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Synopsis
In a post-apocalyptic, dystopian America rebels fight to end an ongoing civil war and restore freedom—from a USA Today –bestselling author. Ben Rines and his patriot army have defeated many foes, from mutant night people to the blackshirted forces of Jesus Mendoza Hoffman and the enemy axis in the Great War. But now the socialist dictators of the USA, smarting from their defeat at the hands of the Southern United States of America, have unleashed their fury against Raines. As wave after wave of missiles is launched at the free state, the SUSA command retaliates in kind—giving better than it gets. With the North American continent suddenly turned into a landscape of horror and destruction, Raines's rebel warriors charge into the USA to topple its tyrants and return to a subjected people their long-lost holy grail: the Constitution of the United States of America.... Twenty-ninth in the long-running series!
Release date: March 16, 2010
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Print pages: 319
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Crisis in the Ashes
William W. Johnstone
Ben Raines was awakened by the ringing of his telephone. He fumbled for the receiver and swung his legs out of bed, almost stepping on the Malamute he’d adopted—rather, who’d adopted him—last week.
“Yeah?” Ben said, glancing at the clock on the night-stand. 0200 hours.
“Ben?” Cecil Jeffreys said, sounding tired. “Get down to the command center’s war room. We’ve got a building situation.”
“On my way.” Ben didn’t waste time asking what the situation was. That would be explained when he got to the war room.
Ben took a quick shower and dressed in BDUs. Fifteen minutes after Cecil’s call, he was pulling out of his driveway. Mal sat in the front seat of the Hummer beside him, looking out at the night.
“Something big is brewing, Mal,” Ben said. “Osterman has pulled something. You can bet on that.”
The Malamute woowoowooed her deep-voiced reply.
“I’m still working on a name for you, girl,” Ben told the big dog. “Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something.”
“Woowoowoowoo!”
“Right. I know we’re being followed. Better get used to it.” There were several Rebel security vehicles trailing Ben through the quiet early morning hours.
Ben’s team met him in the parking lot of the command center. Ben handed Mal’s leash to Anna. “Take care of her, kiddo.”
“Will do, Pops. Come on, Jodie.”
Ben stopped and turned around. “What’d you call her?”
“Jodie. You like it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. OK. Jodie it is.”
Ben passed through several checkpoints, then was admitted to the elevator that would take him down to the war room of the presidential command center. There he passed through another checkpoint and was admitted to the war room.
Cecil smiled at him. “I just hung up the phone after speaking with Madame President Osterman, Ben. She has given us an ultimatum.”
Ben poured a mug of coffee. He glanced up at the Defense Posture Board. The top light was slowly blinking a dull red—the next to highest defense alert. When it changed to a constant bright red, the SUSA would be on a full alert and on a war status for possible missiles coming at them.
“What is the ultimatum, Cec?”
“Immediate surrender.”
“And if we don’t comply, which of course we won’t?”
“She will order the launch of missiles against us.”
“Nuclear?”
“She didn’t say.”
“I doubt they’ll be nukes. Probably germ warheads. Kill all the nasty ole conservatives and keep the buildings for use by the occupying troops.” Ben laughed. “Socialist carpetbaggers. Now that’s funny, Cec.”
“I truly wish I could find something amusing about this situation.”
“What’s her deadline for launch?”
“0600. I have our air defenses on alert.”
Ben walked over to a red telephone and picked it up. “This is General Raines. All air defenses are to go on full alert nationwide . . . immediately. We’re going to have missiles to intercept, and we don’t want any to strike SUSA soil. OK. Good shooting.”
Ben slowly hung up the phone just as Cec was opening his mouth to object. He managed a, “Ben—”
Ben shook his head. “My show now, Cec. You know our constitution better than I.”
“You’re right, of course. Do we warn our citizens about the possibility of a strike?”
“Not just yet. An hour’s time is all many will need. A few minutes’ time is all most will need.”
“I’ve told Osterman that her demands are ridiculous.”
“I would’ve told her a lot more than that,” Ben replied very seriously.
“Oh?” Cec managed a smile.
“Yeah. Like where to shove her demands. Sideways and with great force.”
“They would probably fit,” Cec replied, equally drily.
“I’m sure.”
The men drank coffee and chatted for a half hour until Ben told Cecil to go take a nap, get some rest. He would man the command center until Cec woke up.
Ben told the security people to get his team into the war room. While that was going on, he got Ike on the horn.
“I think you should be here, Ike.”
“I’ll stay with my troops,” the former Navy SEAL said.
“I thought you’d say that, Ike, but I wanted to try. Intel says they’re ninety-nine percent certain the warheads are germ, BW of some sort. But they aren’t sure what type of bugs they contain.”
“We have the vaccines for every type of bug we know Osterman has,” Ike replied. “The troops are ready.”
“You know that some of the missiles are going to get through.”
“I know, Ben.”
“We’re probably going to lose several hundred thousand civilians.”
“If only they’d taken the vaccines we offered,” Ike said, his voice full of frustration. He was referring to the fact that only about fifty percent of the citizens of SUSA had complied with Jeffreys’ recommendation to take the free vaccines their scientists had cooked up against BW, Biological Warfare.
