Ashes - Fury In The Ashes Part 31

"End it. You all heard the short-wave last night. n.o.body made it out of San Diego.

Less than ten percent of the people who ran L.a. are still alive. That's a guess on somebody's part, but I'd say it's fairly accurate."

"What are you gettin' at?" Fang asked.

"We die quick, or we die slow from the cold."

He was reflective for a moment. "Somebody once said that Ben Raines wasn't human. Maybe that's true. I laughed when I first heard it. But I ain't laughin' no more. A few years ago, Ben Raines said he'd clear the earth of punks and thugs and lawless types. I got a good laugh outta that too. At the time. At the time there was nearabs sixty thousand of us in L.a. Ben Raines had about five thousand Rebels. Well,look who won. Ben Raines has got seven or eight thousand Rebels now, and we're reduced to about seventy-five. Can any of you really grasp the enormity, the awesomeness of that?"

Sally could. Before anyone could stop her, she stuck the barrel of her M-16 in her mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing the back of her head off.

Fang jumped up, staring at the b.l.o.o.d.y mess, horror in his eyes and on his face. "That's it!"

he said in a hushed tone. "That's all for me. The Rebels may shoot me, they may put me up against a wall or they may hang me, but G.o.dd.a.m.nit, I'm gonna have me a good meal and be warm for a while before they do it." He let his pistol belt fall to the cold ground and let his rifle stay propped against a rock. He pulled a dirty white handkerchief from a pocket of his jeans and walked out of the camp, holding the signal of surrender high.

"You don't mean it," Bull yelled.

"The h.e.l.l I don't," Fang yelled over his shoulder and kept on walking.

Bull leveled his pistol and shot the man in the back. Fang twisted and pitched face forward, falling to his knees. "You sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" he gasped, then died, his blood staining the white dusted ground.

One of Bull's own men said, "I can't take no more of this." He pulled the trigger on a shotgun, blowing a hole in Bull's back. Bull cursed and screamed and tried to lift his pistol. "Sorry, Bull" the punk said. The shotgun roared again.

Bull slumped forward and died on his knees. He stayed that way for a few seconds, then toppled over.

"Jesus Christ!" A woman had breathed the words.

"That's it," the street punk said, laying the shotgun on the ground. "It's over."

"They won't let us surrender," a thug said.

"I think they will," the punk who killed Bull said.

"Leastways I'm gonna find out. Anybody goin' with me?"

They all stood up and dropped their weapons.

A punk lifted his walkie-talkie. "We're quittin'. Anybody who wants to join us, just drop your weapons and start walkin', hands in the air." He threw the walkie-talkie to the ground and lifted his hands.

The siege of southern California was nearly over.

Or so Ben thought. He could not know that the G.o.ds of war were laughing hysterically.

Chapter Six.

"About a thousand of the street punks surrendered, General," Corrie said, relaying the message to Ben. "They walked out with their hands in the air. A badly beaten bunch. According to the prisoners, there isn't a leader of a major Los Angeles street gang left alive."

"Tell the commanders to accept their surrender, Corrie. Transport them to that old NavalAir Station the pilots have been using. Have medical personnel check them over carefully and then hold them under guard until I get there. Get some transport planes ready for us. Tell Cecil where we're going." He looked at Therm and smiled. "You're in command here. Start the push north.

Take your time, check it all carefully ...

Colonel."

"Thank you," Therm said dryly.

Emil bounced into the CP, his turban c.o.c.ked sideways, down over one eye. "I'm ready, Colonel Therm," the little man said.

"Have fun," Ben said.

"To be sure," Therm replied.

Ben looked at the punks, sitting on a runway at the old Naval Air Station. There was no bl.u.s.ter left in any of them. He'd seen some beaten-down POW'S in his time, but this bunch took the prize.

"I ought to shoot every d.a.m.n one of you," he said through a bullhorn.

The arid odor of urine filled the air as many of the prisoners peed their underwear.

