Valor in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  No, Ben concluded, Thanksgiving was next week. Have to tell the cooks to have some dressing and pumpkin pie along with whatever type of meat they might serve. A lot of dressing. There were a lot of people up here. And Ben wished he had a couple of thousand more personnel.

  He was going to get about five hundred additional people, soon, but not the type that he had in mind.

  Tina walked up to him, her form taking shape from out of the darkness. “We’re just about ready to pull out, Dad.”

  “I’ve added two squads to your contingent, Tina. One from Cecil and one from Ike. That’ll give you fifty people. I want you to take mortars and heavy machine guns. I ordered them loaded on trucks last night; also additional Claymores.”

  “All right. With the additional troops we’ll have adequate strength to cope with just about anything we might run up on. Dad, I think Dan was wrong in ordering Jerre to stand down.”

  “I don’t interfere with his handling of his people, Tina. Jerre is going to have to learn that when the orders are given that no prisoners are to be taken, that is exactly what I mean.”

  “Ian deserted last night, Dad.”

  Ben sighed. “That means, probably, that Jerre won’t be far behind him. I won’t try to stop her. You know as well as I do that this is an entirely volunteer army.”

  Tina looked up at him. “You wouldn’t try to stop her, Dad?”

  “No. I wouldn’t try to stop anybody who wanted to leave this army.”

  She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Gotta go. See you, Pops.”

  “Take care, kid.”

  Tina melted into the darkness. And Ben Raines was once more alone.

  “Friends,” Emil Hite spoke to his flock in the darkness of predawn Louisiana. “I have reached a decision. While Ben Raines is not exactly our friend, neither is he our enemy. He has allowed us to live in peace and under the cloak of his protection. He has gone to fight those nasty buggers up in New York City, while we sit here and twiddle our thumbs. That ain’t right.”

  His flock, a strange collection of humanity if ever one had gathered anywhere, all nodded their heads.

  “I have spoken with the people remaining at Base Camp One,” Emil continued. “They have agreed to look after and school our children. And you have all agreed to that.”

  Again, his flock murmured low and nodded their heads. Most of that murmuring low as due to the dreadful hour of the day. None of Emil’s flock, all followers of the Great God Blomm — another of Emil’s scams — ever got out of bed before eight in the morning. And this morning . . . Hell, it wasn’t even dawn yet.

  Emil looked at one of his so-called deacons. “Are we packed and ready to go, Brother Carl?”

  “Yes, Father Emil.”

  “I still think this move is shit-stupid,” Brother Matthew muttered. Matthew was one of those followers of Emil who knew the whole thing with Emil was nothing but a great big con. But life was pretty good around Father Emil, so Matthew stayed on.

  “Quiet,” Emil shushed him.

  “I agree with you, Matt,” Brother Roger whispered. “But if Emil says we go to New York City to help Ben Raines . . . most of the others will follow.”

  “I know,” Matthew said, disgust in his voice. “But after he pulled off that scam and ran Francis Freneau out of here . . . even Francis proclaimed the little sucker the spiritual leader of all the earth. Look how many new people we’ve pulled in.”

  “Well, I guess we’re going to New York City.”

  Emil took a deep breath. “My children, prepare yourselves for a visitation to the pits of Hell. Gird your loins and all that other stuff. And pack up all the damn ammo and bombs that we got in camp.”

  “A victory dance, Emil!” Sister Susie shouted, then fell into a coughing spell from a tad too much hemp smoking the night before.

  “Yes, Emil,” Sister Martha cried. “A dance to lift our spirits before we go to the aid of General Raines and face the dreaded Night People.”

  Emil thought about that. And thought about that. Just as the first fingers of silver began opening up the night, Emil made up his mind. He had been studying a book on ballet and had memorized most of the positions. He hadn’t tried any of them yet, but they hadn’t looked all that tough.

  “Very well, my brave warriors and warrioresses. I shall call this dance the Big Apple.”

  “Ohh, what an original title!” Young Sister Susie gushed.

