Ashes - D Day In The Ashes Part 17

Ben burned clip after clip of .45 rounds into the night. The muddy, torn ground behind the old house was littered with the dead and dying. Any sensible commander would have ordered a pullback, but the creeps were fanatics; they kept poming, and they continued dying at the hands of the small team of Rebels in the command post.

Fifteen minutes after the first rocket was fired, the creeps pulled back from all positions, and the night slowly became silent-except for the sound of single gunshots as the Rebels moved through the carnage, shooting creeps in the head. Kathy Bonham watched in horror as Ben moved through the night, a .45 in each hand, finishing the cannibals.

"You got an audience, boss," Jersey said.

"Yeah. I know. Can't be helped. If she can't understand these people are as dangerous as bubonic plague and have to be wiped out to the last person, that's her problem."

A few minutes later he said to Corrie, "Get me reports. Let's see how hard we got hit."

Not too bad. For the Rebels were dressed head to foot in body armor and deaths were light. Most of the wounds were minor ones, but what really p.i.s.sed Ben was the few Rebels the Night People had managed-to take prisoner. Everyone knew what would happen to those men and women-they'd seen it before.

With the taking of Rebel prisoners, and the knowledge of what would happen to them, Lieutenant 206.

William W. Johnstone Bonelli summed up the feelings of all the Rebels. "The creeps were standing ankle-deep in s.h.i.t. Now they're in the s.h.i.t up to their necks."

The Rebels had, up to this point, offered the creeps a quick and humane death. All that had abruptly changed during this rainy, b.l.o.o.d.y night.

Now there would be no pity, no mercy, no compa.s.sion, no quick deaths for the Night People. The Rebels could be horribly brutal and savage when provoked-and they were provoked.

"Bring up the flamethrowers," Ben told Corrie. "And canisters of gas.

f.u.c.k these G.o.dd.a.m.n cannibals."

"The reporters?" Buddy questioned.

"They're idiots. They think war should be fought with rules. Savages don't know rules. In order to win, one has to come down to the level ofthe enemy ... or very close to it. The press can stay, they can leave, or they can go to h.e.l.l. I don't give a d.a.m.n which one they choose."

Ben issued just one order. "Kill the enemy."

Ben viewed what was left of the first Rebel prisoner found. He knew there was no point in bringing the press in to see it. The majority of them would only come up with some excuse for the behavior of the Night People.

The woman had been with the Rebels for many years and was a platoon leader. She could be recognized only by the missing tip of her little finger, left hand.

Jersey said, "Knew her. She was a good person. Had 207.

207.

two kids. Her husband lost a leg during the Hawaiian campaign." Jersey spat on the ground. "I figure it took her long hours to die."

"Yeah," Ben said.

"We found a pocket of creeps that got themselves trapped," a scout said.

" 'Bout a quarter of a mile from here. Part of their tunnel collapsed."

Ben's eyes were as cold as the North Sea. "Let's do it."

"We got a problem. They've been in radio contact with the press and have offered to surrender."

"And the press have gathered." It was not a question.

"All of them a.s.signed to this operation."

The reporters began shouting questions at Ben as he walked up to the tunnel entrance, located in a small park on the outskirts of the city.

"Why is that gasoline tanker truck here, General?" one yelled.

"We're going to have a cookout," Ben said, and kept on walking.

He was true to his word. Explosives had already been placed, and the tanker started pumping gas into the tunnel. The reporters were quick on the uptake.

"That's against the rules of war!" a woman yelled.

"Idiot," Ben muttered.

The reporters were not as quick to notice the Rebels backing up. When the specially prepared explosives blew, igniting the gas fumes, about a dozen members of the press were knocked on their a.s.ses by the concussion. None were seriously hurt, except for their pride, which was considerably bruised, along with their a.s.ses.

208William W.Johnstone The Rebels stood by impa.s.sively as the flames ate the life from the creepies.

"Those poor wretches offered to surrender!" a man yelled over the roar of flames coming from the seared mouth of the tunnel.

A few members of the press were standing close enough to Ben to hear him say, "n.o.body tortures Rebels and gets away with it. n.o.body. Not without paying a terrible price." He whispered to Corrie, "Tell the censors to let all copy from this incident go through as is. I want to see what side these people are on."

"s.h.i.t!" Corrie said, quite uncharacteristically. "I can tell you that right now."

"Let's be sure," Ben replied. "Bring me copies of all transmissions."

GENERAL RAINES DECLARES HIS TROOPS SUPERIOR TO.

all other human beings, one headline silently screamed.

GENERAL RAINES IGNORES ALL RULES OF WAR, another stated.

The rest were predictable, geneva convention trampled upon by raines's rebels.

raines's rebels no better than the savages they FIGHT.

A few reported the incident without personal embellishment. They neither praised nor condemned Ben's actions in dealing with the creeps. They told it exactly as it happened-no more and no less.

"They stay, the rest leave," Ben ordered.

"That man has more cold nerve than d.i.c.k Tracy," President Blanton remarked, after reading of the expulsions of dozens of reporters.

209.

"You can't be supportive of that racist, honky, Republican pig!" Rita Rivers hollered. "I heard he carries around a book auth.o.r.ed by Rush Iimbaugh!"

