Death in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “I got a wounded man over here won’t let Jimmy work on him,” Ramos radioed. “He says no goddamn nigger is gonna play doctor on him.”

  Ben did not hesitate with his reply. “Then let the son of a bitch die.”

  “Our lines have been split,” Malone was informed. “Raines pulled in more troops from down south and busted through. He’s now controlling about a five-mile stretch along Highway 2.”

  Malone took the news stoically. There was no point in ranting and raving about it. That would not accomplish anything. Casualties?”

  “Unknown at this time, sir. But from first reports, it’s going to be at least several hundred. And the Rebels have seized mortars and hundreds of rounds.”

  “Crabtree’s men?”

  “Cut off.”

  “Communications?”

  “Spotty. He’s trying to keep it to a minimum to avoid being electronically pinpointed by the Rebels.”

  “Damn Ben Raines and his black heart to the pits of Hell!” Malone let a little of his temper slip through as he walked to the wall map.

  Malone studied the map for a moment. “Tell Crabtree to make a run for it. Head north and try to link up with this Ashley person. He should be between Willow Creek and Wild Horse. Tell him to pull out now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get in touch with this Pete Jones person.... Is he a white man?”

  “No, sir. I mean, I don’t think so. But you can’t tell by talking to him.”

  “Probably one of those educated niggers. They’re the worst kind. Uppity. Don’t know their place.” He looked again at the map. “Tell him to attack Fort Benton. But don’t do it head on. Make a series of sneak attacks. That might force Raines to shift some of his men back down south.”

  “Yes, sir.” The aide hesitated. “Sir? We have word that Meg is in jail in Fort Benton. We picked it up by monitoring radio transmissions.”

  “She’s too good a soldier to waste. Tell this Jones nigger to get her out of there and bring her to me. If he can pull that off, that will be points in his favor. I might give him a watermelon.”

  Laughing, the aide left the room.

  “Dan and his people have taken the airport at Harve,” Corrie informed Ben. “Tina says Malone’s men have bugged out.”

  “Which direction?”

  “North.”

  “They’re going to link up with Ashley and Voleta. Advise Ike of this development and tell Dan to stay put. Also advise Fort Benton to go to middle alert. Jones and his outlaws just may try to attack there.”

  Ben stepped out of the building he was using for a CP and looked up and down the street. There was not much left of the small town, certainly nothing salvageable. It had been carefully picked over, probably by Malone and and his people. He mulled matters over in his mind, rubbing his chin as he thought.

  Stepping back into the building, he picked up the mike and got Ike on the horn. “Ike, swing your people around and head for Harve. Get with Dan and finish Ashley and his bunch once and for all. I’m going to hold what I have here until you’re finished. I’ve got a feeling Fort Benton is going to come under attack and they might need our help. We can be down there in about ninety minutes.”

  “Ten-four, Ben. Rollin’ now.”

  “Corrie, locate Buddy for me and get him over here.”

  His son was in the CP within moments. “Buddy, take your Rat Team and an additional platoon and get down to Fort Benton. Take heavy mortars and heavy machine guns. If an attack comes from this Jones person, it will more than likely come from the south.” He walked to the wall map. “Move into position here,” he said, pointing out the area.

  Buddy studied the spot. “Your thinking is that the outlaws left Highway 89 and are moving north on these old county roads?”

  “Yes. They had to avoid Great Falls and the creepies. They know we’re using 90 as a supply route. That doesn’t give them many options. Get your people together and move out.”

  Buddy hesitated, meeting Ben’s eyes. “And you intend to do what, Father?”

  Ben’s smile was slight. “You’re quick, boy. What do you think I’m going to do?”

  “You’re sending Ike east to link up with Dan, and you used an open frequency doing it. Now you’re sending me south to Fort Benton. I think you’re giving this Malone person an opportunity that will be too good fr him to pass up.”

