William W Johnstone - Ashes 24 - Judgment in the Ashes (txt)

AFTER THE FALL

Ike spread a map on the hood of a HumVee and studied it for a moment.

"There is absolutely no way to tell which direction Ben might take," he

said. "He might head straight east, he might go north or south, he might

circle around and come up behind Bottger's men."

"You're sure they were Bottger's people?" Lamar Chase, the chief of

medicine, asked.

"Yes. The bodies are stretched out over there." Ike pointed to a row of

bodies laid out by the side of the road, covered with ground sheets.

"Any taken alive?"

"Two. One of them is badly hurt and won't live out the rest of the day.

He's been talking some. Ben has at least a hundred men, maybe twice that

number, chasing him." Ike waved a hand toward the east. "Out there in

all that thousands and thousands of acres of wilderness. I did some

training out there years back, Doc. Skilled trackers and experienced

woodsmen have gotten lost in that wilderness. Some of them were never

found."

"Were there any signs of Ben's being injured?"

"No traces of blood. Scouts say he's limping some."

"Hell, yes, he's limping. He's probably bruised from head to toe. Might

have cracked a bone or two. I don't see how he survived at all."

"He's lucky, Doc. Ben is the luckiest man I've ever known."

Lamar grunted. "You know, Ike, Ben's on his own now. No decisions to

make, no paperwork to wade through, no one breathing down his neck. And

you know what else?"

"What?"

"He's enjoying every damn minute of it!"

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4

William W. Johnstone

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6

Duty is the sublimest word in our language. Do your duty in all things.

Yoi} cannot do more. You should never wish to do lessJ

-Robert E. Lee

7 Prologue

Many citizens believed the collapse of America was inevitable. Just

before the total breakdown, voter participation in national elections

dropped to less than half of all registered voters taking part.

Candidate campaigning had deteriorated into nasty name-calling and

finger pointing, with real issues taking a back seat. For several

decades, it seemed that Americans just could not find a middle ground in

politics or in the enforcement of laws. Morals and values plummeted to

new lows. ?

And the government began snooping into nearly every aspect of citizens'

lives.

The IRS-which had become the most hated of all government agencies-knew

to the penny what every citizen had in his or her bank account. The

government had begun to view each citizen's income as not belonging to

them, but to the government, especially since the percentage most

American citizens had to pay the government had soared to over

fifty-five percent of their gross income.

In many respects, America had become a socialist nation.

And the liberals had finally gotten their wish: legislation had been

rammed through Congress effectively disarming American citizens, leaving

those who wished to be armed with only bolt-action hunting rifles and

double-barrel, single-shot, or pump shotguns. No semi-automatic rifles

or shotguns and absolutely no pistols in the hands of private citizens.

8

William W. Johnstone

Ammunition was heavily restricted and always registered. Government

agents could enter a citizen's home at any time without warrant or

warning. And did, often, with great enthusiasm.

And then the world seemed to go crazy, with brush wars popping up all

over the globe, and spreading rapidly. Finally the bottom dropped out.

One by one, governments all around the world began collapsing as

citizens revolted. Then came a limited germ and nuclear war that quickly

spread, leaving Earth without a stable government anywhere.

But there were those in America who had long predicted such an event.

They were called many names: militia, sur-vivalists, nuts, kooks,

gun-freaks, conspiracy-freaks, paranoid-and those were some of the

kinder names. But they had been correct in their thinking and

far-sighted in their planning. America was in trouble, and a long, hard

fall did indeed happen.

One of those who had predicted such terrible times for America was a

young ex-soldier/adventurer named Ben Raines. It would be safe to call

Ben a survivalist, but not a practicing type. That is to say he did not

belong to any group who trained in the woods and conducted live-fire

exercises. But Ben did believe in being ready, and when the fall came,

he knew what to do.

After prowling the nation for almost a year, Ben began to organize

people who shared his philosophical views of how a government should be

run, and how it should conduct itself. En masse they moved to the

Northwest, taking over three states as their own.

They called themselves Tri-Staters.

