“Yes, sir. Sir? Would you like something to drink before going to bed? Some hot tea, perhaps?”
Ben again looked at her. Lovely in the moonlight. “Will you join me, Denise?”
“Why . . . yes, of course. That would be very nice.”
“Fine.” Ben smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
Ike carefully went over the papers Buddy had given him. They were a godsend. If they were accurate, they would make the job much easier, for they showed the positions of every unit in Louie’s army — or Ashley’s army — whatever. And they showed where the units would fall back to in case of heavy enemy attack.
The person who had drawn them up was very, very good; almost brilliant. But it showed his, or her, lack of understanding when it came to guerrilla warfare.
The plan hinged on massive frontal attacks or rear assaults; classic battle plans. And that crap had all gone out the window during Southeast Asia.
Ike rang up Ben’s CP and advised the officer in charge of the plans, telling him he was sending them over by runner immediately; just as soon as he had them copied.
“Would the general like to speak with General Raines?”
“Naw. He’s probably asleep by now.”
“Oh, no, sir. He’s having tea with Miss Denise Vista.”
Ike said his good nights, laughing. Same ol’ Ben.
Tina and her teams had taken Highway 77 down to Arkansas City, on the border with Oklahoma, and then cut east on Highway 166. At the small and deserted town of Sedan, they began splitting up. One team would stay at Sedan until jump-off time; that team would head straight up Highway 99, clearing everything up to Highway 54, which was the beginning of Colonel Gray’s territory.
There were two small towns between Sedan and Caney. Perhaps a half-dozen families were scratching out an existence in the two towns. They didn’t know what to make of the Rebels.
“You folks don’t look like none of Big Louie’s people,” a spokesman said.
“We’re not,” Tina informed him. “We’re part of Raines’s Rebels.”
The crowd solemnly nodded their heads. They knew what that meant: All hell was about to break loose.
“Are you people armed?” Tina asked.
“No, ma’am. Louie’s soldiers took our guns. Said we didn’t need them. Said they’d protect us if it come to that.”
“And you just handed them over?”
The man’s smile was very sad. “When you’re lookin’ down the barrels of a hundred rifles, ma’am, you start figurin’ real fast what’s the best way to go. You know what I mean?”
“Yes,” Tina said. “Yes, I do. You people just sit tight. We’re going to clear this area of Big Louie and his crap. Then we’ll return. My dad is going to put this country back on its feet. You want to be a part of that?”
The ragged group of men, women, and kids all began to grin. A woman said, “You just give us a chance, miss.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Tina promised.
One team was left at Caney. At jump-off time, if all went as planned, they would travel up Highway 75, clearing the way of all Big Louie’s people. They would stop at Altoona.
The teams traveled on eastward. Several hundred people were at Coffeyville, and not all of them were happy to see the Rebels. Those were the civilians who had joined forces with Big Louie. They liked the idea of having slaves and being able to torture and rape at their pleasure.
Just as Ben would have done, Tina turned that group of people over to the townspeople. The team that she left there did not interfere as the newly freed townspeople set about hanging those who had aligned themselves with Big Louie.
The Rebels moved eastward, stopping at the small towns near the border: Valeda, Edna, Bartlett — all deserted. Tina’s team stayed at Chetopa while the remainder pushed on toward the junction of Highways 166 and 69.
The most easterly team would head north, stopping only when they reached Fort Scott. Tina’s team would head north on Highway 59, securing the area and stopping about ten miles east of Chanute. Then three teams of Rebels would converge on Chanute, where a large force of Big Louie’s people were dug in.
“Get a few hours’ rest,” Tina told her people. “We roll at four o’clock.”
Col. Dan Gray and his teams barreled through the night, blasting the night air as they pushed eastward on Highway 54. They secured the towns of Rosalia, Reece, Eureka, Tonovay, and Neal. They hit some resistance at the town of Batesville and took a few minutes to clear that little town of Big Louie’s crap, then rested for a short time.
