Ashes - Fury In The Ashes Part 17

He's a law-and-order type, from his head down to his boots. The world is gonna be different, pal. There just ain't gonna be no place for guys like us in it. It's gonna be a very polite society."

His friend snorted in disgust and spat on the dirty floor. He inched up and peeked over the edge of a windowsill. A Rebel sniper about five hundred meters out put a .50-caliber slug right between his eyes. The street punk died with his eyes bulging in shock, the top of his head and his brains splattered on the wall behind him.

Carlos looked at the mess and shook his head."b.a.s.t.a.r.ds can shoot. And that probably makes you one of the lucky ones, Garcia." He glanced at one of his lieutenants. "We're pullin" back.

We can't win this fight with each warlord defendin' his own turf. We got to call a meetin' and make some plans. It can't work this way. Let's go."

"They're bugging out, General," Corrie called.

"Forward units report a ma.s.s pullback."

"Start dropping artillery in on them," Ben ordered. "Give them everything we've got for a couple of minutes. That will give us about a three-block secure area. Tell the gunners to keep the airport intact."

Corrie relayed the orders and the tanks and mortar crews began lobbing them in.

"The son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Carlos cussed as the sh.e.l.ls began dropping in all around him. "He never misses a bet." A sh.e.l.l landed close and knocked the street punk off his tennis shoes. They were good tennis shoes too. He'd killed a dude to get them. Good tennis shoes were getting harder and harder to find. When the dust cleared, Carlos jumped to his feet and ran for his life.

"Secure the airport," Ben ordered.

Tanks surged forward, Scouts and Buddy's Rat Team right behind them.

"Get me a report from Ike."

"He's punched through and is holding along Highway 101.".

"Tell him to break it off there and to get some rest.

Cecil?"

"Locked in heavy fighting along Interstate 210 just north of Glendale."

"It'll be dark soon. Tell him to hold what he's got. Georgi?"

"He's in control of his sector along 210. Colonel West is beginning his stretch-out move. That's the heavy smoke we see to the east and north."

"Let's don't be too obvious with it. Tell all commanders to shut it down and secure for the night.

Come on, gang-let's go see what the airport looks like."

Not bad. There was no lingering stench of the Night P.

That confirmed what the prisoners had told them. The Believers were concentrated in the heart of Los Angeles; true to form, they preferred the cities to the countryside.

"Runways are not in that bad a shape," a Rebel reported. "We can have one operational in several hours."

Ben shook his head. "We won't need this one.

We'll push south in the morning and try to secure the Hollywood-Burbank airport. By that time, we'll be needing supplies and we'll have wounded to fly back to Base Camp One. Corrie, I want a casualty list all the way around."

Seven dead and twenty-two wounded. Of the wounded, five were in serious condition.

"Transport the dead out of the burn area and burythem up in the mountains," Ben said. They would be buried in unmarked graves, for the criminal element hated the Rebels so, they had been known to dig up Rebel graves and mutilate the bodies.

"Father," Buddy said, walked up. "A group of Woods Children have moved down to the edge of the mountains north of us. They have volunteered to bury our dead in secure places."

Ben did not ask how Buddy knew that, or how he had been contacted. There was a mystic aura about the young man that baffled his father. "I thought I told them to stay out of this fight."

Buddy shrugged his muscular shoulders. "They obviously chose to ignore that directive."

"Tell them thanks," Ben said. "It'll be a big help."

Thermopolis walked up to join the small group on the edge of the tarmac. He wore a grim expression. "I lost a man," he said. "The street punks grabbed him and poured gasoline on him, then set him on fire. We found his body about ten minutes ago." He clenched big hands into big fists. "G.o.dd.a.m.nit!"

"Now you see yet another reason why I deal with punks as I do," Ben told him. "I'm really very sorry, Therm. The bodies are being readied for transport up into the mountains. Do you want to go with your man?"

Therm shook his head. "No. I'm needed here.

It's just that Santana had been with me for a long time.

We worked together before the Great War. He was a good decent human being. Loved animals and loved the earth. He used to work for the Forest Service."

"Why did he leave them?"

"He didn't agree with a lot of their policies.

I'll miss him."

Ben thought of all the Rebels, men and women, buried in lonely unmarked graves all over the United States. Border to border and coast to coast. Freedom fighters. "I know the feeling, Therm. I know it only too well."

"Do you ever get used to it?"

"No."

Therm looked surprised, then managed a smile.

"You never pull a punch, do you, Ben?"

"Occasionally. Not very often." Ben studied the man's face. "Getting involved now, Therm?"

"Let's just say I'm trying very hard to keep Santana's death from clouding my judgment."

"From becoming emotional about it?"

Therm nodded his head. "Yes. You could say that."

"You lost Tapper and Robin last year, I recall."

"You remembered?" There was a note of surprise in the man's voice.

"I remember a lot of Rebel deaths, Therm.

My memory goes back years in recalling the men and the women who died fighting for a dream." Others hadgathered around, standing in silence, listening. "Back at Base Camp One, there is a list of all the men and women who have died while serving in my command. It goes back years. The list just keeps getting longer and longer. And in a sense, I keep getting more and more emotional about it."

"You?

Emotional?"'"

"Oh, yeah, Therm-me. But I keep it up here."

