Survival in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “I know. For once, you was right and the rest of us was wrong. Miracles still happen, I reckon.”

  Ashley ignored that. “So what do you propose to do, Satan?”

  “Beats the shit outta me, man. It’s done got to the point where there ain’t no safe place no more. Ben Raines has got people all over the damn country. I figure we might as well go out in a blaze of glory, maybe.”

  “Whatever in the world are you babbling about?”

  “I ain’t babblin’ about nothin’. I’m tellin’ you that I ain’t gonna spend the rest of my life runnin’ from that goddamn Ben Raines. I’m gonna find me a spot to defend and make my stand. Just like I seen John Wayne do one time in the movies, fighting a bunch of Mexicans or Indians or Puerto Ricans or somethin’ like that.”

  Ashley sighed. “Satan, why do something like that? We don’t have to die just because Ben Raines is on the prowl. That makes no sense. Look, I’ve been doing some thinking on this matter, and I have discovered that there is one place that Ben Raines apparently has no interest in. Why don’t we check out what’s happening with Malone, and then head there?”

  “Where’s there?”

  “Alaska.”

  “Welcome!” Malone shouted, spreading his arms wide and smiling at the tired terrorists.

  His men had stopped the convoy miles from the entrance to what had become known as the wilderness area: over twenty thousand square miles of country located in the northwestern section of Montana and the northeastern section of Idaho.

  “You would be General Villar? I have been monitoring the events of this summer. Indeed I have.”

  “I am Lan Villar. You are Malone?”

  “Indeed I am.”

  The men stood inspecting each other, both liking what they saw. They were about the same age and both of them in good physical condition. Both of them wore their hair short and it was peppered with gray. Malone was stocky, well-built. He considered himself to be a very religious man, and could point to passages in the Bible that he construed to mean that everybody who wasn’t white was inferior. More specifically, white, Anglo-Saxon, and Protestant.

  Malone stepped closer to Villar and whispered, “That dark fellow over there, he’s a sand-nigger, ain’t he?”

  “I beg your pardon? Oh. Khamsin. He’s a Libyan.”

  “That’s what I said. An A-rab. Sand-nigger. Is he worth a damn for anything? Can he fight?”

  “He can fight.”

  “Did they bring their own women with them?”

  “Some did.”

  “I don’t want none of them fooling around with white women. The Bible forbids mixing of the races. Says so right out. You tell him that.”

  “I shall certainly advise him.”

  “You don’t have any Jews or Mexicans with you, do you?”

  “No,” Villar said with a smile. Already he could understand why Ben Raines hated this man so.

  “That’s good. We’ll get along then. I’m a good Christian man, General Villar. I don’t drink hard liquor or smoke and won’t allow it in my presence. I’ve been married to the same women for years and have never lusted after another woman. That’s a sin. We go to church here every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening. But that’s not something you will have to do if you so choose.”

  The only thing that Villar had done with churches over the past quarter-century was blow them up; preferably with people inside them. But just the thought of attending some religious ceremony filled him with amusement. “Oh, but I enjoy a good sermon, Malone. I’m looking forward to attending your services. Aren’t you, Kenny?” he turned and winked at the young terrorist.

  “Oh, yeah,” Kenny said, with about as much enthusiasm in his voice as a long-distance runner with an ingrown toenail. “My daddy always told me to go to church whenever I could.”

  “Excellent! Wonderful!” Malone cried. “Enter my territory, gentlemen.” He waved toward the vast wilderness area. “The new land of milk and honey and freedom from the inferiors.”

  Back in their vehicles, Kenny said, “This guy is as loony as a road lizard, Lan. I hope to hell you don’t plan on staying here any length of time.”

  “Let’s reserve judgment until we see how many men he has in his army, and what kind of soldiers they are. I’d join hands with the devil if that would insure getting rid of Ben Raines.”

  “The devil might be an improvement over this screwball,” Kenny muttered.

