William W. Johnstone - Ashes 13 - Fury In The Ashes

FLAMING DEATH

A dozen main battle tanks rumbled up,

hatches closed. Ben Raines used the outside

phone on the lead tank. "You flame-equipped?"

"That's a ten-four, sir."

"Spearhead us." He hung up and turned

to Cooper. "Let's go!"

His team spread out behind the tanks and followed them

in. The bodyguards assigned to protect Ben could

do nothing to stop him. How do you tell the commanding

general he can't do something? They fell in with him and

surged forward.

The rattle of machine gun fire came from a

building with a faded sign, SPORTING GOODS,

painted on the front of the bricks. The slugs

howled off the armor of the MBT as the tank

clanked around, lowering its canon. The muzzle

spewed liquid fire, engulfing those inside in

flames. The screaming of the torched lasted only a

moment.

"Mop up!" Ben shouted, and a team lanced the smoking

interior of the old building with automatic-weapons

fire.

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FURY IN THE ASHES

WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

Pinnacle Books Kensington Publishing Corp.

httpccwww.williamjohnstone.com

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places, and incidents are either the product of the

author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and

any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is purely

coincidental.

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third

Avenue New York, NY 10022

Copyright [*copygg'1991 by William W.

Johnstone

reproduced in any form 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.

and TM Off. First Zebra Printing: 1991

First Pinnacle Printing: March, 1999 10

Printed in the United States of America

Dedicated to J. K. Sparks

The first requisite of a good citizen in this

Republic of ours is that he shall be able and willing

to pull his own weight. Theodore Roosevelt

Oh, goddamnit, we forgot the silent prayer!

Dwight D. Eisenhower-at a Cabinet meeting

Chapter One

Ben was leaning slightly out of the Jeep, admiring the

denim-covered derriere of a very attractive lady.

A lady that he had not seen before.

"You're going to fall out of that damn Jeep if

you're not careful." The voice came from behind him.

Smiling, Ben straightened up and turned his

head, looking at his longtime friend. The previous

view was not easy to turn away from, and Ben vowed he

would check it out. "Good to see you, Ike. Any

trouble in your sector coming down here?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle. In case you're

interested, and it's obvious that you are, her name is

Linda Parsons. She's a survivor from over

Nevada way. She's thirty-five years old.

Lost her husband and kids a few years back

during an outlaw raid."

Ben got out of the Jeep and stretched his

six-feet-plus frame. "How in the hell do you

know so much about her, old married man?"

was "Cause I got here yesterday and inquiring

minds want to know!"

Both men laughed at the references to the old TV

commercial that many in the Rebel ranks would be too

young to have anything but a vague memory of.

Linda turned her head at the laughter and looked

at the men. She had been introduced to General

Ike, and the tall man with him had to be General Ben

Raines. He was handsome, not in a pretty-boy

way, but in a rugged, interesting way. Looked to be

about fifty, she guessed.

Ben lifted his eyes to hers and for an instant,

they stared at each other. Someone called to her and she

walked away.

Ike cleared his throat and said, "Big job ahead

of us, Ben."

"Yeah. Let's get to it."

Ben Raines and his Rebel Army, including the

forces of the Russian, Georgi Striganov, had

started this campaign on the banks of the

Mississippi, at St. Louis. Now they were all

but finished in the lower forty-eight, the campaign

taking them cross-country to the Northwest. They were

now preparing for the final leg, the assault on Los

Angeles, with its thousands of street punks arid

Night P.

Once on the West Coast, the Rebels had

discovered that all the talk of nuclear destruction-which

they had all believed for years-had been a

gigantic hoax. The West Coast was clean all

the way down into Mexico and beyond. Ben had been

hearing radio chatter for months about the Mexican people

reforming their army and cleaning out the nest of creepies

and outlaws. So far as he could tell, the Mexican

people were slowly gaining the upper hand.

In the United States, so far as the Rebels now

knew, only the Washington,

D.c./baltimore area and Kansas City had

actually taken nuclear strikes during the Great

War. Most of the other cities had taken chemical

strikes.

What Ben did not know was that Lan Villar,

Khamsin, Ashley, Kenny Parr, and the outlaw

bikers had pulled together what remained of their

shattered forces after butting head-to-head with the

Rebels in the Northwest, and were heading for

Alaska, a spot that Ben had decided

to investigate after cleaning out southern California.

