Ashes - Fire In The Ashes Part 2

Ben refused it.

Then Ike had told him, "Go on, General. h.e.l.l, I'm not going to push you. Travel the country. Your duty will come to you after a time."

After the group in Florida broke up, each going their own way, Ben traveled many more miles, but the signs kept popping up: BEN RAINES-CONTACT US 39.2.

Ben finally "saw his duty."

"Any individual found supporting the Rebels, actively or pa.s.sively," the network commentator intoned, "will be charged with treason. Highly placed sources within the Justice Department have told our reporters this move is necessary to stem the flow of arms and equipment to the Rebel movement currently operating in the United States. Ben Raines, the commanding officer of the Rebels has been placed at the top of the FBI's most wanted list. The..."

President Addison clicked off the TV set and punched a b.u.t.ton on his desk.

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell the vice president I want to see him-now!"

"Right away, sir."

VP Lowry was standing in the Oval Office within five minutes. Weston Lowry could see the rage in Addison's eyes-the man was making no real effort to conceal it. And the VP was making no attempt to conceal his contempt for the president.

The two men disliked each other intensely.

"Whose idea was this treason business for citizens who imply support for Raines?" Addison questioned.

"I don't believe imply was ever mentioned in the..."

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit, you know what I mean!" Addison slammed his hand on the desk top. "What in the h.e.l.l are you people trying to do, start a civil war? We're still struggling to get our balance from the battering we took eleven years ago."

"Mr. President, we sampled the views of Congress-all the key members..."

"I wasn't told of that."

Lowry ignored that. "...and they believe the only way this country will survive is to destroy Ben Raines and his Rebels. They..."

"The British tried that in Northern Ireland for years. It didn't work there, and it won't work here."

"...also believe this threat is so serious as to fully warrant the term treason. If they have to, Mr.

President, they have the votes to override any veto should it come to that."

Addison was so angry he was trembling, his cheeks mottled with white flecks in the flush. "Lowry, I am going to call a press conference. During that press conference, I am going to disa.s.sociate myself from this scheme and publicly and categorically express my opposition to it."

"That is certainly your privilege, sir." Lowry maintained his composure.

"That will be all," Addison said.

"Yes, sir."

Lowry was grinning as he walked out of the office, being careful not to slam the door behind him.

The small convoy rolled through the night, speeding past deserted homes and through small empty towns.

Ben rode in a car in the center of the armed convoy, asleep, his head on Jerre's shoulder. James Riverson was at the wheel of the car. As so many of the Rebels in Ben's personal contingent, Riverson had been with him for years.

"Don't like it, Miss Jerre," the huge ex-truck driver from Missouri said, his big hands making the steering wheel appear smaller than normal. Riverson had lost his wife, Belle, in the battle for Tri-States, and their children had been killed by government troops. Riverson hated the central government of the United States, and like so many Rebels, could not understand why Tri-States had been destroyed.

"Don't like what, James?"

"The way all this is shaping up. The people are going to get caught right in the middle."

"I know. So does Ben-he doesn't like it either. He's going to have leaflets printed, advising the people to stand clear."

"You know they won't do it. The majority of citizens don't understand how we could build a workable society so quickly and their own non-elected officials-most of them, anyway-can't seem to do anything. Talk, talk, talk. No action. Or d.a.m.n little action, anyway."

"Isn't that the way it's always been, James? You're older than I am. Isn't that the way it's always been?"

He slowly nodded his head. "I reckon so, Miss Jerre. From 1980 on, I didn't even bother voting."

"That seems so sad, James."

"It was. But h.e.l.l, what was the point? Supreme Court and federal judges ran the country. The people didn't have anything to say about it. Not the people who had any G.o.dd.a.m.n sense, that is." He grinned in the dim light from the dash. "Excuse me, Miss Jerre. That was selfish of me to say. We all have rights. I just wish they'd have left us alone in Tri-States. We weren't bothering a soul. Just being happy, that's all we were doing."

Ben groaned in his sleep.

"I wonder what the general is thinking of?" James said.

He had first met Salina in a motel in Indiana, just off the interstate. At first he thought she was a white woman traveling with a group of blacks. Since he had just come from visiting his brother in Chicago, where the blacks and whites were preparing to do their best to kill each other off, he thought that odd.

But as one member of the group had blurted-a white-hating member-Salina was a zebra.

"What does that mean?" Ben had later asked her, when they were alone.

"Half white, half black. Yes, my parents were married," she told him.

"I didn't think you were-"

"Pure c.o.o.n," she interrupted, but with a smile.

In the group were men and women who would later join Ben in the formation of Tri-States. Cecil Jefferys and his wife, Lila. Jake and his wife, Nora. Clint and Jane. And Ben and Salina would later marry. Salina, heavy with child, had been killed in the woods of Tri-States, during the last hours of the fight for survival.

So many had died for the dream.

Sam Hartline looked like the stereotyped Hollywood mercenary. Six feet, two inches, heavily muscled, a deep tan, dark brown hair just graying at the temples, cold green eyes, and a scar on his right cheek. He spoke to the one hundred FBI agents gathered in the old hotel in the deserted Virginia town. He did not have to speak to his own men; they had heard it all before.

"So you boys are gonna spearhead the move to kill Ben Raines, eh?" he grinned. "And you're gonna do it by breaking the civilians who support him, right? Well, you'd all better have strong stomachs." Again, he grinned. "I expect you do. You boys don't look like that bunch that used to make up the Bureau. You boys look a sight tougher. I'll tell you this: you d.a.m.n well better be."

