Standoff in the ashes, p.21
Standoff in the Ashes, page 21
“Thank you for that, at least, General Raines,” said one of the prisoners.
“We treat our prisoners as humanely as field conditions permit,” Ben said, turning to look at the man.
“That’s not what we were told.”
“Then you got some bad information. What is your name?”
“Dick.”
“Last name?”
“That is my last name. Dick.”
“And your rank is major?”
“Yes.”
“First name?”
“Major.”
“No,” Ben said, shaking his head. “I know your rank. What is your first name?”
“Major.”
“Your rank is major, and your first name is Major?”
“Yes.”
“Major Major Dick?”
“That is correct.”
“This is ridiculous! I am in no mood for games, Dick. Don’t start with me.”
“I am not playing any games, General. ”My name is Major Dick. My first name is Major, my rank is major.”
“Incredible.”
The prisoner opened his mouth to speak, and Ben waved him silent.
“No ... forget it. I’ll just call you Major. That should cover it all.”
Ben talked to the major for a few minutes. Major Major Dick gave Ben his serial number, and that was it. That was about all Ben expected to get out of the man. The man might have an unusual name, but to outward appearances, at least, he was tough and capable.
Major Dick and his men were taken back to the front lines for transport to a POW facility. The enemy dead were buried where they fell. The young lieutenant was body-bagged. He would be buried in a cemetery the Rebels had started weeks back, just after the first offensive by the Federal troops.
Ben drank his coffee, and then the short column started out again. They rode in silence for a few miles, Ben finally saying, “Cooper, I thought you said my new CP was only ten or so miles south of the lines?”
“Well,” Cooper replied. “It’s really not far, Boss. But it is more than a few miles.”
“How far?”
“Oh, maybe thirty or forty miles, Boss,” Beth said.
Ben twisted in the seat. Stared at her. “Thirty or forty miles?”
“Right, Pops,” Anna said. “Just a few miles north of the center of the state.”
“Wonderful,” Ben muttered. “I certainly should be safe there.”
Ben’s mind was already working on how best to ignore this order from Cecil and the SUSA’s security council without making it seem he was thumbing his nose at President Jefferys. That was something he wanted to avoid.
There was no way anybody was going to keep Ben Raines out of action ... at least not for very long.
He’d think of something.
Soon.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Ben began settling into his new CP, waiting for his staff to arrive. As soon as they did, he would start making plans on how to get rid of them and get himself back to the front lines.
The offense by the Federals had fizzled out and turned into a near slaughter for the mercs and Federal troops who were chosen to spearhead the attack. Most of them did not make it across the wide no-man’s-strip before they were cut down. After the offensive failed, the Federals withdrew and were, according to the best guesses of intel, planning their next offensive.
Ben’s new CP was located in what used to be a minimall on the outskirts of a town that was abandoned just after the collapse of government and the Great War. His CP was in the largest space in the minimall, and partitioned off by office dividers. Ben had the entire rear of what used to be a huge retail store.
A number of reporters from the USA had abruptly requested permission to report on the war, and much to everyone’s surprise Ben had no objections to that. He granted them permission immediately.
“I think he’s sick,” Cooper had said. “Everybody knows he hates liberal reporters.”
“I think he’s got something up his sleeve,” Beth said. “This isn’t like him at all.”
“I think he just wants some comic relief,” Jersey countered. “We all know how the Boss likes to put the needle to liberal reporters.”
“I think Jersey’s got it,” Corrie said.
“You’re all correct to some degree. Especially Beth. Pop is planning some, but he’s bored, too,” Anna told the group. “He’s been here a day and a half, and already he’s edgy and restless.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “I’m not looking forward to any of this. The new staff will be here in about an hour. And the reporters will be here later on this afternoon.”
Cooper nodded his head in agreement. “Should be a real interesting day.”
“That’s damn sure one way of putting it,” Jersey said.
A Rebel from the security detail had walked up in time to hear the last few comments. “The arrival of the staff has been delayed a couple of hours,” he informed the group. “Bad weather down south.”
“Oh, goody,” Beth said. “We get to meet the reporters first. I can hardly wait.”
“I’m just all aquiver with anticipation,” Anna said.
“I’m thrilled,” Corrie said.
Jersey belched. “A bunch of candy-assed, whiny, crybabies. Shit!”
“Isn’t she quite the lady?” Cooper said to the Rebel from security. “You should see what she does for an encore.”
“Spare me that,” the Rebel replied, and walked away.
“Here comes the Boss,” Beth said.
Ben walked up and stood with his team for a moment. “I just got word the reporters will be here in a few minutes. One of the members of the security-council asked if I was going to greet them wearing my dress uniform.”
His team laughed at that. Anna said, “And you told the security-council member?”
“I didn’t have a dress uniform. She said they would have to see about getting me one. I told her not to bother, I wouldn’t wear the damn thing if they got it.”
“How come the security-council is suddenly sticking its nose into our business?” Jersey asked.
“Oh, they’re not trying to run the war,” Ben told his team. “They know better than to even attempt that. But their concern for me is genuine. I’m grateful, but I really wish they would just butt the hell out.”