Alaska had been code-named Northstar.

Ben's Husky pup, Smoot, rolled over on

her back in the back seat of the Jeep and started

snoring, deep in contented sleep.

"What's the word on the flyovers?" Ike asked.

"Not good. From what our pilots have been able

to observe, Los Angeles is pretty well

carved up by various gangs, but the Scouts have taken

a few prisoners, and under interrogation, they admit

that all the gangs will pull together and work as one if

attacked by a large enough force."

"What are we facing?"

"Just about anything you'd care to name," Ben said, disgust

in his voice. "Offshoots of those punk

gangs of the eighties make up a lot of the enemy.

Dickheads with gang names like the Boogies make

up a lot of the enemy. The Boogies and the Skulls

and assorted punk crap like that. The Night People have

their own section of L.a., and the gangs respect

it. At least the Believers haven't renamed themselves

the Purple Twats or something equally stupid."

Ike laughed at Ben. "Oregon is clean,

Ben. The rest of the teams will be pulling in here over the

next couple of days."

"We won't have much time to rest and reorganize. I

won't kid you, Ike. Taking California is not

going to be easy. The gangs here have had years to arm

and train; they've known for a long time that someday they'd

have to face us. And they'll probably be

ready, at least mentally geared up for it. If any

of our people are thinking easy, tell them to hang it

up."

"Still no word from Khamsin, Kenny Parr, Lan

Villar, or any of the rest?"

"Not a peep. I know we knocked the props out from

under them, but I don't believe we killed them

all. They're in deep hiding somewhere. They'll show

up. Bet on that."

The Rebels were now almost certain that there had

been a massive cover-up on the part of

America's politicians after the Great War. From

what they had been able to piece together, many members of

Congress had been secretly supporting the

movement of the Believers, the Night People --

creepies to the Rebels coma bizarre religion that

embraced cannibalism. Why they'd supported a

movement that horrible was something that Ben realized he

would probably never know.

Ike wandered off to rejoin his command and Ben walked through

the milling crowds of the Rebel army, or at least a

part of it.

The Rebels had concluded their sweep of the

Northwest, and Washington and Oregon had been

declared ninety-five-percent clean. The Rebel

outposts they had established would settle up with that

remaining five percent of creepies, warlords,

thugs, punks, and other malcontents. And they would

do it the Rebel way: with a bullet or a rope.

The Rebels did not believe in lengthy trials.

Plea-bargaining was a term that had been stricken from the

English language. Fuck up bad and the penalty

was death.

Cecil Jefferys and his command were making ready to push

south out of Medford, Oregon. They had

taken the town without having to destroy it-as was usually

the Rebel way with larger cities comand

were using the airport to resupply. The Russian,

Striganov, and the mercenary, West, had pushed down

to the small town of Lakeview and supplies were being

trucked to them. Five and Six Battalions of the

Rebel army had been shifted over to the east side

of the state and they were in position to start the push south.

For the time being, they were under the command of Georgi

Striganov.

Ben was leaning up against a fender, studying a map.

He waved for a runner to join him, and also for his

radio operator. "You find Ike and tell him

to pull out as soon as possible. Corrie, bump

Cecil and tell him to link up with Ike; they'll

take the coastline highway all the way down

to San Francisco. There is no point in putting

this off. We'll take Interstate 5 south.

Georgi and West will push south on 395. All

units will be rolling in two days."

"Right, sir." She waited, knowing that more was coming.

"Tina and her Scouts will join Georgi and West,

for the time being. Buddy will join Ike and Cec.

Everyone else will remain with us."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell Leadfoot and the Wolfpack to get ready

to move out. I want them to penetrate as far south as

Youreka and halt there. They are to radio back with

their assessment."

"Right, sir."

Leadfoot and his Wolfpack had, at one time, been

outlaw bikers. Ben, seeing more than a spark of

decency in the bikers, had given them a choice of

lifestyles. They had accepted it. Leadfoot,

Beerbelly, Hoss, and Wanda and her bunch had

joined the Rebels. They had proved to be fierce

fighters and totally loyal to Ben and the Rebel

movement.

"General, what about the new bunch?" Corrie

asked innocently.

"What new bunch?"

"The group that came in from Nevada. The one Linda

Parsons was with."

