William W Johnstone - Ashes 26 - Triumph in the Ashes (txt)

Adios . . .

The cockpit glass shattered. The noise was deafening.

Boris had the presence of mind to reach for the control panel to shut

off the electrical system, hoping to prevent a fire, just as the HIND

made a nosedive among the branches toward the jungle floor. One of his

machine guns began to fire, out of control, blasting the ground rushing

toward him with a spray of armor-piercing bullets.

"Dear God," he gasped, watching in horror what awaited him upon impact

while the last remaining blade of the main rotor chewed through

everything in its path.

Just before the nose of his ruined HIND slammed to the ground, something

caught, jerking him forward against the restraint of his seat harness,

suspending him and what was left of his chopper a few feet off the

ground. His head lolled over until his chin touched his chest. When he

blinked open his eyes, excruciating pain throbbed in his neck and head

and down his back. He was hanging from the pilot's seat, trapped in the

safety harness, staring down, unable to turn his head or lift it.

He saw the shape of a man wearing fatigues, holding some kind of rifle

with the muzzle pointed up at him.

The soldier spoke to him in English. "Looks like your bird broke its

wings, Nazi."

"Help me," Boris stammered.

"I'm gonna help you, asshole. I'm gonna help you all the way to your grave."

"Who are you? Why are you aiming that gun at me?"

"My name's Ben Raines and I'm aiming this rifle at you because I'm gonna

send you to hell, where you belong."

Boris heard the hammering of gunfire, and felt his body being jerked

back and forth in his flight harness. Then all went black around him

and, mercifully, the pain disappeared and he felt nothing.

"Adios, asshole," Raines said.

2 THE ASHES SERIES by William W. Johnstone

# 1: OUT OF THE ASHES

# 2: FIRE IN THE ASHES

# 3: ANARCHY IN THE ASHES

# 4: BLOOD IN THE ASHES

# 5: ALONE IN THE ASHES

# 6: WIND IN THE ASHES

# 7: SMOKE FROM THE ASHES

# 8: DANGER IN THE ASHES

# 9: VALOR IN THE ASHES #10: TRAPPED IN THE ASHES #11: DEATH IN THE

ASHES #12: SURVIVAL IN THE ASHES #13: FURY IN THE ASHES #14: COURAGE IN

THE ASHES #15: TERROR IN THE ASHES #16: VENGEANCE IN THE ASHES #17:

BATTLE IN THE ASHES #18: FLAMES FROM THE ASHES #19: TREASON IN THE ASHES

#20: D-DAY IN THE ASHES

#21: BETRAYAL IN THE ASHES #22: CHAOS IN THE ASHES #23: SLAUGHTER IN THE

ASHES #24: JUDGMENT IN THE ASHES #25: AMBUSH IN THE ASHES

3

William W. Johnstone

Pinnacle Books Kensington Publishing Corp.

http://www.pinnaclebooks.com

4 PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022

or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher,

excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that

this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed"

to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received

any payment for this "stripped book."

Pinnacle and the P logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

First Printing: October, 1998 10 987654321

Printed in the United States of America

5 Prologue

As the country began to slowly pull itself out of the greatest economic

and social collapse in world history, Ben Raines found himself to be the

most hated man in all of America. That really didn't come as any

surprise to Ben, for right after the collapse Ben had gathered together

a small group called the Rebels-a mixture of

political/militia/survivalist oriented men and women- and told them,

"We're going to rebuild. Against all odds, we're going to carve out our

own nation. And we're going to be hated for our success."

As it turned out, hate was not nearly a strong enough word.

Ben and his Rebels first went to the northwest and settled in what would

forever be known as the Tri-States and the Tri-States form of

government. The philosophy was based on personal responsibility and

common sense. It soon became a hated form of government for those living

outside the Tri-States, for liberals and other left-wingers didn't want

to be responsible for anything they did, and they didn't appear to

possess any common sense.

"Of course, that isn't entirely true," Ben once said in one of his

rarely granted interviews with the press. "But that's the way it seems

to those of us who believe

6

William W. Johnstone

that government should stay out of the lives of its citizens as much as

possible."