“That’s the problem with having a populace that believes in individual freedom, Ike, and with having a constitution that prohibits us from forcing them to do something we think is in their best interests. They made their choice, after being informed of our best guesses about the consequences. Now, those who decided not to take the vaccines will have to live, or die, with their decisions.”
“I know, but if that rotten bitch uncorks those missiles, Ben . . .” Ike let that trail off.
“There will be precious little left of the USA. That is a promise.”
“Will you use our missiles, Ben?”
“Will I have a choice?”
Another long moment of silence. “No, I reckon not. God help us all.”
“Osterman and her followers don’t believe in God, Ike.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. They’re too intelligent to believe in God. Then God help SUSA.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Keep your head down and your ass covered, Ben.”
“I will, Ike. Luck to you, ole buddy.”
“OK, partner.”
Ben spent the next few minutes in a conference hookup, talking with all his brigade commanders. They were as ready as they could possibly be. Cecil had ordered additional vaccines flown in to all Rebel locations as soon as Osterman had issued her threat. But, as General Georgi Striginov pointed out, if the missiles carried nuclear warheads there was very little the Rebels could do except ask for heavenly intervention.
Ben sat at a desk in the war room, talking with his team and petting Jodie.
And waiting.
Corrie was handling the communications now. Every so often Ben looked over at her and she shook her head.
Nothing.
At 0500 hours Corrie stiffened in her chair. Ben heard her say, “Are you sure?”
Ben smiled knowingly. “Goddamn Socialist Democrats. I knew it. You can’t trust those two-faced bastards.”
“Birds are in the air!” Corrie said. “Just launched.”
“Cooper, get President Jeffreys, please.”
But Cec had awakened a few minutes before, and had been washing his face in cold water. He walked in the door just as Ben was speaking to Coop.
“It’s only 0500,” Cecil said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “President Osterman gave us until 0600. What the hell happened?”
“I warned you about trusting that bitch, Cec. She jumped the gun on us.”
“Our missiles have intercepted most of the first wave, Corrie said. ”Two got through. First one carried a germ warhead and struck in North Texas.”
“Goddamnit!” Cecil flared.
“Right on the border with New Mexico, just north of Interstate Twenty.”
“Very lightly populated,” Cecil said. “Thank God.”
“Second bird struck in Eastern Tennessee. In the mountains.”
“Ready all silos and surface-based facilities,” Ben said quietly. “Prepare to launch on my orders. Repeat—on my orders!”
“Right, boss.”
“Miserable no-good lying bunch of assholes!” Ben said.
“I will certainly agree with that,” Cecil said, pouring himself a mug of coffee.
“Second wave of federal missiles launched and on the way,” Corrie said.
“Any ground troops taking part in this so far?” Ben asked.
“Negative, Boss.”
Anna had filled a container with water and was sitting on the floor beside Jodie while the dog drank. Big Malamutes are not the most delicate animals when they drink, and Anna got water all over her.
“I should have warned you about that,” Ben said with a smile.
“Shit!” Ben’s daughter muttered, wiping her pants leg with a handkerchief.
“One got through, Boss,” Corrie called. “It struck in Central Arkansas.”
“Damn! Which way are the winds blowing?” Cecil asked.
“West to east,” Beth told him. She was handling secondary communications.
Ben walked over to Corrie and motioned for her to give him the mic.
“This is General Raines speaking from the war room of Base Camp One. Launch the first wave of our missiles. Wait ten minutes and launch the second wave. Ten minutes later, launch the third wave.”
He paused for a few seconds. “And may God look with mercy on our souls.”
After Ben gave the order to loose the missiles, he sat on the edge of the desk, tasting of dust. He had just convicted hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of civilians to a horrible death. Unbidden, pictures formed in his mind of Africa, and the hundreds of square miles where the only living creatures were reptiles, all the mammals having been slain by BW in the previous war.
“Damnit!” he said, slamming his hand down on the desktop. He just couldn’t do it—no matter what the provocation. Though most of the civilians chose freely to live in the USA and gave their allegiance to President Osterman and her Socialist Democrat party and its ideas of something for everyone without the pain of having to earn it, Ben couldn’t bring himself to kill them for their choices . . . true, they were stupid and lazy, but those had never been capital crimes, even in SUSA.
He whirled around and grabbed the mic. “Belay that order . . . belay the order to launch the missiles!” he said.
“Come again?” the voice from the speaker asked.
“Do not, I repeat, do not launch a missile attack,” Ben repeated. “This is General Raines, and I’m canceling that order. Over and out.”
He put the mic down and looked at his team, and found them to be smiling with relief.
“What’re you guys grinning at?” he asked gruffly.
“Nothing, Pops,” Anna replied, stroking Jodie’s fur.
“Good, ’cause we’ve got some work to do, and pronto.” He pointed at Corrie. “Get on the horn. I want a squadron of bombers airborne immediately. And set up some tankers to rendezvous with them for refueling later.”
“Right, Boss. What’s the target?”
“Primary targets are the missile launch sites. We should have them pretty well-documented on our radar since the launch.”
“Secondary targets?”
“Downtown Indianapolis, the seat of the government of the USA. Specifically, Osterman’s homes, the penthouse apartment in town, and her vacation home on the Mississinewa Lake—the one that looks like a castle up on a bluff overlooking the water. I want them flattened and burning before noon.”
