Blood in the Ashes (16 page)

She looked at the small contingent of Gray's Scouts that had accompanied her out of the Rebel Base Camp. Roy Jaydot, his Russian wife, Katrina. Tina's fiance, Bob Graham. Mary Macklin. A dozen others.

“We're too small a group to do much damage to Willette's bunch,” Tina said. “First we're going to have to link up with the other teams of Scouts that made it out.”

They were camped on the northernmost banks of Carters Lake, just off Highway 382. They were well-supplied, for at Colonel Gray's orders, each of his Scouts had slipped out of camp several times, each time carrying a load of food or ammo or mortar rounds, caching them in the deep timber. And in teams of twelve or fourteen, Dan had sent them out of the Base Camp, on some pretext or the other—anything to get as many of his people out before the coup went down.

Most of the highly trained and superbly conditioned men and women known as Gray's Scouts had gotten out, with only a few taken prisoner. Even though the coup had gone down much quicker than anyone had anticipated.

“Have you thought about making an attempt to link up with Dad Raines?” Bob asked her.

“God, yes. Many times during the past few hours. But I don't know exactly where he is. Odds of us finding him are against us. I think we're much better off staying in this area and linking up with the other teams of Scouts.”

Tina was team leader, and no one questioned her authority. She was as skilled a guerrilla fighter as anyone in the Rebels, with the possible exception of Ike, Dan or her father.

“Eagle Two to Eagle One,” the backpack radio softly crackled. “Lookin' for a home.”

Tina moved to the radio operator's side, taking the mic. “This is Eagle One. We're out of the home nest. Come on.”

“Jose Ferranza here, Tina. Got my team all with me. Where you wanna link up, Big Momma?”

Tina's team members chuckled at Jose's words. Tina was actually a captain in Gray's Scouts, but like special troops the world over—when there was a functioning world—special troops almost never stood on formality, for theirs was an easy camaraderie that few outside the unit ever understood.

“I'll Big Momma your ass, you wetback.” Tina laughed the words, knowing Jose would take it in good humor, as it was meant.

“Your boyfriend is much too large,” Jose replied, laughing. “I am a lover, not a fighter.”

“Bullshit,” Bob muttered. Sergeant Ferranza was one of the most feared guerrilla fighters in Gray's Scouts.

“Give me your coordinates, Eagle Two,” Tina radioed.

Tina checked her grid map as Jose gave his position in coded words. “We're close,” she said. “We'll find you. Stay put.”

“Ten-four.”

“Let's go,” Tina ordered, picking up her M-16 and automatically checking the weapon. The fire control lever was on auto, the safety on. “We'll find three, four more teams and then we'll be strong enough to do some damage at Base Camp.” She glanced toward the southeast. “Sit tight, Dad,” she muttered, slipping into her pack. “Don't get it in your head to do something rash. Just sit tight.”

The team moved out, as silent as ghosts wearing cammies.

Dan felt the comforting cool press of the 9mm Browning against the skin of his belly. Bradford had succeeded in arming all the prisoners in the jail, and in bringing in enough plastic explosive to blow up half the building. But Dan knew several hundred more had been rounded up and were being held under heavy guard in an old football stadium nearby. Despite the obvious and, to Dan and those now in jail, quite odious fact that the coup had been successful, Dan could not envision how it had been done so swiftly. Neither could the Englishman fathom the
why
of it all.

He knew more than half of the camp had been subtly swayed by Willette and his people, but that still left more than a thousand Rebels for Willette and his people to contend with. Say, three hundred and fifty had been taken prisoner in the swiftest coup Dan had ever heard of. And most successful, he grudgingly conceded.

But damn it to hell, he thought, that still left over six hundred men and women—all fighters. What had happened to them?

All right, he calmed himself, forcing his anger to subside and rational thinking to take control. Think about it, he urged his mind. Say, two hundred out of that thousand were setting up homesteads throughout the vast tracts of land newly claimed by the Rebels. They would not have heard anything about the coup. And if they did hear, they would keep their heads low.

That left approximately four to five hundred.

His own Scouts numbered one hundred and fifty. Most of them had gotten free and clear just in the nick of time.

That left, say, three hundred and fifty. Most of them were with Ro and Wade, with some scattered old-timers mixed in, Doctor Chase and his wife included. That bunch had scattered like the wind, heading in all directions.

So, there it was. All neatly added up.

Some of the more level-headed of the bunch, people like Jerry Bradford, older and better educated Rebels, after speaking with Jerry, had seen how they'd been duped and were now back in the fold, so to speak. But they were few, no more than forty, and that might be stretching it.

Time, Dan knew, was the enemy. The real enemy. For with each passing hour, those Rebels with Willette, the younger, more impressionable, poorly educated men and women, would become more firmly convinced Willette was right and Cecil and Dan and the others were the enemy.