He tapped the side of his head. "Every time I see some G.o.dd.a.m.n s...o...b..ring punk who refuses to obey even the simplest of rules, I think of Captain Voltan. Salina, Pal Elliot, my son Jack Raines. And my unborn son who died in his mother's womb after Salina was bayoneted in the stomach. I think of Jimmy Deluce.

I think of Sam Pyron and his wife. I remember Valerie, Megan, Also, Abby, Belle Riverson, Badger Harbin. I remember hundreds of Rebel dead, Therm. And I think of all those who stepped up to take their places, knowing the risks involved. I feel like crying when I think of a little boy I found on the road-in Missouri, I think it was coma long time ago. I named him Jordy Raines. He was ten years old, he thought. He wasn't sure. He died in my arms down in Texas, after being shot by a warlord.

"I think of a woman named Rani, and of the kids she took in to raise. And I think of another woman ... named Jerre." Ben was silent for a moment, and Therm noted the silent rage etched on his face, and his hard, hard eyes.

"I hate punks, Therm. I have hated punks and thugs and trash all my life. They come rich and poor, they come educated and illiterate. But to a person they are what they are because that's what they want to be. n.o.body made them take the dope. n.o.body forced them to kill and rob and rape and a.s.sault. Because, Therm, we all, to a very large degree, control our own destinies.

Especially in these times, Therm. Especially now.

Now is when the true worth of men and women comes to the fore. Now is when you can see what a person is really made of. Now, more than ever before, there is only black and white and no gray in between. Now, when everybody has the opportunity to start fresh, can one truly see what a person is worth.

"The psychiatrists and social workers and sobbing sisters and hanky-stompers can all kiss my a.s.s, Therm. Both now and back when we had a so-called working society. You can take a rose, and you can dip it in s.h.i.+t, but after you do, all you've got is a s.h.i.+tty-smelling rose. You can wrap a punk in ten-dollar words and fancy excuses for his or her behavior, but after you do, all you've got is just another G.o.dd.a.m.n punk.

"I keep my hate simmering low on a backburner, Therm. With the pot carefully lidded. But every now and then I have to go back and lift that lid and look inside. I have to hear the cries of those innocents who were raped and beaten and enslaved and tortured and killed by punks over the years." He pointed south, toward the sprawling city of Los Angeles and the area all around it.

He turned, looking square at Thermopolis, and his eyes were as cold as Therm had ever seen them. "It makes the killing a lot easier, Therm. A lot easier. Keep that in mind."

Ben walked away, toward his new CP. Jersey swung in behind him, the b.u.t.t of her M-16 on one hip.

Linda s.h.i.+vered and rubbed her arms as chill b.u.mps rose on her flesh.

The other Rebels who had gathered around were silent.

"I always thought I would like to get a look inside that man's head," Therm said. "Until now. Now I'm just not so sure I'd want to take a look."

Buddy turned away. "Not unless you want to see what h.e.l.l looks like."

Chapter Twelve.

Ben was up early, an hour before anyone else, except for Jersey and Buddy. He fixed a pot of coffee and opened a packet of breakfast rations.

He preferred eating them in the dark so he wouldn't have to look at what he was eating. The planes carrying the first of Seven and Eight Battalions had started arriving just after midnight; the flights would continue for several more days, with trucks rolling twenty-four hours a day from Base Camp One, bringing in additional equipment and artillery rounds.

Ben took his rations and coffee outside, to sit on the curb. He was surprised to see Therm stroll out of the darkness, stop while being challenged by the guards, then walk over to where Ben was sitting. The man carried his own coffee and field rations. He sat down beside Ben.

"We've been together for quite a while, haven't we, Ben?" Therm said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, we have, Therm. We've seen a lot of battles and you've proven yourself many, many times. I still say you'd make a fine commander."

"You probably know that's why I came over this morning. I've done a lot of thinking since losing Santana yesterday."

Ben hid his smile of satisfaction by lifting his coffee mug to his lips and waiting for Therm to take the conversation further.

"You've saddled me with Emil and his bunch, Ben.

Who else do you want me to take?"

"Why ... gee, Therm. You've really caught me by surprise with this request."

Thermopolis looked at him and then chuckled.

"Cut the c.r.a.p, Ben. You've been trying to make me a field commander for a year and you know it."

Ben smiled. "You get along well with the Wolfpack. They like you and respect you. I'd like to put them under your command. In addition to Seven andEight Battalions, three platoons of green troops are joining us late this afternoon. Those three platoons are yours. I'll s.h.i.+ft some experienced personnel around and a.s.sign tanks and other support people to you today. We can call your unit the Peace and Love Battalion."

"Very funny, Raines. Hysterical."

"You can paint some guitars on the sides of the tanks."

"Now, that's not a bad idea."

Ben sighed. "Me and my big mouth."

"It's my command," Therm reminded him.

"That it is."

Wenceslaus, one of Therm's people, wandered out of the darkness and Therm waved him over.

"Yo, man," Wenceslaus said.

"At first light, get some paint," Therm told him. "We have some tanks to decorate."

Wenceslaus choked on his coffee. "We got to do what?"

he finally gasped.

"I've just been made a battalion commander."

"Say what?"

"You heard me." Therm looked at Ben, who was smiling at the antics of Wenceslaus. The man had spilled hot coffee on his hand and was sucking his thumb. "What's my rank?" Therm asked.