He took a sip of water and again looked over the roomful of men. "Dealing with male prisoners prior to the actual interrogation," he spoke impersonally. "Man ... the protector of the home; the strong one. The techniques are diametrically opposite when dealing with the man as opposed to the woman. You must handle the male roughly-right from the beginning. You a.s.sault his male pride, his virility, his manhood, his p.e.n.i.s power. You take the clothes from the man by force and leave him naked before you. A naked man feels defenseless. He will lose much of his arrogant pride.

"With a woman it is quite different. Do not use physical force except as a last resort. You order her to remove her clothing. Youdemand it. Make her disrobe. Thus her dignity has, from the beginning, rotted.

A very important first beginning.

"Don't let them sleep. Interrupt them every few minutes while they lie in their cells, imagining all sorts of dire and exotic tortures lying in wait for them. Lack of sleep disturbs the brain patterns; disrupts the norm, so to speak.

"I will give you gentlemen an example." He motioned toward a man standing by a closed door.

The man opened the door and two of Hartline's men pushed a young man out into the large meeting room. The man was in his late twenties, unshaven, red and bleary-eyed. He was pushed onto the small stage.

"Good morning, Victor," Hartline said cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

The man said nothing.

"Remove your clothing, Victor," Hartline said, smiling.

"f.u.c.k you!"

Hartline laughed and motioned toward the two burly men. They wrestled the young man down on the stage and tore his clothing from him, pulling him to his feet to stand nude, facing the roomful of strangers.

"You see, Victor," Hartline said, "you are a baby. I can do with you anything I choose, at any time I choose. Remember that, Victor. It might save you a lot of pain. Now then, Victor ... who is the leader of your cell?"

Victor stood impa.s.sively, with as much dignity as he could muster. The agents in the room all tried to keep their eyes from the young man's groin.

"Victor, Victor," Hartline said. "Why are you doing this? You know you're going to tell me what I want to know."

"If you're going to torture me," the young man said, "get it over with."

Hartline laughed, exposed strong, white, even teeth. "Oh, Victor! I'm not going to tortureyou, my boy.

Oh, my, no." He cut his eyes to the man by the closed door.

The door opened and another pair of men pulled a young woman into the room. That they were closely related was evident by their features. Both Victor and the young woman had the same delicate features and skin coloration, the same pale eyes.

"Rebecca!" Victor shouted, lunging for her. Strong hands grabbed him, halting him in mid-flight. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" he cursed Hartline.

The mercenary laughed. "Tie him into that chair over there," he pointed. "Hands behind the back, ankles to the legs."

Hartline looked at the young woman. Something evil touched his eyes. "Now, my dear, you may disrobe."

"No, I won't," she said defiantly, holding her chin high.

Hartline chuckled. "Oh, I think you shall, Rebecca, dear. Yes, indeed."

Hartline picked up a small cattle prod and adjusted the level of voltage. He walked to Victor's side. He lifted his eyes to the woman. "Take off your clothes."

"No," she whispered.

Hartline touched the cattle prod to Victor's bare arm and activated it. The young man jerked in the chair and yelled in pain.

"Don't do it, sis! I can stand it."

Hartline laughed and touched the prod to Victor's p.e.n.i.s. The young man screamed in agony, his jerking toppling over the chair.

"All right," Rebecca said. "Don't hurt him anymore. I'll do what you say."

"That's a dear girl," the mercenary smiled.

As Rebecca disrobed, the mercenary walked in circles around her, commenting on her figure: the slender shapeliness of her legs as she peeled off her jeans; the firmness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s; the jutting nipples; and finally the mat of pubic hair.

Hartline smiled as some of the men whistled. "You see, boys. There are other benefits to be reaped from all this. Or should I say raped?"

The roomful of men laughed.

Hartline ran his hands over the girl's flesh, lingering between her legs. He looked over at Victor, now righted in his chair. "The name of your cell leader, young man, for I a.s.sure you, game time is all over."

"Don't tell him, Victor!" Rebecca called. "Our lives mean nothing. We can stand it; we're not worth anything to this beast dead. He won't kill us."

Hartline smiled. "How astute of you, my dear. Quite right. But sometimes death is preferable to living?"

She smiled at him.

"You doubt it? Oh, my dear-how naive you are. I have seen human beings reduced to madmen, every inch of skin stripped from them-and still they lived, praying to die. I have seen ... ah ... I do so hate to be crude ... various objects forced into a man's a.n.u.s; have you ever seen what happens to a man when a thin, hollow piece of gla.s.s is inserted into the p.e.n.i.s and then the p.e.n.i.s is tapped lightly with a club? The pain is excruciating-so I'm told. But we don't need to go into all that sordid type of truth-seeking, do we, dear?"

She spat in his face.

"Oh, my dear," Hartline said, wiping the spittle from his cheeks. "Now you've made me angry." He looked at Victor. "One more time, Vic-baby: the name of your cell leader."

Victor shook his head.

Hartline looked back at the young woman.

"I'll never tell you," she said.

Hartline leaned his head down and kissed one nipple, running his tongue around the nipple, thoroughly wetting it. He straightened up and placed the cattle prod on Rebecca's breast. "One of you will," he said.

"What are we to do?" Senator Carson asked President Addison. "This nation cannot endure a civil war."

"I don't know, Bill," Aston said, drumming his fingertips on his desk. "It's a personal thing between Cody and Raines. Cody's brother was killed in Tri-States. How much support do I really have, Bill?"

The old senator sighed. He had been in the Senate longer than any man still alive: since 1960, sliding in on Jack Kennedy's bandwagon. He had seen much, this old aging liberal. Back during the bombings, and immediately thereafter, he had been presumed dead. But he had been vacationing in the mountains of North Carolina when the rumors of war had first surfaced. He had elected not to return to Washington when he learned of the military's taking control of the nation just hours before the nuclear and germ warfare blew the world apart.