Corrie grinned. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah, if there are any bombs left over, dump them on the congressional buildings there in Fort Benjamin Harrison. It won’t hurt to let the legislators know what the cost is of supporting that crazy bitch’s orders.”
Corrie nodded and walked out of the war room toward the communications room.
President Jeffreys smiled. “You made the right choice, Ben.”
Ben didn’t answer. He was deep in thought about what he had to do next. “Cec, you’d better get hold of Jean-Francois Chapelle over at the UN and let them know what Claire’s done.”
Cecil shook his head. “There’s not much they can do.”
“No, but they can at least put diplomatic pressure on Sugar Babe. It won’t stop her, but it may distract her a bit, and that’ll help. Besides, I want the UN to know why we’re taking the steps I’m about to take.”
Cecil’s eyebrows raised. “Which are?”
“We’re going into the USA, going on the attack all along the border. Plus, I’m going to drop Scout teams all over the USA.”
“With what purpose?” Cecil asked, knowing the Scout teams were the equivalent of the Army’s Ranger/Special Forces. They were small forces, very highly trained in the art of stealth and killing, and were used both as assassination squads and advance forces for any Rebel column.
“I and D mostly—infiltrate and destroy. I’m going to sabotage the USA back into the dark ages. Every television station and relay tower, every power plant or sewage treatment plant, everything that makes life comfortable to the average citizen, is going to be systematically destroyed.”
“But thousands will die if we do that,” Cecil argued.
Ben’s face was hard. “Better thousands than millions, Cec. They supported a woman crazy enough to declare war on us, so now they’ll have to pay the price, albeit a lower one.”
“What else are you going to do?” Cecil asked.
“The Scout teams will also have a secondary purpose—to assassinate every politician they can find, especially those from Indiana. I want Osterman to know she can run, but she can’t hide. Eventually, we’ll get to her and make her pay for what she’s done.”
Ben walked to the door of the war room, closely followed by his team members. “Now, I’m going to talk to my brigade commanders. Mike Post, my chief of Intel, is going to take over and run things around here for the time being.”
“Ben, what are you going to do?” Cecil asked.
He didn’t like the look on Ben’s face.
“My team and I are going to be dropped behind enemy lines. I started a few resistance cells up there a few weeks ago, and I’m going to see if we can’t make them a little more active.”
“But you’ll be taking a terrible risk.”
“Cec, you’ve got to get it through your head, I’m no armchair general. It’s just not my style. Ike is more than capable of taking over if something happens to me, as are almost any of my brigade commanders.”
He walked out of the room before Cecil could muster any more arguments against his plans. He wanted to get moving before the team of babysitters Cecil had assigned to him were able to track him down and get in his way.
“Mike,” Ben said to Mike Post as he and his team were donning their black night ops gear, “you know what we have to do. Push Osterman and her merc troops hard all along the front. Advance slow and steady, without outrunning our lines of supply, and keep the pressure on.”
“Will do, Ben. Of course, you know this may cause the fifty percent of the regular USA forces that refused to fight us to join in the fracas, now that we’re invading their territory.”
“Can’t be helped. We’ve got to make Osterman pay for the missile attack, and her use of BW”
“Dr. Lamar Chase says we’re in good shape as far as our military force is concerned. All of our men and women are inoculated against every bug Osterman’s scientists have at their disposal.”
“What about the civilians?” Ben asked, strapping a K-Bar knife to the inside of his left leg.
Mike shook his head. “We’re going to lose some, probably in the neighborhood of twenty-five percent.”
“Damn! ”
“Yeah, exactly. However, Doc Chase says the other thing that’s bound to happen is that the plague will spread northward as people try to flee the areas hardest hit.”
Ben looked up. “So, Osterman’s going to have to live with the plague killing her own people, too?”
Mike snorted. “Yes, but the crazy bitch will probably try to blame us by claiming we used BW, too.”
“You’re right, Mike. Better get Cecil on that right away. Tell him to let the UN know what Doc Chase said, and that we won’t be to blame for the spread of the plague when it occurs.”
Mike glanced at Ben and his team. They were dressed all in black from head to toe, and had at least one sidearm on their belts, a short automatic carbine slung over their shoulders, and K-Bar assault knives on their legs.
“You guys look mean as hell,” Mike said, grinning.
“We are mean as hell, General,” Jersey snarled, her hand on the butt of a .45 pistol on her belt.
“We’re counting on your intel to keep us informed about the situation as it changes in the USA, Mike,” Ben said.
“I know. We’ve got pretty good resources in most of the areas, so it should be fairly up to date. You can bump me periodically and I’ll let you know what we’ve got.”
“Good.”
“Where are you going to have them drop you?”
“Upstate New York. I started a resistance squad up there a while back. I heard most all of them were killed, so I’d like to see if anything can be salvaged of the group.”
Behind Ben’s back, Anna and Jersey gave each other knowing glances. All of Ben’s team knew of his short-lived romance with Lara Walden, and of her and her team’s death at the hands of the USA Black Shirt squads. It looked as if Ben wanted to get some personal revenge on the men who’d killed his lover.
Anna smiled at the thought. Probably be good for him. He’d been alone for so long, and then to find someone and have her taken away . . . if he needed to kick some ass to get over it, then his team would be more than happy to help him do it.
Jersey tapped Ben on the shoulder. “We’ve got to get a move on if you want to follow the bombers in.”
