Ashes - Standoff In The Ashes Part 5

49.Ben moved his column eastward, stayingjust inside SUSA territory, along the Tennessee Kentucky border, until he linked up with part of his 501 Brigade, the day after the near total wipe-out of Federals in the once peaceful meadow.

"Somebody on the other side is finally getting smart, General," a batt com said to Ben. "They're ma.s.sing troops instead of having everybody spread out thin as paper.''

"We've been getting intel all day confirming that. What's your take on it?"

"I think they're getting ready for one h.e.l.l of a push."

"All along the front?"

The colonel didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir. I'd bet they're going to slam into us at a dozen points."

"I feel the same way." Ben moved to a wall map in the CP. "The Federals are concentrating at these points." He pointed to a dozen locations, from South Texas to the Virginia coast. "But according to our Eyes in the Sky only 50.William W. Johnstone five push points have artillery and armor to back them. I'm betting those will be the places where we'd better concentrate our air strikes.

I've already talked with Ike about this, and he concurs. On these seven other locations, and that includes our immediate area, we're probably going to lose some ground. That's all right. We'll fall back gradually,let the Feds think we're on the run while we do an end-around and box their a.s.ses in. Then we'll teach them something about Rebel warfare, Sneaky Pete style."

The colonel grinned. "Now you're talking, General. Down and dirty and close-in."

Ben alternately walked and rode the front lines with the colonel, shuffling and repositioning some troops until the lines were as strong as he could make them. He made certain every company commander and exec knew the bug-out plans, and exactly where they were to go and what they were to do when that order came down the line.

Ben decided to take his team and security people on east about fifty miles, to beef up a small detachment of Rebels and home guard stationed there. They made the run and were in camp by late afternoon.

"We're glad to see you, General," the captain in command of the Rebel company greeted Ben. "In more ways than one. We're out-gunned about five to one by the Feds just over that ridge there." He pointed. "Across the strip. And they're receiving reinforcements every few hours."

"Armor?"

"Not much. We're about even on that score, a little ahead on artillery ... for now, that is."

"The big push is going to be to our west about fifty miles. But that doesn't mean we're not going to take some shoving here. If we can't hold without significant losses, we'll fall back a few miles and hope they follow."

The captain grinned. "Down and dirty time, General?"

"You bet. Eyeball to eyeball and junkyard mean. I want 51.51.every Claymore you've got ready to be picked up when we bug out. If the Feds are stupid enough to follow, we'll have some nasty surprises waiting for them."

"Yes, sir!"

Ben unfolded a map. "We'll all head southeast, toward this crossing of the c.u.mberland River, then we'll blow the bridge. That will delay them for several hours and give us time to regroup."

"I'll make sure everyone knows."

"I'll put my people over to the east. That appears to be your weakest point."

"Yes, sir. Only one platoon of home guard over there, and some of those ole' boys are getting a little long in the tooth for this type of work."

Ben nodded his head as he hid a smile. Those 'ole' boys' the young captain was talking about were rough as a cob, and mean as a rattlesnakewhen diey got p.i.s.sed off. The Tennessee 'boys' would d.a.m.n sure hold more than their own when it came down to the nut cuttin'. Many of them had been part of civilian militia units before the Great War and the collapse.

Ben and his people didn't have long to wait before the Federals launched their offensive. They had just finished eating evening chow, with two hours of daylight left, when a Scout who was stationed on the ridge overlooking the no-man's-land radioed in.

"Guns.h.i.+ps coming in from the north. A lot of them."

"They'll be troop carriers all mixed in with those Cobras and Apaches,"

Ben warned.

"Choppers coming in from the west and east," spotters radioed. "They're doing end-arounds, and coming in fast. Several dozen already on the ground and spilling troops on our side of the strip."

Artillery began dropping in, and the Federals were dead bang on target.

One round landed off to Ben's right, and 52.William W. Johnstone the concussion put him on the ground and sent him rolling. He was unhurt but knocked flat on his b.u.t.t.

"s.h.i.+t!" he hollered, crab-crawling over the ground toward the bunker.

Before he reached the bunker, he saw Cooper turn several somersaults in the air from an incoming. Coop crawled to his knees and shook his head.

He appeared to be unhurt.

Ben never made the bunker. Shrapnel was whistling and howling all around him. He found a depression in the ground and crawled in. Unless a round landed right on top of him he would be relatively safe, for the depression was about three feet deep.

The Feds were really pouring on the rounds, forcing the Rebels to keep their heads down while they advanced toward Rebel positions.