Dan had left a team of Rebels at Tonovay. At jump-off time, that team would head straight north up Highway 57/99, securing everything up to Emporia.
At Yates Center, Dan dropped off another team; they had the task of clearing the thirty-eight miles up to Interstate 35.
Dan and his Rebels shoved on eastward, hitting a small pocket of resistance at Iola. The Rebels put them down hard, brutally, taking no prisoners. They returned the town to the survivors and armed them with the captured weapons. Dan told the survivors that this time they should hang on to their freedom.
Dan’s people moved out east toward Fort Scott, seizing and securing all the little towns in their path.
At each major crossroads, Dan left a team. One would charge north up 169 from Iola, another up 59 from Moran, the last one up 69 from Fort Scott, breaking it off and cutting west just south of Kansas City.
Dan would lead the team that jumped off from Moran, to link up first with Ben at Ottawa.
Ike had left small teams of Rebels along the way as his people pushed north out of Manhattan, before his main force turned east at Marysville. The ex-navy Seal pushed his troops hard that night, making the crossing over to Sparks long before the pre-set jump-off mark. He had left teams at Beattie, Seneca, Fairview, Hiawatha, and finally, at Sparks. Ike would lead the team that would drive south out of Hiawatha, pushing all the way down to Lawrence.
It was only then, when Ike had the time to carefully mull over Ben’s plan, that he realized what Ben was really doing. He sat in his Jeep and smiled grudgingly at the justice of it all.
Ben had said he was leaving lots of holes for Louie’s people to run out of. Ben’s commanders had accepted that. But now Ike knew that Ben had deliberately withheld the final truth: There would be only one hole for Louie’s slave-masters to run for.
Ike grinned at the truth. Ben was using classic guerrilla tactics; he was effectively spiderwebbing the entire eastern sector of the state, closing off all holes except one. No matter where Big Louie’s army ran, they would succeed only in running into teams of Rebels. If those troops of Big Louie ran from Tina, they would hit Dan’s Rebels. If Louie’s troops ran from Dan, they would run into Tina’s people to the south, and Ben or Ike’s troops to the north and west. If Louie’s people tried to run from Ike’s teams, they would hit Ben’s teams to the south. If any of Louie’s troops tried to run to the east, they would strike Rebels stretching from the Oklahoma border all the way up to Interstate 35, and from the Nebraska line all the way down to Leavenworth.
Ike leaned back and closed his gritty-feeling eyes. “That son of a gun!” he said. “He’s givin’ them one hell of an option.” He laughed softly in the darkness.
“What do you mean, sir?” a platoon leader asked him.
“Ben Raines’s type of justice,” Ike said. “He’s givin’ Big Louie and his people between Interstates Seventy and Thirty-five a hole to run into.” Again Ike laughed at the poetic justice of it all.
“I still don’t understand, sir.”
“They can either stand and fight us, or run to the only hole Ben’s left them: Kansas City. Where they’ll die from radiation or be killed by the human animals that live there. What a hell of an option Ben’s left them.”
“You think General Rains did that on purpose, sir?”
“Hell, yes, he did! Ben Raines is a mean bastard when you make him mad.”
Denise lay in Ben’s arms, her
breasts pushing against Ben’s bare chest. The cot was narrow, but neither one of them had expressed any misgiving about the slight discomfort.
As a matter of fact, they hadn’t paid any attention to it at all. They’d been too busy.
Denise noticed, in the dim light, that Ben was smiling.
“Is sex amusing to you, general?”
“You will have to admit that the pleasure is fleeting and the position ridiculous,” Ben said.
She laughed softly, her breath hot against Ben’s neck. “But that is not what you were smiling about.” It was not a question.
Then he told her what he had done.
She lay for a time, silent in his arms. Silent for so long Ben thought she must have fallen asleep.
Finally, she said, “It’s a good punishment for what they have done.”
And if anyone could be allowed to say that, Ben thought, this woman should have the right.
