William W. Johnstone - Ashes 10 - Trapped In The Ashes

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Trapped in the ashes

Ashes 10

William W. Johnstone

Love, like Death,

Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's

crook

Beside the scepter.

Bulwer-Lytton

The logic of the heart is absurd. De

Lespinasse

The Rebels dug in deep and tight and waited.

They were facing impossible odds and all knew it. But

the alternative was unacceptable; all preferred

death to surrender.

They had fought hard and well over the past weeks,

locked inside the concrete-and-steel canyons of

New York City. And their bulldog tenacity and

stand-or-die tactics had cost the Night People

hundreds of dead and wounded.*

Now they were cut off from the outside, locked inside

New York Cityin the harsh dead of winter, with

thousands of the cannibalistic Night People under the city,

ready to pour out of the subways and tunnels, erupting

like an ugly festering boil. Khamsin, the Libyan

terrorist, was knocking on the door with a full

division of troops.

Sister Voleta, the mother of Buddy Raines, and her

Ninth Order had joined the fight against Ben Raines

and her son-such was her hate for Ben Raines.

The Rebels were surrounded. To a person, they had

adopted the French Foreign Legion's motto:

Stand or die.

Just a few hours before Ben would order tear gas

pumped into the bowels of the city, he made one more

check of his people. Taking a contingent of Rebels, with

* Valor in the Ashes

-Zebra Books

Cooper his driver,Jersey his bodyguard, and

Beth with the radio, Ben headed south to the tip of

ManhattanIsland, leaving the Russian,

Georgi Striganov, in command. The war had made

allies of old enemies.

"I thought they'd hit us today, Ben," Ike said,

shaking Ben's hand.

Ben, tall and rangy, looked at Ike, built

like a fireplug. The ex-Seal, although pushing

middle age, was still a very powerful man. "That means

Khamsin is not yet in position. As soon as I

complete this tour, we start pumping in the gas."

"We're ready, Ben."

"Ready, General," Danjou, the French

Canadian, said.

Ben nodded and climbed back into his Blazer. They

headed to the east side ofManhattanIsland

to meet with Cecil and Rebet, the Russian

colonel.

"We're not going to have much breathing room for the next

few days," Ben told him.

Both men nodded. They knew the hard bind they were

all in. All the Rebels and their allies knew

there was no turning back.

Ben shook hands with the men. "Good luck, gentlemen."

No one among them had any illusions from the start that

the assault onNew York City would be easy.

But none had thought that Khamsin would ever leave South

Carolinaand join forces with the Night P. The

Rebels had fought their way across the shattered nation

to the great city. They had takenStaten Island and

prepared to launch their assault on the Big

Apple.

They had thought they were facing perhaps a few thousand

Night P. They soon found they were up against thousands

and thousands of the black-robed, unbathed, and stinking

cannibals.

But the numbers of the known enemy had not rattled Ben

Raines so much as once more coming face-to-face with the

only woman he had ever truly loved.

Jerre Hunter.

He had not seen her in years.

Seeing her had shaken the man right down to his

boots. He had put her out of his mind-almost. Far

enough back in the dark reaches that she did not daily

haunt him.

Now he looked at her every day. And she was still as

beautiful as that day he had first met her, so many

years ago. She had been a sophomore in

college when the germ and nuclear bombs had hit

America. Ben had foundeaher wandering around in

Virginia, and they had traveled together for a few

weeks. And Ben, twenty years her senior, had

realized only after she had left him that he was in

love.

"Life is certainly full of bumps and

surprises," Ben muttered, looking out the

window of the Blazer at the cold vastness of New

YorkCity, with sudden death lurking under the

streets.

"Beg pardon, sir?" his driver, Cooper,

asked.

Ben smiled at the young man. "Just talking to myself,

Coop."

They were onThird Avenue , just passing 116th

Street, whenJersey yelled, "Stomp on it,

Coop! They're all around us!"

The sidewalks had suddenly filled with creepies.

"Order the attack, Beth," Ben instructed.

"All personnel into gas masks and start the

pumps. Floorboard it, Coop. Run over

them."

Slugs hit the armor plate and the bulletproof

glass of the Blazer. It was a very uncomfortable

sensation.

Cooper rammed the Blazer into a mob of

black-robed creepies, crushing half a dozen

under the big knobby tires. The sounds of screaming

filled the interior of the Blazer, and the breaking of

bones was felt more than heard by those inside.

"Turn west on One Twenty-fifth, Coop,"

Ben told him, consulting a map. "Then

north on St. Nicholas."

"And Merry Christmas to you, too, sir," Cooper

said with a grin.

Ben laughed aloud. One thing about his Rebels:

fighting while badly outnumbered, a sense of

humor would help keep them going.

They cleared the few blocks full of creepies,

and Ben rolled his window down. Already the smell of

tear gas was sharp as it drifted down from the north.