“Choppers coming in,” Anna observed.
“That’ll be the reporters,” Ben said.
“How come you gave this Osterman-loving bunch the OK to come in and snoop around, Pop?” Anna asked.
“I needed a good laugh, Kid. And I imagine this group will provide me with plenty of laughs. Especially Ms. Cynthia Ross-Harris.”
“One of those,” Jersey muttered. She looked at Ben. “You’ve mentioned her a time or two.”
“I knew her back before the Great War. I didn’t know her well, but I knew her. She was a raging liberal back then, thought the government had the answer for everything. She still does,” Ben concluded.
“Choppers are on the pads,” Beth said. “Are we supposed to go over and greet these assholes? You know they’re going to do a number on us.”
Ben laughed. “Beth, your language has taken a turn for the worse of late. You used to be such a quiet and demure young lady. What happened?”
“She’s been hanging around Jersey too long,” Cooper said. “The original Apache guttermouth.”
Jersey reached down and picked up a wrist-sized stick from the ground, about two and a half feet long. Cooper got ready to run. Jersey gravely handed her CAR to Beth. “Hold this, please. I have to swat a bug.”
Cooper took off.
Jersey was right behind him, about three steps to the rear, cussing and swinging the stick, but Cooper’s legs were longer and he was a better runner. He raced ahead of Jersey, all the time slinging verbal taunts over one shoulder.
“I’ll break your goddamned head!” Jersey yelled. “You halfwit!”
Cooper laughed and flipped her the bird as they headed for the center of the parking lot of the old minimall.
Ms. Cynthia Ross-Harris and a group of reporters were just exiting the choppers and were preparing to walk across the parking lot toward Ben’s CP when Cooper and Jersey came running and cussing past. The Rebels were used to the antics of the pair, and paid them little attention. Ms. Ross-Harris and the others were somewhat taken aback.
“You sorry turd!” Jersey hollered, waving the club. “Call me a guttermouth, you prick!”
“My word!” a reporter from an eastern newspaper blurted as the two ran past him. “Are we under attack?”
“That son of a bitch is!” Jersey yelled, pointing toward Cooper. “I’m gonna put some knots on his head.”
“No discipline whatsoever in this army,” said Ms. Ross-Harris. “I don’t understand why so many people hold them in such high esteem.”
“Disgraceful behavior,” another reporter said. “You certainly would never see anything like that in our army.”
“Absolutely not!” said another reporter. “We have professionals in our armed forces.”
Jersey and Cooper had circled the growing knot of reporters a couple of times, and now both were taking a short rest in the parking lot before the chase resumed.
“I wonder which one is Ms. Prissy-Ass?” Jersey panted.
“Probably the one who looks like an advertisement for one of those old adventure mail-order catalogs we used to see all the time when we were prowling around deserted buildings,” Cooper replied, wiping the sweat from his face.
“Yeah. She must have twenty pockets in that jacket. Wonder what she carries in them.”
“Nothing.”
“Well, why the hell does she wear the jacket, then?”
“It’s fashionable, you hick redskin. Don’t you know anything about being in style?”
“Hick redskin?” Jersey yelled. “Why, you white trash, possum-eating, swamp-crawler—” She picked up her club.
Cooper stuck his tongue out at her and took off, Jersey right behind him.
“At least I didn’t grow up eating Gila monsters and rattlesnakes!” Coop yelled over his shoulder.
“I’m going to make you look like a Gila monster, you goober mouth!”
“Goober mouth?” Coop yelled.
“General Raines,” Ms. Cynthia Ross-Harris said, walking up to Ben as he stood at the edge of the awning covered walkway of the minimall. The others in her group were still watching Cooper and Jersey race around the parking lot. “Your troops putting on that little show for us?”
“Nope. Those two have been at each other for years. I suspect they’ll get married one day. Did you ever find a man, Cynthia?”
“I haven’t been looking, General Raines.”
“Too bad. A stiff dick would work wonders for your disposition.”
Cynthia leaned close to Ben and whispered, “Fuck you, Raines. You pig!”
Ben laughed, and that got the attention of the other reporters. They all walked up to where Ben and his team—minus Cooper and Jersey—were standing.
“Quite a group,” Ben observed, looking over the twenty or so reporters. “It’s a good thing the entire bunch didn’t come down in one plane. All of you leaning left would have caused the plane to fall out of the sky.”
“Very amusing, General,” said a middle-aged man. “Ha Ha.”
“Well, well,” Ben said. “Mister Harry Bell. The socialist’s best friend. What rag are you working for these days . . . since New York City no longer exists?”
“The city will rise again, General. A massive rebuilding is taking place. As if you didn’t know.”
“Like the Phoenix from the ashes, eh, Harry?”
“Something like that, General,” the New York journalist replied coolly.
“That’s good. I always did like to visit New York City.” Ben smiled at the man.
Harry’s returning smile was very thin.
Ben spoke to each of the reporters, and they were led off to their quarters. He would meet with them later.
Jersey had stopped chasing Cooper around the parking lot and they were resting, sitting on the sidewalk curb, talking. Both received some strange looks from the reporters... which they ignored.