Dan ceased his restless pacing and sat down on his bunk. He thought: It's going to be bloody. And there is no way to prevent that from occurring. Lord God on High, but it's going to be a bloody bitch.

As if reading his thoughts, for Cecil had been listening to Dan's restless pacing, he called softly: “I'm not looking forward to pulling the trigger on some of these people, either.”

“Nor I, Cec,” Dan softly called. “But what I don't understand is the why of it all. It just doesn't make any sense.”

“To destroy Ben Raines,” Peggy said, joining in the conversation.

“Yes,” Dan agreed. “But still that does not answer the why of it all.”

“Vendetta,” Juan called. “That is the only possible answer. A blood debt, if you will. Probably one so old it is doubtful General Raines himself even remembers it.”

“The lengths people will go to settle old scores,” Dan muttered. Then, to himself, he said, “It's coming apart. Everything Ben Raines dreamed of is coming apart. Ike is being hunted; Ben is cut off with only a small detachment, while more than a thousand men are hunting him. The camp is divided, with a bloodbath looking us in the face.” He sighed. “It's coming apart. Once more, we shall have to pick up the pieces from the ashes of hate and blood and start anew. But what will happen when those of us with age and education and experience are gone?”

The Englishman did not like to dwell long on that last question. For like Ben, he knew only too well what would happen.

“A return to the ashes,” he muttered. “Back to barbarism and savagery and paganism. I hope I do not live to see it.”

“We shall persevere,” Cecil called. “Everything Ben has worked for will, indeed,
must,
endure. It is up to us to see that it does.”

“And when we are gone?” Dan called, feeling the weight of his age, even though he was not yet fifty, fall on him with a crushing invisible force.

Cecil did not reply.

“Take the one on the left,” Ike whispered. “Shoot him in the chest. Try to miss that walkie-talkie. I want it. I'll waste the pus-gutted dude on the right.”

Two rifles cracked. Two men from the Ninth Order went down in howling heaps. One kicked and squalled in agony, his legs jerking as life slowly left him. Nina's shot had gone high, the bullet striking her man in the throat, almost tearing the head from him with the expanding slug. Blood spurted in two-foot-high arcs until his heart ceased its pumping. The man drummed his booted feet on the earth and died.

“Shit!” Nina said, working a fresh round into the chamber of her .270.

“No point in bitchin' about it,” Ike told her. “You got him.”

“But I was off the mark by a foot!” she said. “I haven't missed like that in years.”

“You were shootin' downhill, little one,” Ike said. “Downhill shootin' is always tricky. We'll wait a few minutes, see if any of their buddies come runnin'. Then you cover me while I get the walkie-talkie. Maybe then we'll be able to keep more than one jump ahead of them.”

The pair lay in the brush on the crest of the hill. Within seconds after the shooting, the birds once more began their singing and calling. No more men of the Ninth Order appeared. Ike counted off another sixty seconds.

Ike rose to his feet. “You see anything other than me movin' around down there, blow the ass off it.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, now rough with beard stubble. “Yes, sir.”

Ike grinned. “This ain't no time for romance, darlin'.”

He made his way cautiously to the site of the dead men. The air was foul with urine from relaxed bladders and excrement from bowel movements. Ike was especially wary of Dobermans, for he was very familiar with those animals who had been silent-trained. They were awesome and deadly. Few people realize just how much damage even an untrained dog can do to a man, and how quickly. Ike was as fully trained in the art of handling an attacking dog as any man who is not an experienced dog handler. But all that was just training, and Ike hoped he would never have to find out how good the training had been.

No dogs were present, much to Ike's relief. And no more live men, either.

He stripped the dead men of their warm, lined field jackets, and took the long-range walkie-talkie. He left their weapons; both carried shotguns. He shoved their bodies over the edge of a deep rocky ravine, thinking perhaps if they were found, the missing walkie-talkie would not be noticed. He hustled back up the hill and flopped down beside Nina, extending the antenna. Chatter came to them immediately.

“They done killed Langford and Benny,” the excited voice said. “I heard the shots and then couldn't get neither of them on the radio. You copy all that? Over.”

“Stand clear of 'em. Don't get any closer than you have to. Sister Voleta says to keep pushin' 'em north. 'Bout five more miles and we'll have them boxed in the meadow up yonder.”

“How ‘bout usin' the dogs ag'in?”

“Negative to that. The dogs is being sent south to track General Raines and his bunch.”

“That's a relief,” Nina said.

“In a way,” Ike responded.

The radio crackled once more. “How's things at the Base Camp?”

“Ever'thang is jam up and jelly tight. The Base Camp is ours.”