  “That’s right, Buddy. I’m the bait that’s sitting on a nice sharp hook just waiting for the big fish to swim by and grab it.”

  6

  “What do you make of it?” Malone asked his staff.

  “I think Raines is taking a big gamble. I think he’s too confident and this may be our chance to move in and cream him once and for all.”

  But Malone wasn’t sure. He had carefully studied Ben Raines over the years. Had read, with some distain, most of the man’s action/adventure books, and knew the man was, among other things, totally unpredictable when it came to unconventional warfare. The man was as sneaky as a snake and totally void of morals . . . why, he didn’t even attend church!

  “I don’t know,” Malone finally said. “He’s certainly leaving himself vulnerable. Whether by accident or design is something I can’t be certain of. I do know this: before we commit to an assault against his position, we’d better review the options very carefully.”

  “He only has two companies of Rebels with him. We’ve got him outnumbered ten or twelve to one.”

  “Ben Raines went into New York City outnumbered fifty to one and came out victorious,” Malone reminded them. “I warned you all from the outset: do not underestimate this man. Leave me, I’ve got to think about this for a time.”

  “You think Malone will take the bait?” Ramos asked Ben.

  “I’m hoping. As badly as he hates me, I can’t see him letting an opportunity this good pass by. Are the people getting into position?”

  “Quietly and quickly.”

  “Now we wait.”

  “How are we gonna do this?” Sweet Meat asked Beerbelly.

  Everybody had linked up with the instincts of a homing pigeon. Beerbelly, Satan, and Pete Jones and his crew.

  “This is all Pete’s show,” Satan said. “And I’m damn glad of it.”

  “Why is that?” Bruiser asked.

  “Just to prove once and for all that a nigger can’t do nothin’ right.”

  Pete looked at the man. “If you feel that way about it, you ugly ape, why did you link up with us?”

  “So I can watch you make a fool out of yourself, that’s why. And when this is all over, I’m gonna kill you!”

  “You ain’t neither,” Mac said. “I am.”

  “Why don’t you draw straws?” Pete suggested. “Or have some sort of raffle?”

  “Why don’t we all settle down and plan out the job ahead of us?” Lopez suggested.

  Mac muttered something about coons and spics and then shut his mouth.

  “Because I’m waiting for the scouts to return and give me a report on the town,” Pete said patiently. “Just as soon as they return, we can map out strategy.”

  “You sure you can spell that word?” Satan smiled after the question.

  “Can you?” Pete popped back.

  “I got a suggestion,” Wanda said. “Why don’t we all put the hard feelings behind us until this job is over and Ben Raines is dead. We’re never gonna get anything done if we don’t work together.”

  The majority of those biker leaders and warlords gathered around agreed with that.

  “All right, all right!” Mac said, after receiving a nod from Satan. “I don’t like your black ass, Pete, but you give the orders and we’ll carry them out.”

  “Agreed,” Satan said.

  “Fine.” Smiling, Pete rubbed his hands together. “Here come the scouts. Now we can put our heads together and plan this operation.”

  Crabtree met Ashley’s column about twenty-five miles north of Havre, just about the time Ike’s battalion was dismounting in Havre
and Ike and Dan were preparing to map out the campaign.

  “Beautiful!” Ashley said with a laugh. “We’ve been monitoring Raines’s radio transmissions and know that he’s vulnerable. We’ve got him, Crabtree. I’m finally going to put an end to Ben Raines.” He looked at the man. “You are Southern, aren’t you?”

  “Michigan,” Crabtree corrected.

  “Oh. Well . . . no matter. You had no say over your birthplace. Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  The Rebels had the finest and most sophisticated radio equipment in the world, and given the least little break of luck they could track the movements of any enemy. Just as they were now doing with Crabtree.

  “Crabtree has linked up with Ashley and Voleta,” Corrie told Ben seconds after the communications truck relayed the news to her.

