Ben took a drink of water and then moved to a wall map. “Villar and his people are not going to move far. I’m betting they’ll move just out of range of our big pieces and reorganize. Their storage depots are going to be blown to hell and gone. He split them up and located them between Belleville and Highway Fifty, and the second one between Highway Fifty and Collinsville. Those are two more reasons I’m betting he’ll head out on Highway Fifty.
“The next logical stop for him is here.” He pointed to a town on the map. “Just about ten miles outside the city. It was a town of about twelve or fifteen thousand before the war. If any of you are the praying types, pray that he does choose this particular town.”
Ike was smiling. “Dan and his people are all going to be carrying about fifty pounds of cannisters, right, Ben? You’ve decided to do it?”
“That’s right. In addition, fifty others in this drop will be carrying rocket launchers and our own lab peoples’ version of the old Dragon antitank weapon. The new ones are lighter and pack more of a wallop. They are also able to launch other types of warheads. Our weather people say the winds will be blowing from west to east that morning.”
West chuckled, Ike laughed outloud, and Cecil smiled grimly. Cecil looked at Dan and said, “You people have your shot-kits, Dan?”
“Oh, yes,” the Englishman replied.
Doctor Chase pointed a finger at him. “Dan, a few minutes before you fire the gas cannisters, you people inject yourselves. Any trooper who loses his or her kit, or it gets damaged in the drop, get them out of that area immediately, north or south.”
“Yes, Doctor Chase.”
“The gas will become useless in six to eight minutes,” Chase continued, “causing only a mild sickness that will soon pass. But for six to eight minutes, it will kill any living thing it comes in contact with. Only the injection prevents it from doing its work.”
Ben pointed to the map. “This large lake is approximately forty-five miles from the target site. The winds will be nearly calm; no more than two to four miles per hour. We anticipate no damage to the lake and its inhabitants, or to any other existing water supply outside of the town.
“There is an old Air Force base southeast of the town. Part of Dan’s drop will include a team to clear a runway there. Now then, another team will go in by plane as soon as Dan gives the signal — whether that signal is mission accomplished or send help.” Ben smiled. “I shall be personally leading that other team.”
SIX
The commanders of battalion, company, and platoon all came to their boots at that statement.
“No way, Ben!” Ike shouted over the hubbub of voices. “I’ll take that other team in.”
The mercenary, West, with a cast on one ankle, was in no position to lead, but he did shout, “My XO will take the team in.”
“I’m second in command here!” Cecil roared. “If anybody fronts that other team, I will.”
In the back of the room, Jerre stood with Jersey, both of them with smiles on their faces. They knew that Ben was going to lead the other team in, and that was that.
Ben sat back down behind his desk and rolled a cigarette, waiting for all the uproar to calm.
Dan leaned against a wall, sipping at the cup of fresh-brewed tea his batman had brought him.
Chief Doctor Lamar Chase was sputtering like a four-cylinder engine hitting on two, and waving his arms around. Nobody was paying any attention to anybody else.
Another thirty seconds and the uproar had quieted to a low mutter of agitated voices.
“Now that everyone has vented their spleen,” Ben said, “let’s settle down and return to business. One: are the boats ready, Ike?”
“Yeah, yeah!” Ike said disgustedly. “We’ve got them hidden behind Mosenthein Island. We can have the third team across the river and in Illinois in a matter of minutes. But it’s going to take another eighteen to twenty hours to rig up ferries for the heavier stuff.”
“That’s all right, Ike. Light mortars and .50’s will do. As soon as you receive my signal, start the Dusters west. Main battle tanks, self-propelled, and vehicle-towed artillery will leave as soon as your third team determines the enemy forces in Illinois have had it. West, you will start your westward pullout an hour behind the main battle tanks and artillery. Cecil’s battalion will remain in the city and begin laying explosives. Ike will stay with me east of the river until we’ve cleaned it out.”
Ben looked at the crowd of men and women. “If we can pull this off, we can break the backs of Villar, Khamsin, and Parr in a matter of minutes. If they don’t take the bait, we’re in deep shit. Keep up normal radio traffic so as not to alarm those across the river. That’s it, people. Good luck.”
Ben and his team drove to the airstrip at St. Clair, Doctor Chase in a vehicle behind Ben’s wagon. The young paratroopers were in high spirits, laughing and cracking jokes as they struggled into their harnesses. Ben walked up and down the line, talking for a few seconds to each member of Dan’s assault team. Doctor Chase was right behind him, making certain each trooper had his or her inoculation kit against the deadly gas, and then giving each one a smile and a pat on the arm.
Dan walked up, or waddled up would be more like it, equipment hanging all over him. “We’re ready to load, General.”
“The gas cannisters are packed securely?” Ben asked, for the tenth time.
Dan smiled. “The queen’s china would come through this drop without a chip, sir. Even should there be a chute malfunction, the cannisters will not break open. We’ve tested them repeatedly.”
“I’ll see you across the river, Dan. Good luck.”
Ben turned and walked back to the armor-plated and bulletproofed glassed wagon, Jerre walking with him.
