Valor in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  After the shock of that had settled in, Ben looked at Buddy. “There’s more, son.”

  “I thought there might be. Let me guess. My mother has also joined forces to try and defeat the man she hates: Ben Raines.”

  “You got it, boy.”

  Chase drummed his fingers on the desktop. “A-hundred-to-one odds, Ben?”

  “At least. Probably more than that. But,” Ben held up a finger, “after last night, I think the creepies are going to stay in their holes and wait for reinforcements to get here. We gave them a drubbing last night. Several thousand dead. I would imagine these so-called Judges are in a state of shock. Buddy, tell Beth to bump Katzman through translators. I want a meeting of commanders, up here, right now.”

  * * *

  They were all professional soldiers; they took the news without changing expression. To a person, their minds were already working on the problem. They had no other choice. They knew, of course, that they could bust out; it would be tough, but they could do it.

  But that would not solve the problem. It would still be on their backs. And the horror would continue to grow until it consumed them all.

  That must not be allowed to happen.

  “Khamsin has long-range artillery?” Danjou asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Ben replied.

  “But I don’t think his plan is to destroy the city,” Cecil said. “That would be counterproductive . . . in more ways than one.”

  West spoke. “I agree.”

  Thermopolis and Emil stood near the back of the room, saying nothing, listening to the exchange. Both were changed men since their arrival. Although it wouldn’t take much for Emil to revert. Something he planned to do if this war ever ended.

  “The city is going to get very crowded, very soon,” Striganov said. “We might even have to light up Times Square.” He smiled. “I’d like to see it once before I die.”

  “I don’t know about lighting up the city,” Ben said. “But we very well may have to empty every fuel storage tank in New England, flood the subway with gas, and then blow up the city!”

  * * *

  Ben had given the orders: “West, you’ll take a convoy filled with weapons and ammo and grenades, four tanks to accompany you, and break through to Central Park. Savie’s people have got to be ready to fight for their lives. If you want to stay up there with them . . . that’s up to you.”

  “It might be best if I did, General. We could at least get better field reports back to you with my men doing the scouting.”

  “Whatever you think, West. Take whatever supplies you’ll need for a sustained operation.”

  The mercenary shook hands all the way around, paused in the door to salute Ben, and then left the room.

  Ben looked at Striganov and smiled. The Russian picked up on it and grinned. “I’d love to join you, Ben! I hereby place myself and my battalion under your command.”

  “Give the orders, Beth. Get Georgi’s battalion on the move.”

  The Russian general moved around the table to stand beside Ben.

  “Rebet,” Ben said, “your two battalions will link up with Cecil.”

  Rebet popped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

  “Cecil, you’ll take everything east of Broadway over to the river.”

  “Right, Ben.”

  “Major Danjou, link your battalion with Ike’s people.”

  The Canadian likewise popped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

  “Ike, you take everything west of Broadway to the waterfront.”

  “Gotcha, Ben.”

  “Thermopolis, Emil, you’ll stay up here with General Striganov and me.”

  The hippie and the scam operator nodded their heads.

  “Tina, I’m having Jerre reassigned back to your command. Effective immediately. Chase gave her a clean bill of health today.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Buddy.” He looked at his son. “You and your company are now under Dan’s command.” He handed the muscular young man a thick sheaf of rolled-up paper. “Study these very carefully, son. These are the blueprints of the subway system. I want to know what’s down there — and you’ll find out for me.”

  “Yes, sir, Father.”

  “Now comes the hard part, gentlemen. I already know where West stands. I need to know your feelings on the matter.” Ben walked to the coffee pot and poured a cup, then carefully hand-rolled a cigarette, licked it tight and lit up. He smiled grimly. “Surgeon General Koop would be unhappy with me, I know.”

  Ben sipped his strong coffee and let his eyes touch each person in the room before speaking. “I also know Doctor Chase’s feelings on this. He said he was too busy healing people to stand around with a bunch of rank-happy gunslingers making war talk.”

  They all smiled at that. On more than one occasion, Chase had picked up a rifle and confronted whatever enemy the Rebels were facing at that particular moment . . . and held his own. Of course, he bitched the entire time; but everyone was used to that.

  The men and women in the room waited, eyes on Ben.

  “We have to weigh options, people. And we have to do it slowly and painfully. We’ve got, hell, ten maybe twelve thousand people coming at us from South Carolina. Maybe a thousand or more from the Ninth Order. We’re already facing unbelievable odds as it is.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “The more lucid of the rescued prisoners are firm on one point: that being, they would rather die than live the way they are forced to live. I am not going to make this decision alone, gang. I am not going to force any Rebel to kill innocents against their will. This is something that you all will have to take up with your people. I’ll expect your answer within forty-eight hours.”

  “And during that forty-eight hours you want me to give you a preliminary on the subways and the tunnels,” Buddy said, not posing it as a question.

  “That’s correct, son.”

  “Will we use chemicals, Dad?” Tina asked.