  SEVENTEEN

  Ben pulled his contingent out the next morning, with Buddy and his Rat Team at the point. The long column turned northwestward, heading for the rendezvous point in Wyoming. Ben stopped at several outposts along the way, and was pleased at the progress the settlers had made. The so-called secure zones were clean and neat, and stores were slowly being reopened, many of them using barter as a means of exchange, but with newly printed money now also being accepted. The nation was once more back on the gold standard, with Ben’s accountants controlling the gold and the flow of paper money.

  At an airstrip not far from the rendezvous point, heavily guarded planes were sitting. Ben had a surprise for his people.

  Payday.

  “You’re kidding?” Jerre said, looking at Ben.

  “Nope. Payday.”

  “Where are we supposed to spend it?” Beth asked.

  “There are shops and stores in the outposts that accept paper money. Also a lot of individuals who do work in their homes are accepting it. Crafts people and the like. I’m going to reopen several vacation spots around the nation; secure-zones just like the outposts, and start running airline flights to and from outposts to the vacation zones. For a fee, of course. It’s a small start, but it most definitely is a start.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Cooper said.

  “Probably,” Jersey told him.

  Many of the older Rebels just sat and stared at the money in their hands after the long lines had been paid. Things were beginning to come together once more. For the first time in a long time, the men and women of the Rebels began to really sense that all the fighting they’d been doing, for over a decade, was paying off.

  Ike was rubbing two brand new bills together and grinning. “I love the sound of money,” he said. He frowned and squinted one eye at Ben. “But you know what this means, Ben.”

  Ben waited and smiled.

  “This means I got to send most of this home to the wife.”

  “That’s right,” Ben said cheerfully. “We’ve had the good life for a long time, old friend. No money worries because there was no money. But as the nation grows and builds, pure barter can’t stand as the sole means of exchange of goods for service. All the freebies we’re used to just picking up as we go along are running out. It’s the old law of supply and demand.”

  Chase looked at the pay in his hand. “Damned if I don’t feel like crying,” the crusty old doctor said. “I saw this nation destroyed, now I’m seeing it put back together — all in one lifetime. I never thought I’d live to see it, Ben.”

  “It’s a start, Lamar. Just a start. We’ll get this nation secure. But we can’t stop there. We’ve got to secure the world or our enemies will eventually cross the waters and destroy us.”

  General Georgi Striganov nodded his head in agreement. “I would like to see the motherland once more before I die. I want to see if those left are friends or enemies.”

  “What if we do get there, General?” Dan asked. “Would you want to stay?”

  The Russian shook his head. “No. No. My future is here, just above the line in what was once Canada. I have my wife, my family, and my farm. I will come back here.”

  “Enjoy the feel of your first paycheck, people. It isn’t much when compared to what we were making before the great war, but then, there isn’t that much to buy.”

  “Not much?” Georgi said with a smile, holding out the bills in his hand. “Oh, but it is, Ben. You don’t know what Russian generals were paid!”

  Thermopolis’s crew immediately got
together and began scrounging up canvas, old leather jackets and boots and snaps and zippers. They began making billfolds and purses and selling them.

  Up to this point, the only thing Rebels had to carry were the dogtags around their necks. Now they had money to carry around with them and soon they would have ID’s with their pictures on them, encased in plastic. Billfolds were needed, and Thermopolis’s bunch saw the need and provided the goods . . . for money.

  A few Rebels found decks of cards and poker games sprang up around the camp. This army was no different from any other army that ever marched the earth . . . in many respects. Ben sent the word down the line that anyone caught cheating at cards or dice was in for some bad trouble. But he didn’t try to impose laws forbidding gambling among his troops. Cavemen probably tossed stones into a small circle, the hunters gambling among themselves for the best cuts of meat.

  Ben and his commanders spent the time going over maps of the wilderness area.

