Valor in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Just before Ben bent down and crawled into the darkness, he turned around to Dan. “Do you know if Katzman ever got ahold of Emil and his warriors?”

  “No, sir. I’ll have Beth check on that.”

  “Fine.”

  “General? Radio contact is going to be bad down there. If you’re not out in one half hour, I’m coming in.”

  “All right, Dan.” Ben disappeared into the smelly darkness.

  “Father Emil! Father Emil!” the woman shouted, running toward the main camp of Emil and the hippies. “Great General Raines has called us on the radio you got from Colonel Williams. He is welcoming our aid and has given us instructions on how to get to wherever it is he wants us to go.”

  Emil grabbed the piece of paper, read it quickly, and jumped to his feet, which was a dangerous move for Emil: the hem of his robe seemed to be constantly catching on something — usually his feet.

  “Lafayette!” Emil shouted, pointing to the west. Sister Sarah assumed he was talking about General Raines and moved his arm to the east. “We are on our way!” He turned around, caught his feet in the hem of his robe, and fell down in the dust.

  “Jesus Christ,” Rosebud muttered, eyeballing the antics.

  Thermopolis walked to Emil and helped Sister Sarah get the little man to his feet. “May I read that communiqué, please?”

  “Oh. Sure, Thermy.”

  Thermopolis read the message and paled under his tan. “Did you read all of this, Emil?”

  “No. Just the first part.”

  “General Raines says we may be outnumbered twenty-five to one.”

  Emil hit the ground again, in a dead faint.

  Sister Sarah waved away Thermopolis’s help and motioned for some of Emil’s flock to come help. Thermopolis walked back to his group.

  “We’ve got to talk, Rosebud.”

  “I heard; most of us did. I can’t speak for the others, but to my way of thinking, if we don’t help Ben Raines stop these horrible people now, we’ll have to run and keep on running for the rest of our lives. The kids and grandbabies are all right, Thermopolis. They’re being well taken care of by the older people back at the village, so we don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Rosebud, all of you, you know that even if by some miracle we help defeat the Night People in New York City, we’ve only chopped off the tip of the iceberg. We well might be fighting the Night People and under the command of that authoritative bastard Raines for the rest of our lives!” He shuddered at the thought.

  “But if we don’t hook up with a large enough group to resist,” Zelotes pointed out, “we’re doomed.”

  “I don’t know which would be worse,” Thermopolis said. “Eaten by cannibals or having to listen to Ben Raines’s right-wing bullshit for the rest of my days.”

  “He doesn’t force his personal philosophy on anybody, dear,” Rosebud reminded her old man. “He just wants everybody to be educated and to obey the few laws that the Rebels live under. You remember what Jerre told us about him.”

  “Oh, I know it. He’s not as bad as I make him out to be. Well, what’s it going to be, friends?”

  It was unanimous. They would go on.

  “So be it,” Thermopolis said.

  “Twenty-five to fucking one!” Emil shrieked, coming out of his faint, his scream reaching everyone in camp. “Holy shit!”

  “Douse the lights,” Ben whispered. “Let your eyes grow accustomed to the dark.” The flashlights were clicked off. Ben and the Scouts were well away from the opening in the basement. “Now get out of the way.” He edged past the point team.

  “Colonel Gray said . . .”

  “Colonel Gray doesn’t give me orders. Just pass the buck back to me if you get any static about it.” Ben squatted in the tunnel for a moment, getting his bearings. He had seen at first glance that the tunnels were not new. They were very old. Maybe fifty or a hundred years old. And quite possibly, Ben thought, a lot of unsolved murders in the Big Apple could have been cleared up if these tunnels had been known.

  He also had a strong hunch that the Night People had been around for a lot longer than anyone could possibly guess.

  He inched forward until coming to a curve in the tunnel. He peeked around it. Not even a tiny finger of light reached him. Touching Bouton on the arm, Ben whispered, “Come with me.”