  Emil lifted one foot slowly and did something that loosely resembled an en l’air. Then he executed an attitude and would have looked pretty good had not his robe been so tight. He had to catch himself before he fell on his face. All this drew much applause.

  Then he did a jete and almost went over the side of the bed of the bob truck where he was speaking. He hauled up his robes and attempted a fundamental fourth position, complete with port de bras. He slowly pirouetted, the hem of his robe puffing up dust. Then with a victory cry, he did a leaping entrechat, came down wrong, and did a wild, arm-waving header off the bed of the truck, knocking several of his followers sprawling.

  Loud applause echoed around the marshes as Emil picked himself up and bowed several times. Several of his followers picked up the small man and hoisted him to their shoulders.

  Emil thrust one arm out, luckily in the right direction, and shouted, “To New York City, brave men and women. We may be few in number but we are strong at heart. Onward, to save Ben Raines!”

  “Would you ask Katzman to please repeat that transmission from Base Camp One and be sure he got it right?” Ben asked Beth.

  The transmission was repeated. Ben had heard correctly.

  “Emil and his flock are on their way up here! To assist me? Assist me in doing what?”

  Beth shrugged. “Don’t know, sir. But didn’t they hold their own pretty well against those rednecks outside of Base Camp One?”

  “These uglies aren’t rednecks, Beth. These people can think. But you’re right: Emil and his flock did hold their own. Well, if they make it up here, I’ll damn sure put them to doing something.” He looked at Beth. “And Joe said they left, the whole bunch of them, before dawn?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well . . . stranger things have happened,” Ben muttered. “But offhand I can’t think of any.” Then something that he’d been told on his way up to the city entered his mind. Then he remembered some bits and pieces. He’d been speaking to a Rebel sergeant at the Chippewa Airport, in Michigan, where they’d been sent on that wild goose hunt. But what had the sergeant said?

  Then he recalled the words. “Rumor has it that Monte has one hell of a big detachment somewhere around the New York City area.”

  He turned to Beth. “Beth, tell our people to hold what they’ve got. Don’t take another step farther. Hold their position. When you’ve done that, advise Ike and Cecil and West to do the same. I’ll see them all today, personally.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He checked his watch and silently cursed. Tina and her bunch had been gone for more than an hour. And they might be driving straight into an ambush.

  When Beth had finished, Ben said, “You can’t reach Tina with that backpack, Beth, so tell Katzman to reach her — whatever it takes — and have her cease advance immediately. Tell her to stand by for orders from me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I must be getting senile,” Ben muttered, walking to the intersection. But he knew he wasn’t; he knew that other things — one other blond-headed thing — had been very nearly uppermost on his mind. And that was something he was going to have to correct.

  He stood on the corner of Wall and Broad, momentarily alone, free of his bodyguards. Everything behind him had been cleared. The air stank from the remnants of the tear gas they’d been using to flush out the creepies, and it was mixed with the eye-smarting smell of gunpowder and the hideous smell of Night People.

  Ben stepped out and stood on a manhole cover (to the best of his knowledge, no one had ever gotten around to renaming them p
erson-holes). Impatiently, he stamped his boot on the metal.

  He heard as well as felt the returning knock from underground.

  “What the hell . . . ?” He muttered. He looked around him. No Rebels in sight.

  Ben knelt down and put his ear to the metal. Aside from nearly freezing his ear, the move produced nothing. He did not notice as his bodyguards found him and began moving toward his position, Beth and Jersey with disgusted and aggravated looks on their faces.

  “General!” Jersey said. “What in the hell . . . ?”

  “Be quiet, Jersey,” Ben told her, then smiled at her, softening his order. He pointed toward the manhole. “Somebody is down there.”

  Ben, using the handle of his knife, began tapping out morse code. . __ __ .... __ __ __ . __ . __ . . __ . __ __ __ __ __ . . __?

  “Who are you?” Beth whispered to Jersey, who had a confused look on her face.

  “Thanks. I never learned that stuff.”

  The reply came back. . . __ . . __ . . . . __ . __ . . Friend.

  Ben tapped out: Can we meet and talk?

