William W. Johnstone - Ashes 06 - Wind in the Ashes

DEATHWATCH

The word spread like a raging forest fire across the

torn nation: Ben Raines is dying.

Sam Hartline's spotters reported large

groups of Rebels gathered around Ben's command post,

standing quietly. Waiting.

Then the word came, buzzing out of the radios:

The Eagle is dead.

Hartline sent in a team to check it out. They

reported back with grim satisfaction. Ben

Raines was dead. The Rebel movement was in chaos.

Sam Hartline leaned back in his chair and howled

his laughter.

"Get the boys ready," he ordered. "We're

gonna kick those damn Rebels into the sea!"

WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE THE PREACHER

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Wind in the Ashes

BY WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

PINNACLE BOOKS KENSINGTON PUBUSHING

CORP.

httpccwww.williamjohnstone.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters 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 entirely coincidental.

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third

Avenue New York, NY 10022

Copyright [*copygg'1986 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:

December, 1986

First Pinnacle Printing: January, 1998 10

9 8 7 6 5 4

Printed in the United States of America

Me, comprenez-vous?

Non, je ne vous comprends pas!

I bend but do not break.

-Jean de la Fontaine

Book One

Chapter One

Ben stood in the deep timber that surrounded his

camp and listened to the sounds of nature returned

to pure nature. Was earth's destruction the work of

God? he pondered. Back in '88, when the world's

leaders finally decided upon the ultimate answer

to everything-war-was God's hand guiding the human hand

that pushed the button?

Had He tired of it all? Had He so wearied

of humankind's continuous screwing-up that He, not

mere man, decided upon the ultimate response?

Ben didn't know. But he strongly suspected his

suspicions were correct.

I am facing so many problems, he silently

mused. And not the least important of them is the

matter of getting back to God. If this shattered and

battered land is to ever pull itself out of the ashes and

back to some degree of normalcy, the land and its people

are going to have to have some divine help.

Not a very religious man, and certainly not a

praying man, Ben felt impotent in his lack of

ability to communicate with The Man.

He thought of Gale. He smiled. Or The

Woman-

whatever the case may be.

But, he thought with a sigh, I firmly believe the

age of miracles is long past. And since God

so loved His warriors, perhaps He is looking

to warriors to aid Him. So-he touched the butt of his

shoulder-slung Thompson-let us give God a

helping hand.

But, he mused, looking heavenward, it is a

two-way door, Lord. I can't do it alone. So

don't leave me alone. Lend me a hand.

Amen. Or whatever.

Ike and Colonel Dan Gray stood several

hundred meters back from Ben, watching him.

"I do believe the general is praying,"

Colonel Gray remarked.

"Probably," Ike agreed. "Ben never

wanted the role of leader. He damn sure never

asked for it. Everybody just thrust it at him without

giving him any options. I'll say this, though: a

hundred years from now, when this nation is once more

functioning, and historians are writing about how it

pulled itself out of the ashes of war, that man standing right

over there will be the man they write about."

"Most assuredly. I do wish he'd carry a more

modern weapon, however. That damned old Thompson

has to be fifty years old."

Ike grinned. "There isn't an original part

left in that thing. It's been reworked so many times it's

practically brand new."

They watched as Ben touched the stock of the

Thompson submachine gun and turned, looking at

the men looking at him.

"Does Ben know that weapon is nearly as revered

and feared as he is?" Gray asked.

"Yes. But he doesn't know what to do about either."

Ben walked toward his friends and fellow warriors.

"If he pulls this off," Gray said, referring

to the upcoming confrontation with the Russian commander of the

IPF, Striganov, and the mercenary, Hartline,

"Ben will be more feared and revered than before."

"He knows that too. He also knows he doesn't

have any choice in the matter. He's just got to do it,

and he's going to."

Ben was fast approaching them.

"He's fully recovered from his wounds," Gray

observed. "And you know what that means."

Ben settled it. "Assimilate all the recon

intel thus far received," he ordered.

"Ike, get on the horn and tell your motorized

battalion to push it. Get here. Both of you meet

me in my CP in one hour. We're jumping off in

forty-eight hours."

Ike grinned. "Yes,

sir!"

"It's going to be a bloody son of a bitch!"

