Ashes - Standoff In The Ashes Part 33

"Davy knew better than that."

"What the h.e.l.l difference does that make now?"

There was no response from Carl.

Ben waited.

"Allright!" Ben now could recognize Carl's voice. "Blow that G.o.dd.a.m.n house apart! Do it right now!"

Ben waited, peering out one side of the rotting pile of 271.

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firewood until the pins of the grenades were pulled and the grenades were tossed and in the air. Then he moved while the meres were bellied down on the ground, out of the path of the shrapnel that was sure to fill the air.

Ben scampered as fast as he could, staying as low as possible, over to the south side of the house, about twenty-five meters away from the meres, and bellied down just as the grenades blew. The rotting remains of the old farmhouse blew apart. The walls puffed out and thendisintegrated, and the roof collapsed with almost a contented sigh. Dust filled the air for seconds. That was all the time Ben needed.

Ben raised himself to his knees and burned a magazine of 5.56 rounds into the meres on the south side of the house. The Federal mercenaries were just getting up to their knees to take a look at the damage done to the house.

Ben knew they were mercenaries because of their shoulder patches. His intel people had advised him of those patches. Ben had smiled then. They were miniatures of the skull and crossbones of the old pirate flag, the Jolly Roger.

The mag of 5.56 rounds tore up flesh, cracked and splintered bone, and sent the meres to whatever place their Maker had picked out for them.

"Good riddance," Ben muttered as he crawled over to the three shot up meres.

One was dead, one was unconscious, and the third was not long for this world.

The conscious mere took one look at Ben and gave a b.l.o.o.d.y curving of the lips, more of a pain-filled grimace than a smile. "We sure picked a mean son of a b.i.t.c.h to try to kill on this beautiful day, didn't we, General?" the mercenary gasped. Both his hands were holding his perforated belly.

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"You sure did," Ben whispered. "You know my name, boy. How is that?"

"h.e.l.l, General. d.a.m.n near everybody in the world knows who you are." He closed his eyes and groaned as waves of pain ripped through him.

"Miles!" Carl yelled from the north side of the house. "What the h.e.l.l was that shooting?"

"Your name Miles?" Ben asked.

"No. That's him with half his head gone. I'm Peter. That's Wilhelm to your left."

"Answer him, Peter."

"Why?" the mere challenged. "You want to answer him, be my guest."

"Tough to the end, hey, Peter?"

"You'd better believe it, General."

Peter then smiled faintly, closed his eyes, and died widi-out making another sound.

Ben took a quick look past the ruins of the old house. He didn't think he could toss a grenade that far with any accuracy, and he wasn't going to try. He cut his eyes for a couple of seconds. The old lean-to where he had parked the Hummer had survived the concussion from the explosion and was still intact.

Ben mentally counted the dead or badly wounded. Seven, he thought. Ninemeres to begin with. That left two, both of them on the other side of the jumble of wood that remained of the old house. One of them was Carl.

Ben didn't think he had heard the other's name mentioned. Not that it made any difference-neither one of them were going to walk away from this fight. . . not if Ben had his way.

"Where is that son of a b.i.t.c.h?" he heard the voice ask.

"h.e.l.l, I don't know," Carl replied. "He d.a.m.n sure wasn't in the house, was he? But I think Miles and Peter and Wilhelm have had it."

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"He's out-guessing us at every step."

"So far," Carl replied. "This isn't over yet."

"He killed Miles and Peter and Wilhelm. It's d.a.m.n near over. Just the two of us left."

"I can count, Frank."

"So can I. And I don't like the odds, Carl. Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here."

"No way, Frank. We finish this right here and now."

"You finish it, Carl. I'm gone."

"Steady down, Frank. Get a grip on yourself."

"f.u.c.k you, Carl!"

"Don't make me shoot you, Frank. I will, d.a.m.n you."

"Then do it, Carl. I'm gone."

"d.a.m.n you, Frank. I will."

Ben couldn't hear all of die conversation, but he certainly got the gist of it. He heard another exchange of angry voices. Then he heard the single gunshot.

"d.a.m.n," he muttered. "I think Carl really shot him. So much for camaraderie."

"All right, you son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Carl yelled. "I guess it's just you and me now."

Ben said nothing. He looked up at the sky. Almost dark. The light was tricky now.

"You hear me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

Ben remained silent.

"You got a name?"

Ben pulled a grenade from his battle harness and slowly removed the pin,holding the spoon down.

"Answer me, d.a.m.n you!"

