“Yes, sir.”
“Tell Ham and Buddy to stay up here with their teams and assist. Tell Tina to bring her team and come with me.”
“Ben Raines, the one-man wrecking crew,” Jerre muttered, not unkindly.
Jersey looked at her and grinned. “Was he always this way? I mean, even when you first met him back in Virginia?”
So everybody knows the story, Jerre thought about that for a moment, as they jogged along the littered sidewalk. She wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. But then figured she couldn’t do anything about it, so what the hell? “Yeah. Yeah, he was, Jersey. He was tough even back then. He showed me how to use weapons and made me learn to be good with them.”
Ben had taken the point, naturally, and waved them to a stop and down with arm and hand motions. Tina was by his side, and they were arguing. Ben didn’t look like he was buying any of what she had to say.
“Tina will threaten to call her Uncle Ike if the general doesn’t give up the point. He’ll bitch and fuss about it, but he’ll give in,” Jersey said.
“You know him well, don’t you, Jersey?”
“I been with him a long time, Jerre. We been through a lot of battles.”
Jersey looked every bit of twenty-five years old. But Jerre knew that many Rebels joined the main force as just teenagers.
“Let’s go!” Tina called, taking the point.
Tina came to a building whose windows had been boarded up — a sure giveaway that the building was, or had been, inhabited. Tina sniffed at the doorway and grimaced. All watching her knew she had smelled the foul odor of Night People. She removed a grenade from her battle harness and pointed to four others, telling them to do the same. She waved them forward.
Jerre spotted movement across the street, on the rooftops and cut loose with her M-16. “On the rooftop!” she yelled.
Half the team spun to cover their rear while Tina and the others dropped in grenades and scrambled for the protection of rusted-out vehicles parked haphazardly along the curb.
Several creepies were firing from the rooftops just as a main battle tank rounded the corner and opened up with HE and WP rounds, in addition to .50-caliber machine gun fire. The coaxial gun, normally a 7.62 machine gun had been replaced with a second .50, beefing up the firepower. The entire second floor erupted in a roar of flame and smoke and brick and mortar just as the grenades blew in the building behind the Rebels.
“Let’s go!” Tina yelled, jumping inside the smoke-filled and shattered room.
Ben was right behind her, his M-14 set on full rock and roll. Father and daughter began clearing the littered room of any living things.
When the first floor was clear, Ben took over and waved the team outside. “Corrie, tell that tank to blast this building.”
Ben led the team out of range of falling debris and they squatted behind cars and trucks while the main battle tank dealt some misery to any creepies who might still be alive on the floors above the cleared first floor.
Ben looked up the street at movement. The first of the demolition teams had arrived. Ben looked back at the team. “Everybody all right? OK, good. Corrie, tell the tanks to stick around and cover the explosives people. Let’s get out of here.
The next day. 0600 hours.
Across the river, the commanders of the opposing forces were having breakfast as they met in a building along Kingshighway Road, laying down the ground rules and clearing the air of any personal grievances they might have.
“I must insist upon remaining in command of all forces,” the Hot Wind blew.
Lan Villar laughed at him. “Khamsin, must I remind you that you are in no position to insist upon anything?”
The Hot Wind leaned back in his chair and slowly nodded his head. “You are right, Lan,” he surprised them all by admitting. “Thanks to General Raines, my forces have been very nearly destroyed.”
Lan softened his usually harsh manner of speaking. “I didn’t mean to rub salt into an open wound, Khamsin. But I must point out that if we are to set up any type of empire, it must be in the United States. Europe is . . . occupied, so to speak.”
“As is South America,” Khamsin said.
The youngest of them all, Kenny Parr, had so far sat silent, listening. Young he might be, but he had his late father’s natural ability as a soldier with none of the elder Parr’s arrogance. And it was that arrogance that got him killed in New Africa in the early part of the government’s attempts to rejoin all of the United States after the Great War.
Kenny finally spoke. “What Raines doesn’t know is that Sister Voleta’s Ninth Order is much stronger than he realizes. I’ve been dealing with the sister for several years. She is quite mad, of course, but brilliant in her madness; as are so many of the insane. Voleta has about five thousand personnel in reserve, scattering throughout the United States. She has called them together. They will be massing to the west of St. Louis.”
Lan Villar looked at the young man, new respect in his eyes. The elder Kenny Parr, whom Lan had met in Africa, had been a good soldier, but a rash and impatient man. The younger Kenny Parr had, so far, exhibited none of his father’s imperfections.
“Go on, Kenny.”
“My father warned me about General Ben Raines. He said above all else, don’t trust the man. And don’t try to outguess him. You think he’ll do one thing, and Ben will turn around and do the opposite.”
“I can personally attest to that,” the Hot Wind blew bitterly.
“And? So?” Lan questioned. “There is a point to all this?”
“I and my men checked every military base and national guard and reserve armory between Florida and Missouri. There is not one tank nor one single piece of artillery to be found. Ben Raines has it all. Thousands of pieces of artillery and hundreds of tanks. But few drivers and crews, I am thinking.”