Ben told the Rebels gathered in his command post.

He pointed to a spot on the map on the table.

"Striganov and Hartline control everything, and I

mean

everything,

from the Nevada line west to the coast in this area of

California. In Oregon, Hartline's people control

everything west of Highway Ninety-seven. Now both

men have their people spread pretty thin. But even at that,

we're going to be badly outnumbered."

"Ain't we always?" a young lieutenant muttered,

caught herself, flushed, and glanced at Ben.

"Sorry, General."

Ben smiled. "That's all right. And you're right.

But right, I think, is the key word here. We're

right, and they're wrong. Now, our recon intel shows

that Striganov and Hartline have beefed up their own people

considerably by enlisting a lot of these local

warlords. Their people are, for the most part, ill-trained with a

noticeable lack of discipline; but they're very

savage. As much as I despise Hartline and

Striganov, I will give them credit for having

professional soldiers under their commands. But we must

not discount the warlords. Bear that in mind-always!

"I hate to split our forces. But under the

circumstances, I don't see any other way

to accomplish our mission. We're not going to stand and

slug it out, people. We try that, and we'll get

creamed. As good as we are, we can't survive against

these overwhelming odds in a stand-up, conventional type

of war."

Ben paused, noting the grins of Ike and Gray.

"You two apes find something amusing about all this?"

he asked.

"Oh, quite, General," Gray said.

"Oh, just ducky, lovey," Ike mimicked the

Englishman's precise manner of speaking. Something

the Mississippi-born Ike had been doing for

years.

The two men were very close friends, although that was hard

to pick up from listening to them.

Dan looked at Ike. "Cretin!"

"Smartass!" Ike popped back.

"Barbarous pirate!" He was referring to Ike's

belonging to the famous, or infamous, Navy

SEAL'S.

"Stuck-up snob!" Ike told him. Dan had

been a member of England's famous, or infamous,

depending on one's point of view, SAS.

"Illiterate redneck!" Dan countered.

Ben let them have at it, knowing that when soldiers

stop bitching and joking, you have a very bad morale

problem.

Colonel Dan Gray drew himself up to full

height and sneered at Ike. "Of course,

my

Scouts will lead the way into this upcoming fray."

"That's

your

ass!" Ike popped off. "Your Scouts couldn't

find their way to the bathroom. SEAL'S go in first.

My

people will spearhead."

Ben put an end to it and brought everyone in the tent

to full alertness and shocked silence.

"Rangers

lead the way," he said. "I'm picking a team and

we'll jump in."

"Now see here, General!" Gray said, his tone

shocked. "That is totally unacceptable.

Generals

do

not

lead the way. Why ...!" he blustered.

Ike pounded on the table. "I'll be goddamned,

Ben!" he shouted at his closest friend. "You'll

jump in over my ass!"

The lieutenants and captains in the room stood

and stared in shock at Ben Raines. The general's

hair was salt-and-peppered with age. He had to be

fifty years old. And he'd just been hideously

wounded during the battle with Hartline.* If something

happened to Ben Raines? ...

No one even liked to think about that. General

Raines was the Rebels. General Raines was the

* Alone in the Ashes

very core of the movement to pull the ailing country out

of the ashes. Many people throughout the war-ripped nation thought the

man to be a god. The underground people worshipped him;

altars had been built around the nation, erected

to Ben Raines. The man was a living legend.

"I lead the way," Ben said quietly,

calmly. He stared Ike into silence. "There

will be no more discussion on that topic. Those of us who will

be jumping in will use steerable dash chutes. See

to them, Lieutenant Barris," he said, looking at

the young woman who had spoken earlier. "You will lead

a team in with me."

"Yes, sir." Like every woman she knew, she was

in love with Ben Raines. Like every person her age,

the young Rebel could not remember when the nation had been

whole; when there were schools and factories and law and

order and places of safety and productivity.

She had been eight years old when the world

exploded. As so many had done, she had forced the past

from her mind, not wishing to relive the horror.

"Now, as to why these two jokers"-he cut his

eyes to Dan and Ike-"were insulting each other.

We will fight a guerrilla war once inside the

areas controlled by the enemy. We will carry in as much as

we can stagger with. And we're going to be heavily

loaded. We're going to be forced to live off the land.