"But ..." He paused. "For the first time in years, I'm going to go against my own rules. You people are going to make the town of Fallon a Rebel outpost.

It's going to be a model for all others. It's going to have schools and churches and clinics and lights and running water and proper sewage. And above all, it's going to have law and order. And you people are going to do it all. All by yourselves. Prove me wrong, people.

Make it work. Do that, and I'll admit I was wrong. You're going to elect a leader, and a town council, and you're going to make this outpost work. I don't think you can do it. But you'd better do it. Because if you don't, I'm going to come back here and hang every G.o.dd.a.m.n one of you!

"Dan, get some people ready to start fingerprinting and photoing these new model citizens." He turned back to the stunned but highly relieved crowd.

"Notice I didn't say mug shots. See, I'm already giving you the benefit of the doubt. You're on a honor system, people. In a manner of speaking.

There won't be anyone here to prevent you all from running away. But your prints will be on file and so will your pictures. And if you run away, we'll find you eventually, and we'll kill you.

"In all fairness to you, I don't know if this area can support this many people. If it can't, half of you move down the road to the next town. Let me give you some advice. Have a meeting and see what group will be planting potatoes, who will raise beef and sheep, sweet corn and feed corn, and so forth. Whatever you need to get started, we'll supply you.

"I don't know if this is going to work or not. The Rebels have never done anything like this before. Usually, with people like you, we just shoot you and have done with it. Maybe I'm mellowing in my middle age. And it could be that I'm running a slight fever and not responsible formy actions. Whatever my reasons, I'm handing you a new life. You're free of all your past crimes. I'm going to stick around here for a few days. I want to talk to as many of you as possible.

Take over, Dan." He handed the Englishman the bullhorn.

"It might work, General," Dan said softly.

"I hope so, Dan. I hope so."

During the next several days Ben met with former nurses, former store owners, ex-cops, people from nearly all walks of civilian life. And a lot of hard-core, lifelong punks.

He set the tone of the meetings first thing, and bluntly. "I don't want to hear about your childhood. I don't give a d.a.m.n if your parents didn't have time to play games with you, or even if you had parents. I don't care if you didn't like school; that's your problem if you thought you were so smart you didn't need an education. Ninety percent of your problems is that you grew up in one of the most permissive periods that ever dawned on the face of the earth. And that's not all your fault."

At that, puzzled looks would pa.s.s over the faces of those in whatever group Ben was speaking to. Then he called for questions.

And it surprised Ben that many of the questions they asked him were intelligent ones, dealing with values, morals, and the work ethic. He found many of them to be highly intelligent, and a few to be borderline-stupid. And he pulled no punches with them. He wanted them scared of him, and they were.

He knew that all forms of government are, in part, based on fear. Governments cannot and will not work without that element.

He told them that if they stayed on in the town, the work would be hard and the life would sometimes be lonely. And that others would try to take what they had built from them. And that always got the same response.

"Ain't no way, General."

And the shocker from Ben was, "And of course you will be armed when we leave."

After the numbing silence had abated, Ben said, "You're part of this movement now. For every Rebel, there are five hundred others out there who want to destroy us. You are part of us now, and the word will spread. And spread quickly. If we were to leave you here unarmed, you'd be overwhelmed in a month. And bear this in mind, once you fire that first shot against outlaws, you're forever branded as a Rebel. If you need help, get on that radio and holler. There are Rebel patrols working all over America. We can have troops here by plane in a few hours. Good luck, people."

Ben landed back in southern California at the old Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base and rejoined Thermopolis, who had worked his way up to just south of the base.

"It'll work out with a little bit of luck," Ben told him. "I actually have a good feeling about those people.Oh, some of them will cut and run. I'd guess ten to fifteen percent of them. But I think the majority of them will stay. Let's hope. Only time will tell."

If the usually optimistic Therm had any doubts about the new outpost, he did not voice them.