9

Where once there were only a few hundred, now there are thousands, Ben

thought, as he stood outside a building at the old Tucson International

Airport that was serving as his quarters and HQ and looked at the hustle

and bustle of Rebels going about their work.

Part of his command was billeted a few miles away at the old

Davis-Monthan AFB and 16 Batt, under the command of Mike Post, was

stretched out just north of the city as a first line of defense in case

that religious nut, Simon Border, decided to attack.

The campaign to rid the western part of America of punks and thugs was

over, and the back of the punk empire had been broken and the head cut

off. That much, at least, had been a success.

But now Ben faced a religious war with the hundreds of thousands,

perhaps millions of Simon Border supporters and followers, and that was

something he most definitely did not want.

But Ben could see no way out of it.

He had tried to talk some sense with Border, but the man was having none

of it. He considered Ben to be the great Satan, and was determined to

destroy him and anyone else who followed the Tri-States political

philosophy of a common-sense form of government.

And when Simon tried that, just as the nation was strug-

10

William W. Johnstone

gling to its feet, the country would be plunged into a religious war ...

a war that might not have an end, for even after all that had happened,

factions were still fighting in Northern Ireland.

Ben turned and went back into his office. With a sigh of resignation he

sat down behind his desk and looked at the pile of paperwork facing him.

Ben hated paperwork, but knew he had to do it. He picked up a pen and

went to work.

Hundreds of miles to the north, in one of his mountain hideaways, the

spiritual leader of millions of people, the Most Reverend Simon Border,

stared out the south-facing window and thought of Ben Raines.

He would not make the mistake of hurling untrained and untested troops

against Ben again. That was foolish and very arrogant on his part and

had cost the lives of hundreds of good men. Even as he pondered the

situation, thousands of his people were undergoing intensive field

training, learning as much as possible about the art of warfare.

Simon leaned back in his chair and smiled at the thought of the nation,

under his spiritual rule. What a glorious day that will be.

Ben pushed aside the stack of paperwork and leaned back in his chair. He

could not concentrate on the seemingly endless details of running a huge

army. Besides, something else was nagging at him: why was Simon Border

waiting? Why didn't he attack? The so-called religious leader had made

his brags, but nothing came of them.

"We've been here for six weeks," Ben muttered. "Growing stronger each

hour. Still the man does nothing."

"Anything from Mike?" the ever-present Jersey asked.

The very pretty and diminutive Jersey was Ben's self-appointed

bodyguard. Wherever Ben was, you would find Jersey shadowing him.

Mike was the Rebel chief of intelligence.

"Not in a couple of weeks," Ben replied.

Corrie the radio tech, had left her radio in the hands of

11

a relief operator and was relaxing with a cup of coffee. "High-level

recon flights is still showing nothing. We're still getting reports that

Simon's army is training, but they're in small units and it's a big area

to cover."

Beth, the statistician, laid aside her journal and looked up from her

desk. "And all action by Border's people east of the Mississippi River

abruptly stopped about three weeks ago and no fighting has been reported

since."

Cooper, the driver, said, "It just doesn't make any sense, boss. They

start an offensive all over America, then just stop. Why?"

Ben shook his head.

Anna, Ben's adopted daughter, whom he had found as a dirty-faced little

waif in Eastern Europe, turned her head with her close-cropped blond

hair and cut her pale eyes toward him. Young/old eyes that had seen far

too much for their age. "I am Catholic. Not a practicing Catholic, but

Catholic nonetheless. I will never bow to someone such as Simon Border.

If Simon does not want to bring the fight to us, we take the fight to him."

"I'm trying to avoid a religious war, Anna," Ben told her. "Not start one."

The young lady shrugged her shoulders. "Can't be avoided. You know as

well as I, Border is up to something dirty-all in the name of God, of

course. Personally, I think God turns His head and closes His eyes when

wars start."

Ben grunted. Personally, he believed the same way. "Perhaps, Anna. But

I'm not going to be the one to start this war."

