Slaughter in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “But my intelligence people say he has a very strong army.”

  “Oh, he does. And it’s an army filled with fanatics. Don’t sell them short, for are all prepared to die for their beliefs. Come on, general. Let’s get inside out of this damn wind and have something to drink. We’ll talk better there.”

  In the man’s very comfortable home, coffee was served by Tom’s smiling wife. “It’s Columbian,” she explained. “Simon apparently worked out some sort of deal with the gangs of punks before they invaded our land, and some warlords down in Central and South America. Simon and the gang leaders trade them women to sell into whoring and men to use as slaves, and they sell or barter, or however they do it with the punks, the raw materials to manufacture dope up here. We hijacked a couple of loads of coffee on the way through here.” She grinned. “And shot the shit out of their convoy.”

  “Now they fly it in,” Tom said.

  “My intelligence people sure dropped the ball on this one,” Ben said. “We had no idea there were entire communities who were resisting Simon and his nutty ideas.”

  “Not their fault, general. We just couldn’t be sure if they were the real article or if they were lying when they said they worked for you. We stay in touch by short wave, so we all agreed to hedge our bets to be on the safe side. I don’t know whether you know this or not, but Simon has a secret police that would put the Gestapo to shame. They not only look like Hitler’s Gestapo, they act like that bunch of thugs. They wear black uniforms with red armbands. And a lot of people they pick up for questioning are never seen again.”

  Ben toyed with his coffee cup for a moment. He shook his head. “Conditions are a hell of a lot worse over here than I realized. But I’ve got a man in here; one of the best spooks in the world. I don’t understand why he hasn’t notified me of all this.”

  “He’s probably linked up with a resistance group and running for his life, general.”

  “I have a very difficult time visualizing Mike doing that, Tom.”

  “I hate to be the one to tell you this, general,” Tom said, very hesitantly. “But it’s something you’d better give a lot of thought to.”

  “What?”

  “There is a very good chance you have some Simon Border people with you. He probably put people in your army a long time ago. He sometimes behaves as though he’s about half nuts, and he may well be insane, but he’s still a very smart man.”

  “We went through a purge of the ranks months back,” Ben told him. “And we did turn up a few Simon Border supporters. But I thought we had them all. Damn!”

  Tom was silent for a few heartbeats. “I’d better warn you of this, general—everything north of I-40 and everything west of I-25 is Simon Border territory. You’re going to have a fight on your hands when you get in those areas.”

  Ben smiled, thinking of Jersey’s comments about how boring it had been for so long.

  “You looking forward to a fight, general?” Tom asked, a puzzled note in his words.

  “I’ve never shied away from one,” Ben replied, as his grin faded and the thoughts of Simon Border having spies within his army took center stage in his mind. “But no, Tom. I’m not looking forward to a battle. But if Simon Border wants a fight, he can damn sure have one.”

  “What about the possibility of your having turncoats in your army?”

  “Oh . . . I’ll deal with them. You can rest assured of that.” Ben hadn’t worked out just how he would deal with them, but he definitely would purge his ranks of Simon Border supporters.

  Ben didn’t have to ponder how he was going to do that for very long. That night the traitors within his ranks solved that problem for him.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  As soon as Ben left the friendly home, he told Corrie to get his battalion commanders up for a meeting. One look at Ben’s grim face and Corrie knew something was rotten.

  “We’ve got Simon Border sympathizers all through our ranks,” Ben told his commanders. “I should have guessed it.”

  “What are they waiting for?” Jackie asked. “Why don’t they strike?”

  “I think they’ve been waiting until we were inside Border’s territory. So we can expect some sort of coup at any time.”

  “No idea who they are?” Dan asked.

  “No. None at all. And I’ve got a hunch we’re not going to have time to pull in polygraph and PSE operators to check everyone.”

  “You think it’s coming down that soon?” Buddy asked.