Cooper grunted. “Hell, we’d already be on the plane if you hadn’t taken so much time fixing your hair and putting on your makeup,” he said to Jersey.
She glanced at him, fire in her eyes. Rubbing a hand on his cheek, she murmured, “Coop, feels like you forgot to shave.” She pulled her K-Bar out and held it up in front of his face. “Want me to do it for you?” she asked sweetly.
“Come on, guys, let’s saddle up,” Ben said as he walked out the door, smiling.
General Maxwell listened attentively to the report being given by Harlan Millard, second in command to the president, Claire Osterman.
“Ben Raines and his Rebel forces are about to counterattack with a wave of missiles. We suspect their missiles carry nuclear warheads, though our spy says they also have ones containing anthrax, like those they used in Africa, and like the ones President Osterman just launched against SUSA.”
“His troops have been inoculated, as they were before,” Maxwell remembered. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised. Raines has always shown reluctance to harm innocent civilians. An attack by nuclear missiles or anthrax-loaded missiles will kill tens of thousands who have no immunity. This is a side of Ben Raines and his SUSA Rebels we’ve never seen.”
“Perhaps Madam President has made a mistake in launching BW weapons against Raines and his rebel forces,” Millard said. His eyes were wild with fear, and he was sweating profusely. “He would never have considered this if we hadn’t struck first,” he added, his voice a full octave higher than usual.
General Maxwell fixed Osterman’s second in command with a stare. “You want to be the one to tell Madam President she’s opened Pandora’s box, and that her actions most certainly have caused the imminent death of millions of her own followers . . . perhaps even all of the USA?”
“Uh, not really, General. I’m sure she never thought Raines would be crazy enough to retaliate in this manner. But our intelligence reports have almost always been accurate before. We have an operative inside his high command, and the information we’ve gotten has always been good.”
Maxwell glanced down at the three stars on the shirt collars of his uniform, reminded of his rank and how quickly he’d risen to the top during Claire Osterman’s presidency. “It has indeed. Our survival has depended upon the accuracy of those reports. Far too often, I fear. Raines is an enigma. He makes all the wrong tactical military moves, and yet he defeats us at every turn. His Rebel army seems to have the capacity to disappear into thin air, and he hits us with weaponry we believed no longer existed after the Final War. We have no way to stop them other than anti-aircraft guns and a few ground-to-air rockets. Raines has scientists who can make modern weapons out of plowshares.” He shook his head. “Our death toll is going to be unimaginable, while SUSA’s will only be minimal since most of the rebels have been inoculated against our BW.” He looked up into Millard’s eyes. “Madam President’s miscalculation of Raines’s resolve may have cost us the war.”
Captain Broadhurst burst through the door. “General, we’ve just received another message from Intel. It seems Raines has called off the missile attack. The word from our spy is that he’s going to counterattack with conventional bombs instead.”
Millard sat up straighter in his seat and sleeved sweat off his forehead. “Thank God . . . someone has finally shown some sense in this war.”
Maxwell gave Millard a flat look. “I’ll be sure to pass along your sentiments to Madam President.”
“Uh ... I didn’t mean to criticize—”
Maxwell held up a hand. “Don’t start crawfishing on me, Harlan. I was just kidding.” He paused and glanced at a map laid out on his desk. “Although, our position is really not much better. The plague we’re sending to SUSA will cause them only relatively minor problems, mainly among the civilians. And when the sick ones try to flee they’re gonna come north, bringing the plague right back to us, where we have no defenses against it.”
He turned weary eyes on Millard. “Hell, less than ten percent of our troops have been vaccinated, and virtually none of our civilians.”
Millard suddenly got a crafty look on his face. He licked his lips and stared back at Maxwell. “I have an idea,” Millard said. “I want you to hear me out, sir.”
“I hope it doesn’t cost money. Our treasury is in bad shape. President Osterman has spent money recklessly on strategies that did not work. She listens to the wrong counsel, in my opinion. Too many of the wrong people can bend her ear.”
“By that you mean Otis Warner, of course.”
“Yes, and that blithering idiot, Andy Schumberger. In my opinion, Schumberger is totally incapable of tying his own shoes. I don’t see why she trusts him, or why she would listen to anything he has to say.”
“I agree,” Harlan said quietly, after a glance around to look for hidden microphones or camera lenses.
Maxwell fixed Harlan with a chilly stare. “So, tell me about your solution to the Rebels’ sick civilians bringing our plague home to roost, and to their troops’ immunity to our own BW. What the hell can we do?”
“Bring in Yiro Ishi. Listen to what he has to say, and his germ warfare proposals.”
“That crazy little Jap? He’s out of his goddamn mind. He couldn’t help us. I’ve heard him talk to the president before, and he didn’t make any sense. He rambles on about nothing, and our top advisers insist he’s crazy. Why the hell should I listen to him?”
“With all due respect, General, you may be wrong. Ishi is brilliant, in an intellectual way. And he has a background in things that might help us. You could be mistaken about him and his ideas.”
“And how is that?” Maxwell demanded, scowling. There were times when Harlan championed lost causes and old-fashioned ideas having to do with the past, before the Final War.