“Security is getting edgy, Boss,” Beth said to Ben. “They’ve received reports that a large number of infiltrators are in this area.”
“Their objective?”
“You.”
Ben paused in his rolling a cigarette. “They never give up, do they?”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“What does security have in mind?”
“They might want to move you again.”
“Where?”
She shrugged her reply, then said, “They don’t know. They’re talking about it now.”
“I’ve been expecting some attempt at an end-around by the Feds.” Ben smiled—very knowingly, Beth thought. “Our lines are so long, and there are so many gaps a division could walk through.”
“I saw you studying the maps, pinpointing the areas where the Feds concentrated on blowing the mines in the strip.”
Among other things, Ben thought. “They did a good job of it, too. One area is just west of here, the other is just east.”
“This bunch of reporters wanted to see some action. Looks like they might get more than they bargained for.”
“I really need to get them out of here for their own safety, but if I tried that they’d think . . .” Ben paused and shrugged. “Hell, who cares what they think? They’re going to blast me with words no matter what happens. They knew the danger coming in, or should have. If they get their asses shot, it’s their fault.”
Anna walked up. “Why is security so uptight?” she questioned. “What’s going on?”
“Infiltrators, Kiddo.”
Corrie walked up and said, “Infiltrators have been spotted, Boss. East, west, and south of us. A major offensive by the Feds is just getting underway north of us.”
Ben was silent for a moment. The security detail at his CP was not nearly large enough to beat back any major attack launched against them. They were, as the old saying goes, between a rock and a hard place.
“You can bet some Federals will be under orders, if they break through our lines—and they will in some places—to drive south as hard as they can and box us in here,” Ben said. “It’s what I would do if I knew the commander of all Feds was stationary in one spot, with only a company or so of troops. Son of a bitch!”
“This was not a good idea,” Cooper remarked.
“Cooper,” Jersey said. “You are belaboring the obvious. Shut up.”
“Be quiet!” Corrie snapped. “Both of you. Squabble some other time.” She held up a hand. “I’m getting a lot of transmissions.”
Corrie was the unofficial leader of the team, and Jersey and Cooper shut up immediately. Beth and Anna exchanged glances and smiles.
“Fed troops advancing toward this area as we speak,” Corrie said. “From all directions.”
“Get those reporters back on the choppers and get them out of here,” Ben ordered. “Do it, Anna. Move!” He turned to Cooper. “Get the wagon ready to roll, Coop. Move!” He looked at Jersey and Beth. “Draw supplies. You know what we need. Take off. How close are they, Corrie?”
“In another fifteen minutes you can ask them personally, Boss.”
Ben smiled at her. “That close, huh?”
“You bet.”
The sudden whine of the choppers’ engines filled the afternoon air.
“Corrie, bump Base Camp and tell them to do something about those new staff members coming in. Divert them somewhere.”
“Done, Boss. First thing.”
“I should have guessed that. OK. What are we forgetting before we bug out of here?”
The reporters ran to the choppers and scrambled aboard.
“Short visit,” Corrie shouted over the roar of the choppers, gesturing toward the reporters.
“Long enough for me,” Ben replied.
A couple of minutes passed. The choppers lifted off and the reporters were out of harm’s way. Rebels were hurriedly loading gear into the backs of trucks in preparation for bugging out.
“There’s Coop,” Corrie said.
“The team is with him,” Ben said. “OK. Everyone is accounted for. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
A mortar round landed just in front of the big nine passenger wagon and blew out the front window. Water started pouring from a busted radiator. The team appeared to be unhurt.
“Get out of there!” Ben yelled. “Grab what you can and get clear.”
The team scrambled out of the wagon, grabbing backpacks, rucksacks, and weapons, and ran over to Ben and Corrie.
Ben took a pack and rucksack. “Get in that deuce and a half over there,” Ben told his team. “I’m right behind you in the next truck. I’ve got to get something from the office.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Jersey said.
“You’ll get your ass in that truck like I told you,” Ben said. “Move, all of you!”
The team obeyed orders. None of them liked it, but they did what they were told.
Ben had parked a HumVee behind his office. He had plans for that vehicle. He waved at his team as the truck pulled away. “I’ll catch up with you!” Ben yelled.
The team waved at him.
“The hell I will,” he muttered. Ben had known about the infiltrators before anyone else connected with his CP. He had intercepted a message from communications ... before Corrie had a chance to see it. It seems that General Walt Berman was feeling his oats, and had insisted upon leading the team of infiltrators now converging on Ben’s CP. Ben had radioed intel about the message.
“Has this rumor been confirmed as fact?” Ben had asked. “Berman is really leading this group?”
“It’s a fact, General. He is definitely leading one of the teams.”
“The man is a fool!”
“Yes, sir. But he has sworn to kill you personally.”
The infiltration teams had not materialized when intel had said they would, and Ben dismissed the report as pure rumor. Hours later, rumor became fact, and Ben had put on a good show of not knowing anything about it. It had been difficult to keep a straight face while doing it. He was pretty sure that Anna had picked up on the ruse but had not been able to really figure out what he was up to. By the time they did figure it out, it would be too late for any of them to do anything about it.