I suspect this operation will take a long time. I'm

looking at six months, minimum. We are not going

to leave the enemy-controlled area until the

Russian and Hartline are dead. They are the main

stumbling block in getting this country on the right

track back to normalcy. Dan, we'll

go over the maps, then you'll send

Pathfinders in to lay out the DZ."

"Yes, sir."

"Ike, get on the horn and tell Cecil

to get out here. He's going to have to take command of the

battalion kept in reserve. We've got

to pull all the stops out, people. All right, get

cracking!" He glanced at Lieutenant Barris.

"Stay."

"Yes, sir." She felt a flush of sexual

excitement as she looked into Ben's eyes.

Perhaps they could ... his

Chapter

Two

"If you weren't good at your job,

Lieutenant," Ben said to her, after the command post had

emptied, "Ike wouldn't have picked you."

"Thank you, sir."

"What is your first name?"

"Sylvia."

"Sylvia it is. How old are you?"

"Twenty-three, sir."

Jesus! Ben thought, suppressing a grimace.

He suddenly felt every bit of his age.

"Where were you born, Sylvia?"

"Michigan, sir. I mean, I guess I was

born there. That's where I was when ... everything fell

apart."

"You were about eight or nine." Not a question.

"Eight, I think, sir. I've ... uh ..."

"Suppressed it," Ben said gently.

"Yes, sir."

"I don't blame you. There was a lot of human

filth prowling around back then. We had a way of

dealing with them back in the Tri-States."

"Yes, sir. I remember."

So she had been one of the survivors of the old

Tri-

States, Ben thought. One of the few to escape that

bloody time. Ben tried to at least know the faces of

those who served under him, but sometimes it was impossible.

He looked at Sylvia. Brown hair, worn

short for the field. About five five. Slim, but with

an aura of strength emanating from her. Pale green

eyes. Pretty, with a sassy sort of look about

her.

She met his direct stare.

"All right, Sylvia. Thank you."

"Will that be all, sir?"

"For the time being, Sylvia." He left the

unspoken open.

She left the command post, conscious of General

Raines's eyes on a certain part of her

anatomy. She knew, as did everyone else, that the

general liked the ladies.

That was fine with Sylvia; all Ben had to do was

ask.

Walking away from the command post, she wondered how

Ben Raines survived the initial shocks of

war?-"way back when she was just a little girl.

Wasps, probably. Although Ben would never know for

sure. He had been a writer, living in the

Delta of Louisiana. A loner, people called him.

He had been a member of the super-secret Hell

Hounds. That small and highly elite branch of the

U.s. Army; its ranks filled with Green

Berets, Rangers, A.f. Commandos, Marine

Force Recon, Navy SEAL'S and UDT. They

were the most highly trained battalion of men in the

world.

Ben had taken his experiences in dozens of tiny

brush wars around the globe and put them on paper,

becoming a widely read author.

On the first day of the germ-warfare attacks on the

U.s., Ben had been hit by dozens of

yellow-jacket wasps and stung

into unconsciousness. He had been told by medical

people that that had probably saved his life, counteracting

the biological warfare that floated invisibly around

the globe. Then the bombings had begun, and Ben had

drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of the

horror that was taking place around the world. He was

sick for many days, barely surviving the venom from the

wasps.

When he was back on his feet, he discovered the

terrible fate the world had suffered.

His sole goal had been to travel the U.s.,

transcribing on paper and tape recordings, and then

chronicling the events in a book, a book that,

hopefully, would tell the why and how of it all.

But it was not to be.

He discovered that he had been picked to lead the

nation back from devastation, to bring it out of the ashes.

But Ben didn't want the job, and had told the

people he didn't.

They insisted, and in the end, Ben found himself the

leader of thousands.

Tri-States was formed. A country within a

country; a place where crime was virtually

nonexistent, where everyone who wanted work

found it. It was not a Utopian society, for the

laws in the Tri-States were harsh if violated.

And it did not matter how rich or how poor one

was; the law was the law. Outside the

boundaries of the Tri-States, the rest of the nation was

picking itself up and trying to function, and Ben

Raines's critics were many and vocal. Ben

Raines became a hated and feared man.