  The tunnel both widened and heightened. The men were almost able to stand up erect. Ben inched forward, feeling his way along the wall. Another turn, a sharp one. Far at the end of that stone corridor, Ben could see a small light. He stepped aside and pulled Bouton forward. The Scout saw the light and nodded his head.

  “Get the others,” Ben whispered. “Remove any loose equipment and tape up for silent approach. And bring me some tape.”

  The Scout melted into the darkness. Ben waited for what seemed to be an hour. But the luminous hands of his watch told him it was less than three minutes before he heard the slight scrape of boots on stone, the sound not carrying more than a few feet. But even that was enough to give them away.

  When Bouton reached his side, Ben whispered, “Pass the word: the next person who drags his feet gets to launder all the dead creepie’s robes.”

  Bouton passed the word.

  Ben took the already torn strips of tape and silenced his equipment, then inched forward. He sensed the others behind him, but did not hear them. Low voices reached him; seconds later, the odor and sizzle of cooking meat also reached him. He grimaced, knowing full well what the creepies were eating. There was now enough light in the tunnel for the Rebels to see each other. Ben turned and made an eating gesture to Bouton and the others, then pointed to the end of the corridor.

  The Rebels all struggled to keep from gagging. Ben moved forward, motioning Bouton and Pierce up to him. The corridor was wide enough for three men to walk abreast, while the floor was on a slight but constant slant downward. Ben clicked his Thompson off safety. The others did the same. The voices grew louder.

  Ben motioned for the team to halt. He slipped forward, taking a peek into the large stone room. He almost lost what remained of his lunch.

  Like sides of beef, naked, very dead human bodies were hung up on meat hooks. Ben could see where, he assumed, the choicest cuts had been carved from the bodies. Strips of meat were cooking over a charcoal fire.

  He knelt down and motioned Pierce and Bouton forward and motioned for them to kneel, then waved three more Rebels forward.

  Ben lifted his Thompson to his shoulder. One old .45-caliber SMG and five M-16’s on full auto ripped the cruel air of the tunnel, sending the ten subhumans sprawling and kicking and squalling and finally, for the good of humankind, dying.

  “Jersey, go get Dan. I want him to see this.”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  A moment later, they could all hear the sounds of her upchucking.

  No one blamed her a bit.

  FIVE

  Dan, ashen-faced, looked at Ben. “I thought I had seen it all, General. I guess I have. Now.”

  Ben had sent Scouts forward, up the dark corridor, to see what lay around the next bend. “Get some people to take down the bodies of those . . . unfortunates. Take them topside and bury them properly.”

  Dan waved a few Scouts forward and pointed to the naked bodies on the meat hooks. “You heard him. Get to it, lads and lassies.”

  One of the Scouts sent up the tunnel returned. “Steel door just ahead, General. And I mean a big solid sucker. Old. Back when they really made steel, I reckon. It’ll take a heavy charge to blow it.”

  “Not now,” Ben told him. “We’re going to have our work cut out for us after this, Dan. We’ve tipped their hand.”

  Ben walked out of the corridor, into the tunnel, crawled out of the hole in the wall into the basement, and went up the steps to ground level, stepping out into the cold night air. He stood in the darkness for a moment, mulling over the events just past.

  All right, so he had uncovered the plans of the Night People. Now w
hat? He had no intention of sending Rebels into the tunnels after the creepies. They would be ready for his people, expecting the Rebels to come after them.

  He would not send his troops into a death trap.

  But he knew one thing for certain: the areas that had been cleared would now have to be checked again. Not only up here, but also in Lower Manhattan.

  Every damned building and basement!

  He walked to his Blazer, Beth and Jersey with him, and climbed in. “Back to the CP, Cooper. Let’s get some rest. We have to start all over tomorrow morning.”

  Ben had alerted Ike and Cecil and West of the new developments before he went to bed. He was once more talking to them, through translators, at five o’clock the next morning.

  “Damn!” Cecil summed up the feelings of the entire group.

  “Back to square one” West said.

  What Ike said was totally unprintable.