TWO
“We have met the enemy,” the CO of Rebel patrol radioed back to Base Camp One. “Unfortunately, they ain’t ours yet!”
Despite the situation, Cecil had to grin. The platoon leader, an ex-schoolteacher, could still find some humor.
“Ask him what he plans to do about it,” Cecil told the radio operator.
The radio operator asked, then listened for a moment, a grin on his face. Looking up at Cecil, he said, “Jimmy says to tell you, sir, with all due respect, that he plans on haulin’ his ass outta there.”
Cecil laughed, then suddenly sobered, his brow wrinkling in thought. “Yes,” he said aloud. “Yes, that might work.” He began pacing the floor. “Ask Jimmy his location, please.”
“Highway Seventeen, sir. ’Bout halfway between Royston and Vanna.”
“Get in touch with Colonel Williams, or some of his patrols. Make damn sure it’s all scrambled.”
Joe’s voice came out of the speaker after the first try. “I’m on One forty-five, general. Coming up on Royston. ’Bout eight miles out.”
“Damn, but he’s been hot-rodding it,” Cecil muttered. He took the mike and said, “Joe, what do your forward recon people report?”
“Hundreds of troops, sir. They punched right through our people just south of Hartwell Lake and are pouring across.”
“Hold your position, Joe,” Cecil ordered. “Do not advance. Repeat: Do not advance at this time. Do you acknowledge?”
“But, sir. Jimmy and his people? . . .”
“Do you acknowledge my orders!”
“Yes, sir! Holding right here.”
Cecil looked at the radio operator. “We had a full platoon just west of the river on Seventy-two, across from Calhoun Falls. Make contact with them, please.”
Contact made, Cecil took the mike. “Is the bridge mined yet?”
“Yes, sir. The sixth vehicle that rolls over the switcher blows it. And it’s all coming down, sir.”
“Good. I want you to take your platoon and let the hammer down getting to the town of Bowman, or what’s left of it. Set up an ambush site. Contact me when you’re in position. I want you there fifteen minutes ago. Push it.”
“Rolling, sir!”
“You listening to this, Joe?” Cecil asked.
“Ten-four, general. I’m reading your mind. If we time this just right, we can kick some ass.”
“Right. Hang tight, Joe. Jimmy?”
“I’m listening, sir. Make it quick, general. I can damn near reach out and touch the bastards.”
“Run, Jimmy!” Cecil ordered. “Run as if you’re terrified. Run in panic. Grab some old weapons if you can find them and throw them away as you’re running. Make the bastards think you’re so afraid of them you’re running in blind, panicked fear. Head straight for Bowman. You copy this?”
“Pulling out now, sir.”
“Joe? Let Khamsin’s people cut south before you head after them. Then put them in a box and close the goddamned lid!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Bastards want to meet Allah,” Cecil muttered, his face tight with anger. “Then I’ll certainly give them a dandy chance.”
The Ashley that now stood beside his Jeep did not at all resemble the man who had spoken to Big Louie the day before. His chin strap was buckled tight, the steel pot secure outside his helmet liner. He wore bloused jodhpurs and highly polished riding boots. Two pearl-handled and nickeled .45s rested in leather, one on each side. He wore a World War Two Ike jacket.
Patton had always been a favorite of Ashley’s. He saw the movie about Patton dozens of times. Wore one cassette out. Ashley thought of himself as the reincarnation of Patton. Now he was going to prove that theory.
Ashley had always regretted that he’d never served in the military. But his daddy had told him he was needed at home, so he spread some money around and got his boy out of the draft. His daddy had said it would be unsightly for a man of Ashley’s position to serve with rabble.
Ashley glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. And where was the much-legended and highly touted Ben Raines?
A man in full battle dress approached him. “Sir?”
Ashley turned. “What is it?”
“We can’t make contact with any of our people along the border, sir.”
“How about Chanute?”
“Everything is quiet there, sir.”
“Those two men north of here, and the couple who were killed . . . any idea who might have done that?”
“Not a clue, sir.”
