Ashes - Standoff In The Ashes Part 34

Ben placed his coffee mug on the ground and stretched long and hard. It hurt a bit, but he felt better afterward. Then he took off his boots and rubbed his feet, and that really felt good.

Ben wrapped a blanket around him against die slight chill of die Tennessee night, and dien he finished the last of his freshly brewed coffee. He set the mug aside and decided he'd close his eyes for a moment.

He awakened hours later. He checked the luminous hands of his watch.

Three-diirty in die morning. Before he moved around much, Ben remained where he was for several moments and listened. He could detect no sounds that weren't natural to the area and die night.

278.

Then Ben crawled to his feet and stretched several times, working the stiffness out of his muscles and joints. Picking up his CAR, he slowly and silently prowled the area for several moments. Nothing set off his mental alarms.

Ben returned to his vehicle and brewed his first cup of coffee of the day. While his coffee was brewing he ate a packet of dried fruit and grimaced at the sour taste-not tart, just plain sour. He forced himself to finish the packet, then made a mental note to have his people back home do something about the fruit. To Ben's taste buds, the fruit was nothing short of awful.

He rolled a smoke and fixed his coffee and sat down on the ground sheet to enjoy his first waking moments of the day. He was still a bit sore, but knew the soreness was temporary and would vanish with the day's pa.s.sing and a little physical activity.

He turned on one of the radios he'd taken from the mercenary's vehicle and let it scan, the volume set low. Nothing was happening that he could pick up. Then he switched radios and found a station broadcasting from deep in SUSA territory. The news was not good.

Federal agents were cracking down hard on anyone who belonged to or vocally supported militia or survivalist groups. Members of militias or survivalist groups were now officially cla.s.sified as traitors to the USA and shot if they resisted capture, hanged when they were taken alive-after a trial, of course. Anyone who vocally supported militia orsurvivalist groups was promptly arrested and immediately sent off to reindoctrination camps. Those camps were springing up all over the United States.

"n.a.z.i Germany all over again," Ben muttered. "I predicted it would come to this."

Ben listened to the other news from the SUSA radio station: there was worldwide condemnation of the USA's war against the SUSA. And those in the free world-such 279.

279.

as it was-had told Madam President Osterman they would not a.s.sist her in any way in this fight.

"What a sorry state of affairs this is," the prime minister of a friendly country was quoted as saying. "After all the Rebels have done for this world, to now have to fight a civil war. It's disgusting."

Madam President Osterman had no response to those remarks, but Ben had to smile, thinking that she privately probably blew several gaskets over what the prime minister had to say.

"Serves the socialistic b.i.t.c.h right," Ben muttered.

Ben brewed and drank another small pot of coffee and waited for the sun to start poking its beams over the eastern horizon. He stowed all his equipment and topped off the gas tank. He checked his CAR and one of the Federal's regulation M-16's taken from the batde site, laying a rucksack of 40mm grenades on the seat next to his.

"Time to go," Ben said, just as the first touches of silver began to lighten the eastern sky.

He cranked up, dropped die HumVee into gear, and pulled out. He reached for die light switch and dien paused and drew back his hand. Somediing, some inner warning, went off, urging him to cool it with die lights.

Ben stopped just before he reached the crest of the small hill and got out, carefully making his way to die top of the hill. In the distance, off to his left, he could just make out the lights of several vehicles as they came down from die north. He watched as die lead vehicle slowed, then he lost sight of it.

"Bet diey cut off on this old dirt road," he muttered, then watched as headlights suddenly appeared, driving slowly down the dirt road.

Ben went back to die Hummer and got the regulation M-16 and a rucksack of grenades.

"I'm in a good spot for a batde," he muttered. "If 280.

it comes to that, and it probably will. I've got the high ground."

Ben laid out his weapons and rucksack and bellied down on the crest. Hewaited and watched.

Ben smiled knowingly as he watched the lead vehicle slow down and then turn into the old pasture. The vehicles, a HumVee and two pickup trucks, stopped about halfway between the old dirt road and the hill where Ben lay waiting. "Here we go," Ben whispered, pulling his M-16 to him and slipping a 40mm grenade into the bloop tube.

Using his binoculars, Ben carefully inspected the scene before him while he got the range. Eight men were standing around talking, making no attempts at concealment or cover against possible enemy fire. Ben began to have some serious doubts again about the caliber of men chosen for this mercenary army. So far, Berman's troops hadn't shown him very much in the way of professionalism.