In the Tri-States, if you got careless and stuck yourself in the face

with the business end of a screwdriver, you didn't sue the manufacturer

of the screwdriver for damages . . . you learned to be more careful in

handling tools.

Common sense.

Ben Raines realized that not everyone could, or would, live under a

system of law that leaned heavily on common sense and personal

responsibility. From the outset he estimated, correctly as it turned

out, that no more than two or three out of every ten Americans could

live under a Tri-States form of government. People who came to live in

the old Tri-States did not expect something for nothing . . . and that

was wise on their part, for they damn sure weren't going to get

something for nothing.

In the Tri-States, everybody who was able worked at something. No

able-bodied person sat on his ass and expected free handouts from the

taxpayers .. . that just wasn't going to happen. You might not like the

job that would be found for you-and it would be found very quickly-but

you worked it or you got out.

Criminals discovered almost immediately that in the Tri-States they had

very few rights. All the rights belonged to the law-abiding citizens. If

a criminal got hurt during the commission of a crime, he or she could

not sue for damages. If he got killed, his family could not sue for

damages. And in the Tri-States, a lot of criminals got killed during the

first years. The Tri-States was not a friendly place for criminals . . .

and it didn't take them long to discover that. The residents of the

Tri-States didn't have a problem with drugs; the penalty for selling

hard drugs was death; when caught, after a very

7

brief trial, the criminals had a choice, hanging or firing squad.

Consequently, very soon drug dealing in the Tri-States dropped off to zero.

Life was so good in the Tri-States that the central government, once it

got back on its feet after only a few years, couldn't stand it and moved

against the Tri-Staters. It was a terrible battle, but in the end the

old Tri-States, located in the northwest, was destroyed.

But Ben Raines and his dream lived, and Ben gathered together the

survivors of the government assault and declared war on the

government... a dirty, nasty, hit and destroy and run type of guerrilla

warfare.

Eventually, the entire United States collapsed inward and Ben and his

Rebels, now hundreds and hundreds strong, were able to move into the

soutih and set up a new government. This time it was called The SUSA:

The Southern United States of America.

It was a struggle for a few years, and one time The SUSA was overrun by

rabble from outside its borders. But the Rebels beat the attackers back

and rebuilt their nation-larger and stronger and more self-sufficient

than ever before.

The Rebels were now the largest and most powerful and feared fighting

force in the free world, so much so that the Secretary General of the

newly reorganized United Nations met with Ben Raines and made a bargain

with him: \bu deal with a few trouble spots around the world, especially

with Bruno Bottger and his band of Nazis, and we'll recognize The SUSA

as a free and sovereign nation.

The two men shook hands, sealing the deal, and Ben took his Rebels and

sailed off to Africa. . . .

9 One

Ben and his Rebels were ready for the big push southward. The hundreds

of replacement troops, all fresh from The SUSA and green as a gourd when

they had deplaned weeks back, were now combat tested and hardened. In

the weeks they had been in Africa they had seen sights that toughened

them mentally; they had learned what every experienced combat soldier

learns: you shove the bloody, awful sights into a secret part of your

brain and close and lock the door . . . and keep on doing your job.

Ben's 501 Brigade was halted on the Cameroon/Gabon border, just north of

Bata. The other brigades were stretched out across Africa, all the way

over to Mogadishu, Somalia. They waited for Ben's orders to move out.

Ike McGowen's 502 Brigade was just to Ben's east, on the Congo's west

border. Thermopolis's 19 Batt, which kept up with everything going on,

and not just concerning the Rebels, was in the center of the ten

brigades. Pat O'Shea's 510 Brigade was on the coast of the Indian Ocean,

almost twenty-five hundred miles away from Ben. Doctor Lamar Chase, the

Rebel Army's Chief of Medicine, was traveling with Ben's brigade. The

brigades had traveled several hundred miles since

10

William W. Johnstone

re-forming, and so far had seen only limited action, most of it coming

from gangs of thugs.

All that was about to change.

For the past week, Ben and the Rebels had made good time, considering

the condition of the roads-in some cases, almost non-existence. Ben and

his 501 Brigade had traveled south through the western portion of

Cameroon and found very little resistance. They had seen thousands of

human skeletons, their deaths brought on by war, sickness, starvation,

and Bruno Bottger's deadly laboratory-concocted virus that he unleashed

on the population.