  “Yes, I do. I would say to pull in your most trusted people, but hell, who can we trust?”

  “I think we can trust the old-timers,” Jim Peters said. “I think we have to trust them.”

  “All right. Get back to your commands and quietly alert the old-timers. Captain Evans is in overall charge of the platoons that are leaving the column and linking up north of Flagstaff. He’s a good man. I trust him. I’ll personally give him a bump and alert him. I alerted President Jefferys first thing, so he’s ready for whatever happens back home.” Ben’s face hardened and his eyes glinted. “I don’t like people who shake hands with you with one hand and strike you with the other. So, when this coup attempt begins, I really don’t want to have to deal with a lot of prisoners. Any questions?”

  There were none. All present got Ben’s drift, loud and clear. Treason carried the death sentence in the SUSA.

  Ben watched the batt coms quietly leave the room. He sat alone for a time in the quiet room, his expression grim and his eyes holding a very dangerous light. Then he picked up his CAR and walked outside. “Heads up,” he told his team. “The turncoats are sure to have noticed the batt coms coming and going and they might put it all together. I don’t have any idea how many of our people are involved in this treachery. But it won’t take many of them to cause a lot of damage. We’re going to take some hits when it goes down. Let’s see if we can’t keep it at a minimum.”

  The night was closing in fast as Ben spoke and every one of his senses was working overtime. It might have been nerves responsible for his feeling jumpy, but he didn’t think so. The column was inside Simon Border’s territory, and the coup attempt could just as easily come this night as any other. Ben paced back and forth and up and down for over an hour, his thoughts dark and savage.

  “Batt coms all back with their commands,” Corrie broke into Ben’s thoughts, and he was grateful for the intrusion.

  “Everything quiet with their commands?”

  “No problems. Yet,” she added.

  “How could any Rebel, who has lived free under the laws of the SUSA and the Tri-States philosophy, ever fall for Simon Border’s bullshit?” Jersey asked.

  “I think you just hit the nail on the head, Jersey,” Ben said. “New people.” He looked at Beth. “How many new people in our bunch, Beth?”

  “Since returning from Europe . . . about 50. The same for the other battalions, since we enlarged battalion size.”

  “That’s it. Corrie, bump the batt coms, advise them to—”

  Shots shattered the quiet night before Ben could finish his sentence and Ben and team jumped for cover just as bullets pocked the side of his motor home.

  Jersey leveled her CAR and gave the muzzle flashes a full magazine of .223 rounds. Screams of pain and shock ripped the night as Ben’s outer circle of protection quickly formed up around him. They left one small perimeter open, for Ben and team to lay down a field of fire. His protection platoon knew if they didn’t let the boss at least mix it up some, he would raise holy hell.

  A tremendous flash and roar lit up the night sky as one of the turncoats tossed a grenade under the gas tanks of a truck and it went up with a bang.

  “I’m intercepting their transmissions,” Corrie said in a calm voice. “Their objective is to kill you, boss.”

  “What else is new?” Ben said.

  Jersey grinned and Anna frowned.

  More explosions and flashes of fiery light colored the sky as the turncoats blew up several more vehicles.
r />   “All battalions reporting fighting,” Corrie called over the din of approaching battle.

  “We finish it tonight,” Ben said.

  M-16 fire cut the night all around Ben and his team. None of them turned a head. They kept all eyes on their perimeter.

  “Here they come,” Cooper called. “’Looks like about two dozen of them.”

  “Praise God and Brother Border!” came the shout from within the ranks of those turncoat Rebels rushing toward Ben and his team.

  “Put them down,” Ben ordered, lifting his CAR.

  The team opened up, splitting the night with .223 rounds, all weapons set on full auto.

  The line of rushing traitors went down in a sprawling heap as several hundred rounds impacted with flesh, followed by screams and howls of pain.

  “They’re not wearing body armor!” Beth called. “What the hell’s the matter with those people?”

