Will link up with other recon teams and commence guerrilla warfare against enemy. Good luck.

  Cecil radioed back to all recon units pulling back from the river: Negative on guerrilla tactics for time being. Pull into deep cover and keep your heads down. Maintain radio silence. Have plans for you people later. Good luck.

  To all roaming recon teams between Interstates 85 and 20, Cecil radioed: Hunt a hole and stay low. Do not engage enemy unless absolutely necessary. Maintain radio silence. Good luck.