"Masks, people," he ordered, slipping hisgas

mask over his head and adjusting the straps and

earpieces. "Never wore one in my life that was

comfortable," he muttered, forgetting that these were

mike-equipped, thanks to Katzman and his

communications people.

"Me, neither, General!" Cooper and Beth and

Jerseyall said.

They roared into Rebel-controlled territory and up

to the block where Ben's CP was located just in time

to see a mob of choking, coughing Night People come

staggering out of a building, nearly blind from the strong

gas.

"The crud had hidey-holes right across the friggin'

street from my office!"" Ben said.

"Damn!"" He bailed out of the Blazer,

Thompson at the ready.

He knelt on the sidewalk and leveled die

SMG, holding the trigger back, fighting the rise

of the powerful old weapon.

Ben sent a dozen of the cannibals into that long

sleep before he had to let off; another second more and

he'd be shooting out windows on the third floor.

The street was filled with black-robed crud, as far

as one could look in any direction. Coughing and

staggering, they walked and ran into death from the guns of the

Rebels. The air was thick with tear gas and

gunsmoke and the stinking, almost overpowering odor of the

unwashed bodies of the Night P.

One jumped on Ben's back, knocking him

sprawling, making him lose his grip on the

Thompson. Ben kicked the creature in the balls,

doubling him over, a silent shriek cut off in his

throat as vomit filled his mouth. Ben clawed out his

.45 and shot the offensive subhuman in the face,

the slug striking the man between his eyes, knocking him

backward.

Ben grabbed up his SMG with his left hand and went

racing up the street, Coop,Jersey , and Beth

right behind him.

"We sure flushed them, all right," Ben

panted.

"Flushed them all over usea8cameJersey 's

voice through the tiny speakers in the mask.

Ben ran up the steps to his command post and dirough the

door, running up the steps to the second floor and

into his office. Jerre was crouched behind a window.

She had shattered the window with the butt of her M16

and was firing into the mob of creepies. Ben stepped

to a window down the line from her and knelt down to insert

a full drum into the belly of his Thompson.

He lined up a row of black-robes and pulled the

trigger, letting the old "Chicago Piano" roar

its Wagnerian death chant. The line of choking,

nearly blinded black-robes went down like fallen

dominoes.

Jerre was picking her shots carefully, using

select fire, and each time she pulled the trigger a

black-robe hit the concrete.

Nothing like one's life being put on the line to turn

a peaceful poet into a Valkyrie, Ben thought.

Then he turned his attention back to the bloody

street.

The fighting had subsided in this sector, the street

littered with the fallen bodies of creepies. "We

can't let up," Ben said, and Beth nodded

her head, telling him she was receiving the transmission.

"Order search and destroy to begin immediately. Hunt

them down and hit them while they're still half blind."

Beth relayed the orders to unit commanders, and the

Rebels left their secured positions to enter the

buildings.

"Patch me through to Ike," Ben said.

"On the line, General."

"Ike. What's it look like in your sector?"

"Got "em layin" in the streets like pins in a

bowlin'alley, Ben. But they've taken to the

buildings, just like we knew they would. S and D?"

"Ten-four, Ike. We can't let up now.

Eagle out." To

Beth: "Get me Cecil."

"General Jefferys on the line."

"Gee. Search and destroy. Hit them hard now.

Eagle out. Beth, radio all units to enter the

buildings in their sector and destroy the

creepies."

"Yes, sir. Engineers want to know if they are

to keep up the pumping?"

"Reduce it by half but keep pumping in the gas

until I give the orders to stop. We've got

to push it down as far underground as we can."

"Yes, sir."

"General?" Jerre's voice entered his ear. He

looked at her, irritated that she used his rank

instead of his name. Another of the ways she had of

annoying the hell out of him. "Have you considered the

possibility that you may have to destroy this city in

order to win?"

"I have. But to do it now would only mean our deaths.

In case you've forgotten, we're trapped in here."

"I assure you I have not forgotten,

General!"

she popped back at him.

Jersey, Cooper, Beth, and all the other

Rebels in range of the battery-powered mask

mikes could do nothing except try to ignore the

exchange.

"Fine," Ben told her shortly. "I was wondering

if you should be hospitalized to check out that memory

loss."

"My memory is just fine!"

They exchanged heated looks through the visors.

"Unfortunately," Ben said, "so is mine."

Jerre narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

The voice of Ben's son came through the speakers.

"If you two don't cease this childish

quarreling, your visors are going to fog over and

someone is going to have to be assigned to lead you around."

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Trappedintheashes Ashes10 WilliamW.Johnstone Love,likeDeath,Levelsallranks,andlaystheshepherd'scrookBesidethescepter.Bulwer-LyttonThelogicoftheheartisabsurd.DeLespinasse TheRebelsdugindeepandtightandwaited.Theywerefacingimpossibleoddsandallknewit.Butthealternativewasunacceptable;allpreferreddea...

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William W. Johnstone - Ashes 10 - Trapped In The Ashes

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