But the animals had made a miraculous comeback. The Rebels saw dozens of

prides of lions. They saw leopards and hyenas and wild dogs, and what

appeared to be thousands of different species of birds. Scouts reported

all sorts of animals ahead of the main force.

"Gorillas," said Cooper, Ben's driver. "I want to see some gorillas."

"Go look in the mirror," Ben's diminutive bodyguard, Jersey, told him.

Beth, the statistician, looked up from the tattered travel guide she was

reading and smiled at Ben, then returned to her reading.

Corrie, the radio tech, was busy yapping with somebody about something,

her headset on, and didn't hear the exchange. She probably wouldn't have

paid any attention to it, anyway, for Jersey and Cooper had been hurling

barbs at one another for years.

Anna, Ben's adopted daughter, squatted in the shade of a large bush,

sharpening one of her knives, which was already razor sharp. The young

woman, taken in by Ben during the Rebels' European campaign, was in her

late teens, and deadly. She had been orphaned while just a child-when

the Great War swept the

11

globe-and had fought for every scrap of food while growing up. Ben had

seen something worthwhile in the dirty faced waif, and taken her in to

raise during her formative teenage years.

That was Ben's personal team. They had been together for a long time,

through good and bad times.

"Bruno's people have pulled back, Boss," Corrie announced, removing her

headset. "All the way across Africa. They packed it up and headed south."

"They didn't do it because they're afraid of us," Ben said, rolling a

cigarette. He looked at her. "Were they in a hurry when they hightailed

it out of here?"

"Didn't seem to be. Scouts report they left nothing useable behind."

Corrie paused for a moment. "Just a lot of dead people," she added.

"Is anyone reporting any action at all?" Ben asked. "Anywhere?"

"Nothing, Boss."

"This will slow us down to a crawl," Ben said. "I want every bridge,

every mile of road, checked for mines. If the village or town is

deserted, it's probably filled with explosives. Do we have anybody left

in South Africa . . . or what used to be called South Africa?"

"Not any more," Beth told him. "The last batch of our people that we

sent in about eighteen months ago just got out alive a few weeks ago."

Ben nodded in understanding. He lit his hand-rolled cigarette and

frowned, silent for a few heartbeats. "Bruno's going to bug out," he

finally said. "Bet on it. He's going to buy some time by sacrificing his

troops and then bug out through the southernmost ports, taking his top

people and his best troops with him. That's the only thing that makes

any sense. He knows he's finished here in Africa ... he can see the end

in sight.

12

William W. Johnstone

He's anything but a stupid man. Arrogant as hell, but brilliant in his

own right."

"Where in the hell's he going to bug out to, Boss?" Cooper asked.

"My guess would be South America," Ben replied. "The last word we got

was that there wasn't a stable government in any country down there.

Corrie, tell Mike Richards to send some people into South America. See

what they can dig up."

"Will do."

"No point in pulling out until we've got a few miles of road cleared.

Have the Scouts or any fly-bys found any useable railroad tracks?"

"Negative, Boss. Bruno's people destroyed miles of track and blew the

railroad bridges."

"We can expect the same all the way down," Ben said. "And for the roads

to get worse. We're in for some slow going." Ben opened his map case and

pulled out a map of Gabon, studying it for a moment.

"We'll avoid Libreville," he said. "We don't need to use the port, and

all we'll find is trouble there. Place is filled to overflowing with

sick and dying people." Ben shook his head. "Doctor Chase and his people

say there is nothing we can do for them. Nothing at all. Except let them

die in peace," he added softly.

"Bruno's virus?" Anna said, standing up and sheathing her long-bladed knife.

"Not so much that," Ben replied. "But that is certainly a part of their

trouble. Chase's people say just name a disease, they've got it."

"When are the Israelis going to join us?" Cooper asked.

"They're not," Ben said. "They're fighting on three fronts. We just got

word that a dozen or more Arab resistance groups formed up and began

attacking. The

13

Israelis have their hands full. I wished them good luck and told them

we'd handle this. Corrie, radio everyone to stand down and relax. We'll

make this push south slow and careful."

