Ashes - D Day In The Ashes Part 28

Dan had split off from Ben at Lausanne, taking Highway Nl toward Yverdon, Neuchatel, and Biel, while Ben stayed with E27 toward Bern. Ben ran into trouble at Bulle. A group of MEF regulars were racing toward the French border, and Ben's 1 Batt nearly collided with them. For fifteen minutes it was a battle of tanks. But in this war Bruno's tanks were no match for Ben's MBTs. The Rebels' main battle tanks were far superior in nearly every way: bigger and carrying 327.

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heavier guns and armament. They blew Bruno's tanks off the road, and then it was infantry all the way as the two forces mixed it up.

Bruno's forces carried heavier-caliber rifles, mostiy 7.62's. But they did not possess in any great numbers what the Rebels called Big Thumper: an automatic 40-mm grenade launcher that could spit out the mini-bombs at an incredible rate of!fire.

After the MEF tanks were destroyed, Bruno's men slowly began giving up ground to the Rebels. But the commander decided to give ground too late.

Ben had ordered two of his companies to flank the MEF, trapping them in a h.e.l.lish cross fire. The commander of this contingent of the MEF was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He ordered his men to surrender.

It was particularly irritating to the commander when he saw what a mixed bag the iRebels were: Spanish, Negro, Indian, and just about; every other race and creed one could name were included among their ranks.

"I don't know how you managed to whip these inferiors into any kind of effective fighting force, General," the MEF major said to Ben.

"I promised the Spanish people lots of tequila and tortillas, the blacks watermelons and chittlins, and the Indians lots of scalps," Ben said with a straight face.Right on cue, Jersey whipped out a long-bladed knife and smiled at the major.

The major shut his mouth and did not open it again. But he could not understand why all the Rebels who were standing around General Raines were laughing at him as he was led away.

328.

William W. Johnstone * * *

The Rebels rammed into Bottger's claimed territory and hung on with the tenacity of a bulldog. Bottger's men backed up, grudgingly giving the Rebels and the resistance fighters a few miles that first day, then began to dig in and hold as the first units of reinforcements reached them.

Ben had warned his people that this was not going to be an easy fight.

He knew that Bottger's men were highly trained and just as motivated in their own way as the Rebels were in theirs.

The older Rebels could understand the motivation of the MEF, the younger Rebels could not. And Ben was very much aware that he had a few borderline men and women in his command who just might decide to adopt the views of the MEF and go over to them. The question of race had long been settled among 95 percent of the Rebels. But hates and blind prejudices could run deep, and among some, could never really be erased.

"There are good people and bad people among all races," Cooper said, the second evening of the eastern push. Ben's 1 Batt was bivouacked in a small town about fifteen miles from the city of Fribourg. "But no race of people is entirely bad. That's ridiculous."

Ben looked up from his maps. "You're all too young to remember the riots that started a few years before the Great War," he told his team. "It was a very touchy time in America. With certain members of the black community blaming all their troubles on the whites. And many whites blaming the crime upswing and dope 329.

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dealing and drive-by shootings and personal a.s.saults entirely on the blacks. Many whites just simply stopped watching the evening news on television because it seemed as though every evening some reporter was interviewing some black about some real or imagined problem. There was more racial discontent and hate bubbling just under the surface then than when I was a kid back in the sixties, when civil rights legislation was signed into law and real integration began."

Ben got up and poured another cup of coffee and picked up a sandwich from a tray brought over by the mess people. He sat down behind his camp desk and was thoughtful for a moment.

"I had been through a full-blown war in Southeast Asia and several brush wars in Africa and Central America before I settled down to build a more peaceful career. But those years before the Great War were theG.o.dd.a.m.ndest years I had ever witnessed in terms of sheer absurdity and misunderstanding and miscarriages of justice ... to name just a few things.

"It wasn't true, of course, but to many people, including myself, it appeared that every time a black was arrested for something, some d.a.m.n group would jump up and scream racial discrimination. And I had never heard so many excuses for just plain lawlessness. A large percentage of whites just got sick of it-me included.

"You couldn't visit the nation's capital without fear of getting mugged or caught up in a drive-by shooting or some other act of mindless violence. Our nation's capital was a battle zone. That had to be one of the most disgusting and disgraceful pieces of news of the 330.

William W. Johnstone decade. I actually heard a d.a.m.n network reporter say that he just didn't know what was causing the violence in Washington, D.C., and more importantly, who to blame for it. I laughed all the way to the bathroom so I could puke. You see, Washington, D.C., was a federal district. It was set up to be governed by Congress. Not to have a mayor or its own police force-all that was shoved down Americans' throats without their permission. But Congress was famous for things like that. The district should have been policed by the military. It should not have been allowed to turn into a welfare community.