  “That’s how they can identify themselves from us,” Ben called during a few seconds’ lull in the fighting. He ejected the empty magazine and slipped home a full one. “But I think I would have picked a better method.”

  Several of Ben’s protection platoon suddenly turned and leveled their M-16s at Ben. Ben caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes and hit the ground just as the men fired. Within seconds, the turncoats were riddled with bullet holes. But a large hole had been opened and the traitors poured through, breaching the inter circle.

  One jumped inside the ruins where Ben and team had taken cover and slammed into Ben, knocking the CAR from Ben’s hands and dropping his own as well. Ben recovered his balance and slugged the man on the jaw, addling him long enough for Ben to get set and pop him again.

  “Death to all Satanists!” the turncoat screamed, charging at Ben.

  Ben didn’t waste the wind replying. What was the point? He kicked the traitor on the knee and when the man involuntarily reached down to grab his shattered knee, Ben brought his fist down on the back of the man’s neck, driving the man face-down on the ground.

  Before he could put the finishing touches on the attacker, another jumped on Ben’s back, riding him to the ground, screaming oaths and praising Simon Border.

  Ben rolled and the man loosened his hold. Both men came up, knives flashing in the night. Ben had no time to see what his team might be doing, other than being locked in hand-to-hand combat with other turncoats.

  The turncoat slashed at Ben and Ben sidestepped what would have been a lethal cut to his belly. He parried another thrust and brought the edge of his heavy knife down on the man’s arm, nearly severing the arm from the elbow down. The traitor screamed and lost his blade. He staggered back, the blood gushing.

  Ben stepped in close and swung the heavy blade, the razor-sharp edge striking the man on the side of his neck and almost decapitating the attacker. Ben whirled around in a crouch before the dying man hit the group.

  A dark shape came out of the night and Ben just had time to duck before the M-16 the attacker was using like a club whistled over his head. The turncoat lost his balance and fell into Ben. Ben’s knife went clattering off.

  Ben kneed the man in the groin and heard the air whoosh out of him as the pain ripped through his body. Ben hammered at the man with a big right fist, striking the attacker several times in the face. Still the man hung on, flailing away at Ben with hard fists. The two of them rolled around on the ground, and ended up out of the ruins of the old house and about 50 feet away from Ben’s team, both of them losing their helmets.

  Ben recognized the man; he’d been with the Rebels for years. So much for trusting all the old-timers, he thought.

  The men lunged to their boots and the turncoat clawed at his flap holster for his 9mm. Ben slugged him on the jaw with a right fist and followed that with a left, addling the man, but not knocking him down. Ben kicked out with a boot and the toe of his boot caught the man on the knee. That put him down.

  Ben stepped back and delivered another kick to the man’s face, his boot catching the man on the mouth. Teeth and blood flew. Ben recovered his balance, took aim, and kicked the man on the side of his head just as hard as he could. He heard the man’s skull pop under the impact. The attacker lay still on the ground.

  Ben turned, his eyes searching for his knife and his CAR. He saw the knife blade glinting in the faint light and scooped it up.

  “Boss!” Cooper called.

  “Here, Coop.”

  “We beat them back. You all right?”

  “Only my dignity bruised. Where’s my rifle?”

  “Here!” Anna called, rushing up and looking up into his face. “Are you hurt, General Ben?”

  “No, baby. I’m all right. You’ve got blood on your face.”

  “Not my blood, General Ben.”

  The camp was quickly settling down. The brief but brutal fight appeared to be over.

  “Report!” Ben called.

  “Radio took a round,” Corrie said. “It’s busted. I’ll have to get another from the communications truck.”

  “Four down here, sir,” the officer commanding the protection platoon called. “One dead and three wounded.”

  “Your radio still working?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get me a report.”

  “Right away, sir. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, son.”

  Rebels began rushing up to check on Ben. Ben assured them all he was unhurt.