"Incorporate them into our units. Spread them out.

Send the noncombatants to Base Camp One.

You know all that, Corrie. What's going on here?"

"Yes, sir. Right, sir. Linda was trained as an

RN."

"Wonderful. So what?"

"Ah ... I gather that Doctor Chase

has not yet informed you of his decision."

"I haven't seen the old goat in several days.

Where is he? What decision?"

"He's assigned Linda to our team."

Ben looked at her. "I love the way people make

decisions without consulting me."

"Yes, sir. Doctor Chase said it was for your own

good."

"That's very interesting. Get her over here, will you?"

Beth, another member of Ben's personal team,

had walked up, listening to the exchange. "Doctor

Chase said that since you refuse to behave like a commander

is supposed to behave, that is, directing operations

from behind the lines, he felt it best to assign a

medical person to the team."

"Do remind me to thank him from the bottom of my

heart," Ben said dryly.

"Yes, sir. I will certainly make a note of

that."

"Have the mechanics finished with our vehicle?"

"Be ready in the morning," Beth told him.

Ben's vehicle was a big, nine-passenger Chevy

wagon, with armor plate and bullet-proof glass.

Ben's driver was Cooper. His self-appointed

bodyguard was

the cute and diminutive Jersey.

"Where is Jersey?" Ben asked.

"Probably harassing Cooper," Beth said.

"Thermopolis and Emil?"

"In a deep philosophical discussion over by the

river."

"That should be a conversation to be recorded for the ages."

Thermopolis and his band of 21/-century hippies

had thrown their lot in with Ben, considering him to be the

lesser of the evils that faced their way of life.

Emil Hite was a little con artist who usually had

some religious scam going-the last one had been the

Great God Blomm. But both Therm and Emil and

their followers had proven themselves in battle many times

and Ben was glad to have them on the Rebel side.

Corrie brought Linda Parsons over to meet the

general.

The woman had a very pretty, heart-shaped face that

reminded Ben of a movie actress ... he couldn't

think of her name. Linda, Ben guessed, would stand about

five-five and was very nicely proportioned. Light

brown hair, worn short. Green eyes that were

studying him as closely as he was studying her.

"You understand the Rebel philosophy, Mrs.

Parsons?" Ben asked her.

"I understand it."

"Do you agree with it?"

She nodded her head. "I agree with enough of it to live

with it."

Ben could accept that. A lot of Rebels felt the

same way. The Rebel way was harsh and usually

uncompromising. There were no niceties of law.

If you fought the Rebels, you died. If you chose not

to accept

the Rebel doctrine but remained non-hostile, the

Rebels would not harm you. But in most cases neither

would they help you. Ike had once said that a man

couldn't get much plowin" done with both mules

wanting to pull in opposite directions. The

Rebels knew it was a hard and terrible time,

worldwide, and they understood that there was no room for

fence-straddlers. Let's get the nation back together

again, and then we'll debate the fine points of law.

"The bunch you came in with," Ben said, "how many of

you?"

"About fifty adults. There are eighteen children. I

understand that you are sending the children down to your base camp

in Louisiana."

"That's correct. And any of the adults who wish a

noncombatant role."

"Then that will knock it down to about forty who will remain

here."

"Whatever, Mrs. Parsons."

"Please, just Linda."

"Fine. Beth, go with her and get her into uniform.

Draw supplies and equipment and then both of you

rejoin me at my CP." Ben looked around him.

"Wherever the damn thing is."

"I get the impression that the general doesn't like

me," Linda said, as she and Beth walked toward the

supply area.

"Don't make any snap conclusions," Beth

warned her. "The general is sometimes hard to read."

She grinned. "Besides, I think you're wrong. He

was sizing you up a few minutes before you joined us. I

was watching him."

"I heard he was a womanizer."

"He likes the ladies, for sure."

"How old is he?"

was "Bout fifty."

"That's what I guessed. You been with him long?"

"Pretty good while. We've been in some

scraps, I'll tell you that for sure."

"He married?"

"No. I think he was, a long time ago;

or else they were just living together. She was killed

during the battle for the Tri-States. Tina is his

adopted daughter. Buddy is his blood son. By a

woman that now hates both Ben and Buddy."

"Sister Voleta?"

"That's right. News gets around."

"General Raines is an ... interesting-looking

man," Linda said. "He can be very ... well,

intense when he looks at you."