  No.

  Why not?

  Don’t trust you.

  “Crap!” Ben muttered. He tapped: How long have you lived under the city?

  Since many years before the Great War.

  Ben looked at Beth, who was looking at him. “You remember a TV program, Beth?”

  “Yes, sir. I was just a little girl, but I remember it.”

  “I remember that program!” a Rebel officer blurted. “That was one of me and my wife’s favorites. Are you suggesting . . . ?” He let that trail off.

  Ben shrugged. “I’ve learned that anything is possible.”

  He tapped: Is there any other way we can talk?

  Go to 54.4.

  Ben looked at Beth. She shook her head. “Can’t do it, General. I’m one hundred to one-fifty-eight.”

  Ben tapped out: Will be a while. Listen for us.

  OK.

  He stood up. “It smells like a trap. But it just may be for real, too.”

  “What now, General?” Jersey asked.

  “One of you people get me a radio that can be tuned to 54.4.” He looked at his watch. “And get me a sandwich while you’re at it. I forgot to eat breakfast.”

  Ben watched with some amusement as Beth stepped back a few yards and spoke to someone. Within minutes, half a dozen Jeeps and trucks had pulled up, placing a shield around Ben. Rebels had quietly moved into position all around him, on all four corners.

  Ben looked at Beth. “Your concern is heartwarming.”

  The sarcasm bounced off her and she smiled sweetly. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Nannies,” Ben muttered. “I’m surrounded by nannies.”

  Jersey smiled just as sweetly as had Beth. But still stuck by her general’s side.

  “All units are holding, sir,” Beth informed him. “Generals Ike and Jefferys have been notified and acknowledge transmission.”

  “What about Tina?”

  “Nothing yet, sir.”

  “By nothing, do you mean she has not responded to Katzman’s radio messages?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That means she’s hit trouble. Radio probably took a round.”

  Ben stood silent for a moment, uncertain what his next move should be. His brow furrowed in thought. “Beth, tell Katzman to keep trying to reach her. She’s on Two-eighty-seven and probably not far inside New Jersey. I got a hunch that unit of Monte’s has finally made their move. After you do that, get hold of Dan, tell him to ready a team and stand by.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir?”

  Ben looked at her.

  “How large a team?”

  “Fifty. And have a couple of Abrams warming up on Staten.”

  “Yes, sir. And Colonel Gray will be leading this patrol?”

  Ben smiled at her. “No, Beth. Colonel Gray will not be leading this patrol.”

  Jersey stirred and then braced herself for what she knew was coming.

  Ben shifted his Thompson from left hand to right. “I shall be leading this patrol.”

  ELEVEN

  Dan argued, but to no avail.

  Ben listened, smiled, and continued gathering his gear. “You’ll be in charge of this sector, Dan. Make no further advances until you hear from me. I don’t know whether Monte’s people are inside Manhattan, waiting to spring a trap, or over in New Jersey and have Tina and her bunch pinned down. You’ll be the first to know if the latter is the case.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Englishman said, resignation in his tone. He knew to argue further would be pointless. “Of course I shall notify Ike and Cecil.”

  “You will whether I want you to or not.”

  “Quite.”

  “My team ready?”

  “Already over on Staten Island, waiting for you.”

  Ben crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and picked up 278. Ike was standing by the side of the road, at the intersection of 278 and Prospect Expressway, waving frantically for Ben to stop.

  Ben returned the wave, smiled, and barreled on past him. He laughed as he watched Ike jerk off his beret and throw it to the ground. The stocky ex-SEAL began jumping up and down in frustration. But he didn’t try to make radio contact with Ben. He had left his translator behind him in his dash to intercept Ben.

  Dan had prevailed in one area: he had convinced Ben to leave his Jeep and take a Chevy Blazer. Ben had to admit it was more comfortable and secure.

  Ben had already told his people to split at the loop; Ben would take Shore Parkway, and they’d rejoin at the bridge.

  There was no sign of Tina. The Rebels guarding the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge told him that Tina’s plan had been to cut off at Richmond Avenue and take the expressway down to 440. From there she’d pick up 287.