  “I was hoping he would do that,” Ben said with a smile. “Now let me put myself in that arrogant bastard’s boots for a moment. We’ve deliberately been transmitting on an open frequency, so Ashley knows I’ve split my command and I’m sitting here with about two hundred and fifty people. If I were he, I would drive straight south and hook up with Highway 2, then as fast as I could, I’d head for my enemy’s position. The enemy being me. I would smash into my enemy’s position with a frontal attack, depending on sheer numbers to completely overrun the position.” He winked at Jersey. “How’s that sound to you, Jersey?”

  “Frankly, not worth a shit, General ! Are you tryin’ to get us killed?”

  Ben laughed and patted her on the shoulder. “Relax, Jersey. This place is going to be filled with people, but those people ain’t gonna be us.”

  “Sir?”

  “Malone has just given the orders to move out,” Corrie told Ben.

  Ben glanced at his watch. “All right, people. It’s going to take Malone and Ashley about an hour and a half to get here. That’ll put them here at sixteen hundred hours; with about two and half hours of good daylight left. We’ve got an hour to set things up and a half hour to get into position. Let’s get to work.”

  “You in position, Ike?” Ben radioed on scramble.

  “Ten-four, Ben. Me and Dan are about ten minutes behind. Bogies should be passing through Rudyard right about now.”

  “That’s ten-four, Ike. Malone’s main force is just below us. They used 336 to travel east, and they’ll be cutting north at any moment. How’s it looking on your end, Georgi?”

  “Fantastic, Ben!” the Russian radioed. “I can’t believe our luck. They’re taking the bait like a hungry shark.”

  “What is your position, Georgi?”

  “Just approaching Galata. That will put us eleven miles from your position in about five minutes.”

  “That’s ten-four. Say a prayer for luck, boys and girls. We just might break the back of the snake this afternoon.”

  From a few hundred feet out, the town of Chester looked as though it had an armed Rebel in each window. What the buildings and houses contained were the bodies of Malone’s men who had been killed earlier that day, stiffly and permanently grinning and grimacing in puffy death, the staring eyes seeing nothing—so far as mortals have been able to ascertain.

  Ben lifted his walkie-talkie. “Mortar crews, when they get within range, start dropping a few rounds in on them. But keep it wide as if we’re unable to get on target. We want them close enough to smell their hate before we open up with everything we’ve got.”

  And that was plenty. Some of the rear walls of buildings had been knocked out in order that tanks could hide, the muzzles of their cannon lowered to the max—they would be firing at almost point blank range.

  The Duster and Big Thumper crews and many machine gun crews were hiding in the ditches and behind the ridges and in the underbrush at both ends of the town. Claymores had been planted alongside the roads, and every Rebel had his or her pockets bulging with grenades, for this was going to be very close up work.

  Not to mention one hell of a gamble on the part of Ben Raines.

  From the top of the tallest structure in town, a Rebel lifted his walkie-talkie. “I have them in sight, and there is a bunch of them, General.”

  “The more the merrier,” Ben said brightly.

  “Everybody got what they’re supposed to do?” Pete asked the group.

  “We make a bunch of noise upriver from the town,” Bass said.

  “Create a diversion, yes,” Pete acknowledged patiently. “Fire off lots of rounds, toss a couple of grenades ... and keep it up for several minutes. Give us time to get into position. That way, the Rebels in town will have to split their forces to see what is going on.”

  “This better work,” Mac warned.

  “You’ll never know if it doesn’t,” Pete said with a smile.

  “Huh? What you mean?”

  “If it doesn’t work, Mac, you’ll be dead!”

  “Fire!” Ben gave the signal to attack as the trucks entered the perimeters of the Rebels.

  The first thirty seconds of the ambush turned the road into a hideous deathtrap for the advancing armies of Malone and Ashley. The first ten trucks entering the town from both east and south, with each truck carrying twenty men, were torn apart by the deadly shards from Claymores, heavy machine gun fire, and the hot balls of fire from Big Thumpers.