"He is also one of the most dangerous people you'll ever

meet. And he likes to take chances. It can get

interesting staying around him too. He'll usually find

some way to get right in the middle of a fight."

"I thought generals were supposed to direct operations

from far behind the lines, in some safe bunker?"

Beth laughed. "Not in the Rebel army, honey.

And for sure, not Ben Raines. You'll see."

Linda looked around her at the crush of Rebels,

drawing supplies, checking in malfunctioning

equipment, and receiving other equipment. Many were lined

up at MASH tents for medical or dental work.

She did not see a single person just loafing.

Beth seemed to read her thoughts as she followed the

woman's eyes. "There's a war on in the lower

forty-eight. And the sooner we win it down

here, the sooner we'll head for Alaska and kick

butt up there."

"And then?"

"Europe."

"Europe!

Isn't that a rather ambitious undertaking?"

Beth shrugged. "Not really. We've kicked ass

all over the United States, haven't we?"

"Maybe they don't want the Rebel way over

there." It was not put as a question.

"And maybe they do. We won't know until we

get there, will we? Here we are. Louise?" She

grinned at the woman behind a long table filled with

clothing. "This is Linda. Load her up with gear.

She's been assigned to the general's team."

Linda looked at her. "Does that make me

somebody special?"

"Some might say so. It's good duty. You'll get

to see lots of action up close."

"Yeah," Louise said, smiling. "And you get the

absolutely mind-boggling conversation of Cooper

thrown in for free."

"And all about what happened in the olden days from the

general," Beth added.

Linda laughed. "Careful now. I'm

closer to the general's age than to yours."

"That's right," Beth said, a twinkle in her eyes.

"And don't think the general hasn't noticed

too."

Linda noticed that Ben Raines seemed to be

constantly on the prowl, popping up at the most

unexpected times and places. And always with Jersey

and her M-16 right beside or behind him. Usually, the

entire team was with him. And he seemed to know

everybody. There was a free-spirited stream of

chatter-often laced with vulgar jokes and profanity

-- going on between the general and the Rebels.

General Ike McGowan had pulled out the

black general, Cecil Jefferys. The entire

Rebel force was to begin their jump-off at dawn the

next day.

"Nervous?" The voice came from her right.

Linda looked up into the face of Ben Raines.

She had not heard him approach her. And how did

he know what she had been thinking? Maybe the

rumors about him were true. A lot of people believed that

Ben Raines was some sort of god; or if not that,

at least possessed with some sort of

supernatural ability. Linda didn't believe

in ghosts and hobgoblins and psychic powers and all

that. But she didn't know how she felt about Ben

Raines. Except that he was very impressive.

Tall, with brown hair peppered with gray. A

rangy sort of man, but possessed of some strength,

she felt. Unreadable eyes.

"A little, I'll admit it," she answered.

He sat down beside her on the ground. "I read your

dossier. You haven't seen much combat, have you?"

"Not much. After the Great War, even during the few

years of so-called peace under President Logan,

we stayed in our little valley there in Nevada and no

one ever bothered us. I worked as an RN in our

clinic. Then everything fell apart a couple of years

ago. I've been on the run since then."

"It must have been a very isolated little valley."

"Oh, yes. It was. But the outlaws found us."

"Were there so many coming at you that you couldn't fight

them?"

She smiled at him. "We weren't warriors,

General. We were teachers and technicians and

nurses and medical doctors and scientists. And

I suppose, looking back, very naive in our

thinking that we would

be left alone in our little paradise."

"Even paradise must be defended, Linda. I've

been told that even the gates of Heaven are guarded.

The Rebel army has not cleared the United

States of punks and thugs and crud by extending the

olive branch of peace to them. They'd have snatched it

out of our hands and stuck it up our ass."

She shook her head and tried to hide a smile.

"Is it true that you shoot criminals, General?"

"That depends on the crime, Linda. Understand this

now. We take very few prisoners. Anyone who

fights us is our mortal enemy and we will destroy

them. It's a brutal time we live in, Linda.

Always has been, for that matter. It's just a little

worse now. Or better, depending on your point of

view."

"Better?"