The distance was well within the range of the grenade launcher-about three hundred and fifty yards. The men below him were paid mercenaries, wearing the shoulder patch which silently spoke of that designation.

As the news reports had stated, fifty percent or more of the former regular U.S. military was staying out of this war. But Ben knew that could change in a heartbeat. He hoped it wouldn't. However, he knew that might well be just wishful thinking.

Ben again lifted his binoculars and studied the men below him. They seemed to be in some sort of argument which appeared to be getting rather heated, and Ben couldn't determine just who was in charge. Surely somebody was.

Then one of the men stepped away from the group and pointed up the hill.

"That's the man in charge," Ben muttered. Ben wished he had his old Thunder Lizard, his M-14. If he had that weapon the group below him would 281.

281.

very quickly be leaderless, for Ben was a very good shot, but three hundred yards was stretching it for the M-16 . . . at least, for Ben it was. Shooting downhill was tricky under the best of conditions.

"Come on, boys," Ben quietly urged the mercenaries below him. "Let's get this show started. I've got things to do and a man to see today. If I can find the son of a b.i.t.c.h, that is."

One of the meres knelt down and inspected the ground. Ben watched him through the long lenses. The man stood up and pointed up the hill.

"Found my tire tracks, did you?" Ben whispered. "Well, congratulations, and good for you. Now let's get going and do something, you a.s.sholes."

The group of eight mercenary soldiers turned as one and looked up the hill. They could not see Ben, hidden in the tall gra.s.s and scrub brush.

But from the way they suddenly started behaving, Ben figured they knew somebody was on the hill, or strongly suspected.

"No point in waiting for them to get cranked up and going," Ben said.

He gave them a rifle grenade. It fell short, but the explosion sure got the meres moving. Two of them got turned around and started up the hill,running about seventy-five yards toward Ben. Ben burned a mag downhill and knocked both of them spinning.

"Two down, six to go," he said to the early morning breeze that fanned him.

Ben tried another 40mm grenade, and this one landed behind the line of vehicles. The third one was right on target, landing between the Hummer and a pickup truck, doing extensive damage to both vehicles.

Ben could not hear any cussing coming from the mercenaries-he was too far away-but he figured they were turning the air very profane. The two meres he'd cut down 282.

were not moving. They were out of the game permanently. "You picked the wrong side, boys," Ben said.

Ben tried another 40mm grenade, and this one was all the way off the mark, off to one side. The fifth one landed just where he wanted it: right on the hood of the lone vehicle left. The hood went flying off, along with various pieces of the engine. The truck did not catch on fire, which suited Ben just fine. He didn't want someone from Berman's command coming to investigate a column of thick smoke spiraling into the air.

"All right, boys," Ben said. "Come and try to take me."

Ben could afford to say that, for he was sitting in the catbird seat: he had the high ground, good cover, and open meadow on both sides that ran for several hundred yards left and right in case the meres attempted an end-around.

Ben's only drawback on the crest of the hill was the range. It was really stretching it for his M-16. Ben suddenly remembered that when he was a kid, an older friend of his had an old World War Two M-l Garand.

Ben got to fire it several times, and loved the old M-l. That round could reach out and touch someone hundreds of yards away.

"Progress," Ben muttered. "Sometimes it ain't all it's cracked up to be."

Ben really didn't have a thing against the M-16. It was a fine weapon 99% of the time. This was just one of those times when that one percent seemed huge.

The minutes ticked past. Now it had turned into a waiting game. The meres were behind the ruined vehicles, and Ben had not seen a radio among the group. That meant the radios were in the vehicles.

"Well, the smoke be d.a.m.ned," Ben muttered. "I can't let those guys get to a radio and call for help."

Ben started lobbing 40mm grenades down the hill. On 283.

283.

the third try the gas tank on one of the trucks blew, the explosion tossing one mere about twenty feet off to one side, mangled and dead,and set two more ablaze like human torches.

Ben lay on the hill and watched the two meres burn until they collapsed and were still. ' 'And then there were three," he said. "Now what, boys?"

A few moments pa.s.sed with no movement from either side. The vehicle fire died out and the smoke dissipated. Ben looked up at the sky. Clouds were beginning to move in, and Ben guessed rain was not far behind.

"Come on, boys," Ben muttered. "Let's get something going here."

The three remaining meres had no fight left in them. Ben watched in amazement as the three men took off running as hard as they could, back toward the old dirt road. He did not fire at them; at that range it would have been nothing more than wasting lead.