The Rebels pushed off two days later and advanced thirty miles. Then

they waited for two more days before pushing off again, and again they

advanced thirty miles. They met no resistance anywhere along the

twenty-five hundred mile front, running east to west. Bruno Bott-ger's

troops had definitely bugged out to the south . . . how far south was

still up for grabs.

"But we've still got hundreds of gangs roaming around," Ben cautioned.

"Ranging in size from twenty to a thousand."

"You think a small bunch of punks would attack us?" Ben was asked by a

young sergeant. The sergeant was fresh from The SUSA, and his combat

experience was sparse. "It would be suicide for a small gang to attack a

full brigade."

Ben's XO, John Michaels, opened his mouth to tell the young sergeant to

get back to his squad and not to bother the CG with stupid questions.

Ben held up a hand. "I didn't say they were smart gangs, Sergeant," Ben

told him. "Although we don't ever want to underestimate their

intelligence . . . many of them are very cunning. Just like criminals in

every country in the world. If they would use that intelligence for

something constructive, they would be useful and productive, helping out

their country and the people. But they never do that. They think they're

smarter than everyone else. If they hit us, and I think they probably

will very soon, they'll come at us with ambushes and sneak attacks, hit

and run. So, heads up, son."

"Yes, sir," the young sergeant said, and got the hell out of that area.

14

William W. Johnstone

The hundreds and hundreds of men and women in the miles long column

mounted up and moved slowly on to the south.

"Boring," Anna said, looking out the window of the big wagon as they

proceeded on at about fifteen miles per hour. The roads were in terrible

shape. In many areas of the sprawling continent, roads were no more than

a faint memory.

"Scouts report the bridge is out about five miles ahead," Corrie said.

Ben lifted a map, studied it for a moment, and then cussed. "There are

no highways at all to the west, and it would put us fifty miles out of

the way to head east to the next crossing. And on these miserable

excuses for roads it would take us two or three days to travel that

distance." He sighed. "Get the engineers up here, Corrie."

"Right, Boss. They're on their way."

"It'll take some time, General," the officer in command of the

detachment of combat engineers told Ben. "The rest of the day and part

of tomorrow, at least. That's a hell of a section blown out."

Ben nodded. "Fix it."

"Yes, sir." The combat engineer started yelling orders to his people.

Ben glanced at his watch. 1300 hours. The column had made lousy time

since pulling out that morning. At this rate it would take them several

months to reach the south part of the continent. And that would give

Bruno more than ample time to throw up a front that would be tough to

punch through.

Ben sighed and shook his head as he looked around him. The terrain would

be perfect for an ambush. "Corrie, no one moves more than a few yards

away from this

15

cowpath they call a road until the area has been checked out."

"Right, Boss."

"Scouts out east and west."

"Done, Boss."

Ben smiled as he leaned up against the big wagon and began rolling a

cigarette. Corrie always stayed about two steps ahead of him. The team

had been together for so long that each member knew how the other would

react, and in most cases orders were routine, given out of long habit.

"Any towns or villages close by?" Cooper asked.

"Why?" Jersey asked. "You planning on going in and checking out the

night life?"

"I thought I might buy you a nice present," Cooper came right back at her.

"The best present you could get me would be to lose your voice for about

a year or so."

"Oh, my little desert flower," Cooper said, feigning great personal

pain. "You know you don't mean that. Just the thought hurts my heart.

You'd miss me like the flowers would miss a gentle rain."

"Blahh! Yukk! Barf!" Jersey said. "That's disgusting, Cooper." She made

an awful face and moved around to the other side of the vehicle,

muttering, "Guy gets worse every month." But out of Cooper's sight the

awful face vanished, and she smiled. She and Cooper were good and close

friends . . . they just liked to stick the needle to each other.

The first section of the Bailey Bridge was hauled up and off loaded. The

engineers were laying it out when the mortar rounds began falling. Two

members of the combat engineers were killed and half a dozen wounded in

the first barrage.

Ben and his team left the road and jumped for the

16

William W. Johnstone

cover of thick brush that lined both sides of the old highway. "If they

hit that new wagon, I'm gonna be really pissed!" Cooper said, setting up

his SAW-Squad Automatic Weapon.