"We've got a chance to start over. And we're doing

it. Every sweep the Rebels make means we clear

the crud and leave the good. There are people not fifty

yards from us who were once criminals. They were the

smart ones. They saw the writing on the wall and

realized that the only thing that faced them was a bullet

or a noose. We gave them a chance to redeem

themselves, and they took it. But those days are

over, Linda. There are too many outposts where people could

surrender. Few do. What we are now facing is the

hard-core criminal element. Those punks south of

us know we're coming. They could surrender, and we'd

accept it. But only for the next few days. After that,

no."

"It seems so brutal."

"It's practical." He glanced at her. "I'm

curious about something."

"Ask."

"With your almost total lack of combat experience,

why did you choose to be a part of a combat team?"

"Honestly?"

"That's the only way around here. You'll learn that."

"To try to understand you people. See what motivates you.

Ever since the Great War, I've heard about the

Rebels and Ben Raines. How you defied the

government and carved out the Tri-States."

"We were looking for peace, Linda. For a place where

we didn't have to lock our doors and live behind bars

and chain locks and elaborate security systems.

The United States wouldn't offer us a place-and

they could have-so we built one of our own. It worked,

and the government couldn't stand it. No one went

hungry, no one was homeless, everybody had

a job, no one was denied medical care, every child got

a good education, and the life expectancy of thieves

and punks and thugs and rapists and murderers was about

fifteen minutes. The United States government

couldn't stand our success. They destroyed the

Tri-States, but they couldn't kill the dream. We

just fought on."

"And you've been fighting ever since."

"That is correct. And we won't quit until

we've won." He smiled at her. But his eyes were

still unreadable.

Linda knew, somehow, at that moment that what Beth

had told her was true. This was a very dangerous man.

Dangerous not only because of his skill with weapons, but

because thousands of men and women would follow him

unhesitatingly through the gates of Hell in

pursuit of their dream.

Was she one of them? She wasn't sure.

"Lamar Chase gives you high marks," said Ben.

"He says you're a fine nurse."

"That's a crusty old man. But I like him.

Isn't he a little old to be out in the field?"

"Lamar will die out in the field, Linda. I long

ago ceased attempting to put him back in research

at our base camp. Just as he has given

up trying to tie me down to a desk or to make me

stay behind the lines."

"You enjoy it, don't you, General?" she asked

softly. "The fighting, the violence?"

Ben did not have to give that much thought. "I let myself

get out of shape for a time, Linda. I was making

lots of money and drinking too much. That was years

back, when the world was more or less functioning; that is

to say, when governments were still able to produce

results, however small. I would sit and read the

newspaper and watch the TV evening news and hear

how grown men were able to kidnap small children, keep

them prisoner for years, rape and sodomize them, and

when caught, receive a five-year prison sentence.

That's true, Linda. It happened more than once.

How gangs of teenage punks could beat and rape and

leave for dead in a ditch some unlucky person, and

in many cases draw no prison time at all because

some group of judges who sat on high had decreed

that anyone under the age of seventeen was not responsible

for his actions. But still he could get a driver's

license. We had some strange laws, Linda. And

I stress

had.

I would read or see how a family would come

home from work and find their home vandalized, every

precious memento they had gathered over the years

destroyed, and when caught, the guilty parties would

get a slap on the wrist and be turned loose.

How perverted assholes could torture helpless

animals and be guilty of no more than a

misdemeanor. How people who dared stand up for their rights

and use a gun to defend self, home, or

loved ones, would sometimes go to prison and the crud who

broke into their homes or cars or attacked them on

the streets could sue for damages. Did you ever stop

and ponder that, Linda? That a criminal was allowed

to sue his

victim

for damages? And in many cases

collect!

"There were those of us who wrote letters to newspapers and

national TV networks and news magazines. We

said that in our opinion something was terribly wrong with

our system of justice; it was warped, bent in favor

of the criminal. Many of the media people would immediately brand us

as bigots, or gun-nuts, or crazies. Therefore

fewer and fewer of us chose to voice our opinions.

Those who persisted were sometimes harassed by federal

agents. I know that to be true, because I was

one of those who were harassed.

"But because I had achieved some degree of fame as a

writer, with a respectable, if not a massive

following, I was not harassed nearly so relentlessly

as others with no clout."

She noticed Ben's smile and wondered about that.

He cleared it up.

"Of course, I had some years in the intelligence

community too. That probably helped with the

William W. Johnstone - Ashes 13 - Fury In The Ashes

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