“All this talk about securing hospitals and aid stations and digging in deep was a ruse, wasn’t it, Ben?” She asked. “You knew all along this was what you were going to do.” The last was not a question.
“That’s correct, Jerre. But only four of us knew it. Lamar didn’t even know what was going down until yesterday. Villar has spotters across the river, watching our every move. It was all done for his benefit.”
“When we go to Europe, Ben,” — and Ben picked up on the we, — “are you taking poisonous gas?”
“Yes. I resisted it for years, Jerre. And perhaps I was wrong in doing so. The cost of Rebel lives in combatting this vermin was what convinced me to change my mind. We just can’t afford to unnecessarily lose good, decent people fighting crud. However, it’s taken our lab people years to perfect this gas; reducing its killing time down to a matter of only a few minutes and protecting the environment. I’ve also got them working on gas that will kill humans but not animals. They say they’re close. I hope so. The animals have had a tough enough time without us adding to their misery.”
Jerre did not have to add that Ben was a strange and complex man. She knew that Ben’s philosophy was that it was wrong to blame an animal for being an animal. They could not help what God had made them. But humans could. Animals had no choice; humans did. Humans had the capacity to think and reason, but if they chose not to exercise that ability, to hell with them.
Ben saw no point in keeping them around.
Ben Raines was hard and tough and in many ways, totally ruthless. The one thing that he absolutely could not and would not abide was ignorance when enlightenment was right in front of the person, readily accessible, and the party would not take advantage of it.
Ben had more than his share of compassion for the very young and the very old, and for God’s lesser creatures of the animal kingdom. He was totally void of compassion for human trash of any color.
He had told his doctors and scientists that if he ever learned of them using animals for experimentation, he would personally kill that person — on the spot.
Being learned men and women, and knowing that Ben never made idle threats, they knew to take his warning to heart and keep it close.
The second team to land in Illin
ois would, like Dan’s troopers, be carrying a heavy load of equipment. But if the operation proved successful, they would not have to carry it back, for the vehicles of Villar and Khamsin and Parr would be their’s for the taking. If the operation was unsuccessful, none of Ben’s team would have to worry about it. For the chances were very good that most of them would be dead.
Ben met with Cecil alone in his CP. The planes carrying Dan and his troopers were airborne, the jumpers would be exiting the door in minutes.
“If the operation is not successful, Cecil, pull your people out immediately and head south for Base Camp One. The commanders of the three battalions west of us have the same orders. Do not — repeat: do not — attempt to mount any rescue across the river. The Rebel army will stand without me. But it has to have a leader. That’s you. If we blow the operation, appoint West your second in command and start over.” He smiled at his old friend. “Hell, Cec, we might as well keep it in the family, since I keep getting signals that West is going to marry my daughter.”
Cecil did not argue the orders. The two men shared a quiet laugh and a drink of whiskey.
“The chaplains are holding a quiet ceremony this evening, Ben. Praying for the success of this operation. Every Rebel knows the seriousness of what’s going down.”
After Cecil had left to return to his own sector, Ben poured another drink, added a dash of water — the few months he’d spent back at Base Camp One had spoiled him: he’d gotten used to ice cubes and now missed them — and leaned back in his chair, thinking.
Dan and his troopers had been on the ground for over an hour. They had landed undetected. If there had been any type of fire-fight, Ben would have been notified immediately by radio. So phase one had gone without a hitch. Dan and his troopers were now marching toward their destination, and knowing Dan, he was driving himself just as hard, or harder, than any of his people.
Ben turned his swivel chair so he faced the east. “Come on, Dan. Get in position and say a prayer that Villar and his bunch take the right highway.”
The next morning. 0500 hours.
“All right, lads and lassies!” Dan rousted his people from a deep, almost exhausted sleep. “Get your Tommy Cookers out and light your tabs.” He grinned at a grimy-faced young Rebel and affected a Cockney accent. “Get ye char abilin’.”
“Do we heat up our MRE’s, Colonel?” another asked, knowing very well what the answer would be.
“Not a chance, me boy. Heat up your coffee and douse the tab. Cold rations for us all.”
“I got meatballs,” a Rebel said. “Anybody want to trade?”
“I got tuna and noodles,” another said.
“Anything is better than meatballs for breakfast. Here, catch, and toss me yours.”
While the Heximine tabs were heating the water, Dan walked up and down the line, inspecting each trooper’s inoculation kit. Then he settled down to drink his morning tea (a carefully hoarded supply of Earl Gray Breakfast tea he had found in a warehouse; he would have enjoyed some cream but one can’t have everything in the field) and eat his cold MRE’s. Chicken stew. For breakfast.
After eating, he carefully buried the wrappings from the MRE’s — no Rebel littered unless it was necessary — and chewed his gum. These weren’t really the MRE’s American GI’s used in ’Nam, but a newer creation from the Rebel’s lab people down at Base Camp One . . . they might have been newer and contain more vitamins and so forth, but they weren’t any better.
Light was touching the eastern sky when Dan said, “Let’s get into position, gang.”