  “There’s something else I’ve been thinking about,” Ben radioed. “I think the creepies did this for two reasons: one, to try to put us in a box; and two, because should we discover it, we’d have to retrace our steps, and that would buy them still more time. There is no way for us to inspect every basement of every cleared building before Monte and his people are all over us.”

  “So what do we do, Ben?” Cec asked.

  “I’m going to push on down to the bridge, secure it and make damn sure it stays open. If we’re going to be trapped in the Big Apple, I want us to be well-supplied before that happens — if it happens. I want you people to fall back to 14th Street. Block every street, every avenue, every alley, every hole. And look for the sons of bitches to hit you from Brooklyn. I don’t think they’ll chance the bridges you control; they’ll be coming across at night, in boats. Start re-clearing everything south of 14th. Plug up the holes with concrete reinforced with anything you can get your hands on: steel grating, heavy compressed metal mesh. We’ll start doing the same up here. Pick out a half a dozen or more places to cache supplies. Get your trucks rolling over to Teterboro. Ike, tell your tank commanders to start shelling everything from Broadway to the expressways by the river. Bring it down. Tell them to work the buildings top to bottom. Use Willie Peter and HE. I want those ten miles, from 14th Street north to the bridge, to be nothing more than rubble, unable to be used by the creepies as hidey-holes. If you want to chance it, send Sappers into a section to help bring the buildings down. It’s desperation time, people. Let’s do it. Good luck.”

  Ben broke off.

  Ike looked at the others. Sighed. “First we’re soldiers, now we’re combat engineers and tunnel rats. OK, people, let’s go.”

  Ben listened to an urgent voice breaking the bad news to him.

  “Monte smelled a rat, General. He didn’t take the bait. They’ve turned west just north of the blown bridges, looking for a way back to highway. They’re gonna roll right up to Tina’s position.”

  “Hang on for a sec.” Ben turned to Beth. “Get Rebet and Danjou on the horn.” When she nodded her head, signaling that the Canadian and the Russian were ready, Ben took the handset.

  “We need your help,” Ben laid it on the line, then quickly explained the situation.

  “We’re at your disposal, General,” Rebet told him. “And General Striganov is on his way with another full battalion, including self-propelled artillery and tanks. But due to the condition of the roads, it will be ten days before he arrives. Where do you want us placed, sir?”

  “Let’s let Monte think you and Danjou have fallen back and gone home.” Ben spoke through a Russian-speaking interpreter. “Let him think he’s going to be able to just roll right over my people at the airport; then you and Danjou hit him from the rear and force him to fight a double front.”

  “That is ten-four, General. Are you beefing up the personnel at the airport?”

  “Yes. With about three hundred hippies.”

  A pause from upstate New York. “I beg your pardon, sir. Did you say hippies?”

  “That is correct. They should be reaching the airport late tomorrow. I will advise them of our plan. Is that agreeable with you, Colonel?”

  The Russian chuckled. “Like politics, General, war does make for some strange bedfellows.”

  Wait until you see Emil, Ben thought, with dark soldier humor. “Yes, it certainly does, Colonel. Eagle One out.”

  Ben turned to Beth. “Bump Katzman. See if he can get a fix on Emil’s location.”

  “They were on the New Jersey line last evening, General.”

  “Hell, they ought to be in walkie-talkie range by now. Get Tina for me.”

  She spoke briefly and then handed him the mike. “Babe? Use translators on this.” Ben waited for a moment, then explained about Danjou and Rebet. “Start radioing Emil and his bunch, Tina. As soon as you get them, speak in double-talk. Emil can sure understand that. Tell them to hold their position and you’ll send a patrol out to guide them in. OK, babe?”

  “OK, Pop. Will do.”

  “As soon as we clear down to the bridge, I’ll pop over for a visit.”

  “Looking forward to it. Way-out Scout, out.”

  Ben had a good laugh at that. Then decided it was a good name for Tina and her bunch. They were way out in the country.

  As it turned out, Emil was only about twenty-five miles from the Teterboro airport. Ham took a patrol out to guide them in.