He was so hated his own brother tried to kill him.

A member of a neo-Nazi hate group, the

elder brother had slipped past the closed borders

of the Tri-States and tried to assassinate his

brother, almost succeeding.

Probably the darkest day in America history

came when the government sent troops in to smash the

Tri-States. They'd destroyed the small nation,

but could not kill the dream of Ben Raines and his

Rebels.*

But Ben, with a handful of survivors, had

escaped, and waged a guerrilla war against those in

power in America.

A decade after the bombings that ruined the world, a

plague had struck the world, and civilization was no

more.

The world's population was reduced to roving

gangs, warlords, dog-eat-dog savagery and

barbarism.

Raines's Rebels grew in size and number as

people realized that Ben was the key to bringing back-if that was

possible-some degree of stability.

Then the Russian Striganov and his

IPF-InTERNATIONAL Peace Force-entered the

U.s., teaming up with the mercenary Sam Hartline.

Striganov's dream was a pure white nation. He

began systematically destroying human beings.

Until Ben Raines stepped

*Out of the Ashes

in to stop him. They had been at war ever since.

New territory, Ben thought, sitting alone in his

command post. We'll be going into new territory. And

we have so few planes and pilots, most of my people will

have to come in by truck. Or on foot. The pilots will

have to make many, many drops, resupplying us. And that

will put their lives in very high risk.

He minutely shook his head, thinking: Can't be

helped. There is no other way. Striganov and

Hartline must be stopped, once and for all.

Ben rose from his chair and walked out of his command

post, getting into his pickup and traveling to the

airstrip. There, he walked around the

planes, visually inspecting. They were old, but in

fine shape. The pilots, many of whom had been with

Ben from the outset, years back, were in one of the

buildings, going over maps, plotting their course.

Ben walked to the largest of the buildings still standing.

Lieutenant Barris was using that for her riggers

to inspect and repack each chute.

The clock was ticking. Jump-off time was fast

approaching.

Ben wondered if Rani was still alive.

In his command post in northern California,

General Striganov wondered when the attack would

come. He now knew for certain, through his recon

teams, that Ben Raines was indeed alive and massing

his people for attack.

The war to end all wars, the Russian thought,

humor touching his mind. How many times have men repeated

that phrase?

There never will be a war to end all wars. Not as long

as there are two people remaining on earth with two opposing

ideas and there is a club or a stone handy.

It is the nature of humankind to fight,

Striganov mused. Men fighting over women, women

fighting over men. Both sexes fighting over

territory, or religion, or whatever one

has the other wants.

Sam Hartline was the perfect example of that.

Sam Hartline was the universal soldier. And he

really didn't give a damn which side he was

fighting for, or on.

But the Russian was glad Hartline was on his

side. The man was a savage. A fine soldier;

a good, if not brilliant, tactician. And he

could take and carry out orders.

As long as he was supplied with women.

The man was the epitome of a satyour. Completely

insatiable. And he liked to inflict pain on the

woman of choice. But then, the Russian thought, so

do I.

His thoughts turned bitter as he thought of the woman

Hartline had kidnapped from Ben Raines. Rani.

The Russian had been unable to break her. He had

beaten her, abused her mind and body, and raped her.

Then, in disgust, he had given her to Hartline.

It seemed she had screamed for days after that

decision.

Before she died.

The Russian turned his chair, looking through the

window toward the north. He hoped Hartline and his

men were in place. And he hoped neither of them

would underestimate Ben Raines. He didn't

believe the man loved Rani. But he was quite certain

Ben had been fond of her.

Ben Raines would be very irritated when he learned

of Rani's death. But that woujd not make the man

careless. Raines was too fine a soldier for that. The

Russian had thought about digging up the body of

Rani and having it airlifted and dropped

into Raines's territory. He had rejected that

idea. Knowing it would accomplish nothing; just waste

fuel. Ben Raines was not the type to be angered

into any careless move.

Striganov knew the upcoming battle would be

costly in terms of human life. But that was

unimportant in the final analysis. Just as long

as the Russian came out victorious.

And he felt he would.

"Come on, General Raines," he muttered.

"Let us finish this."