Ben jerked his small handy-talkie out of the pouch and started giving orders. "All tank commanders, get the h.e.l.l out of this area. Back it up.

Get out of range. We'll need you later. Move it!"

"The Feds are going to be all over us in a few minutes, Boss!" Corrie radioed.

"General!" the CO of the outpost yelled into his radio. "Airborne troops landing at locations we talked about west and east of us."

"Any sign of paratroopers dropping in on us here?"

"Negative, Boss. We're just getting the s.h.i.+t pounded out of us, that's all."

"You're telling me?"

"Feds landing more troops by chopper," the Scout on the ridge broke in.

"Already several hundred on the ground. I'm out of here.""OK," Ben radioed. "Time to bug out, folks. Grab what you can, and get gone. If we stay here we're dead meat."

53.53.Ben pulled his rucksack to him and slipped the strap over one shoulder.

He gripped his CAR and waited until there was a very short lull in the sh.e.l.ling. He left cover in a rush, running for about twenty-five yards before he heard incoming. He hit the ground belly down and stayed put until another lull came, then heaved himself up and ran another few yards. This was repeated half a dozen times until he reached a stand of thick timber. He rested for a couple of minutes, catching his breath, then took off running once again.

He saw a dozen other Rebels, dark shapes in the thick timber running hard out for safety and a dozen more dead and mangled on the ground. He did not stop. Behind him, the sh.e.l.ling had intensified. He had been correct in ordering the bug-out. The outpost was being destroyed by the Federal sh.e.l.ling.

He did not connect with his team. He had no idea where they were. He knew only they had bugged out several minutes before he did.

Ben headed southeast through the timber until he came to a clearing.

Deciding not to cross it, he stayed at the edge of the timber and worked his way around the meadow. Then he climbed to the top of one of the rolling hills and scanned the area through binoculars. The outpost had been destroyed, smashed into nothing. One Rebel tank was burning off to the west.

"s.h.i.+t!" Ben muttered, casing his binoculars. He moved on.

Then he heard the guns.h.i.+ps coming in low and fast from the north. Ben ducked into some brush, squatted down, and waited until they had pa.s.sed.

He counted a dozen guns.h.i.+ps, the latest version of the old Apache. The Rebels had hundreds of them, and obviously the Federals had their share, too. The Apache gun- 54.William W. Johnstone s.h.i.+p packed more firepower than many World War Two attack bombers.

Ben cautiously slipped from cover and once more headed southeast. The guns.h.i.+ps had been heading due south.

He walked for about half a mile, then again scanned the area. "d.a.m.n!" he muttered, spotting teams of Federals slowly working their way south.

They were stretched out for as far as Ben could see.

Ben looked more closely. The teams were not moving the way green troops would; they moved as though they knew exactly what they were doing and had done it many times before. They held their weapons relaxed, but ready. Their trigger fingers were on trigger guards, not on the triggers. They appeared to be doing everything right."The Federals put the first team in," Ben muttered. "Now it gets interesting."

Ben heard gunfire off to the west. Some Rebels were mixing it up with the Feds. But Ben's Rebels were badly outnumbered in this fight, and fighting troops just about as experienced. This particular contingent of Rebels was in for a very bad time of it.

And so am I, Ben thought, if I don't move my b.u.t.t and get the h.e.l.l out of here!

Ben rose from a kneeling position and turned just as a Fed was walking up behind him. The man had been tracking him, and for a few seconds his eyes were on the ground.

Ben jumped him before he could get off a round, and the two of them rolled on the ground for a few seconds. Ben was a good twenty years older, but taller and heavier. He was also the far more experienced gutter fighter.

The Fed got in one good punch to the side of Ben's head that brightened his world for a few seconds. Ben got a better grip on the mere and jammed his stiffened fingers 55.55.into the man's eyes and put a hard knee into his crotch. As the Fed convulsed in pain, Ben bent the man's head back and gave him the knife edge of his right hand to the throat. Ben felt it all give way, and the man's mouth suddenly filled with blood as the mercenary began gasping in vain for breath. Ben rolled off the Fed as he convulsed on the ground.

He left the man's weapons, took his bandoleer filled with .223 magazines, tore his rucksack from him, and left him dying on the ground.

Then he hauled his a.s.s away from there.

As he walked, Ben looked inside the rucksack. Several containers of field rats, three grenades, and two pairs of clean socks. He could use the food and the grenades, and the socks looked as though they would fit him.