  “OK, people, here it is: Buddy’s Rat Teams report that Malone and his bunch are spread out from the northern tip of the old Beaverhead National Forest all the way up to British Columbia. That’s more area than we first thought. Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty thousand square miles, taking in parts of two states. It isn’t going to be a cakewalk by no stretch of the imagination. Ashley and the outlaw bikers have linked up with Malone, as have Villar, Khamsin, and Kenny Parr. We’ll be able to use tanks in some areas . . . but not many. This is going to be a rough one. It’s going to be march in and slug it out eyeball to eyeball. Dan, you get your riggers busy drying out the ’chutes. There might be a drop during this campaign, and if so, you and your people will be dropping into some rugged country. Cecil, get the birds coming up this way with supplies. Depots at Conrad, Fort Benton, Lewistown, and get with Georgi on a location in B.C.”

  Georgi leaned forward, over the briefing table. He studied the map for a moment. “Right there,” he said, pointing. “Creston. There is a strip large enough for the planes to use. And that’s right over the panhandle of Idaho.”

  “Good enough,” Ben said, as Beth took down all the planned depots. “Now then, once we get in this area and our quarry sees we’re in this to the finish, there is no telling where they’re going to go. I wish we had the people to seal this area off, but that’s a pipe dream. It would take several divisions to do that — and they would be stretching it.”

  “What we could do,” Cecil said, after studying the maps, “is take Five and Six battalions and spread them at the bridges along this stretch of Highway Two-hundred down to Thompson Falls. Then do the same along the Interstate down to the junction with Ninety-three, and then all the way down to the Idaho line south. But that would be spreading them thin.”

  “Not if we used our tanks to beef them up,” West pointed out. “We could get them moving right now, and be in position by the time we are fully resupplied and ready to go in.”

  “We sure won’t be able to use main battle tanks once we get off what few highways are in there,” Ike added. “Dusters will be about all we’ll be able to use.

  “Get the spotter planes up,” Ben ordered. He traced the several meandering rivers from British Columbia down to the Idaho line at Lost Trail Pass. “See how many important bridges are still standing along this route.” He met the eyes of Colonel Gray. “Any whose connecting roads from the east or west have deteriorated to the point of being unusable . . . blow them.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Cec, bump Base Camp One and our other main depots and get every tank we have drivers and crews for started up here on flatbeds. I want them to roll twenty-four hours a day. Tell the drivers I want them up here day before yesterday. And tell them to come up from the south and work north. Five and Six battalions will not move into place until we have supporting tanks in; we don’t want to give away what we’re doing.”

  Ben paused to take a sip of cold coffee. “Yekk!” he said with a grimace, and sat the cup down.

  “Did the general let his coffee get cold?” Jerre asked sweetly.

  Ben almost popped right back at her, but changed his mind as he realized that’s what she wanted him to do. “Yes the general did, Lieutenant,” he said just as sweetly. “Why don’t you be a sweet girl and make a fresh pot . . . and then pour us all some fresh coffee?”

  Sitting in a chair, Jersey looked heavenward and her beret fell down, covering her eyes. She made no attempt to pull it back up. She really wasn’t sure she wanted to see the rest of this exchange — hearing it might be volatile enough.

  Corrie and Beth moved out of the deadly, eye-locked shooting gallery between Jerre and Ben. Cooper quietly left the room. The others froze in their boots.

  “Oh, it would be a pleasure, General,” Jerre said, enough ice in her voice to air condition all of Mississippi in August. She moved to the door, turned, and mouthed the silent words Fuck you! She shut the door behind her.

  After the dust in the room had settled from the impact of door into frame, Ben muttered, “One for me. I think,” he added.

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Ike said.

  “You do enjoy living dangerously, don’t you, friend?” Georgi said with a smile.

  “I gotta go to the john,” Jersey said, and left the room.

  Beth moved and Ben said, “You stay. I need you in here. You’re the only one in here that makes legible notes.”

  “Lucky me,” Beth muttered.

  Ben gave her a dirty look that had about as much impression on her as it would on a porcupine.

  “Oh, hell,” Ben said. “Everybody take a break. Damn, can’t anybody take a joke anymore?”

  Ben sat down at his desk and told Beth to take off with the others. Be back in fifteen minutes.

