William W Johnstone - Ashes 17 - Battle in the Ashes (txt)

SPECTER OF DEATH

Ben Raines and the company of Rebels walked into the town just as dusk

settled over the land. The surrendering Blackshirts sat on the curbs and

sidewalks, their hands on top of their heads. None of them would meet

Ben's eyes. They were terrified of him. More than a few crossed

themselves when he drew near.

Ben turned to Lieutenant Ballard. "Jackie, what's going on here?"

"We haven't been able to figure that out, sir," she replied. "At first,

we thought it might be some sort of trick."

Another Rebel walked up. "They believe you have supernatural powers,

General. They think you're a shape-changer."

A low murmuring began as the Blackshirts spotted Ben ambling along,

carrying the old Thompson.

"El Lobo! El lobo espectro!"

Ben caught the phrase being used and it amused him.

They were calling him Ghost Wolf.

2

BENEATH THE CALM OF THE DEEP, BLUE SEA, HEART-POUNDING DANGER AWAITS

DEPTH FORCE

THE ACTION SERIES BY IRVING A. GREENFIELD

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3

BATTLE IN THE ASHES

WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

4

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 entirely coincidental.

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.

475 Park Avenue South

New York, NY 10016

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

excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Zebra and the Z logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

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."

First Printing: May, 1993

Printed in the United States of America

5

BOOK ONE

6

7

The Rebels had sailed tens of thousands of miles, fighting pitched

battles on island nations from Ireland and England, south around the

Horn, then northwest up to Hawaii and back to America. They had freed

hundreds of thousands from the yoke of slavery and tyranny and thought

that when this voyage was over, they could rest for a time.

That was not to be.

The war-weary Rebels were returning to America to begin preparations for

what would soon be the largest guerrilla action ever undertaken in

modern history.

They had discovered while fighting halfway around the world that a

massive army had been training for years in South America. The army's

mission: to conquer what was left of North America and reeducate its

citizens ... those that would be left after a savage purge of men,

women, and children they considered to be inferior.

Nazism had once more reared up its ugly face and was on the march,

goose-stepping its way north. But the new leader making use of Hitler's

ravings was more subtle

8

in his indoctrination methods. Within the ranks of the New Army of

Liberation could be found men and women of all races, all nationalities,

all colors. The man behind the movement knew that he must use people of

all colors in order to win. After the battle was won, then he would

purge his ranks of those he considered inferior. But in order to do

that, once the battle was won, he would need the help of a certain type

of North American ... a rather ignorant type of person. Unfortunately,

that type still existed in large numbers in North America, for as much

as some Rebels might want to, they couldn't just shoot anyone who did

not subscribe to their way of thinking.

Even though the world would be much better off had they done just that.

Years before the Great War ravaged the world, offshoots of nearly every

terrorist group operating around the globe had learned of the new

movement and rushed to South America to join the ranks. A terrorist

lives for terror, to kill and maim and destroy. Terrorists don't

particularly care what cause they're fighting for (many soon forget

their original passion and live only for the blood-letting), as long as

they are causing pain, spilling blood and blowing this and that to bits

... including old people, babies, animals, and other innocents. But

terrorists almost always share one philosophy: they hate America and

Americans with a red-hot passion. So when the world's many terrorist

groups learned that an army was being secretly formed and trained to

take over America, they jumped at the chance.

Then the Great War blew the world apart. The New Army of liberation

stayed down and low and continued training in small bases all over the

jungles and mountains

9

of South America. Soon after the germ and nuclear strikes, one man

emerged out of the rubble and panic and confusion and chaos of war.

He was an American, and his name was Ben Raines.

Now the terrorists and the bigots and the hate-mongers and the lawless

and the ignorant and the lazy and worthless of the world could really

have someone to hate.

Ben Raines.