  “God knows, Tina, I don’t want to subject these poor wretches to any more misery than fate has already dealt them. This is a decision that every head of every army that was ever assembled under the flag of freedom has dreaded, but a decision that most had to make at one time or another. Yes, Tina, if it comes down to it, we’ll use chemicals. We can’t be defeated, people. That can’t even be considered. We are the only thing in the North American continent standing against lawlessness, anarchy, and barbarism. We have to weigh options. We have no choice in the matter. We have to survive. This is not our last fight. I wish it was. But as it stands, we’re going to have about ten days to defeat one enemy, and then turn right around, and face another.

  “I want all of you to go to the hospital complex and take a good hard look at the rescued prisoners. If they’ll talk to you, talk with them. And that is not a request, that is a direct order. Then go canvass your troops. We’ll try tear gas first, to see if we can get deep enough to flush them with that. If that fails, then we’ll use . . . poisonous gas.”

  Everyone in the room grimaced at that, and at the thought of the hard decisions they had to make.

  “Forty-eight hours, people. That’s it. Get cracking.”

  NINETEEN

  Dan handpicked Buddy’s team, and the tunnel rats spent the rest of that day poring over the plans of the subway system.

  Buddy had already made up his mind about the use of chemicals.

  The Rebels shifted their personnel and locations, stretching out, reforming, resupplying, and resting during this lull in the fighting.

  And talking about the options.

  It had turned bitterly cold in the Big Apple; most of the snow remained on the streets. The bodies of the dead creepies had been removed and taken to the barges. They lay in grotesque frozen death, awaiting transport to a watery grave.

  Jerre had packed up her gear and was awaiting transport to Tina’s position. Ben had been deliberately avoiding his CP that day, not wanting any type of goodbyes.

  He was across the street from his CP, standing alo
ne, his usual entourage a respectful distance away, when the Jeep pulled up to take Jerre to her new unit.

  Their eyes met over the trampled snow of the street. Neither one made any effort to speak or wave. Jerre tossed her gear into the Jeep and got in. A few seconds later, she was out of sight.

  Buddy and Dan watched from the other side of the street. “Both of them caught up in the grips of the first deadly sin,” Dan observed.

  Buddy put a name to it. “Pride. And one of them very much in love.”

  Dan smiled. “Ever been in love, Buddy?”

  “Ah . . . no. Infatuated, yes. But love, no.”

  “It will be interesting to watch when you are smitten, young man. For you and your father are very much alike.”

  Neither of them heard Ben mutter, long after the Jeep carrying Jerre had rounded the corner, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid. Take care.”

  Ben walked across the street to join his son and Dan. “How are you and the blueprints coming along, son?”

  “Just fine. I’m looking forward to going underground, Father.”

  Ben glanced at him. The young man really meant it. He looked at Dan. “His team all picked, Dan?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re drawing equipment now. They’ll be going in this afternoon.”

  Ben stuck out his hand, and Buddy took it. “Luck to you, boy.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Try to link up with those friendlies living down there if you can. Doing that might help keep you and your team alive.”

  “I plan to, Father.”

  Ben looked at his son for a long moment, nodded, and then walked off, toward the CP. Beth and Jersey and Cooper and Ben’s bodyguards followed.

  “You’re taking chemicals with you?” Dan asked.

  “We are,” Buddy confirmed it. “Tear gas and smoke only. This time” he added.

  “Verify the outside grates up here that lead to the subways have not been blocked off. We don’t want the gas blowing right back at us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll see you at the jump-off point, then.”

  “Right, sir.”

  Colonel West and his mercenaries had traveled to the survivors’ location around Central Park without encountering a single creepie.

  Gene Savie met the men in Columbus Circle. Gene and his people could not hide their joyful smiles at seeing West and his mercs.

  “My God!” Gene said. “I cannot put into words how good it is to see you people.”

  “General Raines briefed you?”

  “Yes. How many of these terrorists are coming?”

  “Khamsin’s people? Probably a full division. Perhaps a thousand of those nuts that make up the Ninth Order. Do you know the story behind this Sister Voleta?”

  “Colonel, we’ve been cut off up here for years. We really don’t know what’s been happening, for sure, outside the city.”

  “Back when the world was whole, more or less, Ben Raines had a very brief affair — a one-night stand — with a woman in Tennessee. That brief encounter produced a son. Buddy. Buddy is as fine a young man as I have ever seen. His mother, unfortunately, is a nut. She hates General Raines. Her name is Sister Voleta.”

  “Good God! Does the son know his mother is coming up here?”

  “Oh, yes. Come on, let’s get these supplies offloaded. We’ve got to set up defensive positions and make ready for the night. They haven’t been attacking the last couple of nights. But I have a gut hunch all that is about to change.”

  Back at his CP, Ben was going over the final preparations for all-out war. “Beth, have Katzman get in touch with all our outposts in the way of Khamsin’s march. Tell them to observe the route and keep us posted. But do not — repeat: do not — attempt to engage the enemy. No roadblocks, no bridges blown, nothing. It would be like a gnat attacking an elephant and all it would accomplish is getting a lot of our people dead.”

  He waited until his orders had been relayed to communications central.