0555 hours. The landing strip at St. Clair.
The planes’ engines were silent; they would not start their warm-up until the artillery began their barrage. Ben and his people stood on the runway, all of them loaded with equipment.
Buddy was standing beside his father and his sister, and the young man was pissed.
“I really wish you would reconsider, Father. I would like to accompany you across the river.”
“No, boy, and that is final. If something gets fouled up and your sister and I don’t return, you and Cecil have to piece together the remains and get this army moving. Now get off my ass about it.” He looked at his son and softened his statement with a grin. “But you are going to Europe. Now does that make you feel any better?”
“Somewhat,” the young man replied, smiling. “I can take some consolation that I will be with Ike in the boats later on.”
“There you go.”
Thirty miles away the graying sky was suddenly lit up as the thunderous barrage began. The very first shell of HE from the eight-inch guns struck true, landing smack in the middle of a supply depot. Ammo, gasoline, mortar rounds, and rockets lit up the sky across the river.
The Rebels on the airstrip cheered.
“Tell the pilots to check their engines,” Ben told Corrie.
The salvo knocked Lan Villar out of his bunk and tumbling to the floor, grabbing for his boots and clothing. The door to his quarters burst open.
“They’ve got us zeroed in, Lan!” his XO shouted to be heard over the whine and roar of incoming.
A round landed very close and blew out what windows remained on the ground floor.
Lan pulled on his boots and looked out to the north, then ran across the room, the glass crunching under his feet and looked to the south. Huge fires lit up the early morning skies.
Lan cursed for a moment. “That’s it, Karl. We’ve had it. Without those supplies we’re screwed. Why in the hell wasn’t I informed that Raines had guns capable of reaching this distance?”
“We didn’t know, Lan. We thought the heaviest he had were one-o-five’s.”
“The son of a bitch is dropping rounds in from twenty miles away. How is the evac route to the north?”
“No good. The explosion at the depot took out part of the Interstate.”
“South?” Lan knew the answer to that even before he turned and looked south. A wall of flames greeted him. Defeat clutched at him in a cold sweaty grasp and the copper taste was unpalatable on his tongue. “It seems we have only one other option, Karl. And might I add that we had better exercise it.”
“After you, sir.”
“It worked!” Dan said, after receiving a curt and coded radio message. “They’re heading this way.” He lifted his walkie-talkie, set on a scrambled high band frequency. “Use your injection kits now. Now!”
He laid the walkie-talkie aside, opened his kit, and took out the syringe, the small needle capped. He removed the cap and jammed the needle into his leg, emptying the vial. He experienced a moment of nausea, fought it back, and then the sensation left him.
He lifted the walkie-talkie and spoke into the cup. “Lay out cannisters but do not activate or load — repeat: do not — activate or load. Activate and load only on my orders.”
The Rebels were spread out from one city limits sign to the other, running west to east in the deserted old town. Others were on rooftops, flat on their bellies, waiting.
“The town up ahead.” Lan pointed to his radio operator. “That seems to be out of range of the guns. Tell the others to center around me there.”
The message was sent down the line of fast-moving vehicles, the cars and trucks taking up both lanes of the highway in their haste to escape the deadly fire from the Rebels.
The dead calm air began moving as a very slight breeze from out of the west picked up.
“Activate and load,” Dan gave the orders.
Lan Villar told his driver to pull off on the shoulder and waved down the command vehicles of Khamsin and Parr. He got out and walked back to the other commanders. “Have your people use this next town as a staging area. We’re out of range of the guns.”
“The barrage has almost stopped,” Khamsin said, pointing out the obvious.
“I noticed,” Villar said coldly. “And why not? Ben Raines has us running like scared rabbits.” He looked at Kenny Parr. “Have your radio operator order one battalion from each command to la
y back just behind our position to act as rear guard, Kenny.”
Kenny gave the orders that saved a few lives.
“I hate Ben Raines with all the passion in my heart,” the Hot Wind verbally farted.
The town limits, which extended for nearly six miles, began filling up with troops from the terrorist and outlaw armies.
At St. Clair, the planes filled with Ben’s team began lifting off the runway.
With a smile on his lips, Dan Gray lifted the walkie-talkie and said, “All teams fire! Fire!”
SEVEN
Rockets exploded vehicles on the clogged roads leading into and out of the town, completely blocking many of the littered streets. The burning vehicles caught other cars and trucks on fire and the exploding gas tanks, ammunition, mortar rounds and grenades hooked onto battle harnesses only added to the confusion.
The deadly gas cannisters were fired from rocket launchers and exploded out of mortar tubes. Since the gas was invisible, many of the members of the terrorist armies trapped in the burning streets did not know what was taking place until their lungs and throats began burning and waves of nausea struck them, driving them to their knees with unseen hammer blows.
Even from their positions several thousand yards from the town, Lan Villar, Kenny Parr, and Khamsin could hear the screaming from several thousand tongues. But it was not until they saw dozens of men stagger out of the smoke, clutching their chests and their throats that Villar put it together.
Survival in the Ashes Page 5