Ben soon formed a small gathering of like-minded people. They spread out

all over the country, seeking others who shared their philosophy of

living and their dreams of rebuilding the shattered nation. While the

central government (politicians) of the United States were still

staggering around and pointing fingers of blame at each other and

appointing and forming seemingly endless (and useless) committees to

study this and that, Ben Raines and his growing band of followers, soon

to be called Rebels, were cleaning out and setting up their own brand of

government in the Northwest. It was called Tri-States, and before the

nitwit politicians who made up the new central government of the United

States, its capital now in Richmond (Washington, D.C. had been

destroyed, and many Americans, whether a part of the Rebels or not, felt

that was long overdue) knew what was happening, they discovered that

there was a country within a country, and everything was just fine in

the Tri-States.

The Tri-States had zero crime, zero unemployment, clean, pure running

water, electricity, social services, schools that really taught the

young, medical care for all, and all the other amenities that made life

good for the law-abiding. And things just hummed right along in

10

the Tri-States. And they did it all without help from the central

government, and even had the audacity to tell the central government to

keep their noses out of the business of Tri-States.

"My God!" cried the politicians, blithering and blathering about in

Richmond. "We can't have this. Why, this is positively unamerican!"

Then the central government in Richmond learned that criminals were

actually being hanged in Tri-States, for such innocuous things as murder

and rape and armed robbery and other such minor offenses that everyone

knows is not the fault of the perpetrator, but rather the fault of

everyone else. After all, if the homecoming queen won't date a person,

or the coach won't let a person play in the big game, or if somebody has

a nicer car or newer tennis shoes or flashier jacket, a larger TV set,

or a better boom box or Walkman, why it makes perfect sense for that

less fortunate person to go out and steal a gun and blow somebody away,

for the mental scars left there by these horribly traumatic situations

would certainly justify violent acts against an uncaring society.

So after the liberals in Congress ceased months of blubbering and

snorting and weeping and stomping on hankies, and after forty-seven

committees had concluded 5,593 meetings and fact-finding tours (all at

taxpayer expense), the central government reached its decision: The

Tri-States would have to cease and desist and disband and stop all this

foolishness.

The citizens of Tri-States, through their elected leader, Ben Raines,

told the President of the United States and the members of both houses

of Congress to go fuck themselves.

11

Well! Nobody tells Congress to do that!

The government of the United States declared war on the Tri-States. They

thought they had wiped out all those malcontents who had the nerve to

think they knew more about running a government than professional

politicians.

They were wrong.

Ben Raines gathered a handful of survivors around him and proceeded to

rebuild his army. Once that was done, the Rebels proceeded to kick the

crap out of the thugs and bully-boys the central government sent after them.

The Rebel philosophy spread and the Rebel army grew in numbers. Just

when Ben Raines and the Rebels had seized control of the central

government, tragedy struck the world in the form of a rat-borne plague,

and when it was over, there was not a stable government left intact

anywhere in the world.

Anarchy reigned. Gangs of thugs and warlords ruled the cities and

countryside, wreaking havoc and misery on the battle-torn and weary

population. Everywhere except inside the borders of the new Tri-States,

that is.

Ben Raines had gathered his Rebels around him and started all over, in

the Deep South. When they had their sector cleaned out and running

smoothly, the Rebels began the job of sweeping out the nation, coast to

coast, and border to border. It would take them years.

And down in isolated areas of South America, Field Marshal Jesus Dieguez

Mendoza Hoffman continued building and training his army of Nazis,

staying low and out of sight. Their time would come. They waited.

12

Now it was time for Ben Raines and his Rebels, and Field Marshal Hoffman

and his NAL to meet.

The battleground: North America.

The stakes: Freedom.

13

Chapter One

"Arms in the hands of citizens may be used at individual discretion ...

in private self-defense."

John Adams

Ben Raines stood alone-as alone as the Rebels would ever let him

be-looking south from his temporary CP in Texas. Everything was packed

up in Hummers and cars and trucks, and his personal company of Rebels

were ready for him to give the word. Ben was dressed in denim work

shirt, jeans, and lace-up boots. Gone were the famous tiger stripe BDUs

of the Rebels. Every Rebel now dressed in civilian clothing. Their

uniforms had been laundered and packed away in plastic bags and stored

in the Rebels' many underground bunkers, located all over the lower

forty-eight.