"We're finding a few people as we go," he said. "But not many. This area was really stripped of human life by the outlaws and the creepies."

Ben nodded his agreement. "We'll probably never know how many people lost their lives to the sc.u.m and the creepies. But I'll wager it was in the hundreds of thousands. How about Camp Pendleton?"

"Looted and stripped and destroyed. If the punks felt they couldn't use a piece of armor, they dropped some type of explosives down the hatch."

"Like all vandalism, senseless. Are you meeting any resistance?"

"Very little. A few random shots fired occasionally.

But other than that, our forward progress has been fast and boring."

"You get the feeling it's going too easy?"

"Very definitely. I'm getting an itchy feeling in the middle of my back."

"Others have said the same thing. What are the Scouts reporting?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And unless I'm getting paranoid, that tells me something is up."

"I agree. And with seventy-five percent of our people a couple of hundred miles away, we're vulnerable."

Dan walked up, an odd expression on his face. "I hate to be an alarmist, General. But I feel eyes on me."

"That's just what we were discussing, Dan. Go to middle alert and double the guards. I think we've got trouble coming at us."

"Punks?" Therm asked.

Ben shook his head. "Creepies. We've destroyed their last major bastion, and they've got nowhere to go and nothing to lose now. They just might be preparing for a suicide attack. I think they've dug deep holes -- literally -- and have been waiting us out. They know we don't have the people to search every house and building, every bas.e.m.e.nt and every drainage system. I think we are going to be in for a rough time of it, very soon."

"If they stay true to form," Tina said, "they'll attack at night."

"But why wait?" Linda asked. She paused, looked at Ben, and then answered her own question. "They want you."

"That's right." He glanced at his watch. "I've got all the other battalions moving around Nevada, chasing down outlaws and searching for equipment. Cecil still has his hands full in Los Angeles. It's up to us, people. Let's batten down the hatches and get ready for a blow."

"We stay here?" Buddy asked. "On the oldbase?"

"It's as good a place as any to fight from." Ben smiled. "A lot of tradition here, a lot of fighting spirit still clinging to these grounds. We could sure do worse."

Ben found Lamar and briefed him. "I'll set up in the middle of the perimeter, Ben," Lamar said. "Those old concrete block buildings over there will be the best. We can tuck the generator trucks in close for protection. It would take too long to clean out the main hospital. See you around, Raines."

"Lamar." Ben's voice turned him around. "Get armed. This just might be a bad one."

Chase nodded his head, gave Ben a sloppy mock salute, and walked on, yelling for his people.

Ben chose to set up in an old office building.

"Start sandbagging, gang," he ordered. "It'll be dark in about two hours. We don't have much time."

Ben found a good defensive position and began filling clips for his M-14. That done, he went outside and helped fill sandbags. He was the commanding general of all Rebel forces, but no Rebel sat on his or her a.s.s and watched others work.

Civilian or soldier, general or private, owner or employee, that didn't cut it in the Rebel system.

"General Jefferys on the horn," Corrie called from the office building.

"Go, Cec."

"You got troubles down there, Ben?"

"We all seem to think so, Cec. We all have itchy feelings. I think the creeps are going to try for a suicide charge. It's probably going to be a long night."

Linda watched the sure but unhurried movement of the Rebels as they prepared for battle. And as before, she was both impressed and a little puzzled by their movements.

"They act ... well, I don't know whether complacent is the right word," she said to Ben.

"Smug?" Ben replied, cutting his eyes. "No, we're not smug, Linda. But we are very sure of ourselves. We've been doing this for a long time. Many of those people out there have been with me for years."

The tanks and light armor had disappeared into buildings, usually by driving right through the front or rear. They lowered the muzzles of their cannon and readied their machine guns.

Ben said, "Where is your shotgun?"

Linda smiled and lifted an Uzi machine pistol, .380 caliber.

"Lord have mercy on us all," Ben said with a smile.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Buddy found it for me and helped teach me how to shoot it. I love it!"