  He was going over maps when Jerre came back in and set the coffeepot down on the grill of the portable burner, only bending it a little.

  Rolling a cigarette, Ben said, “You used to be able to take a joke better than that, Jerre. I recall that we used to insult each other a hell of a lot rougher than that. Alone and in a crowd.”

  She stared at him for a very long minute until finally some good humor came back into her eyes. “Yeah. But you caught me off guard that time, Ben. You want an apology?”

  He shook his head. “No. You want a transfer out of here.”

  She shook her head. “No. That wouldn’t accomplish anything. We’re becoming friends again, Ben. It’s just going to take some time, that’s all.”

  Ben stood up and poured two mugs of coffee, handing one to her. “Have you heard any word on how the twins are doing?”

  “Yes. They’re fine. I don’t think they miss me at all.”

  “That’s bullshit, Jerre, and you know it.”

  “I’m not the world’s greatest mother, Ben. I have too much wanderer in me.”

  “Well, stay with us, kid. We’re damn sure going to do a lot more wandering.”

  She nodded her head and sipped her coffee. “Yeah, Ben. I plan on doing that.”

  One by one, the others wandered back into the big room. They were wary at first, until they saw Ben and Jerre joking with each other.

  They watched as Ben spread clear plastic over the table map and began making small black X’s on the plastic. “What Malone and his people did when they settled in here was very smart. After our fly-by’s charted each smoke they saw, I compared the smoke with an old tourist guidebook and a map. Back before the war, there were over fifty lodges and guest ranches in this area, ranging in size to accommodate anywhere from twenty to five hundred guests. Malone just put his people into those quarters. And it was a good move on his part. For many of these lodges and their outbuildings are way to hell and gone from paved roads and civilization . . . as we once knew it.

  “Now then, with the addition of Villar and those with him, the use of PUFFs is out of the questions. They’d just knock them out of the sky with missiles. But,” Ben held up a finger and smiled. “We can get our one-o-five’s in damn close to these pla
ces, and make it awfully uncomfortable for Malone and Villar. So everybody has their jobs to do. Let’s get to it.” He smiled. “I would like to get to Alaska before winter.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Villar was the first to put it together.

  A week had passed since Ben laid out the battle plans, and Villar had personally driven over as many roads in the so-called wilderness area — actually much of it was referred to as glacier country — as could be driven over in the time he’d spent in the area.

  It was beautiful country. Even a man such as Villar, with all the compassion of a cobra could see that. Whether or not he appreciated the beauty was something he never revealed. What he did reveal were his thoughts on defending the area.

  “It’s a death trap,” he told Malone.

  “Whatever in the world do you mean?” Malone looked at him. “There is no way Ben Raines is ever going to flush us out of here.”

  “Ben Raines can do just about anything he sets his mind to,” Villar bluntly told the man. “I’ve had rec patrols out since one hour after I got here, Malone. It didn’t take me long to put together what Raines is doing.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Villar bit back his anger. Malone was more and more reminding him of video tapes he’d seen — years back — of certain TV preachers and those who wanted to set the moral standards of others: smug, arrogant, and self-centered. “He’s putting us in a box, Malone.”

  “Nonsense! Villar, do you have any understanding of the thousands of square miles we control?”

  “Let me tell you something, Malone. All along our west side there are rivers. To cross rivers, one must use bridges. The explosions you asked me about? Ben Raines’s troops blowing certain bridges. At all the other bridges? Rebels backed up by battle tanks and heavy artillery. He’s effectively sealed off that route. To the north, the same problem: rivers and bridges. To the south lies the Continental Divide, with mountains ranging from six thousand to eleven thousand feet. Raines has blocked every access route out. To the north, going into Canada, he’s placed the Russian, Striganov, and his army. Ben Raines and Ike McGowan and their troops are to the east. Do you understand, Malone, that Raines has artillery that can drop rounds in on top of our heads from twenty-five miles away? All he’s going to do, to soften us up, is take control of several roads — which he has the people to do — and then tear the guts out of us with long-range artillery.”