Ashes - D Day In The Ashes Part 14

She turned to look outside. It was full dark. The evening meal had been served and the mess tents cleaned and made ready for an early breakfast.

But there would be hot fresh coffee and sandwiches available at all times during the night for the guards coming on and going off s.h.i.+ft. She had quickly learned that Ben insisted that the best of food be ready for his people, whenever possible. But prepackaged field rations were field rations, no matter what country packaged them- many times they still tasted like s.h.i.+t.

173.

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She turned to face Ben. "It's late."

"Not that late."

They looked at one another for a moment. Kathy brushed back a stubborn lock of black hair . . . black hair now sprinkled with gray, which she made no effort to disguise. He dark blue eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief.

"You have something in mind, General Raines."

A smile played at his lips, and his hawkish features softened. "I thought perhaps you might like to have a brandy with me. A local family gave me a very old bottle of brandy."

"And after the brandy?"

He shrugged. "That's not up to me, is it?"

She moved closer to him. "If your reputation is to be believed, you generally take what you want."

He moved closer to her. "My reputation is grossly exaggerated. When the Rebel army was being formed, we had growing pains. Some, a very few of my men, in the early days, had their way forcibly with women. That stopped quite abruptly after two of them were tried and shot."

"There were more than two?"

"Three. The third man was found not guilty. The woman confessed she promised him s.e.x and then allowed him to become quite aroused before she stopped it cold. That's bulls.h.i.+t, Kathy. Set the rules before, not during. If a man knows how far he is to be allowed to go, and then steps over that line, that's rape. If a woman promises s.e.x, gets a man all worked up, and then suddenly pushes him away and tells him to go sit 174William W. Johnstone in a corner and jack off, that might not set too well with some men."

His language did not faze her. "Your views on that subject would not be popular with a great many women's groups, Ben. Past and present."

"I don't care. I haven't lost any sleep over it. There aren't many Rebel women who disagree with that philosophy. But I'm not one of those men who would turn violent if rejected. However, I might cuss a lot."

She stepped over to the desk and turned off the lantern. "Well, you won't have to cuss me, Ben."

Nine battalions of Rebels, with nine battalions coming right behind them, with full artillery and armor, MBTs spearheading, smashed through the line set up by Duffy Williams as if it were made of papier-mache and put the untrained and undisciplined army of punks, thugs, and a.s.sorted human slime into a fullblown rout. Kathy, riding in an armored vehicle with Ben's 1 Batt, later reported that Ben didn't make any attempt to finesse this one; he just bulled through using brute force, smas.h.i.+ng anybody who got in his way.

In a lightning-fast operation, faster than even most Rebels could recall, the battalions of World Stabilization Forces-their official United Nations designation-took everything from Quimper over to Orleans in a move that stunned even career military leaders around the world.

Ben instructed those nine battalions coming up behind to take the lead and continue the pursuit of Duffy Williams and his joke of an army, with 175.

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his own nine spearheading battalions to begin the circling of Paris.

But Ben knew that while Duffy's army was, for the moment, a joke, it would not be that way for long. For those hundreds of men and women who stood and fought and fell back with Duffy were, even without their knowledge, rapidly being molded into an army. And they would quickly turn into a formidable fighting force.

Many of the reporters and human rights people traveling behind the Rebels were appalled at the ruthless-ness of the advancing Rebels. The Rebel philosophy of warfare was simple: You get one chance to surrender.

Only one. Fight us, and you die. Period.

"Look, you stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h," Ben told one rather suddenly startled reporter who confronted Ben about his stabilization tactics. "We're not here to play patty-cake with these crud. That entire punk army out there is not worth the loss of one Rebel soldier. You people can p.i.s.s and moan and sob and stomp on your hankies all you want to, in print and broadcast. But you better stand far away from me when you do. And something else: The first time you try to interfere with the job we've been a.s.signed, I'll kill you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Very."

Ben and the Rebels had never been, by any stretch of the imagination, the darling of the press corps. Now it was almost as if the Rebels werethe enemy instead of the roaming hordes of gangs. The press had never 176.

William W. Johnstone met anyone like Ben Raines. He refused to kowtow to them and actually had the nerve to threaten them. Up to now that had been unheard of.

Didn't this tin soldier know who they were?

Oh, yeah. He just didn't give a d.a.m.n.

Then, after the press launched several vicious attacks against the Rebels, accusing them of the most heinous of civil rights violations (against rapists, murderers, child molesters, and other a.s.sorted human vermin), Ben started kicking the press out of the country . . .

sometimes quite physically.

