Ashes - Fire In The Ashes Part 20

They burned all police stations to the ground, first gutting them with fire and then using explosives to destroy the buildings. They destroyed all government records of the personal lives of citizens and turned the job of peace-keeping over to the people.

They armed all adults who wanted to be armed and told them to protect themselves against arrest should the federal police or troops come in after the Rebels left. In most areas of southern Virginia, the back of the police state was broken.

At noon, Jim Slater and Paul Green landed their twin-engined craft at the small airport of Radford, Virginia. Except for a few curious stares, no one said anything about the way they were dressed, their guns, or what they were doing in Radford. Everyone knew long before they landed. They were met by a Virginia federal highway patrolman. He wore the bars of a captain. Another patrolman, the stripes of a sergeant. They walked to within a few yards of the Rebel pilots and their gunners, the gunners armed with M-60 machine guns.

"I gather it would be rather foolish of me to try and arrest you people?" the captain said.

"Considering the circ.u.mstances and all," Jim replied, "I'd say it would be downright dumb."

"I know you are the vanguard of a much larger force of Rebels," the captain stood his ground. "And I know you people have destroyed any law officers who tried to stop your advance in Kentucky and Virginia. Just how much bloodshed do you antic.i.p.ate in this area?"

"That is entirely up to you people," Jim told him.

The captain looked at his sergeant. Both men shrugged. "Under this new system we keep hearing about," the captain said, "will there evenbe cops?"

"Peace officers," Jim replied. "We're going to try to keep cops to a minimum. You men think you can handle the t.i.tle of peace officer?"

"What's the difference between a peace officer and a cop?" the sergeant asked.

"You enforce the laws the people tell you to enforce and you don't ha.s.sle."

"I think we can handle that," the captain said dryly. "We were both police officers years before the federalization order came down. All right, count us in."

"Y'all sure give up easy," Jim's gunner said. "What's the catch?"

"Simple," the captain replied. "You people are going to win the first round of this war. I have no intention of dying fighting you. You're still going to need officers to investigate accidents, patrol the highways, take care of drunks, and pick up the b.l.o.o.d.y pieces of stupid fools who shoot themselves with all those guns you people are pa.s.sing out-right?"

Jim grinned. "Maybe you two will make good peace officers after all."

The highway cops didn't see the humor in it. The captain made that clear. "We've always been good cops, Reb. So have a lot of other men. But we needed a job. I never tortured any citizen in my life, and neither did Harry here," he nodded at the sergeant. "Lots of cops didn't. I like to think we probably saved some people from that fate."

"Okay," Jim smiled. "I think you guys will be all right. I'll take you at your word. Now then, how many troopers in your district are good cops and not bully boys with a badge and a gun?"

"Not very many," the captain said reluctantly. "Not like it was before the bombings of '88. Maybe ...

thirty percent of the troopers are still good cops."

"How about the sheriffs and deputies and local cops?"

The sergeant spat on the ground. "s.h.i.t!" he said. "a.s.shole buddy system prevails there. They got their friends who can do no wrong-everyone else gets ha.s.sled. Not a whole h.e.l.l of a lot different from before the bombings, if you know what I mean."

"I do," Jim said. "Okay. You two have a lot of work to do if you want to prevent bloodshed. You get in touch with the men and women you think will work with us, cull the rest. Maybe we can pull this nation upright again-if we work together."

"I wonder how Roanna is doing?" Jane asked. Sabra glanced at her. "Last word I got from her she said she was pulling out with the Rebels. Should be a h.e.l.l of a story if she makes it."

The women locked gazes. "Something, Jane?" Sabra asked.

The small woman sighed. "For all the feeling of ... unclean I have after the other night, I have to say this, Sabra: Al Cody is not an evil man."

"I know, Jane. I got the same impression. Tell me, did you get the feeling the VP is not playing with a full deck?"

"Yes," her reply came quickly. "I certainly did. And that phone call he got. I listened on the extension; I know that voice."

"Who was it?" Sabra asked, excitement evident on her face.

"It was m.u.f.fled; I think intentionally so. I couldn't place it, but I've heard it before, many times, I believe."

"You said Lowry kept repeating, 'Yes, sir,' and 'No, sir.' Who would Lowry say that to? I know he wouldn't say it to the president."

"No. Certainly not." The woman sighed. "All I can think about is the invitation for next week. I feel like a kid going to the dentist's office."

Sabra said nothing.

"How's Nancy?"

"Coping. Very well, I should think. Hartline has ... taken her several more times. I don't know what to do, Jane. I've never felt this powerless in my life. This ... helpless to deal with a situation."

"Then we'll just have to do what Nancy is doing," Jane said.

Sabra looked at her.

"Cope."

At one o'clock in the afternoon, Ben's column of Rebels rolled into Radford. Two squads of Rebels rounded up all the police, disarmed them, and put them in jail.

"You can't do this!" the sheriff squalled. "I'm the law around here."

"Oh, shut up," a Rebel told him. "Stop bellyaching. If you don't like it in jail, just tell us, we can always take you out and shoot you." The sheriff did not see the wink at another Rebel.

"Luther, G.o.dd.a.m.n!" the chief of police said. "Will you, for Christ's sake, keep your big mouth shut?"

In the downtown area, many people stopped to witness the arrival of the Rebels. Many thought they were regular Army troops.

"Hey, what outfit you guys with?" a bystander called. He took a second look. He blinked. "Holy Christ!" he said. "There's women on those trucks; and they're armed, too."

A crowd gathered around the lead vehicles of the convoy. A hundred or more people. They fell silent when Ben pulled up and got out, carrying his old Thompson SMG.