For the moment, Texas was clean of any members of Hoffman's

goose-stepping, black-shirted NAL. But Ben knew that was about to

change, and that change was more than likely only moments away.

This upcoming fight came as no surprise to Ben, for he had always

predicted-even years before the Great

14

War, back when the world was more or less stable-that the final action

was going to take place on American soil. Only who they were fighting

came as any surprise to him.

Ben stood and clenched his big hands into fists. "Goddamn you

mealy-mouthed politicians," he swore, smoldering anger behind his words.

"Goddamn you all. You brought us to this. Everything that happened is

your fault. Everything that we now face is your fault. I should have

gone along with the plan years back and toppled you bastards in

Washington. I regret now that I didn't."

That those hated political leaders were long dead in their graves held

little consolation for Ben. He wished they would all rise up from the

ground so he could personally shoot them.

"Only a handful of you had the good of the tax-paying, law-abiding

majority in mind," he muttered darkly. "I hope you bastards are burning

in hell with hot pitchforks jammed up your asses!"

"The general is pissed," Cooper, Ben's driver, said, standing with Ben's

personal team a few yards away.

"No kidding, Coop?" Jersey, the diminutive dark-eyed, dark-haired little

beauty who was Ben's self-appointed bodyguard replied. "Here we are,

about to be attacked by several hundred thousand goose-stepping

Nazis-who only have us outnumbered about two hundred to one. The entire

Rebel army is spread out over four or five states, and with all of us

dressed like people getting ready to go to a rodeo, or a country music

honky-tonk. We have the supplies for a long operation but getting to

them is going to be a bit of a problem. He knows the Rebels are going to

take a lot of losses over

15

the months ahead. Intelligence says about fifty to sixty percent of us

are going to die, Coop. And that's weighing heavy on his mind. In

addition to all of that, General Raines knows that none of this would be

happening today if the damn politicians of America had paid attention to

the demands of the majority of citizens back umpteen years ago and let

the Constitution be the road to travel instead of their own stupid

mumblings. And you think the General is pissed, Cooper? Naw. Why would

you think that?"

Cooper winked at her and tilted her ball cap down over her eyes. Jersey

laughed and took a mock swing at him.

Corrie stood wearing a light backpack radio, earphones covering one ear

to catch any messages. Beth, the historian and records-keeper of the

team, had Ben's Husky, Smoot, on a leash. The animal had filled out and

matured, now nearly a full-grown Siberian husky of about seventy pounds.

She would get bigger still. The husky got her name because, as a pup,

she made sounds that sounded like she was saying, "Smoot! Smoot! Smoot!"

Suddenly Ben's team, to a person, stiffened when they realized just what

they were seeing. Ben was once more carrying his old Thompson SMG, the

old Chicago Piano slung over one shoulder. And belted around his waist

were two Colt .45 auto-loaders.

"Son of a gun!" Corrie said. "We haven't seen those in a long, long time."

Ben heard and turned around and looked at them. "I carried this old

dinosaur when it all began, years back." He sighed. More years than he

liked to think about. So many good friends dead. Hundreds and hundreds of

16

men and women who gave their lives for the Rebel cause. "So I'll be

carrying this old Thompson when it ends ... one way or the other."

Actually, the Thompson had been reworked so many times by Rebel armorers

there was not an original part left in it. It was still a slow-fire

weapon when compared to an Uzi or HK, but that monstrous slug it spit

out would inflict horrible damage upon a person.

All of Ben's team knew that just the sight of those .45-caliber monsters

would be a great morale boost to all Rebels, and that was probably one

of the reasons General Raines had done it.

Ben had put aside the old Thompson a long time back, because many

people-including a lot of his own Rebels-were beginning to think the

legendary old submachine gun had magical powers, and many of them

wouldn't touch it. They were just as much in awe of the SMG as they were

of Ben. Ben had convinced most of his people that he was not some sort

of God. But there were many living in the battered nation who felt he

was just that, and no amount of talking would ever make them believe

otherwise.