“Oh, god
damn
it!” Ike cussed. “What in the hell is going on?”

“OK. We'll keep pushin' 'em north. Point out.”

“Your Base Camp has been overrun, Ike?” Nina asked. “By the Ninth Order? I didn't think they were strong enough to do something like that.”

“They aren't. Not by themselves. That goddamn Willette and his pack have to have something to do with this.”

“Willette?”

He told her, briefly, all he knew and suspected about Willette and his people.

She was silent for a moment. “Then . . . this Captain Willette must be tied in with the Ninth Order, is that what you think?”

Ike nodded. “I guess so, Nina. Like I said before when we talked about it, this whole business is so screwed up, I really can't tell you what in the hell is going on.”

Ike got to his feet and helped Nina up. He looked around him, got his bearings, and started walking—south. There was a determined set to his jaw and a cold look in his eyes.

“Ike!” She tugged at his arm. “We're heading right back toward them.”

“That's right, babe. We sure are. We're goin' back to Base Camp. I got the monkey and the skunk syndrome about this mess.”

“You mean, you've had all this good stuff you can stand?” she asked with a grin.

“You hit it right, Nina. We don't have to worry about the dogs, and those sorry bastards up ahead don't much worry me. I just hope they get in my way.”

“You're cute when you get mad, Ike.”

“Aw, shit!” Ike said, blushing.

Tony Silver had every available man he could spare in the long convoy. The group from north Florida had rolled in, and the column had rolled out, heading north. But Tony was having second thoughts about Ben Raines. He had asked one of Voleta's people why she hated Raines so.

The guy had mumbled something about Ben Raines being a false god and a scourge on the face of the earth. Tony thought all that to be a crock of crap. Raines probably screwed Betty one night and shortchanged her. Or, he thought with a smile, short-dicked her.

He laughed aloud at that.

His driver met Tony's eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Something, boss?”

“Naw. Just thinking, that's all.”

“Boss, what's the deal with this General Raines, anyways? How come it's so important for us to take this dude out?”

“That's kinda what I was laughing about, Bill. 'Cause I don't really know, myself. But we got a deal with this Sister Voleta, and Tony Silver don't never welch out on no deal.”

“Right, boss.”

Tony leaned back in the comfortable rear seat of the old Cadillac limo. Sister Voleta/Betty Blackman was not leveling with him, and Tony did not like to be in the dark in any deal he was part of. Just too damn many unknowns.

He sighed, thinking: OK. First we kick the ass off Ben Raines, and this time there was no doubt in his mind that would be done. They would have Raines outnumbered ten to one. Then Tony would deal with Voleta. Permanently.

After he screwed her.

 

 

The men and women of Ben's contingent dug in deep in the brush and timber on the ridge, digging in carefully, doing so without disturbing the natural look of the terrain. The ridge afforded them the best vantage point they could find, in terms of defense. And to a person, they knew the upcoming battle must be a decisive victory.

In front of them, at the base of the ridge, lay a small creek that would have to be forded by any attackers choosing a frontal assault. That would slow them considerably. To the rear was a long northeastward pointing finger of a lake. Ben doubted any type of amphibious assault would or could be launched against their position. To the east lay a tangle of thorny brush and marshland. The west was thick timber and undergrowth.

Captain Rayle came to Ben's side. Ben liked the young captain, for Rayle would speak his mind . . . respectfully. “At first I was dubious about your choice of a defendable position, sir,” he admitted. “Now I see you have chosen the best possible position in the entire forest.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Ben replied, hiding his smile. He had not lowered his binoculars. He swept the land once more, in a slow half circle. Lowering the field glasses, he asked, “Everything shaping up, Captain?”

“Yes, sir. We've hidden and camouflaged our vehicles well. Someone would have to literally walk right into them before they were detected. We hid them just off a fire road to our northeast, easily accessible when we decide to leave. We have .50-caliber machine guns facing in all directions, dug in. We've filled every container we could find from the surrounding towns with fresh water. It's been tested and, to be on the safe side, we're in the process of adding purification tablets. We have well-dug mortar pits completely circling the crest of the ridge. M-60s are supplementing the heavy .50s. At your orders, we have no Scouts out forward. All personnel are accounted for and dug in on this ridge, sir.”

Ben could ask for no more than that. Captain Rayle's report touched all bases. “Very good, Captain. How's the food situation?”

“More than adequate for a sustained assault, sir. I have people digging a medical bunker in the center of the ridge. Ms. Roth has taken charge of that, sir.”

“I just bet she has,” Ben muttered.

“Peg pardon, sir?”

“Ah . . . nothing, Roger. Talking to myself, that's all. Instruct your people there will be no firing until I give the word.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, Roger. Now comes the most difficult part.”

“Sir?”

“The waiting.”