Sam Hartline sat in the den of the house he had

chosen as his own. He had recovered from the wounds Ben

Raines had inflicted upon him. And because he was a

professional soldier, he did not hate Ben

Raines. Indeed, Hartline respected the man.

In his own peculiar way.

His one regret about the whole miserable affair was

Rani dying on him.

Not that she was dead. Hell, he didn't care about

that.

He never could get the woman to renounce her

faith in Ben Raines and betray him.

Right up to the end she had sworn Ben Raines was

the better man.

That

pissed Hartline off.

For the life of him, Sam Hartline could not understand

what pulled people to Ben Raines. Long, tall drink

of water was just a man, goddammit. Not a god. Just

a man. Not a god.

Hartline had to keep that thought in mind. Ben

Raines was a mortal, flesh-and-blood man.

That's all.

Wasn't he?

All those damn fool people erecting monuments

to Ben. Those people thinking he was God. That was stupid.

There was no God. Never had been. When you were dead,

you were dead. That's all she wrote.

Right?

"Ben?" Ike walked up to him.

"Ike."

"We just got word from our deep recon people." He

seemed to hesitate.

"Give it to me, Ike. We're both old

soldiers, buddy; we've buried too many friends."

And wives, Ike thought, thinking of times past.

"Rani's dead, Ben."

"I felt she was. How?"

"Hard. The Russian gave her to Hartline."

"Well try to take Hartline alive," Ben

said.

Ike suppressed a shudder. He did not like

to think what Ben had in mind, for he had seen Ben

operate too many times. The man could be totally

ruthless.

"We'll try. But no guarantees."

"None asked. What's the word on your motorized

battalion?"

"They're pushing hard. Cecil is on his way

out. That doesn't leave too many back at Base

Camp One."

"Keep me advised." Ben walked away.

Sylvia walked up to Ike's side. "What's

the matter, sir?" she asked.

Ike ignored that. Ben's personal business was

his own. At least the dead personal

business. "In a few hours, General Raines will

need someone ... just company, probably. Stay

close by. He likes you."

"Why?" Her question was honestly asked.

"Beats me, honey," he drawled. "With Ben,

you never know."

"I'm sure not the prettiest girl in camp."

"Pretty ain't got nothin" to do with it,

Sylvia. Ben was a writer before he became a

general. I never in my life met a writer that

wasn't weird."

Chapter Three

They talked deep into the night, with Ben doing most

of the talking. Sylvia was content to just listen. Even

though she didn't know, sometimes, what the general was

talking about. He spoke of things she had never heard

of, but she never let on. She felt he knew her

education was spotty, at best. She reached the

conclusion that Ben Raines was a lonely man. Had

been a lonely man for a long time. There were questions she

wanted to ask of him, but felt it was best to wait.

"Any family left, Sylvia?"

"No, sir. Not that I know of."

Ben looked at her. She noticed his eyes were a

mixture of sad and hard. She had never

noticed that before. But then, she had never really been that

close to the general.

"Thank you for coming by and talking with me, Sylvia,"

Ben said. "I needed someone close to me this night."

Was that a dismissal? Damn! she didn't know.

"I enjoyed it, General."

"All the chutes repacked?"

"Yes, sir. We're sittin' on go."

Ben smiled at her. "Going to be a tough one,

Sylvia."

"Yes, sir. I know. But I've been fighting

seems like all my life. I'll probably be

fighting when I die."

Is that the sum total of it all? Ben silently

wondered. Will we ever know peace? No, he answered

his own question. We will know moments of peace, perhaps

weeks or a few months of peace, but never know it

as my generation did. "I'm afraid you're

probably right, Sylvia. And for that, my generation

owes your generation a deep and profound apology."

"I don't understand, sir."

She really doesn't, Ben thought. The girl has

no concept of what life was like Before. Only After.

How sad. As pretty as she is, Sylvia would have

probably been a cheerleader or pom-pom

girl; perhaps a majorette. Steamy kisses in the

dark-darkened seat of a boy's car while the radio

played what passed for music back in the

1980's.

Before civilization was destroyed at the hands of

power-hungry men with domination uppermost in their

minds.

"Penny for your thoughts, General?" she asked,

smiling.

William W. Johnstone - Ashes 06 - Wind in the Ashes

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