Harlan glanced down at his hands. For a moment the silence was heavy in Maxwell’s office. When he looked up again, his face had lost some of its color. “I take it you’ve never heard of his grandfather? The famous Japanese scientist from World War II who pioneered many of their secret weapons?”
“Why the hell should I know anything about his grandfather? Get to the point, Harlan! ”
“Have you ever heard of Unit 731 that was operational during World War II?”
“Can’t say as I have. That was before my time.”
“Unit 731 was a very primitive biological weapons research facility in Japan. They experimented with all manner of organisms, including anthrax and bubonic plague. Nerve agents, the whole works. History . . .
“Yeah?” Ben said, glancing at the clock on the night-stand. 0200 hours.
“Ben?” Cecil Jeffreys said, sounding tired. “Get down to the command center’s war room. We’ve got a building situation.”
“On my way.” Ben didn’t waste time asking what the situation was. That would be explained when he got to the war room.
Ben took a quick shower and dressed in BDUs. Fifteen minutes after Cecil’s call, he was pulling out of his driveway. Mal sat in the front seat of the Hummer beside him, looking out at the night.
“Something big is brewing, Mal,” Ben said. “Osterman has pulled something. You can bet on that.”
The Malamute woowoowooed her deep-voiced reply.
“I’m still working on a name for you, girl,” Ben told the big dog. “Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something.”
“Woowoowoowoo!”
“Right. I know we’re being followed. Better get used to it.” There were several Rebel security vehicles trailing Ben through the quiet early morning hours.
Ben’s team met him in the parking lot of the command center. Ben handed Mal’s leash to Anna. “Take care of her, kiddo.”
“Will do, Pops. Come on, Jodie.”
Ben stopped and turned around. “What’d you call her?”
“Jodie. You like it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. OK. Jodie it is.”
Ben passed through several checkpoints, then was admitted to the elevator that would take him down to the war room of the presidential command center. There he passed through another checkpoint and was admitted to the war room.
Cecil smiled at him. “I just hung up the phone after speaking with Madame President Osterman, Ben. She has given us an ultimatum.”
Ben poured a mug of coffee. He glanced up at the Defense Posture Board. The top light was slowly blinking a dull red—the next to highest defense alert. When it changed to a constant bright red, the SUSA would be on a full alert and on a war status for possible missiles coming at them.
“What is the ultimatum, Cec?”
“Immediate surrender.”
“And if we don’t comply, which of course we won’t?”
“She will order the launch of missiles against us.”
“Nuclear?”
“She didn’t say.”
“I doubt they’ll be nukes. Probably germ warheads. Kill all the nasty ole conservatives and keep the buildings for use by the occupying troops.” Ben laughed. “Socialist carpetbaggers. Now that’s funny, Cec.”
“I truly wish I could find something amusing about this situation.”
“What’s her deadline for launch?”
“0600. I have our air defenses on alert.”
Ben walked over to a red telephone and picked it up. “This is General Raines. All air defenses are to go on full alert nationwide . . . immediately. We’re going to have missiles to intercept, and we don’t want any to strike SUSA soil. OK. Good shooting.”
Ben slowly hung up the phone just as Cec was opening his mouth to object. He managed a, “Ben—”
Ben shook his head. “My show now, Cec. You know our constitution better than I.”
“You’re right, of course. Do we warn our citizens about the possibility of a strike?”
“Not just yet. An hour’s time is all many will need. A few minutes’ time is all most will need.”
“I’ve told Osterman that her demands are ridiculous.”
“I would’ve told her a lot more than that,” Ben replied very seriously.
“Oh?” Cec managed a smile.
“Yeah. Like where to shove her demands. Sideways and with great force.”
“They would probably fit,” Cec replied, equally drily.
“I’m sure.”
The men drank coffee and chatted for a half hour until Ben told Cecil to go take a nap, get some rest. He would man the command center until Cec woke up.
Ben told the security people to get his team into the war room. While that was going on, he got Ike on the horn.
“I think you should be here, Ike.”
“I’ll stay with my troops,” the former Navy SEAL said.
“I thought you’d say that, Ike, but I wanted to try. Intel says they’re ninety-nine percent certain the warheads are germ, BW of some sort. But they aren’t sure what type of bugs they contain.”
“We have the vaccines for every type of bug we know Osterman has,” Ike replied. “The troops are ready.”
“You know that some of the missiles are going to get through.”
“I know, Ben.”
“We’re probably going to lose several hundred thousand civilians.”
“If only they’d taken the vaccines we offered,” Ike said, his voice full of frustration. He was referring to the fact that only about fifty percent of the citizens of SUSA had complied with Jeffreys’ recommendation to take the free vaccines their scientists had cooked up against BW, Biological Warfare.
“That’s the problem with having a populace that believes in individual freedom, Ike, and with having a constitution that prohibits us from forcing them to do something we think is in their best interests. They made their choice, after being informed of our best guesses about the consequences. Now, those who decided not to take the vaccines will have to live, or die, with their decisions.”
“I know, but if that rotten bitch uncorks those missiles, Ben . . .” Ike let that trail off.
“There will be precious little left of the USA. That is a promise.”
“Will you use our missiles, Ben?”
“Will I have a choice?”
Another long moment of silence. “No, I reckon not. God help us all.”
“Osterman and her followers don’t believe in God, Ike.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. They’re too intelligent to believe in God. Then God help SUSA.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Keep your head down and your ass covered, Ben.”