“Damn! How about any of our recon patrols? What do they report?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“You mean they haven’t seen anything?”
“No, sir. They just don’t report. And we can’t raise them by radio.”
“Is everyone at their assigned positions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Stand by. You can’t predict when or where Ben Raines is going to strike. The son of a bitch is unpredictable. I can’t believe that none of our outposts are not reporting.”
“Not a peep, sir.”
One could say that Big Louie’s men, who once manned the far outposts, enforcing Big Louie’s harsh rule, were now just sort of — hanging around, so to speak; those whose throats hadn’t been cut by various teams of Rebels.
As far as no outposts reporting to Ashley’s CP in Topeka — they were unable to report. Those manning the outposts now sat in silence, wondering what in the hell was going on.
The Rebels had discovered their frequency early on and simply jammed it, preventing any radio contact at all.
Ben stepped out of his tent and looked up at the starry skies. “Hey, Buck!” he called. “You ready to kick ass and take names?”
“Let’s go give them hell, general!” the sergeant said.
“James?” Ben called.
“Here, Ben,” James said.
“Let’s do it.”
“We have a large contingent of Rebels on the run!” a field commander radioed back to Khamsin’s CP. “They are fleeing in blind panic, hurling their weapons to one side in their fearful retreat from the troops of The Hot Wind!”
Khamsin acknowledged the message and told the runner to wait. He poured them all coffee. They toasted, in what none of them realized was a most premature victory toast.
Khamsin’s XO, Hamid, was smiling as broadly as Khamsin and the messenger.
“Tell our gallant troops to take as many prisoners as possible,” Khamsin told the runner. “I am feeling most generous this day. Besides, I want to parade the so-called invincible Rebels in front of the civilians, to show them that nothing can stand when The Hot Wind blows!”
Col. Joe Williams lifted a leg and farted. His driver grinned and said, “I sure am glad we’re movin’, sir.”
“That’s what I think of that goddamned Hot Wind. Slow, now, slow. Let them stay well ahead of us.”
The driver slowed the Jeep. Joe picked up the mike and said, “This is the Plug. Is the Bottle in place?”
“Bottle here, sir. In place. I can hear
the Chicken headin’ for the hen house now, sir. The Big Bad Wolf is hot on Chicken’s heels.”
“How far out, Bottle?”
“Maybe a mile and a half, Plug.”
“Ten-four.” He turned to his driver, at the same time raising his right arm high in the air, the fist closed. He pumped it up and down, signaling those behind him to come on. “Hammer down, Matt!”
In a very short time, Joe signaled his column to halt and dismount. The sounds of gunfire, hard and stuttering, drifted to them. Explosions ripped the early morning coolness. Screaming of the wounded shattered the dark as heavy machine gun fire staccatoed.
Joe positioned his people. “Stand or die!” he ordered. “No prisoners, no quarter, and no mercy.”
His troops dug in, their faces grim, as they set the plug firmly into the neck of the bottle.
As the brigade of Khamsin’s Islamic People’s Army ran headlong into the dark ambush in the deserted town, one entire company was massacred before the others even realized what was going on. The screaming of the wounded and the frightened yelling of those caught in the hideous and heavy crossfires ripped the dark pre-dawn.
They had no place to run.
The small force of Rebels that had suckered them into the ambush had cut left and right upon entering the ruined town, falling into ambush positions. The killing fields of fire came at the IPA from three sides.
The commander ordered his troops to fall back, retreat, head north.
They did just that.
And ran headlong into the guns of Col. Joe Williams’s Rebels. The Rebels raked the panicked troops of The Hot Wind with automatic weapons’ fire, sending them jerking and screaming and death-dancing into that long sleep. Soon the littered streets of the old town were running thick and red with blood.
Close to a thousand men of The Hot Wind lay twisted in death on the dirty and littered street. The near-deafening cacophony of gunfire abruptly ceased. To the uninitiated, the silence would have seemed far too loud.
Smoke from the Ashes Page 10