"What's the word on Thermopolis and his bunch, Corrie?" Ben asked.

"All set up and dug in deep and tight in Arkansas, sir."

"Did he take Emil with him?" Ben asked with a smile.

"Very reluctantly, sir."

"At least that will keep the little con artist out of trouble for a while."

Thermopolis and his band of hippies made up part of Ben's HQ's Company.

It would be their job to keep track of all units of Rebels. A demanding

and nerve-wracking job. Ben had handed that to Therm because

17

he was a fine detail man and had never liked the killing involved in

fieldwork. Thermopolis had a staff of just over 250 men and women. And

the finest communications equipment known to exist in the world.

"Latest position of Herr Field Marshal Hoffman and his New Army of

Liberation?" Ben asked, contempt thick in his voice. Then he spat on the

ground.

"About five miles south of the border, sir."

General Jesus Dieguez Mendoza Hoffman was the commanding general of the

NAL. Spelled Nazi. He was the grandson of a very infamous Nazi SS

general who escaped to South America after the Second World War. Hoffman

had been schooled from birth to despise America and everything Americans

stood for. His sole purpose in life was to destroy the very last

vestiges of America and establish a new Nazi order that would ultimately

rule the world.

But first he had to kill Ben Raines and the Rebels, and that was

something that; thousands had been attempting to do for years, with no

success. Yet.

Field Marshal Hoffman was looking forward to mixing it up with Ben

Raines and his Rebels. He paid little attention to his advisors when

they warned him not to become overconfident. True, he had suffered some

minor losses shortly after the Rebels returned from Hawaii, but those

were only very unimportant skirmishes. There was not a doubt in

Hoffman's mind that this upcoming campaign would be a short one. There

was simply no way the Rebels could stand up to his mighty army. No way.

That was so ridiculous a thought it was laughable.

"All of General Payon's people over the border, Corrie?" Ben asked.

18

"All that's coming across."

Ben again turned to face the south. The Rebel commanders had looked

over, discussed, and rejected dozens of plans on how best to confront

the Nazi hordes fast approaching what had once been called the United

States.

"Loosely united," Ben muttered, disgust in his voice. "And ruled by

federal judges."

Even before the Great War cast its long darkness over the land, Ben had

written that the United States was no more than a slightly benevolent

dictatorship, and anyone who believed that the American people had any

real power over their own lives was living in a dream world.

"General," Corrie called. "Buddy wants to know why in the hell you are

still here with Hoffman's scouts less than five miles away?"

Buddy Raines, the powerfully built and brutally handsome son of Ben.

"I'm surprised that Tina hasn't put in her two cent's worth, as well,"

Ben said.

"She has," Corrie told him. "And so has Dr. Chase. I just didn't tell

you. What do I tell Buddy?"

"Tell him to worry about his own ass. I'll take care of mine."

"Rat," Corrie whispered Buddy's code name, "the Eagle says to thank you

for your concern and that he will be along presently." Corrie was

forever rewriting and rewording Ben's remarks from the field.

"I'm sure that is exactly what he said," Buddy responded.

"Would I lie?" Corrie replied sweetly.

19

"Tell that middle-aged Rambo-type to get his butt out of there!" Dr.

Chase thundered over the air.

Dr. Lamar Chase, Chief of Medicine, a man well into his seventies, had

been with Ben since the Rebel dream of true liberty and justice for all

law-abiding citizens began, years back.

"Yes, sir," Corrie acknowledged the transmission.

"That must be Dr. Chase bitching about me being here," Ben said, without

turning around.

"Ah ... right, sir."

"Tell him to clear the air and leave it open for emergency transmissions

only."

"The Eagle says we are bugging out of this area very soon, sir," Corrie

radioed.

"I just bet he did," Chase snorted. "You're a sweet girl, Corrie. But

you're a terrible liar! Chase out."

"Feels funny not being in uniform," Jersey said.