"We would have won in Vietnam if the G.o.dd.a.m.n press had been kept out of the country," Ben said to Kathy one evening.

"I am the press, Ben," she reminded him.

"Yes, you are," he conceded. "But a minority member. You and about a half dozen others over here report the truth . . . without adding your own slanted opinions. You and David and Paul and a very few other members of the press have your heads screwed on straight. You understand that sometimes things have to be measured in black and white for the good of the majority. You are fully cognizant of absolutes. You know that the lives of a thousand punks is not worth the life of one decent human being. That's the difference, Kathy." He smiled at her. "Your mother and father, Kathy, belonged to what political party, back when those things mattered?"

She laughed, then shook her head. "They were registered Republicans, Ben."

"I never would have guessed," he said dryly.

While Ben prepared his people to fight on two 177.

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fronts, those members of the press who had been booted out of the country began complaining to anybody who would listen, which, of course, was every liberal Democrat in Congress. But to everyone's surprise except Ben, for he knew the man had steel in his backbone-it had just taken Homer a while to find it-President Blanton told them to shut up.

In Blan-ton's words, "World stabilization is much more important than the lives of a few hundred, a few thousand, or a few million hard-core criminals. Those who stand in the way of a return to civilization and orderly government had best understand now that if they persist, they will be treated in the harshest manner. I fully back General Ben Raines and his Rebels."

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned!" Kathy said, after reading the communique. "What the h.e.l.l happened to him?"

"He stopped paying attention to the screwb.a.l.l.s in his administration,told his wife to shut up, and started listening to the majority of the American people. That's what happened," Ben replied. "If the politicians had done that years ago, worldwide, this G.o.dd.a.m.n mess we're now in, and will be in for the rest of our lives, and a good portion of our children's lives, probably would not have occurred."

"To someone who didn't know you, Ben, that remark would sound very racist."

"One has only to look at the ranks of the Rebels to know that racism is not tolerated, Kathy. From any direction."

She smiled at him. "Really, Ben?"

Ben was still puzzling over that question long after she had left the room. His team had been in the room 178.

William W. Johnstone when Kathy made the comment, and he looked over at Corrie, who was taking a break from her radio. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Beats me what she meant, boss. But reporters are weird people. I never met one yet I'd trust very far."

Ben met the eyes of each of his team members. No more than kids when they first joined him-and they picked him rather than he choosing them.

Now they were all adults, in their midtwenties, and there wasn't fifteen cents worth of difference in their combined philosophies. They had taken Ben's philosophy as their own. But, as Ben remembered back over the years, not without question; and they had asked good questions and still did.

"You might be right about that, Corrie," Ben finally addressed her statement, wondering if she were trying to caution him about Kathy. "You may be right."

179 Sixteen Paris was going to be a real b.i.t.c.h.

Ben had been studying maps for several days, while his battalions made ready for urban warfare against the creepies in the old city. Paris had to be taken and the back of the creepies broken. Once Paris was taken, Ben and his nine battalions could link up and finish the warlords and punks. But there was no way Ben could bypa.s.s the city and leave the Night People at his back, nor could he totally destroy Paris. That was part of the agreement he made with the secretary-general of the UN.

There were about a dozen cities in Europe that he had agreed to leave intact... if at all possible. Paris was one of them.

"A real son of a b.i.t.c.h," Ben muttered, folding the old maps carefully and putting them away. He looked up at Jersey. "They're going to be down in the old sewers, Jersey. We've got to go in and flush them out."

"Then let's get to it," she replied.

"Indeed," Ben said, thinking, Oh, to be thatyoung again. He looked up as Mike Richards strolled in. The chief180 William W. Johnstone of Rebel intelligence had been out in the field with some of his other spooks for the past week, and he had a grim look on his face. "You going to rain all over me?" Ben asked.

Mike nodded his head. "Yeah," he said, pouring a cup of coffee. He was unshaven and his clothes were dirty from days of working close to Paris . . . and probably inside the city as well. "G.o.dd.a.m.n cannibals are holding several thousand men, women, and kids prisoners inside the city, Ben. Fattening them up for slaughter."

"We antic.i.p.ated that, Mike. And no, we aren't going to launch a rescue mission."

Mike looked at Ben. "That's firm?"

"Yes. And you know all the reasons."

Mike nodded. Something happened to those prisoners once they were held for a long period of time, knowing they faced being eaten, some of them consumed alive. A large percentage of them lost their minds and had to be warehoused for the rest of their lives.

