Ashes - Fury In The Ashes Part 14

"As far as they went, they reported it b.u.mpy but pa.s.sable."

Ben studied the map for a moment. The shortcut looked inviting. Maybe just a tad too inviting. The uglies would know that forward recon people would check out the road for at least some distance. So if there was an ambush planned comand Ben felt sure that was what lay in wait for them -- it would come at the very end of the shortcut.

"Too good to be true, gang," Ben finally said, thumping the map. "Ten-fifty those orders. We'll take the long way around and completely bypa.s.s Parkfield. We'll take this little spur down here at Paso Robles and pick up 58 at Creston.

Tell Lead-foot and his Wolfpack to spearhead the tanks. They'll leave the main column and cut back east here at San Miguel, come up behind our ambushers, and give them some grief."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell them no heroics, Corrie. Tell them to go in fast and get out fast."

"Right, sir."

Moments later, the sounds of motorcycles cranking up drifted to Ben. The bikers now all rode the big Harley-Davidson motorcycles. They carried submachine guns, grenades, and side-arms. They were a wild bunch, but totally dedicated to Ben Raines and loyal to the Rebels.They had needed a second chance at life, and Ben had given it to them. They all to a person would die for Ben. The bikers dressed as they pleased, and Ben let them, for more than one reason. The bikers could go into enemy territory and look and behave exactly like the enemy comat least for a while. They had done so several times, returning with valuable information.

The bikers roared out, anxious to get into a good fight.

"Mount up, people," Ben ordered. "Let's go see some new country. We'll take it slow. We don't want to get too far ahead of Ike and Cecil."

The long column stretched out, cutting southwest and heading for San Miguel, some twenty miles away. The road was in bad shape, but not as bad as Ben had feared. This road had obviously not been used very much since the Great War, with most traffic staying with the Interstates and better-known roads.

At San Miguel, the bikers had tied one of the yellow bandanas that all Rebels carried onto the city limits sign, a signal that the town was clear.

The beautiful old historic mission, the Mission San Miguel Archangel, had been destroyed. Ben had been expecting it. The Rebels had seen a lot of churches and missions destroyed over the years. The people, survivors of the bombs and the deadly gas of the Great War, had lived through that only to see a deadly rat-borne plague strike that further cut the population. Many had blamed G.o.d, and had taken their misery out on the clergy and the churches.

"Stupid d.a.m.n people!" Ben muttered, standing in front of what was left of the old mission. He shook his head and walked back to the wagon. "Let's go, Coop. Corrie, tell the forward people we'll bivouac just as soon as we cross this spur. Tell them to find us a place on 46. We'll wait for Lead-foot and Beerbelly there, and see what Ike and Cecil are doing."

The main column did not swing over to the Interstate to check out Paso Robles. Ben sent the Scouts in with some Dusters to give the town a once-over while the long column turned west and pulled over at the bivouac site.

Ike had smashed the resistance at the old military reservation and was personally escorting a few prisoners over for Ben to interrogate. Cecil had punched through at Coalinga and was bivouacked a few miles south of the town. Georgi and West had just begun their turn south and had pulled over for the night in the Owens Valley.

Ben decided that the battalions west of the Russian and the mercenary would stay put the next day, allowing those troops to their east to pull even with them.

Ben's CP for the next few days would be an old ranch house just outside of a small town that had once been called Whitley Gardens. Thecoffeepot was on when Ike pulled in with the prisoners and shoved the first one into the den.

"Stand there," Ike told the sullen-faced young man.

"And keep your mouth shut until you're told to speak."

"f.u.c.k you, fatso!" the punk told the stocky Ike. He closed his mouth and his eyes widened in fear as Ben picked up a .45 autoloader from a desk and clicked it off safety. "Hey, man!"

the punk hollered. "I got rights, you know?" He coughed, a deep, racking cough.

"You have only what I decide to give you," Ben told him, his voice low and very cold. "Whether you live or die is solely up to me. Whether I hang you, shoot you, stomp you to death, or let you live is my decision, and mine alone. Do you understand all that, you worthless piece of s.h.i.+t?"

"You Ben Raines, ain't you?"

"Yes."

A dark stain appeared on the young man's crotch, dampening his very dirty jeans. He bobbed his head up and down. "Yes, sir. I sure do understand where you comin' from." He coughed again, and Lamar studied him intently.

"Good," Ben told him, laying the .45 back on the desk, c.o.c.ked but not locked. He waved a Rebel forward.

The young man watched as a briefcase was opened; it contained a strange-looking object.

Microphones were set up and the volume tested and adjusted. The operator of the equipment looked at Ben and nodded his head.

"This is a voice//ress a.n.a.lyzer," Ben told the punk. "Our scientists have vastly improved upon the old models, which used to be called psychological stress evaluators. Our people tell me that this machine is eighty-five percent accurate in showing the operator whether or not a subject is lying. Now let's get all the bulls.h.i.+t out of the way. I'm going to ask you a number of questions. Everything you say is being recorded. On that machine, and on tape. Now, you know my name; you know a lot about me. Believe every bad thing you ever heard about me."

"I heard a bunch of bad things about you, General.

How you -- his "Shut up! If you lie to me, I'm going to kill you. Right here, in this room, without hesitation. Do you understand that, punk?"

"Yes, sir!" he almost screamed the words. "Ax me anything you like. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

In another building, Dan Gray was interrogating another prisoner, using the same methods.

Ben stared at the young man. "What is your name?"

"Henry Gavin." Cough.