  Ham took a good look at the hippies and decided right then and there they were here for a fight, not for a love-in. They were well-armed, and armed with M-16’s, AR-15’s, and Mini-14’s. A few had M-14’s. But that was no problem; the Rebels had lots of .308 ammo.

  Ham explained to them about Danjou and Rebet.

  “Ye gods!” Emil shrieked. “You mean we’ll be fighting side by side with savages from the Evil Empire?”

  “Relax, Emil,” Thermopolis tried to calm him. “From what we’ve been able to learn by listening to shortwave broadcasts, the Russians are on our side from here on in.”

  Emil looked very dubious, but shut up about it.

  Ham, as ordered by Tina, gave the new people one last shot at turning around. “Once in, folks, for reasons I shouldn’t have to explain, there is no turning around. And bear this in mind: Rebels do not surrender — ever! You fall back only on orders. Any of you cut and run, another Rebel is going to shoot you. There is a reason for this harshness: two or three people cut and run, they leave a big hole where the enemy can come in and perhaps kill off a lot of other Rebels. Understood?”

  The question was met with silence.

  “Why can’t we leave once we’re in?” Emil asked innocently.

  “If you’re caught and tortured, you could give away troop strength, command leaders, and a lot of other information that might seem trivial to you, but very important to the enemy.”

  “Don’t the sergeants and generals and people like that wear things signifying rank?” Swallow asked.

  “No,” Ham told her. “And don’t ever salute a Rebel officer. That’s all that an enemy sniper is looking for.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn very quickly who is in command.”

  “What happens if one of us wants to have a joint?” Wenceslaus asked.

  “For you people, off duty with no alerts on, nothing. What you do with your private time is your business. But a joint or a drink of whiskey better be as far as it goes. And don’t offer a joint to a Rebel regular; you’ll be picking your teeth up off the ground. Drugs, unless prescribed by a doctor, are taboo. It wasn’t always that way. We tried it the other way. It just didn’t work out.”

  “Don’t worry,” Thermopolis told him. “None of us have any intention of becoming a Rebel regular.”

  Ham stood up from his squat and smiled. “Yeah. That’s the way I got it figured. Probably best all the way around.” He walked off.

  “I don’t quite know how to take that last bit,” Santo said.

  Thermopolis smiled. “He knows our reasons for coming up here were not totally unselfish. We
’ll help them, and they’ll help us, and then we’ll leave, fully resupplied and with a headful of knowledge about tactics and survival. No joints, people. Pack your stashes away and forget about them. We’ll play by Ben Raines’s rules as long as we’re here.”

  Now the war turned bloody and savage for Ben and his battalion. They backtracked up to 220th Street and began cleaning house — literally.

  And Ben gave the orders many Rebels knew were inevitable: “Take some prisoners and find out where the breeding farms and feeding farms are in the city. And I don’t give a damn how you extract that information. Just get it.”

  Ben sent his tanks down to the southern edges of Fort Tryon and Inwood Hill Parks with these orders: “Start leveling the buildings. Clear the expressway at least one full block eastward. HE and WR Go!”

  To Beth: “Bump Katzman. Tell him to contact this Gene Savie. Tell him that Ben Raines said to get his people off their butts and get into this fight or I’ll start shelling their goddamn territory at first light tomorrow morning. I am growing very weary of doing for people who won’t pitch in and help.”

  “Yes, sir.” After Ben had stalked off a few yards, she turned to Jersey. “The general is getting pissed.”

  “Highly,” Jersey agreed.

  “There is nothing wrong with my hearing!” Ben roared.

  The women grinned at each other.

  Within the hour, smoke from the fires started by the white phosphorus rounds began lifting into the sky. Ben ordered snipers posted along the expressway, armed with .50-caliber sniper rifles, to knock the creepies sprawling as they ran from the buildings being reduced to rubble by the heavy shelling.

  “Sir?” Beth caught up with Ben. “Gene Savie on the horn.”

  Ben took the handset. “Savie?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You got anyone there who speaks Yiddish?”