Using his binoculars, Ben watched the three as they made the dirt road and turned toward the blacktop road. They were walking now, probably feeling secure. They occasionally turned and looked back toward the battle site, but they made no attempt to return.

He watched them until they were out of sight, then quickly loaded up the Hummer and headed out. When he reached the dirt road, Ben cut away from the blacktop, heading in the opposite direction, continuing down the old dirt/gravel road . .. more dirt than gravel.

Ben had no idea where the old road would take him. He just wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the battle site as quickly as he could.

The road took him past several old and long-deserted farmhouses; no signs of life. Ben drove for several miles before he came to an intersection, a crossroad that gave him three choices: left, right, or straight ahead.

284.

Ben cut to his left, wondering where in the h.e.l.l the road would take him. He checked the mileage on his odometer and then drove for five miles, the road taking more twists and turns than a hole full of snakes.

He came to several crossroads and changed directions each time.

"Good G.o.d!" he blurted. "Where in the h.e.l.l am I?" He had his radios on, but so far had been unable to pick up anything. He had no idea what was going on. He did know one thing for certain: he was lost.

285.

Ben finally came to another crossroad-one of the roads was blacktop, although in pretty sad shape-and to what remained of an old combination general store and gas station. Ben turned onto the gravel driveway/parking lot- much of it now weed-grown-pulled in behind the old store, and tucked the Hummer in close to the rear of the building.

He glanced at his watch and was surprised to learn he'd only been wandering about for just slightly over an hour, though it felt to Ben he'd been driving all morning.

Ben got out of the Hummer, taking his CAR. He stood for a moment and just listened. He could hear nothing that did not fit in with nature.Birds were singing and squirrels had begun jumping about in the trees behind the store, chattering irritably at Ben's presence.

He stepped into the rear of the store-easily done because the back door was missing-and looked around. He was in 286.

what had once probably been a storeroom, barren now except for about a foot of litter that covered the floor.

Ben made his way into what was the main part of the store. He didn't expect to find anything, and he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't disappointed. What the Rebels hadn't taken years back-if indeed the Rebels had pa.s.sed through here and taken anything-others had taken in the years since then.

A lingering odor wrinkled Ben's nose. It was very unpleasant.

Ben looked around for a moment and then went back outside into the fresh air. Because the old store didn't smell too good, Ben suspected there was or had recently been something dead in there ... like a human body.

Ben walked over to the blacktop and looked up and down, hoping to see a road sign. No such luck. He really hadn't expected to find a road marker. Then he got that familiar edgy feeling that many experienced combat veterans develop: someone, or some thing was watching him.

Ben cut his eyes and caught a glimpse of movement in the brush alongside the road. Black and white movement. He smiled as a furry face poked out of the brush. A dog. A rather large dog.

Ben knelt down and held out a hand. "Come here, fellow. Come on. You hungry?"

The animal came charging out of the brush with such speed it startled Ben.

"d.a.m.n!" he said, putting out one hand to steady himself.

Then the animal was all over him, rubbing up against him and licking his face.

Ben first thought it was a Husky, but he was wrong. He took a closer look. It was a Malamute, and a big one. Ben guessed the Mai to be about a hundred or so pounds. He checked the s.e.x. Female-a d.a.m.n big female.

From the 287.

287.

way she moved, Ben guessed her age at about four years, maybe three.

Wearing a very ragged collar that was too tight, she was very friendly and had at one time, probably recently, been in the company of humans.

Ben loosened the collar, and the Mai licked his hand. Ben laughed and said, "Well, now what, girl?"

She licked his face.

"All right. Let's go find you something to eat. Not that you lookundernourished. But you sure could use a bath. You smell sort of doggy."

Ben got to his boots and started walking toward the old store. The Mai followed right along. "Somebody has trained you pretty well, girl.

Without a leash, most Mala-mutes I've been around would have been five miles down the road."

The dog just looked at him.

"Beautiful eyes," Ben said, smiling at her, and they were-a bright brown that seemed to s.h.i.+ne with health.

Behind the old store, Ben opened several packs of MREs-stew and chicken and rice-dumped the mess onto a wrapper, and placed the food on the ground.

The Mai ate quickly, all of it, and then tried to eat the wrapper. Ben grabbed one end of the tough paper and he and Mai had a very short tug of war, which she won hands down.

"Incredibly strong animals," Bensaid. "And very strong-willed, too." He watched as the Mai trotted off with the wrapper. She stopped a few yards away and licked the wrapper clean. While she was busying herself with that, Ben fixed a canteen cup of water and walked over to the dog.