"The press is going to raise h.e.l.l, Ben," Mike said softly.

"I can't help it, Mike. You know as well as I do they're better off dead. How did the press find out?"

"I don't know that they did. But my people tell me they're all roaming the secure areas, trying to find something they can use against you. Why don't you just run them out of the country?"

"The thought is becoming more appealing. But I keep coming up with reasons why I shouldn't."

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Mike drained his coffee cup. "When do we hit Paris?"

"Day after tomorrow. Dawn."

The FRF moved in to help in the job of sealing off roads on the outskirts of the Paris suburbs. Ben was under no illusion that he could destroy all the creepies in the city; the best estimates his intelligence people could offer was that 60 to 70 percent would be eliminated. And the Rebels would suffer between 0.5 and 1 percent killed and another 2 to 3 percent wounded.

"Let's prove them wrong," Ben told his batt corns just hours before the push was to begin. "If I find anybody without body armor, I'll court-martial them."

"How about the press?" Pat O'Shea asked.

"They can get their own body armor."The batt corns all laughed. Pat shook his head. "Are they going to be with us?"

"Some of them will be working a day behind us. Only a half dozen will actually go in with us. I just don't want to have to read about how harshly we treat these poor, misguided creepies: how they were forced into a life of cannibalism because when they were young the coach wouldn't let them play, or the homecoming queen wouldn't date them, or they had pimples, or somebody was politically incorrect with them-and because of that terribly unfair treatment, they were somehow forced into a life of crime in order to rebel against the system, or some such s.h.i.+t."

The batt corns and company commanders and platoon leaders were roaring with laughter. There were 182.

William W. Johnstone those among them who had personally suffered terrible deprivations as children, or knew of others who had, and who had gone on to become productive, law-abiding men and women, both before and after the Great War.

Kathy, David Manor, and Paul Carson were in attendance, sitting in the rear of the room, and the three of them exchanged knowing glances and small smiles at Ben's remarks and the laughter that followed the words.

They all knew men and women in the press corps who would have done just that . . . they themselves had done it in their early reporting days, before a hard dose of reality slapped them back into the real world.

"You all know where you're going in and what to do once in there. I don't have to belabor the point. Our objective is to kill creepies and stabilize the city. Let's do it building by building, slow and easy.

That's it, people. Take off."

When the room had cleared except for Ben, his personal team, and the three reporters, Kathy said, "Ben, you're really going to get some bad coverage if you don't permit the press to enter the city tomorrow."

"I don't recall ever getting good coverage from those people. It's a little late to worry about it now." He looked at Paul and David. "You know your staging areas?"

They did.

"I'll see you in the city." He took Kathy's arm, and together they walked out of the room.

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Rain began slicking the streets just before dawn, a light but very cold rain, the temperature hovering in the low forties. Ben and the Rebels looked like some mad artist's drawing of people from outer s.p.a.ce dressed in their protective gear. They stood around and sipped hot coffee from canteen cups, waiting for the first tints of gray to fill the eastern sky. Tanks snorted and rumbled around the outskirts of Paris, filling the cold air with diesel smoke.The Rebels loathed the creepies and hated dealing with them. They despised going in and finding the creepies' fattening farms, filled with insane and half-insane men and women and young children waiting to be eaten by the cannibalistic clan. Even Jersey was nervous as she waited for Ben to give the jump-off signal. She wished Smoot was here, so she could pet the husky, but Smoot was back with Thermopolis, out of harm's way.

For once even Emil was silent, his face showing the signs of strain at the thought of dealing up close and face to face with the stinking Night People. Emil was not afraid of the creepies, he just hated dealing with them. They were savages through and through.

Ben stood by his HumVee, sipping coffee, his facial expression unreadable. Kathy stood a few yards from him, trying to guess what might be running through his mind. She soon gave that up as impossible.

The Rebels had circled the city and were miles from the heart of Paris.

They were right at the edge of the suburbs, and intelligence had warned them that they were about to wage war on the most ma.s.sive gathering 184.

William W. Johnstone of Night People anywhere in the world. Paris was literally filled with them.

"So you will be outnumbered again?" Kathy said to Beth, after giving up trying to engage Ben in conversation.

"Nothing new," Beth replied casually. "We're almost always outnumbered.

It's been that way ever since the Rebels were formed." She smiled. "The general is always like this before a big fight. It's nothing personal.

He's gearing up mentally for the fight, that's all."

A few gunshots were heard coming from the mist-shrouded homes and buildings that lay rain-gray ahead of them. The shots were m.u.f.fled by the rain.