Homer almost told the woman to kiss his a.s.s, but quickly thought better of it. Last time he'd done that, she told him to drop his drawers.

Ben began tightening the circle around Paris. Each day the Rebels gained another block or two or three, slowly closing the noose, forcing the creepies toward the center of the city.

Ike and Georgi took Charles de Gaulle Airport after a bitter two-day fight, while Rebet and West took Orly Airport. Now the Rebels could resupply by air ... after cleaning up the runways and airing out the stink of creepies from the buildings. Ever so slowly the Rebels werepushing out of the suburbs and inching toward the city proper.

Thanksgiving pa.s.sed and November was gone. During the first week of December, the area was blanketed with a heavy covering of snow, and then the temperature plummeted, turning bitterly cold.

The nine battalions chased Duffy's army of thugs and punks and malcontents but could not make them close and slug it out.

"They plan to fight us guerrilla-style," Mike Richards told Ben. "Small units. Every sc.r.a.p of intelligence we have, including information from the prisoners, points in that direction."

"Then they're fools," Ben said. "There are no better guerrilla fighters in the world than the Rebels."

"But Duffy doesn't know that," Mike replied.

210.

William W. Johnstone "He soon will," Ben countered.

The Rebels began hammering at the creepies day and night, without letup.

They flooded the sewers with tear gas and pepper gas and drove them aboveground, then shot them as they staggered out of their stinking lairs.

When the first battalions of Rebels. .h.i.t the edge of the city proper, known as Ville de Paris, they were stopped cold by the Night People. Had the Rebels been able to use heavy artillery, the fight would have been much simpler and not nearly as costly to the Rebels. As it was, the Rebels suffered far fewer fatalities than the experts predicted, but their number of wounded was far more than first calculated. Ben had suffered a slight hand wound. Jersey had been burned on the thigh.

Corrie had a radio shot off her back, and that left her badly bruised for a few days and out of commission.

The months-long campaign was taking its toll on the Rebels.

And they hadn't as yet entered the city proper.

Duffy's people had broken up into small units and were preparing to launch a guerrilla-type war against the Rebels. That act itself did not worry Ben . . . but what did worry him was that it would tie up more people in the field, and out of Paris, than he first antic.i.p.ated.

Duffy's people were also raping the countryside of food and warm clothing, making the already overburdened residents pay a terrible price in human suffering.

"Your hand is healing nicely," Doctor Chase said, after changing the bandage.

211.

211.

"That bandage is bulky and gets in my way," Ben replied. "Take it off and put a Band-Aid on it."

"Not yet. And don't argue with me."Fat chance of that happening.

"It was only a scratch to begin with!"

"You let it get infected, ding-dong."

"Ding-dong!"

"That's what I said. If you had gone to an aid-station shortly after it happened, a Band-Aid would have sufficed. But since you continue to believe yourself invulnerable to wounds that we mere mortals suffer...

well, what's the point of arguing? You let it get infected."

"Ding-dong!"

Nick Stafford walked in the room just in time to put a momentary end to the bickering that had been going on for years between the two men. Nick was limping badly, and there was a b.l.o.o.d.y bandage on one leg.

"Good G.o.d!" Lamar said. "Another old soldier who thinks he is immortal.

Sit down, you overage Rambo."

"I don't have time for that," Nick said. "I-"

"Sit down, G.o.dd.a.m.nit!" the chief of medicine roared. "Take off that boot and cut those fatigues away from that leg. And that's an order."

Ben was smiling, happy to have Chase direct his acid tongue toward someone else.

Chase took one look at the wound and said, "Hospital. Period. You're out of the field." He glared at Cor-rie. "Get an ambulance over here. Right now."

Nick started to protest and Ben said, "Don't say a word. Not unless you want a visit to the proctologist added to your chart."

That shut Nick up.

212.

William W. Johnstone Chase smiled wickedly.

"I'll have your XO take over your battalion," Ben told the mercenary.

"Chuck Gilley," Nick said. "He's a good man. Ben, we're spread thin in the countryside. Too d.a.m.n thin. Intell just reported that the Spanish army is up to their eyeb.a.l.l.s fighting the Basques along the mountains.

They're not going to be able to help us much. I personally think Duffy is planning to move his people east. Some batt corns agree with me, others don't. But I think the signs point that way."

Ben looked at map of Europe thumbtacked to the wall behind his desk.

After a moment he asked, "Why, Nick?"

"They know they can't get into Spain. I think they're trying to link up with all the punks now gathering in Germany, Belgium, Holland,Switzerland, and Northern Italy. If that happens, they could put together a front that might take us months to bust through."

"The intell about Duffy's planned guerrilla war against us?"

"Pure bulls.h.i.t. Duffy is not a fool. I think I know this guy. And if he's the man I think he is, he's got some good solid military experience under his belt. He came from a good, solid, upper-middle-cla.s.s English family. You've read the file on him. He's got lots of smarts. And some tough paratrooper training."

"What about the gangs he's breaking up and forming into small guerrilla units?"

"Expendables," Nick said. "But they don't have a clue as to Duffy's real reason for breaking them up. It's just guesswork, Ben, that's all."

214.