Ben continued moving southeast at a good pace. He figured his team and the majority of the troops who were stationed at the outpost were a good thirty minutes ahead of him. Maybe more than that, for they were younger and could move a lot faster for a longer time.

Ben was not an old man, wouldn't be for a while, but he d.a.m.n sure was no spring chicken. He had to rest often to conserve his legs.

The men of the Tennessee Home Guard had plans of their own as to where to bug out, and Ben had not made any attempt to countermand those plans.

They had a better chance of survival than anyone else. This was their country.

Walking up a hill, Ben paused for another look around. It was not at all encouraging. Federals appeared to be all around him. Somehow they had gotten in front of him and cut off his planned escape route.

"All right," Ben whispered to the wind as dusk began closing in allaround him. "So I'll head straight east. At least for a while." He knew that not too many miles ahead of him, straight east, he would be blocked by lakes and 56.the c.u.mberland River. He had no choice in the matter- it was the only direction left open to him.

Ben checked his compa.s.s heading and started walking. With the exception of a few bruises from being knocked down a couple of times by incoming sh.e.l.l concussion, he felt pretty good.

He walked for half an hour, then paused to rest and check his handy-talkie. There was no chatter coming through. He was either out of range, or the d.a.m.n thing was busted.

Just as he was about to get up and resume his trek Ben heard voices coming from his right, which was south. He perked up and listened.

"We've got to take him alive. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's worth a million bucks."

"I'm not sure that reward applies to us," a second man said.

"It does. I got that straight before we left. Military or civilian, whoever brings him in gets a million."

"Good enough. But how the h.e.l.l can you be sure he's heading in this direction?"

"He's got no choice. He d.a.m.n sure can't go north. South and west are blocked off. This is the only way open to him."

"Not for long," a third voice spoke. "The river is only a few miles away."

"That's what I mean. He's cut off. All we have to do is be patient."

"And wait right here?"

"Why not? We're ahead of him. The last sighting proved that. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is not a young man. He can't cover a lot of ground in a hurry. North is thick brush and ravines. South is our people. We've got him. It's just a matter of time."

Ben did not want to fire and risk giving away his position.

57.57.Besides, he wasn't sure all three were close enough together for one burst to take them all out. h.e.l.l, he wasn't even sure of their exact location.

Too many ifs.

Ben waited in the brush. It was almost as thick as the darkness that had fallen.

Finally he heard the sounds of the Federals moving away, toward theeast. Ben waited for a few more minutes, then left cover and headed first south for several hundred yards, then gradually cut east. He moved slowly and carefully, stopping every few meters to listen to the night.

And hour later he could smell and sense the river.

Ben stopped and slipped down into a wash and rested. The c.u.mberland was no small creek; he'd never get across it without a boat. If he stayed put he'd eventually get captured or killed in a shoot-out. If he headed in any direction, the odds were a little bit better, but not all that much.

"Oh, the h.e.l.l with it," Ben muttered. He climbed out of the wash and began making his way south.

Several times during the next hour he spotted Federal patrols in time to avoid contact. However, luck has a nasty habit of running out if one starts to depend on it, and Ben knew that only too well.

Before long he would need rest and a few hours sleep, but he knew there was litde chance for either. Any place suitable for rest and sleep would be carefully looked at by the Feds. Ben would just have to keep going and hope for the best.

Something came out of the brush and hit him hard, knocking him sprawling. Ben lost his grip on die CAR and rolled away, just as his attacker took a vicious kick at his head. Ben grabbed the man's boot and twisted just as hard as his position would allow.

The man grunted in pain and fell backward, landing hard on his b.u.t.t.

That was all die opportunity Ben needed.

58.He pulled his boot knife and struck hard with it. The blade drove deep into the man's thigh, and the attacker yelped in pain. Ben jerked the blade out and struck again, this time higher up. The blade sliced deep into the man's belly and Ben twisted upward, feeling the sharp blade cut into and through vital organs. Ben clamped one big hand on the man's throat and squeezed, cutting off any scream.

Ben held on as the Fed twisted and thrashed on the ground. Horrible choking sounds made their way out of the tortured throat. Ben squeezed even harder and drove the knife deep into the man's chest. The Fed convulsed once, and then was still as life swiftly left him.

Ben released his grip and pulled out his knife. Shaky from the sudden expense of energy, he crawled to his knees and rested there, the dead man coojing on the ground.

Ben wiped the blade clean on the dead man's pants leg and sheathed it.