  When the men of Malone and Ashley realized—much too late—that they had been neatly suckered into an ambush, they attempted to turn around and run for their lives. When they did so, they found escape routes blocked by Striganov’s people who had cut across country in all-terrain vehicles, and Ike and Dan from the east, the Russian and the Rebels advancing ruthlessly.

  The tiny, nearly ruined town became the Waterloo for Malone and Ashley. But as Ben suspected and would later prove to be correct, neither Ashley nor Malone would be counted among the dead. Unlike Ben, those two did not lead men into battle, they only directed from a distance.

  There was no place for the badly shaken survivors to run, and death was waiting impatiently to take them into cold bony arms.

  Rebels began popping up out of hiding places to hurl grenades into the confused mob. Crossfires were the order of the day. Booby traps were the order of the bloody afternoon; every door seemed to be wired to explode.

  And then the ultimate plan of Ben came true: Malone’s men and Ashley’s men began shooting at each other, each one believing the other was the enemy.

  Those who did escape the town were cut down by an almost solid line of fire from Ike, Dan, and Georgi Striganov and his army of Russians and Canadians. Perhaps forty percent of the attackers managed to escape, most by running into the countryside, some by taking Highway 223 to the south and a gravel road to the north.

  The fight was over in twenty minutes.

  “Cease fire,” Ben ordered, and gradually the area fell silent except for the moaning and screaming and crying and begging of the wounded. And they lay several deep in places, piled on top of one another. The streets of the town were littered with the dead and wounded. Burning trucks added fire and smoke to the confusion and the screaming.

  The Rebels did not have to be told what to do. This scene had been played out many times over the long and bloody years. They began gathering up weapons and ammo, stripping the boots from the dead. The Rebels wasted nothing; everything that could be later used was taken, cleaned up, inventoried, and warehoused in any one of a dozen locations around the battered nation.

  The wounded were cared for, the Rebels and Rebel supporters first, regardless of the severity of the wounds. Ben Raines put the well-being of his people first, the well-being of his enemies last.

  Ben had once told a wounded outlaw, who was loudly protesting that he was being denied treatment while Rebels, not wounded nearly as badly, were getting aid, “I am not the Red Cross, punk.”

  7

  “It’s all gone to shit!” Pete was notified by a badly shaken biker who was manning the radio. “Malone and them others comin’ from the east was damn near wiped out by Raines up near the border.”r />
  It did not take Pete more than a few seconds to recover from his shock and begin to issue orders. “Call the people back. Let’s get out of here. Abort the mission.”

  “Do what to it?”

  “Call it off.”

  No one needed to be told that twice. As the news of the ambush north of them spread, the bikers and warlords and outlaws went into a near panic getting the hell gone from the vicinity of Fort Benton.

  But as they headed back south, to eventually cut west and then . . . who the hell knew where, Pete’s mind was working frantically. This might not be as bad as he’d first thought. Perhaps something good could be salvaged from the ruins of what remained. Yeah, it just might work. Hell, he could make it work!

  With Pete Jones in charge, he thought, a smile cutting his lips.

  Ben stuck out his hand and the Russian shook it. “Good to see you again, Georgi.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Ben. But I have to say I was holding my breath there for a moment. If this had not worked, we would have all been in a hard bind.”

  “Tell me about it. I wasn’t breathing two times a minute for a while there.”

  Ike and Dan walked up and shook hands with the Russian. Dan said, “Neither Ashley nor Voleta are among the dead. At least not so far.”

  “Nor is Malone,” Georgi added.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Ashley and Voleta seem to lead charmed lives.” Ben looked around him. “Where is Buddy and his Rat Team?”

  “I told him to stay in Fort Benton.” Dan said. “The main reason is to keep him away from the scene should we find his mother’s body,” he added.

  “I’m sure you didn’t fool him.”

  “Oh, I’m certain of that. But he didn’t question the orders.”