“Where are they, son?” Lan asked, putting a fatherly tone to his voice. He liked this young mercenary. He might even take him under his wing and guide him along.
“At Raines’s Base Camp One.”
The Hot Wind leaned forward, his eyes bright and cruel. “Then we take the camp.”
“No,” Kenny nixed that.
“Why not, son?” Lan asked.
“Raines has nuclear capability all around those hundreds of square miles. And he won’t hesitate to use it. He doesn’t want to use it. But he will if anyone attacks that secure zone.”
Lan wanted nothing to do with nuclear weapons. In the hands of a man like Ben Raines, a damn fanatic for reorganization and law and order and farms and governments and all that happy crap, Raines would certainly use them if pushed. So Base Camp One was out.
Then it dawned on Lan what Kenny had previously said. He looked at the young man and arched one eyebrow.
The young man, quite handsome in a cruel sort of way, smiled. “Yes,” he said softly. “Despite our superior numbers, we’ve got our asses in a crack.”
FOUR
“What? What?” Khamsin demanded, both hands gripping the arms of his chair. “What are you talking about?”
“We have short-range artillery,” Lan said, his voice low, but not at all soft. “Light mortars and nothing else. We can be very effective with enemy positions along the river. But let Raines pull his people back a few blocks, into the inner city, and we can’t touch them.”
“But they could, can, pound at us with impunity,” Kenny added.
Sixty tanks and dozens of 81mm mortars fired from the Missouri side of the river at the same time the bridges were blown. The impacting incoming rounds knocked the men from their chairs, sending them sprawling on the floor, all of them cursing Ben Raines and his Rebels.
The men got to their knees just as three rounds, HE, WP, and napalm struck the building next to them and tore the center out of it, blowing out the wall facing the street and sending bricks flying through the air; lethal weapons that crushed skulls and broke the bones of any soldier they struck.
Lan Villar grabbed for a mic. “
Get me the range of all incoming!” he shouted to anyone who might be listening. “All of it seems to be concentrated in this area.”
During a lull in the incoming, Khamsin said, “You think Raines may be limited in range?”
“Yes,” Lan said. “From the sounds of the barrage, he’s using one-o-five’s, ninety’s and eighty-one mm. No one fifty-five’s or eight-inchers. Order all troops to fall back east of Bluff Road. He can’t reach us there.”
Khamsin, Villar, and Parr took casualties that morning as the barrage caught them by surprise. Probably ten percent of their troops were either blown to bloody bits, crushed by the falling buildings, or wounded so badly as to be put out of action for the duration. The Willie Peter and napalm rounds set East St. Louis blazing from 270 in the north all the way down to the county line in the south, and from the river to Washington Park.
Rainfall had been far below normal that spring and early summer, and the city was as dry as a tinderbox. With tons of litter on the streets and in the buildings and homes, East St. Louis went up like a huge box of matches sitting under a fireworks’ display. Flames were leaping hundreds of feet into the air, and with a hot and very dry wind from the west, the fire was pushed rapidly to the east . . . the same direction the retreating troops were taking.
Lan Villar stopped in his retreat to turn and face the west, a grudging smile of respect on his lips. “You son of a bitch!” he cursed Ben Raines. “So you’ve won the first battle. But the war is a long way from being over.” He jumped in his vehicle and hauled his terrorist ass away from the advancing flames.
“Cease fire,” Ben gave the orders.
He had driven up to Cecil’s sector and now stood on an overpass of the Interstate, looking through binoculars at the recent carnage across the river. A soldiers’ smile creased his lips. “That’ll give them something to think about, Cec. And just maybe they’ve fallen for our short-range ruse.”
“We can’t send spotter planes up,” Cecil reminded Ben. “We know they have a few Stinger missiles.”
“As long as they keep it nonnuclear,” Ben said, “so will we.”
“I don’t think they have nuclear capabilities, Ben. I think we’re the only standing army in the world who still has that capacity.”
“Let’s hope.”
A runner handed Ben a piece of paper. Ben read it and passed it on to Cecil. All the designated bridges were either down or crippled so badly they could not support vehicular traffic.
“More links destroyed,” Ben muttered.
“It had to be, Ben,” his longtime friend said. “We had no other choice in the matter.”
Ben nodded his agreement, the curt nod also silently stating that while Ben knew it had to be, he certainly didn’t have to like it. “Did we receive any unfriendly fire?”
“Negative. Nowhere up and down the line did they sustain any returning fire from across the river.”
“All right, that tells us that while they have the superior numbers, they don’t have much in the way of artillery. Short-range mortars, probably. Maybe some old recoilless rifles. But Cec, they didn’t mass across that river for show. They know something that we don’t. And Cec, why don’t they have more in the way of artillery?”
Cec met his eyes. “Go on, Ben.”
Before he could reply, Corrie said, “General Ike is on his way down.”
Ben nodded his head. “I want prisoners. As many as we can grab. Get the interrogation teams ready and equipped. Chase doesn’t like it, but he’ll do it. I want to know where Lan came from, and more importantly, why. I want to know why he doesn’t have more in the way of artillery. I want to know what he’s running from.” He smiled at the startled look on Cecil’s face. “Oh, yeah, Cec. He’s running from something. He probably had either Africa or Europe to play in. Why did he leave? What’s going on over there?”