Ben heard her. "We are in uniform, Jersey. From this moment on. But I

know what you mean. Does feel odd. The Hummer all packed and ready to

roll, Coop?"

"Yes, sir."

Ben walked back to his group and knelt down, petting Smoot for a moment,

rubbing the husky's head. "You're going to Arkansas, Smoot. You'll be

safe there." He stood up. "Take Smoot to the airstrip, Beth. Coop, drive

her there. Smoot will be safe with Therm and his bunch."

Ben had cut his personal detachment down to his small team and one

platoon of Regulars, all of them hand-picked by Ike McGowen, the

Russian, General Striganov, Dr. Chase, the mercenary, Colonel West, the

former SAS Officer, Colonel Dan Gray, and Ben's children, Buddy and

Tina. That one platoon had the fighting

20

capability of approximately a full company of any other soldiers in the

world.

Ben squatted down in the shade of a truck and rolled a cigarette. "We're

all standing on the darkened and scorched edge of history," Ben

muttered. "Waiting for the flames to destroy it all."

"Beg pardon, sir?" Corrie said.

"Nothing, Corrie. Just talking to myself. When is that damn Nazi son of

a bitch going to make his move?" he said irritably.

"General Ike says if you don't get your butt in gear and get out of

here, he's going to come down here personally and kick it for you,"

Corrie said, after ten-fouring a transmission.

"Tell Tubby to watch his own ass," Ben replied. "He's got a lot more to

look after than I do."

Ike was a bit on the stocky side. The ex-Navy SEAL was another who had

been with Ben since the beginning.

"Shark," Corrie radioed, "the Eagle is just about to fly."

Ben smoked his cigarette, thankful that Dr. Chase was miles to the north

and not standing here bitching and raising hell about Ben's few

cigarettes a day.

"General," Corrie's voice held a different note. "Scouts report

Hoffman's Blackshirts are moving north. All columns on the roll."

"Tell the Scouts to bug out and rejoin us here," Ben said quietly,

standing up. "Tell them to push it." When Corrie had radioed the orders,

Ben said, "Advise all units Hoffman is moving. Tell Ike to blow

everything from San Diego to El Paso. We'll make those goose-

21

stepping bastards work for every damned inch of American soil they

choose to be buried in."

"Is anybody going to say, 'well, this is it?' " Cooper asked.

"You do, and I'll hit you, Coop," Jersey warned. "I swear I will."

Heir General Field Marshall Jesus Dieguez Mendoza Hoffman stood several

miles south of the Mexico/U.S. border, felt the ground tremble beneath

his polished boots, and watched the huge clouds of dust rise into the

air. The dust clouds stretched for as far as the telescope-assisted eye

could see. The Blackshirts of the NAL could all accurately guess what

had just happened.

Hoffman was not impressed. His cold black eyes were startling to see

beneath his very blond hair and pale skin. Many of the NAL were a

mixture of Spanish and German blood. Hoffman lowered his binoculars and

let them dangle from a leather strap. "Bridges and roads," he said. "So

we will be delayed for a few days in crossing. Does the famous General

Ben Raines think this action will strike fear into our hearts? Nonsense.

What are the very latest intelligence reports from our friends north of

the border?" he asked an aide.

"Still very confused, Field Marshal. No one seems to know just what Ben

Raines is planning. He has spread his forces all over several states,

from small units to large ones."

"I personally think it is some sort of trick," a senior aide spoke up.

"What kind of trick? Be more specific, Karl."

22

"I don't know, sir. But his actions make no military sense. They run

contrary to every rule of engagement."

Hoffman smiled. What Raines was doing made perfect sense to him. He was

going to wage a campaign of terror and harassment against the NAL. A

purely guerrilla action just as soon as they crossed the border. No

matter. They would amount to no more than a stinging bee.

But what Hoffman didn't know was that the Rebels were pure killer bees,

not for the most part docile honey bees. The NAL was about to learn a,

hard lesson concerning Ben Raines's Rebels.

William W Johnstone - Ashes 17 - Battle in the Ashes (txt)

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