When it comes to firearms, the American public is conditioned to react in a measurable way. There are people who will tell you, quite honestly, that a .22-caliber bullet will not kill a person. Those people are not very bright.

An M-1 rifle will bring this reaction: "Oh, yeah. My Uncle Harry has one of those. Uses it to deer hunt."

Many people still think of the M-16 as a toy.

A BAR is not that well known.

A 155 howitzer just sits there.

But lay the old Chicago Piano on a table, the .45-caliber Thompson submachine gun, and there is a visible sucking-in-of-the-gut reaction.

My G.o.d, boys! That thing can kill you.

"There is no need for any panic," Ben told them. "We're not here to harm any citizen. We'll spend the night and be gone in the morning."

"You people are the Rebels," a woman said. "You must be General Raines."

"That is correct, ma'am."

Dawn walked up to the Jeep, drawing a number of frankly admiring glances from the men. She ignored a few hostile looks from several women. "The local cell has a town meeting set for this afternoon at five,"

she said. "They want to know if that's all right with you?"

"Let's see what the citizens have to say." He faced the ever-growing number of townspeople.

"How would you people like to have a town meeting this afternoon? If there is a law you don't like-change it. It's your town, you live here."

"Where are the federal police?" a man called out the question.

"In jail, along with the sheriff and the chief of police."

Another citizen shared the grins of many in the crowd. Several men and women laughed aloud. "Now, that's a sight I'd like to see."

"They haven't been good lawmen?" Ben asked.

"They were appointed after the federalization order went into effect," he was told. "Being out there in the Tri-States like you were, you probably didn't-couldn't-know all that was going on out here. They got awful high and mighty once they realized the ordinary citizen couldn't touch them in any way; when the private guns were rounded up and only the cops and a few of their friends were armed. You know what I mean, General."

"Yes, I do," Ben said. "Well, all that is going to change-shortly."

"We'll see you at the school at five."

The parking lot of the local high school was full to overflowing, the Rebels forced to park cars in the nearby streets. Inside, teenagers were placed in charge of the very young children, cla.s.srooms used as childcare rooms. The adults, those seventeen and older, were packed into the auditorium.

The sight of armed, uniformed Rebels had served a twofold purpose: piquing the curiosity of the citizens and quieting them down considerably. Still there was a low hum of quiet conversation. This was the first time the people had been allowed to meet, en ma.s.se, since the government had reformed after the bombings of 1988 and the relocation efforts of the government.

When Ben stepped onto the stage, the hum of conversation ceased.

Ben looked the crowd over and they looked back at him. He clicked the mike on and spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

The amplifier was set too high and the huge room was filled with electronic feedback. The amplifier was adjusted and Ben continued.

"My name is General Ben Raines. I am commander of what the press has termed The Rebels. Your police and sheriff's department no longer exist, as such. This town, for the moment, is under martial law."

There was a roar of conversation and Ben hastened to rea.s.sure the people.

"Let me explain, folks; I think you probably have the wrong idea."

The people showed no sign of quieting, so Ben leaned against the podium and waited. After a moment, a man stood up and began walking down the aisle. Midway, he stopped. "I'm Ed Vickers," he said.

"Mayor of Radford. What in the h.e.l.l is going on in this country? Particularly here in this town?"

"We-the Rebels-are taking control from the government," Ben told him. "And returning it to the people, hopefully," he added.

"Good luck," the mayor grunted. "Where are the federal police?"

"Outside in the hall, alive and well, under guard. The only thing hurt about any of them is their dignity."

"Too d.a.m.n bad about their dignity," a man's voice rumbled from the depths of the crowd. "You give that blond-headed, young, smart-mouthed city cop to me and I'll hurt more than his dignity."

It was going just as Ben thought it would. He listened for a moment as some others began shouting out their complaints concerning the federal police and their high-handed tactics. Ben propped the b.u.t.t of the old Thompson on the podium and let his features harden in the harsh lights. He looked tough, dangerous, and very competent.

The packed auditorium grew silent.

Ben laid the Thompson on a low table. "What we are going to do this evening, people, is something I have long advocated for all states of this nation."

Roanna was carefully recording every word. She did so with a faint smile of admiration on her lips. If she came out of this alive, she felt she would win the Pulitzer for this story.

"You people are going to have a town meeting. An old-fashioned town-hall meeting. It's your right to do that. This is your town, you live here, your tax dollars help support it-you certainly have a right to have a say in the way it's run. Within reason, and keeping in mind that every law-abiding citizen has his or her rights, you people may govern this town the way you see fit."

One man, seated in the rear of the auditorium, jumped to his feet. "I'm the local DA," he said. "And I want to go on record as being opposed to everything you and your band of outlaws stand for."

A man seated across the aisle got to his feet, stepped across the aisle, and punched the DA in the mouth, knocking him back in his seat.

"Excuse me, General," he said, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. "But a lot of us have wanted to do that for a long time. He's federal, just like the cops, and he's come down hard on a lot of us."

"You're both of the same size and age," Ben said. "Hit him again if you want to."

"I'll sue you!" the DA shouted.

The room exploded in laughter and shouts of hooting derision.

And many of the Rebels present were suddenly flung back in time, to another day, a more peaceful time, back to the Tri-States.

Three.

The reception center at the entrance to the Tri-States was large and cool and comfortable, furnished with a variety of chairs and couches. Racks of literature about Tri-States, its people, its economy, and its laws filled half of one wall. A table with doughnuts and two coffee urns sat in the center of the room; soft-drink machines were set to the right of the table. Between two closed doors was a four-foot high desk, fifteen feet long, closed from floor to top. Behind the desk, two young women stood, one of them Tina Raines.

The girls were dressed identically: jeans and light blue shirts.