"Now, with all the mindless acts of violence around the nation, many heretofore fair-minded whites began quietly turning against blacks . . .

not just the lawless blacks but all blacks. And that was blatantly wrong. But the majority of blacks would not go public and say: 'Enough-we have a problem within our own community, and it's not the fault of the whites. Stop blaming the whites for the problems caused by blacks.' They wouldn't do it. So that caused more discontent and distrust and hate among many whites. Then the riots started. Whites sat in their living rooms and watched blacks and other minorities loot and burn down block after block of cities . . . and get away with it. Whites watched on TV as minorities violently and savagely and brutally attacked and beat innocent people ... and received no more than a slap on the wrist for it. And then they listened to whining liberal excuses for what had happened. It was sickening and disgusting, and that sp.a.w.ned more hate among many whites.

"Not one mayor, not one governor had the guts to 331.

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order looters shot on sight. And then, to heap more fuel on the flames of racial discontent, who had to pay for the rebuilding of the cities those G.o.dd.a.m.n savages destroyed? The hard-working, overburdened, law-abiding American taxpayer.

"Oh, we could have stopped the drug traffic and the lawlessness and the terrible, mindless violence in America. But our elected leaders would not do it. They were too d.a.m.n timid to take the harsh measures needed to do that . . ."The large room was now crowded with Rebels; young Rebels and older Rebels. Rebels of all colors and creeds. Corrie had signaled a friend in communications, and the friend spread the word in about three seconds.

For when Ben Raines started lecturing, his people listened.

"I lost my brother in a drive-by shooting," a black sergeant said, his voice filled with emotion. "The boy was walking home from school. He was nine years old. The G.o.dd.a.m.n system-I don't know exactly who was to blame-allowed a deal to be cut, and the shooters got a few years in prison and then walked free. If I ever find the judge who sentenced those punk n.i.g.g.e.rs, I'll kill that son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

"That was part of the problem," Ben said. "Many judges and most liberals were opposed to any type of mandatory sentencing laws. Like the ones we have in the SUSA." Ben smiled. "And also part of the problem was the term you just used in describing the people who killed your brother."

The sergeant returned the smile. "A n.i.g.g.e.r is the lowest form of black person. Just like white trash is the 332.

William W. Johnstone lowest form of white person. I guess you have to be southern born and bred to understand that."

"So it's all right for a black to use that term, but not a white. Is that it, Sergeant?" Ben pressed.

"It sort of depends on who is doin' the callin' and who is on the receivin' end of it, General," the sergeant replied with a faint smile.

Ca.s.sie Phillips had joined the crowd early on, as had Frank Service and Nils Wilson, the only three reporters Ben would allow to travel with his command battalion. Ca.s.sie asked, "But where is the line drawn when it comes to name-calling?"

"That's where the rub comes in, Miss Phillips," the sergeant said.

"Givin' the devil his due, back before the Great War, the liberals tried to do the right thing. But they went too far. Personal conduct and morality and consideration for your fellow bein' can be legislated only to a point. After that, common sense has to take over. Have you ever tried to talk common sense to a redneck?"

"Or to a n.i.g.g.e.r?" another Rebel said quietly.

"That's right," the sergeant was quick to agree. "Or to a n.i.g.g.e.r."

Nils Wilson closed his notepad. "I don't understand any of this," he admitted. "I have always found the word 'n.i.g.g.e.r' to be offensive."

"And I never like being called a honky motherf.u.c.ker," Ben spoke up. "But the way I interpreted the wording, one was protected by civil rights legislation and punishable by law, while the other wasn't. There is an old saying concerning the goose and the gander."

"Boss," Corrie called. "I hate to break in just when 333333.

this discussion is getting lively, but Bruno Bottger just sent word that he wants to talk to you-face to face."

"It's a trick!"Jim Peters, commander of 14 Batt said.

"I agree," Pat O'Shea of 10 Batt said.

Ben had gotten all his batt corns on a hookup to give them the news. "I don't know," Ben said, keying the mic. "He's agreed to meet anyplace I choose. That doesn't sound like a trick or trap to me. I'll get back with you all in a few minutes." He turned to Corrie. "Get me Bottger on the horn."

"General Bottger here, General Raines." Bruno's voice came out of the speaker.

"How about Paris?" Ben suggested.

"If you could guarantee my safety in that city, I would agree. Can you do that?"

Ben hesitated only a second. "No, General. I cannot guarantee your safety there."

"Then . . . where shall we meet?"

"I'm open to suggestion."

"I would be amenable to meeting in Geneva."

"I'm almost certain you would be safe there. I would pull back all resistance groups and have my 1 and 3 Batts secure the meeting place."