"Fine. Henry, how many people live in or around the Los Angeles area?"

"Thousands and thousands, sir. I don't rightly know the exact number." Cough."You have lived in that area?"

"Yes, sir. I live there. I was borned there.

Twenty-five year ago."

"Borned there," Ben said softly. "Where are your parents?"

"I don't know. Dead, I reckon."

"Don't you care where they are?"

"No." Cough. "Why should I? All they ever done was make me go to school and beat me when I hung out with the Dukes."

"Who are the Dukes?"

"My gang," he answered proudly. "See this red headband I got? All Dukes wear red headbands.

We're one of the toughest gangs in the city."

"And that makes you proud?"

"d.a.m.n right." Cough.

"I suppose you and the Dukes and the rest of the gangs have been active in cleaning up the city, caring for the sick and the old and very young, and setting up schools and hospitals and so forth?"

"Huh?" Henry blinked. "h.e.l.l, no! Who wants a bunch of dumb s.h.i.+t like that?"

"Who indeed?" Ben muttered. "Who is the leader of the Dukes?"

"Rich." Cough.

"Rich . . . what?"

"I don't know. Just Rich."

"How many people belong to your gang, male and female?"

"About five hundred or so. About three hundred men and the rest is chicks. That don't count the slaves, of course."

"The slaves? Explain that."

Henry coughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Slaves is slaves. We use them for entertainment. We fight them like chickens or dogs. To the death. We bet on them. Every gang has their favorite slave-fighter. We buy them through barter, steal them from other gangs, s.n.a.t.c.h them from out in the zone."

Ike shook his head in disgust. Doctor Chase had a savage look in his eyes. Ben cleared his throat and took a sip of water. He had a very bad taste in his mouth. For years an animal-rights activist, Ben had always felt that people who made animals fight for sport commuch less humans comwere mean-spirited, low-moraled a.s.sholes. "The zone, Henry. What is that?"

"It's a no-man's-land."

"Go into more detail, Henry."

"The gangs control everything from Ventura down to Tijuana, then east along the border over to Mexicali, then north up to Interstate 10; everything back west to the ocean. The zone is anything that ain't under our control." Cough.

The Rebel commanders exchanged glances. "Tell me how you get along with the Believers."

"They leave us alone, we leave them alone. We swap them slaves for stuff. Dope and things like that. In case of trouble, we all band together to protect each other's turf."

"How do you people survive? How do you eat? What doyou eat?"

"Slaves grow gardens for us. We have cattle and hogs and chickens and s.h.i.+t like that. When a slave gets too old or wore out to work or f.u.c.k or suck, we give him or her to the Believers."

Cough.

Lamar Chase glanced at Ben. The men shook their heads in disgust. Ben said, "Henry, you're a real prince of a fellow."

"Oh, well, thanks. Sure." Cough. "I'm known as bein' pretty cool."

Ben sighed and said, "Do you know all the gangs in the territory?"

"No way, man. They's too many of them. But I know all the main gangs."

"Run them down for me."

"Well, okay. Let me think." Cough. "Chico runs the Swords. They wear black and red.

Manuel is boss of the Mayas. They wear blue s.h.i.+rts. Bull bosses the Busters. They wear green. The Fifth Street Lords is run by a dude name of Hal. They dress all in black. d.i.c.ky is the main man of the ..." Cough.

"... Blades. They wear silver. Sally runs the Mixers. Purple is their color. The Angels is headed by Josh. They dress all in white. They look kinda stupid. Ruth fronts the Macys.

Tan is their color. Chang is the boss of the Tokyos -- black headbands. Fang is boss of a real big gang called the Hill Street Avengers. Brown headbands. Guy name of Brute is head of the White Men. They dress in hot pink."

Ike almost spilled his fresh mug of coffee.

"Hot pink!"

"Yeah. They're a bunch of f.a.gs, but they're all-right guys. Mean as h.e.l.l if you crowd them."

Cough. "You want me to go on, General?"

"Please do," Ben said. "It's fascinating."

"Thanks. Leroy is the head knocker of one of the biggest gangs. They're called the New Africans. Black and green is their color.

Carmine bosses the gang called the Women.

Bunch of d.y.k.es. They wear yellow. Cash runs the Surfers. White and blue. Jimmy fronts the Indios. White and red. Stan's bunch is called the Flat Rocks. Yellow headbands.

The Boogies is bossed by Ishmal. They wear turbans. The Skulls is run by Junkyard.

They all wear black leather gloves. They's a whole bunch of little-bitty gangs scattered all around the fringes of the territory and the zone. Can I have a drink of water?" Cough.

Ben nodded and one of Henry's hands was unchained.

He drank two gla.s.ses of water, went into a fit of coughing, and the hand was once more chained.

"All right, Henry. Tell me what kind of weapons you people have."

"All kinds, General. Machine guns, rocketlaunchers, grenades, mortars -- anything we could grab from the military bases all around the area."

Cough.

Ben drummed his fingertips on the desk. "Has any large force ever tried to overrun you people?"

"h.e.l.l, no!" Henry said with a laugh. "No, General. And you people ain't gonna make it neither. You and your army is gonna get chewed up." Cough.

"All these good-lookin' c.u.n.ts around here is gonna make for fine barter."

Jersey laughed at him.

Ben stared at the punk for a moment. "Get him out of here and chain him someplace. Keep him away from people.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d has fleas jumping all over him."

"And that's not all he has," Lamar added.

"The one I interrogated was slightly more erudite,"