Anna stood up, picking up her CAR as she did. "Did you ever consider

that you just might not have any choice in the matter, General Ben?" She

walked out the door.

"What did she mean by that?" Cooper asked. He shook his head. "Sometimes

that girl spooks me."

"It's the Gypsy in her," Ben said with a smile. "It's said

12

that some Gypsies are born with the ability to see into the future."

"The same is said of our medicine men," Jersey, who was part Apache,

said. "Personally I think it's all a bunch of shit." She walked outside

to join Anna.

Ben chuckled and returned to his paperwork. But in the back of his mind

he wondered what Simon Border was up to.

Simon was having some trouble of his own in his so-called paradise.

Hundreds of people who adamantly rejected his dictatorial type of

religion were making plans to clear out of Border's territory. These men

and women did not necessarily embrace the Tri-States philosophy, but

they certainly didn't want to live under Simon Border's rule.

Only problem with their leaving was that Simon had sealed his territory

tight; no one in, no one out.

"Then we have to fight," one leader of a small resistance group told his

followers.

"With what?" a woman asked. "Shovels and axes?"

Simon had disarmed any person who did not attend his churches and swear

lifetime allegiance to his rule.

Disarming a population and declaring the ownership of nearly all types

of firearms illegal is one of the most effective methods of stilling

dissent.

"We make bombs," Glenn Waite told his people. "We start blowing up army

barracks and police stations and local politicians."

"I can make bombs," another of Glenn's followers said. "It's really

pretty simple. With all of us working, we can make dozens. If the other

teams go along with it, we can have hundreds of bombs ready to go in a

very short time."

Glenn nodded his head. "I'll contact them. Most, if not all, will go

along, I'm sure. Get cracking on it, Martin. I'd

13

rather die fighting as a free man than live under the rule of Simon Border."

"Everything is calm back here, Ben," Cecil Jefferys, the president of

the SUSA and Ben's long-time friend reported. "We had a few minor

flare-ups here in the SUSA with some people who feel that Simon's way is

the best way, but they were quickly shown to the border and kicked out.

I'm sure we have others, but they're keeping a low profile and their

mouths shut."

"Then they're up to something, Cec."

Cecil sighed over the miles. "Yeah, I agree, Ben. And it worries me. But

we can't polygraph or PSE the entire population."

"No," Ben returned the sigh. "And I wouldn't want things to come to

that, anyway."

"Any word from Mike?"

"Not a peep. He's found him a woman up in Utah, I think. She's with a

guerrilla team, so Mike joined them."

"Ol' Mike's in love, huh?"

"Looks that way."

"Good for him."

"Everything is quiet here, Cec. And I still refuse to take the offensive

in this matter."

"I think you're doing the right thing, Ben. But if Simon's people start

slaughtering dissidents in his territory, you might be forced to change

your mind."

"You know something I should know, Cec?"

"No. But I wouldn't put something like that past the lunatic."

"Nor would I. All right, Cec. I'll bump you in a few days."

Ben returned to his desk and sat down, propping his boots up on a stack

of paperwork he just simply quit on. "Corrie,

14

William W. Johnstone

when is Thermopolis and his 19 HQ Batt scheduled to pull in?"

"Sometime tomorrow."

Ben pointed to the paperwork. "When they get here, give all that crap to

them. That's what HQ is supposed to do, not me."

"Right, boss. Boss?"

Ben cut his eyes.

"Some of the people were wondering about Simon Border. They know that

Border's country is based, sort of, on his weird philosophy, but other

than that, what kind of government does he have?"

"Socialistic, for the most part. Everything is state run. Collective

farming and so forth; everything that anyone does is for the state, not

for the individual. The state, of course, being Simon Border and his

inner circle and friends." Ben smiled. "I think the people can have tiny

gardens all their own."

"Well, that's damn charitable of Nutbrain Border," Cooper said.

"It didn't work in Russia," Beth said, laying aside an old paperback

novel she had found along the way. Ben took note of the author, Linda

Howard. He had known her back before the world erupted into war. "It was

beginning not to work in China-according to what I've been able to read.