  Ben thanked her and drove on, his speed now cut back due to the Abrams tanks that had joined the column from the main depot on the island.

  As they crossed over into New Jersey, Ben broke radio silence for the first time. “Heads up, people. Moving into bogie country.” He told Cooper to reduce speed and then rolled down his window, trying to catch the sounds of gunfire. He could hear nothing. Again, he lifted the mike. “Point report.”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Close to five hundred meters and maintain distance, Point.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looked around to the rear seat. Beth was listening to a walkie-talkie, the short antenna stuck out the window. “Got them, sir!” she shouted. “Eagle to Scout, Eagle to Scout, come in.”

  Tina cut her eyes to Ham and grinned. “Dad’s on his way. You owe me a million dollars.”

  “Pay you the first bank we come to,” Ham said, grinning.

  Tina turned her head, meeting the eyes of Jerre. “You know of course, that both our butts are gonna be in a sling when Dad gets here?”

  “I told you it was foolish taking me along.”

  Tina lifted her walkie-talkie. “Scout to Eagle. We’re pinned down off the interstate. Interstate blocked at Ten. Take highway Twenty-two. We’re pinned down south side of highway. Large force. Maybe four to five hundred, we guesstimate.”

  Beth relayed that information to Ben. “Ask them how secure is their position?”

  “They’re fighting inside an old farm complex, General,” Beth said. “Stone fences. They’re secure unless the enemy has mortars or tries a mass attack.”

  Ben lifted his mike. “You monitoring all this, Point?”

  “Ten-four, General.”

  “We’re pulling over and holding. Check it out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Only a few moments passed before the point team radioed back. “Scout team is completely surrounded, General. A few ridges, then flat ground where they’re trapped. The fire is heavy, so I doubt the bogies will hear our tanks coming in. You’re still about five miles from battle site.”

  “Ten-four. Hold what you have and prepare coordinates for shelling.” Ben walked back to the tanks. “Move them u
p to here,” he pointed to a map. “And get ready for sustained shelling.”

  The tank commanders nodded and clanked their Abrams forward. The 105mm M-68 guns were effective up to about 3300 meters.

  “Eagle to Scout,” Ben radioed.

  “Come in, Eagle,” Tina told him.

  “Moving Abrams up. We’ll fire short and then you call them in, kid.”

  “Ten-four, Pops.”

  Ben again lifted the mike. “We’re moving out, people. Doing it slow and going in cold. Bear this in mind: these bogies are aligned with the Night People. They’re the ones kidnapping human beings for the feeding and breeding farms. That should tell you all you need to know about them. No quarter, no pity, no prisoners. Move out.”

  A few minutes edged by as the short column inched their way up the road. They could all now clearly hear the sounds of battle. By now the tanks would be in position.

  Ben ordered his column halted behind the positioned tanks and dismounted his people. He ran up a slight ridge, Beth and Jersey and Cooper with him, and knelt down.

  Ben pointed out various spots in the terrain. “Cooper, I want machine guns in those three places. The rest of the personnel spread out between. So advise the squad leaders. Move!”

  Cooper ran down the ridge. Ben lifted his field glasses and studied his daughter’s situation. “Not too bad,” he commented. “Could be a hell of a lot worse.”

  “Tank commanders report they are ready to fire for range, sir,” Beth relayed.

  Ben looked at the machine gunners, rushing to get in place. “Tell the tanks one minute then fire for range. Tina will act as FO.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Beth?”

  “Sir?”

  “Tell them not to blow up my kid, will you?”

  “Yes, sir!” she grinned.

  The seconds ticked past. Ben knew his gunners well; had watched them train many times, and knew the almost pinpoint accuracy of them. Their ‘fire for range’ shots would probably land extremely close to the line of bogies.

  The 105’s roared and both shells landed just behind the line of dug-in troops. Tina called in corrections and the 105’s began pounding. The warlord’s troops tried to use mortars. But the light mortars they had did not have the range to reach the tanks or the machine gunners.