“I will, Ike. Luck to you, ole buddy.”
“OK, partner.”
Ben spent the next few minutes in a conference hookup, talking with all his brigade commanders. They were as ready as they could possibly be. Cecil had ordered additional vaccines flown in to all Rebel locations as soon as Osterman had issued her threat. But, as General Georgi Striginov pointed out, if the missiles carried nuclear warheads there was very little the Rebels could do except ask for heavenly intervention.
Ben sat at a desk in the war room, talking with his team and petting Jodie.
And waiting.
Corrie was handling the communications now. Every so often Ben looked over at her and she shook her head.
Nothing.
At 0500 hours Corrie stiffened in her chair. Ben heard her say, “Are you sure?”
Ben smiled knowingly. “Goddamn Socialist Democrats. I knew it. You can’t trust those two-faced bastards.”
“Birds are in the air!” Corrie said. “Just launched.”
“Cooper, get President Jeffreys, please.”
But Cec had awakened a few minutes before, and had been washing his face in cold water. He walked in the door just as Ben was speaking to Coop.
“It’s only 0500,” Cecil said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “President Osterman gave us until 0600. What the hell happened?”
“I warned you about trusting that bitch, Cec. She jumped the gun on us.”
“Our missiles have intercepted most of the first wave, Corrie said. ”Two got through. First one carried a germ warhead and struck in North Texas.”
“Goddamnit!” Cecil flared.
“Right on the border with New Mexico, just north of Interstate Twenty.”
“Very lightly populated,” Cecil said. “Thank God.”
“Second bird struck in Eastern Tennessee. In the mountains.”
“Ready all silos and surface-based facilities,” Ben said quietly. “Prepare to launch on my orders. Repeat—on my orders!”
“Right, boss.”
“Miserable no-good lying bunch of assholes!” Ben said.
“I will certainly agree with that,” Cecil said, pouring himself a mug of coffee.
“Second wave of federal missiles launched and on the way,” Corrie said.
“Any ground troops taking part in this so far?” Ben asked.
“Negative, Boss.”
Anna had filled a container with water and was sitting on the floor beside Jodie while the dog drank. Big Malamutes are not the most delicate animals when they drink, and Anna got water all over her.
“I should have warned you about that,” Ben said with a smile.
“Shit!” Ben’s daughter muttered, wiping her pants leg with a handkerchief.
“One got through, Boss,” Corrie called. “It struck in Central Arkansas.”
“Damn! Which way are the winds blowing?” Cecil asked.
“West to east,” Beth told him. She was handling secondary communications.
Ben walked over to Corrie and motioned for her to give him the mic.
“This is General Raines speaking from the war room of Base Camp One. Launch the first wave of our missiles. Wait ten minutes and launch the second wave. Ten minutes later, launch the third wave.”
He paused for a few seconds. “And may God look with mercy on our souls.”
After Ben gave the order to loose the missiles, he sat on the edge of the desk, tasting of dust. He had just convicted hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of civilians to a horrible death. Unbidden, pictures formed in his mind of Africa, and the hundreds of square miles where the only living creatures were reptiles, all the mammals having been slain by BW in the previous war.
“Damnit!” he said, slamming his hand down on the desktop. He just couldn’t do it—no matter what the provocation. Though most of the civilians chose freely to live in the USA and gave their allegiance to President Osterman and her Socialist Democrat party and its ideas of something for everyone without the pain of having to earn it, Ben couldn’t bring himself to kill them for their choices . . . true, they were stupid and lazy, but those had never been capital crimes, even in SUSA.
He whirled around and grabbed the mic. “Belay that order . . . belay the order to launch the missiles!” he said.
“Come again?” the voice from the speaker asked.
“Do not, I repeat, do not launch a missile attack,” Ben repeated. “This is General Raines, and I’m canceling that order. Over and out.”
He put the mic down and looked at his team, and found them to be smiling with relief.
“What’re you guys grinning at?” he asked gruffly.
“Nothing, Pops,” Anna replied, stroking Jodie’s fur.
“Good, ’cause we’ve got some work to do, and pronto.” He pointed at Corrie. “Get on the horn. I want a squadron of bombers airborne immediately. And set up some tankers to rendezvous with them for refueling later.”
“Right, Boss. What’s the target?”
“Primary targets are the missile launch sites. We should have them pretty well-documented on our radar since the launch.”
“Secondary targets?”
“Downtown Indianapolis, the seat of the government of the USA. Specifically, Osterman’s homes, the penthouse apartment in town, and her vacation home on the Mississinewa Lake—the one that looks like a castle up on a bluff overlooking the water. I want them flattened and burning before noon.”
Corrie grinned. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah, if there are any bombs left over, dump them on the congressional buildings there in Fort Benjamin Harrison. It won’t hurt to let the legislators know what the cost is of supporting that crazy bitch’s orders.”
Corrie nodded and walked out of the war room toward the communications room.
President Jeffreys smiled. “You made the right choice, Ben.”
Ben didn’t answer. He was deep in thought about what he had to do next. “Cec, you’d better get hold of Jean-Francois Chapelle over at the UN and let them know what Claire’s done.”
Cecil shook his head. “There’s not much they can do.”