Capitalism is the only form of government that's worth a damn."

"Thank you, Professor Beth," Cooper said.

"You're welcome, Coop." Beth stuck her nose back into the book.

Mackenzie's Mountain, Ben observed.

"What is so great about that type of government, boss?" Coop asked.

"Nothing, as far as I'm concerned," Ben replied. "Personally, I think it

stinks. And Simon and his followers could have it, if they'd just back

off and stay away from us."

"Message coming in from Mike," Corrie said, holding up her hand.

15

Ben took the mic. "Go. Mike."

"I'll keep this short, Ben," the chief of intelligence said. "Simon is

just about ready to make his move against you. In addition, there are

hundreds of people living in his territory who are ready to fight him

just as soon as you give the word. I'll give Corrie the map coordinates

for air drops. We need weapons and ammo in the worst way."

"You'll get them, Mike. There is no hope Simon will back off?"

"No, Ben. None. But what difference would it make if he did back off?

He's sealed his borders and refused to allow dissidents to leave. He's

using force to coerce people to worship his way. He's preparing to kill

any who oppose him. Make virtual slaves out of those who survive the purge."

Ben sighed and shook his head. He had noticed today that the gray was

spreading rapidly among his once dark brown hair. Well, hell, Ben

thought, it was time for him to gray. "Then I guess that does if, Mike.

His armies have been training hard, right?" ]

"Right, Ben. We've got tweniy battalions to field, he's got a hundred

and twenty and more in reserve. They won't be making the mistakes they

did at first. Count on that."

"I'll never understand how he got so many people to go along with his

nutty plans."

"Long story, Ben. I'm still piecing it together. Someday we'll sit down

over a pot of coffee and talk it out. But for right now, you'd better

get ready for the fight of your life."

"Okay, Mike.

"Good luck." Mike broke it off.

Ben turned to find his team looking at him. "Get the Batt Corns in here,

Corrie. Let's start making plans."

"Are we going to carry the fight to Simon's people, boss?" Cooper asked.

"I guess so, Coop," Ben's words were softly offered. "I don't see that

we have any choice in the matter."

16 Two

The battalion commanders began assembling. Ben had reshuffled some of

the battalion designations and eliminated a few others. Ike McGowen, a

man who had been with Ben since the beginning, was the commander of 2

Batt. Ike was an ex-Navy SEAL and only a few years younger than Ben. Ike

struggled with his weight, but no matter what he did, he still resembled

a big teddy bear. The Englishman, Dan Gray, commanded 3 Batt. Dan was a

former British SAS officer. West, the ex-mercenary, was the commander of

4 Batt. Georgi Striganov, the former Russian airborne commander,

commanded 5 Batt. Rebet was the commander of 6 Batt. Danjou, the

Canadian, commanded 7 Batt. Buddy Raines, Ben's son, was the commander

of 8 Batt, the special operations battalion. Tina, Ben's daughter,

commanded 9 Batt. Tina and West were engaged and would someday be

married. Someday, when the fighting was over. Pat O'Shea, the wild

Irishman, was the commander of 10 Batt. Green-wait commanded 11, and

Jackie Malone, a very pretty lady who was pure hell when it came to

discipline, was the commander of 12 Batt. Raul Gomez commanded 13 Batt;

Jim Peters, the Texan, 14 Batt. Buck Taylor was the commander of 15

Batt; Mike Post of 16 Batt; Paul Harrison commanded 17 Batt; and Nick

Stafford commanded 21 Batt. Thermopo-lis, the ex-hippie, was the

commander of Headquarters Battalion, designated 19 Batt. 18 and 20 Batts

had been incorporated into other battalions. Each battalion in the Rebel

17

army carried its own large contingent of tanks and artillery and heavy

mortars. Each had an additional platoon of Scouts, a group of cold-eyed

young men and women who had undergone some of the most brutal training

ever devised by humankind. The Scouts were used for all sorts of dirty

jobs, and were not happy unless they were taking incredible chances,

usually working behind enemy lines, cutting throats. The battalions that

made up the Rebel army were over-sized, several times larger than

conventional battalions, about half the size of a regiment, so companies

were larger, platoons were larger, squads were larger.