Ben waited. "Your move, you d.i.c.khead," he whispered to the gathering darkness.

Carl burned half a mag in Ben's direction while he was shifting positions. Ben kept his head down, but heard it when Carl stumbled on some shattered boards as he made his run to the north side of the ruins of the old house.

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"Good move, Carl," Ben muttered. "For me, that is. Gets you closer to me. Maybe close enough. We'll see."

Ben popped the spoon and tossed the grenade. It was an awkward throw, and landed a few yards short of the far edge of what was left of the house, but it served its purpose. The blast filled the dusky air with dust and splinters and rusty nails. The dust covered Carl's eyes with a grainy film, and the splinters and nails peppered his upper body and face.

Carl started screaming in pain and shouting, "I'm blind, you rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You've blinded me, G.o.dd.a.m.n you to h.e.l.l. You've blinded me!"

Ben charged out from behind cover and stopped and leveled his CAR when he saw Carl stumbling and staggering around by the side of the house.

Ben shot him.

The rounds from the CAR knocked the mercenary backward and set him down on his b.u.t.t. With one hand on the ground, bracing himself, the mere used his other hand to wipe the sweat and dust from his face until he could see Ben.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n you, now you've killed me!" Carl said.

"Seems that way, doesn't it, Carl?"

"You're no young kid, that's for sure. You've got some miles on you.

That makes it better." Carl blinked several times. Then he tried a smile. "General Ben Raines. Well, I'll just be G.o.dd.a.m.ned. That makes it even better. I'll die easier knowing one of the best took me out." The mercenary moaned and fell over on the ground. He gasped for breath for a few seconds, then seemed to settle down.

"I'll make no promises, but I'll try to bury you all in some fashion."

"Don't bother, General. I've left a thousand men I've killed on the ground to rot."

"As you wish."

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"All my men dead?""Dead or dying."

"You're d.a.m.n good, you are. You better be good, Ben Raines. You better be d.a.m.n good. I heard about that deal you and Berman worked out."

"Did you now? What did you hear?"

"That you and him was gonna settle an old score memo a mano. Any truth to that?"

"Yes. But I don't know what the old score is."

"He does. But he never said."

"Makes no difference. I'm going to kill him."

"You might just do that. You're d.a.m.n sure tricky enough."

Ben walked around the battle area. All the mercenaries were dead, and when he returned to stand over Carl, Carl had slipped into eternity.

Ben looked around, trying to spot a suitable place to put the bodies.

Then he thought about burying them. There was a shovel in the Hummer.

Ben finally decided to leave the bodies where they had fallen.

"h.e.l.l with it," he said.

He wasn't in any mood to dig a big hole, anyway.

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Ben pulled the mercenary's vehicle behind the lean-to and removed some rations and ammo from the truck, stowing them in his Hummer. The meres had all been carrying regulation M-16's with bloop tubes, and Ben took two of them and all their 40mm grenades, filling two rucksacks. Why they hadn't used the rifle grenades was something that Ben didn't understand.

Ben loaded up and pulled out, driving about five miles up the old blacktop before cutting down a gravel/dirt road. The road was nearly overgrown with weeds, and to Ben's eye did not look as though it had been used much in a long time.

He cut off into what had once been a pasture, and topped a low hill. His headlights picked up an old shotgun house b.u.t.ted up against a thick stand of timber.

"Home for the night," Ben said, and he pulled on down the hill and around to the rear of the old tenant house. "And none too soon, either,"

he added.

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As soon as he una.s.sed from the Hummer, the weariness. .h.i.t Ben hard. He'd been running on pure adrenaline for several hours, and fatigue had finally caught up with him. He sat down on die ground and put his back to die side of the Hummer, resting diere for a few minutes.He caught a few moments rest and then got out his portable stove and made a small pot of coffee. He ate some crackers and peanut b.u.t.ter from one of his accessory packs and then had a cup of coffee and a smoke. He slowly began to feel better, in spite of die numerous bruises on his body from dirowing himself and landing on die hard ground several times.

The gear on his battle harness was not meant for a human body to land on.

"You are no kid, Raines," he whispered to die night. Then he smiled.

"But then, you're not over the hill yet."

Just don't put a hill in front of me and tell me I have to climb it right now, he diought widi a grin. He chuckled at his own joke.

His grin faded as his dioughts shifted to Berman. He wondered if he would ever know why die man hated him so. Probably not. Not tfiat it really made a serious difference one way or die odier, but it did trouble Ben somewhat.