“No, but they can at least put diplomatic pressure on Sugar Babe. It won’t stop her, but it may distract her a bit, and that’ll help. Besides, I want the UN to know why we’re taking the steps I’m about to take.”
Cecil’s eyebrows raised. “Which are?”
“We’re going into the USA, going on the attack all along the border. Plus, I’m going to drop Scout teams all over the USA.”
“With what purpose?” Cecil asked, knowing the Scout teams were the equivalent of the Army’s Ranger/Special Forces. They were small forces, very highly trained in the art of stealth and killing, and were used both as assassination squads and advance forces for any Rebel column.
“I and D mostly—infiltrate and destroy. I’m going to sabotage the USA back into the dark ages. Every television station and relay tower, every power plant or sewage treatment plant, everything that makes life comfortable to the average citizen, is going to be systematically destroyed.”
“But thousands will die if we do that,” Cecil argued.
Ben’s face was hard. “Better thousands than millions, Cec. They supported a woman crazy enough to declare war on us, so now they’ll have to pay the price, albeit a lower one.”
“What else are you going to do?” Cecil asked.
“The Scout teams will also have a secondary purpose—to assassinate every politician they can find, especially those from Indiana. I want Osterman to know she can run, but she can’t hide. Eventually, we’ll get to her and make her pay for what she’s done.”
Ben walked to the door of the war room, closely followed by his team members. “Now, I’m going to talk to my brigade commanders. Mike Post, my chief of Intel, is going to take over and run things around here for the time being.”
“Ben, what are you going to do?” Cecil asked.
He didn’t like the look on Ben’s face.
“My team and I are going to be dropped behind enemy lines. I started a few resistance cells up there a few weeks ago, and I’m going to see if we can’t make them a little more active.”
“But you’ll be taking a terrible risk.”
“Cec, you’ve got to get it through your head, I’m no armchair general. It’s just not my style. Ike is more than capable of taking over if something happens to me, as are almost any of my brigade commanders.”
He walked out of the room before Cecil could muster any more arguments against his plans. He wanted to get moving before the team of babysitters Cecil had assigned to him were able to track him down and get in his way.
“Mike,” Ben said to Mike Post as he and his team were donning their black night ops gear, “you know what we have to do. Push Osterman and her merc troops hard all along the front. Advance slow and steady, without outrunning our lines of supply, and keep the pressure on.”
“Will do, Ben. Of course, you know this may cause the fifty percent of the regular USA forces that refused to fight us to join in the fracas, now that we’re invading their territory.”
“Can’t be helped. We’ve got to make Osterman pay for the missile attack, and her use of BW”
“Dr. Lamar Chase says we’re in good shape as far as our military force is concerned. All of our men and women are inoculated against every bug Osterman’s scientists have at their disposal.”
“What about the civilians?” Ben asked, strapping a K-Bar knife to the inside of his left leg.
Mike shook his head. “We’re going to lose some, probably in the neighborhood of twenty-five percent.”
“Damn! ”
“Yeah, exactly. However, Doc Chase says the other thing that’s bound to happen is that the plague will spread northward as people try to flee the areas hardest hit.”
Ben looked up. “So, Osterman’s going to have to live with the plague killing her own people, too?”
Mike snorted. “Yes, but the crazy bitch will probably try to blame us by claiming we used BW, too.”
“You’re right, Mike. Better get Cecil on that right away. Tell him to let the UN know what Doc Chase said, and that we won’t be to blame for the spread of the plague when it occurs.”
Mike glanced at Ben and his team. They were dressed all in black from head to toe, and had at least one sidearm on their belts, a short automatic carbine slung over their shoulders, and K-Bar assault knives on their legs.
“You guys look mean as hell,” Mike said, grinning.
“We are mean as hell, General,” Jersey snarled, her hand on the butt of a .45 pistol on her belt.
“We’re counting on your intel to keep us informed about the situation as it changes in the USA, Mike,” Ben said.
“I know. We’ve got pretty good resources in most of the areas, so it should be fairly up to date. You can bump me periodically and I’ll let you know what we’ve got.”
“Good.”
“Where are you going to have them drop you?”
“Upstate New York. I started a resistance squad up there a while back. I heard most all of them were killed, so I’d like to see if anything can be salvaged of the group.”
Behind Ben’s back, Anna and Jersey gave each other knowing glances. All of Ben’s team knew of his short-lived romance with Lara Walden, and of her and her team’s death at the hands of the USA Black Shirt squads. It looked as if Ben wanted to get some personal revenge on the men who’d killed his lover.
Anna smiled at the thought. Probably be good for him. He’d been alone for so long, and then to find someone and have her taken away . . . if he needed to kick some ass to get over it, then his team would be more than happy to help him do it.
Jersey tapped Ben on the shoulder. “We’ve got to get a move on if you want to follow the bombers in.”
Cooper grunted. “Hell, we’d already be on the plane if you hadn’t taken so much time fixing your hair and putting on your makeup,” he said to Jersey.
She glanced at him, fire in her eyes. Rubbing a hand on his cheek, she murmured, “Coop, feels like you forgot to shave.” She pulled her K-Bar out and held it up in front of his face. “Want me to do it for you?” she asked sweetly.
“Come on, guys, let’s saddle up,” Ben said as he walked out the door, smiling.
General Maxwell listened attentively to the report being given by Harlan Millard, second in command to the president, Claire Osterman.