  Corrie was handed another radio and quickly got on the horn. The portable satellite had not been damaged during the fight. “They had a brief fight back home,” Corrie called. “President Jefferys and Secretary Blanton are all right. The home guard and the reserves put the coup attempt down hard. They’re mopping up now.”

  “The battalions with us reporting only a few casualties, sir,” the second radio operator said. “They have taken a number of turncoats prisoners.”

  “I’ll want them questioned extensively,” Ben said. “And then shoot them.”

  The bodies of the turncoat Rebels were buried the next morning without fanfare. Their attempted coup had accomplished nothing for them except death, and for Simon Border and his followers, it had served only to intensify the hatred the loyal Rebels felt toward anyone who would try to interfere with their way of life.

  As the long column began pulling out the next morning, heading west, there was none of the usual banter among the Rebels. They wore grim expressions and, to a person, their thoughts were of Simon Border and his followers, and those reflections were not at all pleasant.

  “We’re going to deal with the punks first, and then go after this nitwit Border person, right, General Ben?” Anna asked.

  “We’re certainly going to deal with the punks,” Ben replied.

  “Then Simon Border?” Anna persisted.

  “Maybe,” Ben hedged that. “We have to consider what might happen to the entire country if I were to declare open war against Border and his followers.”

  “And also what might happen if we don’t,” Anna added.

  Ben smiled. Anna spoke her mind, always. “That too, dear.”

  “We either deal with the problem now, or it will grow and grow. Never stop. Like a cancer.”

  “You might be right,” Ben conceded.

  “The man has shown himself to be untrustworthy,” the young woman pressed on. “Right?”

  “Right, dear.”

  “He wants to destroy our way of life, right?”

  “Right, dear.”

  “Even though we agreed to live in peace with him, right?”

  “Absolutely right, dear.”

  The other team members were all smiling, letting Anna run with the verbal ball.

  “So what is the problem? Let’s go kick his butt and then we can get on with our lives, right? In the old country, if another gang tried to move in on our territory, we fought. If they wanted to live in peace with us, we gave that a try. If it didn’t work out, then we did away with them. It’s just that simple in my mind
. Nothing complicated about it.”

  Ben chuckled. How to explain to Anna that he didn’t want the entire northern hemisphere to blow up in their faces? How to explain that Simon Border had millions of followers, all ready to die for their leader?

  “I think we’re already committed, boss,” Cooper said.

  Ben cut his eyes to the driver. “Could be, Coop. But this time let’s walk on the side of caution.”

  “You mean, deal with the punks and then back off?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll bet Simon Border will never let us do that,” Anna again stepped in.

  “You never give up, do you, Anna?” Ben said with a laugh.

  “Have you ever given up, General Ben?” she responded.

  “Well, no, I guess not.”

  Anna tossed her head. “And I don’t think you will give up with Simon Border, either.”

  “Oh, you don’t?”

  “No.”

  “I guess that settles that, then?”

  “Sure does. So now we go kick Simon Border’s ass, right?”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “We will,” she said confidently. “He’ll force us to do it.”

  “You’re probably right, Anna.”

  She nodded her head. “A holy war. It won’t be pleasant.”

  “Sure as hell won’t,” Ben muttered. “Judgement day.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The column rolled on across the state, encountering no further trouble from either punks nor Simon Border supporters . . . until they hit the outskirts of what was left of Albuquerque.

  “Scouts reporting Border’s troops are waiting for us just east of the city,” Corrie reported.

  “Tell the scouts to find us a route south,” Ben replied. “We’ll avoid trouble with Border’s people whenever possible.”

  Ben felt all the eyes of his team on him. He ignored the curious gazes. The last thing he wanted in the battered country that was once America was a religious war. So for all his big talk now, his troops knew he had been running a bluff against Simon all along—let them think what they would. Ben’s primary objective was to deal with the punks. If Simon Border would let him in to do that, and then let him out, Simon could damn well have his wacko nation.