“Ben . . .” Cecil knew all the signs and he was reading them in his friend’s face and voice. “You aren’t planning on? . . .”
“Maybe. Why not? We’ll change Ike from general to admiral and put him in charge of the fleet.”
“Jesus, Ben!”
“Are we having a prayer meeting?” the stocky ex-Navy SEAL asked, walking up to join the group.
“It’s almost over here in America,” Ben said. “Once this present threat is beaten back, all we’ll have is the mopping up. The creepies are on the run. Malone’s people are in hiding in the wilderness areas out west. Our outpost program is going even better than we dreamed it would. More and more people are realizing that we’re going to reclaim this nation and are coming out of hiding to join us. We’ll soon be able to field seven full battalions. That’s something that those crud across the river don’t realize. Why not investigate what’s happening in other parts of the world?”
Ike almost choked on his bubble gum. When he stopped coughing, he yelled, “How the hell do you propose to get over there, Ben?”
“By ship,” Ben said, taking the offer of a cup of coffee from Jersey. “And when this is over, you’re going to be in command of the flotilla, convoy, whatever the hell it’s called.”
Ike started jumping up and down. He looked like a huge basketball with arms. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” he shouted.
“We have to know what threats face us from overseas, Ike. And I believe the threats are dangerously awesome. You both know what our intelligence people have put together concerning the Night People. Through intercepted and decoded communiques, they believe the creepies have just about taken over the world. If that’s true, then it’s up to us to stop them.”
“Ben,” Cecil said. “Those three other battalions are still several weeks away from being ready for combat,” he reminded him.
Ben took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “We don’t have time.” He turned to Corrie. “Bump Base Camp One, Corrie. Have them start the new battalions up this way immediately. Spread them out south to north along Highway 63, from Rolla up to Kirksville. Swing the ends around to cover west to east for twenty miles.”
“That’s spreadin’ them awful thin, Ben,” Ike said, after checking a map of the state. “That’s about a hundred and fifty miles of highway.”
“They’re not going to be fighting stand or die, Ike. I think that the good Sister Voleta is much stronger than she’s let anyone know. I think she’s kept her main force under cover and I think they’re going to be joining her as she and Ashley push east. All I want the new battalions to do is keep up a steady fight as they pull back toward us. Buy us some time to contain what’s across the river.”
“Suppose Voleta comes down from the north or up from the south?” Cecil asked.
Ben smiled. “Then we’re fucked!”
The destruction of much of the western part of East St. Louis not only knocked some of the fight from Khamsin, Villar, and Parr, it also gave them some insight into the man who was in command of the Rebel army that faced them across the Mississippi River.
The move also gave Ben a few extra days to get his long-range artillery up and in place.
The three new battalions of Rebels, who had been training for months at Base Camp One and at other hidden locations in the south and eastern part of the nation were on the move. The third day after the bombardment, the first of the new battalions were crossing the Missouri line and moving northward, toward Kirksville. Five Battalion would occupy Kirksville and stretch south sixty miles. Six Battalion would take the line from Moberly down to and including Jefferson City, and Seven Battalion would stretch from the old capital down to just south of Rolla.
These were fresh troops, with the finest equipment available and whose officers and NCO’s were all battle-tested leaders. And there was another reason for Ben’s committing them to combat fresh out of training: When Ben left the shores of America behind him, he planned on taking three battalions with him — his own, Ike’s people, and West’s mercenaries. Ben had to make sure that the people he left behind could and would fight.
On the morning of t
he fourth day after the killing and demoralizing artillery barrage, Dan Gray brought prisoners into Ben’s CP. His Scouts had crossed the river at night and did a little silent headhunting with knives, bringing back a dozen scared but sullen prisoners.
“Villar’s people are a mixed bag, General,” Dan informed him. “From East European to English. No blacks.”
“Kenny Parr’s men?”
“The worst kind of redneck all the way.”
Ben faced the prisoners. “We can do this easy or hard,” he told him. “That means with or without the use of drugs, which can be unpleasant to say the least.”
The men faced him silently, hate in their eyes.
“Very well,” Ben said. “Dan, take them to the interrogation teams and see what we can get. When we’ve sucked them dry, shoot them.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Now wait just a damn minute!” a man blurted, his voice trembly from fear. “This is war, and prisoners are accorded some rights.”
Ben stared at him. “The same kind of rights you have accorded the men and women you’ve kidnapped and tortured and enslaved, forcing them to work on your farms in Florida?”
The man shuffled his feet and looked awfully uncomfortable.
Another prisoner spoke, his accent giving away his East European ancestry. “If we cooperate, what do we get in return?”
“Freedom. A chance to start over once the armies across the river are defeated.”
“What kind of freedom?” another asked.
“You’ll be separated and placed in a Rebel-controlled zone. We call them outposts. You’ll be given a job, depending on what you’re qualified to do. After successfully completing a probationary period, you’ll be free men.”
Survival in the Ashes Page 3