  “Get me all commanders, including West and Savie on scramble, Beth.” Radio link established, Ben took the mike. “West is in position; he encountered no resistance on his way up. He says he believes Savie’s people are ready to finish it — one way or the other.

  “I have tunnel rats about to enter the burrows. If they have to — if all else fails — they’re carrying enough C-4 to start doing a lot of damage. Khamsin is approximately eight days away and pushing hard. I want reloading sites to start working around the clock. Pull in all tanks, APC’s, and mortar carriers and go over them; if any part is showing the slightest bit of wear, replace it. From here on in, we’ll be fighting from the defensive — I don’t have to tell any of you what that means. Have you canvassed your people on the use of chemicals?”

  They had, and gave Ben their answer.

  “Ike, you still have those flamethrowers you found at that old military depot?”

  “Ten-four, Ben.”

  “Get them out and juice them up. I want every company to have a couple of them and lots of fuel.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “There isn’t much else to say, people. So I’ll just say good luck to you.”

  Buddy and his team of tunnel rats entered half a dozen subway stations and five hundred feet into each one, and found the same thing at all of them: the creepies had constructed steel-reinforced barricades, track to ceiling, side to side, with steel doors that would take a lot of explosives to even dent them.

  They saw no uglies during any of the forays into the dankness of the underground world, nor could they make contact with any of the friendly people who inhabited the subterranean world.

  When Buddy reported back to his father, Ben leaned back in his chair and thought about the news. “Did you feel they were watching you, son?”

  “Yes, sir. I think to fight any type of war in those subways would be a sure death trap for us all.”

  “You’re probably right. Suggestions?”

  “Or opinions?”

  “Certainly.”

  “There is no way for us to rescue the prisoners being held underground. No . . . humane way to bring them out of there alive.”

  “That narrows the options, doesn’t it, son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Buddy. Get some rest.”

  The young man left the office. Ben turned in his chair and looked at the city, cloaked in whiter. Harry Truman’s words returned: The Buck Stops Here.

  He almost called for Beth, almost gave the orders that he did not want to give.

  Jersey stuck her head into the room. “General Ike’s people just got here with the flamethrowers, sir.”

  “Thank you, Jersey. Tell Colonel Gray to take care of the unloading and the distribution, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” She looked at him. “You feel all right, sir?”

  “I’m all right, Jersey. Just have some hard decisions to make, that’s all.”

  “You can’t use tear gas, sir.”

  “Oh?” Ben leaned back in his chair and smiled. “And why is that, Jersey?”

  “Because it’s got to be done quickly, sir. And I wouldn’t use Mustard, either.”

  “What would you use and why, Jersey?” He pointed to a chair. “Come in and sit down. The flamethrowers can wait. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Me and a bunch of the others been talking, sir.” She took a chair in front of Ben’s desk: an old door placed on concrete blocks. “We can’t go in and get them out; you said so yourself. And the creepies are going to eat those people if we don’t end this war right now. If I knew I was gonna be strung up on a meat hook and eaten, I’d be praying for someone to kill me.”

  “There are kids down there, Jersey,” Ben reminded her. He cut his eyes as Dan stepped into the doorway, to stand listening.

  “I don’t think so, General. I don’t. I think becoming a creepy is a learned thing. I don’t think there are any kids down under the city. Either creepy kids or prisone
rs. Not anymore. I think they would like for us to believe that. But I think they’ve been moved out of Manhattan. But even if they haven’t, General . . . I been doing some reading from some books we’ve found. Didn’t kids die when the atomic bomb was dropped in Japan? Didn’t kids die during all the bombings of the Second World War? Haven’t kids died in all wars? I love kids, General. I love kids and puppy dogs and little kittens; but I also love freedom, and freedom don’t come cheap.”

  Dan stood in the door, smiling.

  “You see, General,” Jersey kept it going, “the way I see it, we got maybe a couple of million kids out there.” She jerked her thumb toward the west. “A couple of hundred kids down there — maybe. And it’s a big maybe. I’ve said my piece, for what it’s worth.” She stood up. “I’ll go see about them flamethrowers.”

  Dan stepped in after Jersey had left. “I thought you might like to know this, General: Katzman, unknown to us, had his people plant bugs all over the areas controlled by us. Super Snoopers, he called them. He also directed shotgun mikes into the subways. He’s picked up a lot of useless chatter over the past three days. But not one child’s whimper. Not one baby’s cry. Sir, do you want me to give the orders to use the gas?”

  “No. No, Dan, I don’t. Because I’m not going to pump the subways full of Mustard or Sarin or Soman or cyanide or Mycotoxin or any V-series. I can’t do it. About ten minutes ago, I thought I could. I almost gave the orders. I don’t know what I’m going to do, how I’m going to handle it. But it won’t be with germ warfare or poisonous gas. Maybe tear gas. I’ll make up my mind about it by morning.”

  Dan sighed. “Tell you the truth, General, I’m glad to hear that.”

  Ben stood up. “Let’s go have a look at those old flamethrowers.”

  As they walked out of the building, Dan said, “I did something last night I have not done in many a year, General.”

  “Oh?”

  “I got down on my knees and prayed for some heavenly guidance about this poisonous gas business.”