“Ben Raines and his Rebel forces are about to counterattack with a wave of missiles. We suspect their missiles carry nuclear warheads, though our spy says they also have ones containing anthrax, like those they used in Africa, and like the ones President Osterman just launched against SUSA.”
“His troops have been inoculated, as they were before,” Maxwell remembered. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised. Raines has always shown reluctance to harm innocent civilians. An attack by nuclear missiles or anthrax-loaded missiles will kill tens of thousands who have no immunity. This is a side of Ben Raines and his SUSA Rebels we’ve never seen.”
“Perhaps Madam President has made a mistake in launching BW weapons against Raines and his rebel forces,” Millard said. His eyes were wild with fear, and he was sweating profusely. “He would never have considered this if we hadn’t struck first,” he added, his voice a full octave higher than usual.
General Maxwell fixed Osterman’s second in command with a stare. “You want to be the one to tell Madam President she’s opened Pandora’s box, and that her actions most certainly have caused the imminent death of millions of her own followers . . . perhaps even all of the USA?”
“Uh, not really, General. I’m sure she never thought Raines would be crazy enough to retaliate in this manner. But our intelligence reports have almost always been accurate before. We have an operative inside his high command, and the information we’ve gotten has always been good.”
Maxwell glanced down at the three stars on the shirt collars of his uniform, reminded of his rank and how quickly he’d risen to the top during Claire Osterman’s presidency. “It has indeed. Our survival has depended upon the accuracy of those reports. Far too often, I fear. Raines is an enigma. He makes all the wrong tactical military moves, and yet he defeats us at every turn. His Rebel army seems to have the capacity to disappear into thin air, and he hits us with weaponry we believed no longer existed after the Final War. We have no way to stop them other than anti-aircraft guns and a few ground-to-air rockets. Raines has scientists who can make modern weapons out of plowshares.” He shook his head. “Our death toll is going to be unimaginable, while SUSA’s will only be minimal since most of the rebels have been inoculated against our BW.” He looked up into Millard’s eyes. “Madam President’s miscalculation of Raines’s resolve may have cost us the war.”
Captain Broadhurst burst through the door. “General, we’ve just received another message from Intel. It seems Raines has called off the missile attack. The word from our spy is that he’s going to counterattack with conventional bombs instead.”
Millard sat up straighter in his seat and sleeved sweat off his forehead. “Thank God . . . someone has finally shown some sense in this war.”
Maxwell gave Millard a flat look. “I’ll be sure to pass along your sentiments to Madam President.”
“Uh ... I didn’t mean to criticize—”
Maxwell held up a hand. “Don’t start crawfishing on me, Harlan. I was just kidding.” He paused and glanced at a map laid out on his desk. “Although, our position is really not much better. The plague we’re sending to SUSA will cause them only relatively minor problems, mainly among the civilians. And when the sick ones try to flee they’re gonna come north, bringing the plague right back to us, where we have no defenses against it.”
He turned weary eyes on Millard. “Hell, less than ten percent of our troops have been vaccinated, and virtually none of our civilians.”
Millard suddenly got a crafty look on his face. He licked his lips and stared back at Maxwell. “I have an idea,” Millard said. “I want you to hear me out, sir.”
“I hope it doesn’t cost money. Our treasury is in bad shape. President Osterman has spent money recklessly on strategies that did not work. She listens to the wrong counsel, in my opinion. Too many of the wrong people can bend her ear.”
“By that you mean Otis Warner, of course.”
“Yes, and that blithering idiot, Andy Schumberger. In my opinion, Schumberger is totally incapable of tying his own shoes. I don’t see why she trusts him, or why she would listen to anything he has to say.”
“I agree,” Harlan said quietly, after a glance around to look for hidden microphones or camera lenses.
Maxwell fixed Harlan with a chilly stare. “So, tell me about your solution to the Rebels’ sick civilians bringing our plague home to roost, and to their troops’ immunity to our own BW. What the hell can we do?”
“Bring in Yiro Ishi. Listen to what he has to say, and his germ warfare proposals.”
“That crazy little Jap? He’s out of his goddamn mind. He couldn’t help us. I’ve heard him talk to the president before, and he didn’t make any sense. He rambles on about nothing, and our top advisers insist he’s crazy. Why the hell should I listen to him?”
“With all due respect, General, you may be wrong. Ishi is brilliant, in an intellectual way. And he has a background in things that might help us. You could be mistaken about him and his ideas.”
“And how is that?” Maxwell demanded, scowling. There were times when Harlan championed lost causes and old-fashioned ideas having to do with the past, before the Final War.
Harlan glanced down at his hands. For a moment the silence was heavy in Maxwell’s office. When he looked up again, his face had lost some of its color. “I take it you’ve never heard of his grandfather? The famous Japanese scientist from World War II who pioneered many of their secret weapons?”
“Why the hell should I know anything about his grandfather? Get to the point, Harlan! ”
“Have you ever heard of Unit 731 that was operational during World War II?”
“Can’t say as I have. That was before my time.”
“Unit 731 was a very primitive biological weapons research facility in Japan. They experimented with all manner of organisms, including anthrax and bubonic plague. Nerve agents, the whole works. History . . .
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Crisis in the Ashes
William W. Johnstone
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