"I would insist that the secretary-general of the United Nations be present."

"I believe I can arrange that."

"Very good. And a top representative of the United States government."

"I can probably arrange that. In return, I would want the top officials of your government present."

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William W. Johnstone "That shall be done. Then we are in agreement?" "So far, yes. I'll be back with you in twenty-four hours, General."

"Thank you, General. Looking forward to it." Much to Ben's surprise, Homer Blanton jumped at the chance to attend. What Ben didn't know was that Homer would have agreed to kiss the devil's a.s.s for a chance to get away for a few days from VP Harriet Hooter, Rita Rivers, I. M. Holey, Dumkowski, and, hopefully, Homer's wife ... he was running out of things in his office for her to throw at him."Please don't bring Harriet Hooter," Ben urged. "G.o.d forbid!" Homer said. "Or Rita Rivers." "Don't even think that!"

"Perhaps I'll see you soon, then, Mr. President." "I certainly hope so, General." "Until then. And have a safe trip, Homer." "Why ... I think you really mean that, Ben." "Oh, I do, Homer. If something were to happen to you, then Harriet Hooter would become president." Homer Blanton hung up, cutting off his own laughter.

336 "The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: "Of shoes-and ships-and sealing wax- "Of cabbages-and kings^- "And why the sea is boiling hot- "And whether pigs have Wings."

-Lewis Carroll 337.

Secretary-General Son Moon arrived first, with a plane filled with aides and other UN officials. President Homer Blanton arrived the next day . .

. with his wife in tow.

"Oh, wonderful," Jersey said, eyeballing the woman as she strode regally down the steps from the plane.

One of Blanton's aides came rushing up to Ben. "Where is the band?"

"What band?" Ben asked.

"The band to greet the president of the United States."

"They're not united anymore," Cooper said. "Or have you forgotten?"

From behind Ben, back in the ranks, someone started softly whistling "Dixie."

"Knock it off!" Ben said.

Jersey held out a harmonica. "Here. You want music. Toot on this."

The aide ignored her and said, "Why aren't your troops in dress uniform, General?"

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"We don't have any," Ben told him. "The Rebels are not parade ground soldiers."

The harried aide rolled his eyes and went rushing about in a dither.

The Secret Service had been in Geneva for several days, securing and checking things out and arranging accommodations; they all wore worried expressions at the sight of so many guns.They had really gone into a panic when Ben told them that more than likely there were still some cree-pies around the city.

Ben shook hands with Homer and spoke to his wife. She frosted him with a look. Ben laughed at her, and that really p.i.s.sed off the First Lady. The two men rode to the hotel in separate vehicles: The president in his flown-over limo and Ben in his HumVee.

Homer and his staff and entourage took up one entire floor, the UN secretary-general and his people, another floor, and yet another floor had been reserved for Bruno Bottger and his people. Ben and his people bunked across the street in a warehouse, on the floor on inflatable mattresses. Many of the Rebels had been sleeping on the ground for so many years it was difficult for them to get to sleep in a closed room in a real bed.

A grand feast was planned for that night in the hotel's dining room. Ben thanked the aide and returned the invite with a polite no thanks. Ben's rule was hard and fast: He ate what his troops ate-always had, always would.

Bruno Bottger's plane arrived in the middle of the afternoon. Ben met his adversary at the airport, and the two men sized each other up. Bruno was younger 339.

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than Ben, and Ben guessed him to be in excellent physical shape. Ben was a couple of inches taller, and wore his graying hair much shorter than Bruno's very blond hair.

"The famous General Ben Raines," Bruno said, shaking hands.

"The infamous General Bruno Bottger," Ben responded with a smile.

Bruno laughed. "Ah! But not as infamous as you have been led to believe, my dear General Raines. Not nearly so much. It will all come out in the meetings. I a.s.sure you of that."

"We'll see," Ben replied, wondering what in the h.e.l.l Bruno had up the sleeve of his meticulously tailored gray uniform jacket. No death's head insignia here; no lightning flashes on the collars.

Bruno smiled at the puzzled look in Ben's eyes. "I have slaughtered no Jews, General. And there is much, much more. You'll see."

One of Blanton's aides camq flapping up, his blow-dried and lacquered hair as stiff as a poker. "My dear General Bottger!" he blithered.

"Come. Please. We are having a banquet this evening at the hotel." He glanced at Ben. "He refused to attend."

Bruno arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I eat what my troops eat."

"Very admirable of you, General, I'm sure. Makes you just one of the boys, eh?"Ben grunted.

After Bottger and his staff and the president's aide had left, Dan Gray said, "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's got something up his sleeve, Ben."