"Looks like we're into it, gang," Ben announced, after everyone had

pulled mugs of coffee and taken a seat. "Against my better judgment," he

added.

The batt corns sat silently. To a person, the news came as no surprise.

They knew that while Ben had been agonizing over this decision, he would

never tolerate any threat toward the SUSA.

Ben brought the batt corns up to date, laying out every piece of

intelligence he had received over the past seventy-two hours. When it

was all added up, there was no doubt in anyone's mind but that Simon was

going to attack.

"We know Simon has little in the way of heavy artillery," Ben continued.

"But that he has plenty of mortars. And one hell of a lot of warm bodies

to throw at us. We can certainly expect suicide charges. And we all know

how unpleasant those are," he said, very drily.

"We're going to be all over the map, aren't we, Ben?" Ike asked.

"Yes. Sometimes we're going to have to operate as guerrilla units, other

times standing and slugging it out with Simon's people."

"How many small guerrilla units does Mike report operating in Simon's

territory?" Paul Harrison asked.

"No firm count, Paul. Mike just said there were dozens

18

William W. Johnstone

of them. We've been dropping them supplies for weeks, so they should be

ready to go."

The Russian, Georgi Striganov, stood up and walked over to a huge wall

map, staring at it for a moment. He shook his head. "We could very

easily be bogged down here for months, even years," he said.

"Months is very likely, almost a certainty, but years is not going to

happen," Ben told him. "I'll pull out and bunker in back home if I see

signs of that happening."

"Placement of the battalions, General?" Raul Gomez asked what was

foremost on all the batt corns' minds.

Ben moved to the wall map. "I'll be taking my 1 Batt and heading west in

the morning. Ike will follow seventy five miles behind me." Ben smiled.

"Approximately, that is. The rest of the battalions will stretch out

behind Ike, running west to east at seventy-five mile intervals, in

numerical order, with the exception of Therm's 19 Batt, which will be in

the center of the line. At El Paso, those remaining battalions will turn

north, maintaining the mileage intervals. That will be approximately ten

battalions stretched out between San Diego and El Paso. That will leave

eight battalions, not counting 19 Batt, to make the turn north,

stretching out for some six hundred miles. That should put them almost

to Dodge City. I have spoken with various militia leaders and they have

agreed to plug the gap between Dodge City and the Canadian border. The

southern front pushes north, the eastern front pushes west. That will

include the militia. And they have agreed to come under my command, so

we will supply them whenever they request it, with whatever they

request. We've stockpiled enough supplies for a sustained campaign, so

we're going to be loaded, and therefore not able to make much time on

these bad roads. That will make us very susceptible for ambush and

Simon's people will be lying in wait for us, bet on that. So heads up

all the way. Get your people ready to roll. That's it."

19

After the batt corns had left, Ben sat outside for a few minutes,

smoking a cigarette, Dr. Lamar Chase with him. Lamar had been with Ben

since the beginning of the dream of a new form of government, a

government whose laws were based on common sense. Lamar gave the

cigarette in Ben's hand some disapproving looks, but kept his mouth shut

about it.

"You're getting too old for the field, Lamar," Ben brought up the

subject he knew he had to address. "You should sit this one out."

Lamar surprised Ben by saying, "I know it."

Ben looked at the older man. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to sit this one out? It's going to be a rough one."

"Of course not. I'll think about retiring from the field when you quit

smoking."

"You mean I'm going to have to put up with you for the next twenty years?"

Lamar smiled. "If you persist in sucking on those damn cigarettes, yes."

"I don't smoke that many a day, Lamar."

"That's what they all say, Raines."

"Nothing worse than having to listen to the preaching from a reformed

smoker, a reformed drunk, or a reformed whore," Ben grumbled.

Lamar laughed at Ben's expression.

William W Johnstone - Ashes 24 - Judgment in the Ashes (txt)

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