"You better hope one of those rounds doesn't land on your ass," Jersey

told him.

"That would irritate me, too," Cooper replied.

"But only very briefly," Jersey replied.

The first span over which the engineers had to build a new temporary

bridge was about fifty yards wide . . . but it was right in the center.

The second section that had been knocked out was on the other side, the

connecting span.

"I figure about a hundred meters from our position," Ben said. "Give

that to the tank commanders, Corrie."

"Right, Boss."

A minute later the main guns of the battle tanks began howling and

roaring. The first few rounds were short, the range quickly corrected,

and then the tanks began laying down a field of fire that virtually

destroyed everything on the other side of the sluggish river.

"Cease fire," Ben ordered, looking up into the sky. "Here come the

gunships."

The gunships began strafing the other side of the riverbank with machine

gun fire and rockets. They worked back and forth for a couple of

minutes. Ben bumped the flight commander on his two-way and gave orders

for them to back off. "Scouts find a place to get across that river and

check it out," he said.

"Chopper pilots reporting no signs of life over there," Corrie said.

"But plenty of dead bodies."

"Good," Ben said. "Throw them in the river and let the crocs have them."

"Are there crocodiles in that river?" Cooper questioned.

17

"Probably," Ben told him. Ben didn't know if there were any crocs in the

river . . . but he'd bet there were. Either way, the river was certainly

going to be ordered off limits for swimming.

About five minutes later, after the firing had stopped and the area was

quiet once again, Doctor Lamar Chase, the Rebels' Chief of Medicine,

came walking up. His driver had brought him as close to the head of the

column as she could, then Chase had hoofed the last several hundred

yards. Chase and Ben had been together since the very beginning; their

friendship spanned many years. The doctor stood for a moment, watching

his doctors work on the wounded, then turned to Ben.

"You think those troops that ambushed us were Bruno's men, Ben?"

Ben shook his head. "No. It would really surprise me if they were.

Probably just one of the many hundreds of gangs that prowl and slither

around this continent. Scouts are checking it out now."

"I certainly hope you cautioned them not to fall out of the damn boats,"

Chase warned. "There are probably crocs in that river."

Ben cut his eyes, grunted a non-committal reply, and continued to watch

the Scout teams as they cranked the outboards and headed for the

opposite shore.

"One of the wounded just died," Corrie said. "The others are going to

make it."

"Who died?" Ben asked.

"Major Larsen."

"Shit," Ben muttered. He sighed. "Bury them off the road in the brush.

Deep and well. I don't want animals digging them up. Get a chaplain up

here."

"OK, Boss."

Major Larsen had been with Ben for years, starting out with the Rebels

when he was just an enlisted man

18

William W. Johnstone

in his teens and working his way up through the ranks. He was well-liked

by everyone, and would be sorely missed.

Chase looked at Ben's face for a moment and said, "Watch your blood

pressure, Ben. These things happen."

"My blood pressure is fine, Lamar."

"Then what's wrong?"

"This damn country."

Chase grunted in response, frowning as Ben began rolling a cigarette.

"Of course, wait until we hit South America," Ben said. "Then we'll

really get bogged down in certain areas."

"Is that where we go next?"

"Probably. You can bet that's where Bruno's heading ... if he makes it

out of Africa alive, and he probably will. The bastard has more luck

than a leprechaun. He can't go back to Europe, that's for sure. He's the

most wanted man on the continent."

Chase waited for Ben to continue, sensing there was more. He was right.

"The Secretary General warned me that we might go to South America when

we finished here." Ben shrugged. "It was all part of the deal we made."

"A deal that isn't worth the paper it's written on or the handshake that

sealed it," Doctor Chase said. "You don't believe for a minute the

federal government outside The SUSA will keep their end of the bargain.

Do you?"

Ben smiled. "Of course not, Lamar. I wouldn't trust a liberal out of my

sight. But it bought us some time. Much needed time."

"They don't believe you'll use nuclear and germ weapons against them, Ben."

William W Johnstone - Ashes 26 - Triumph in the Ashes (txt)

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