William W Johnstone Ashes 20 D Day in the Ashes (txt)

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"Right, sir."
Eddie had been taken to a small building that had suffered only minor
damage during the shelling. Bonelli was stepping out of the building as
Ben approached. He shook his head.
"We untied Eddie to treat his wounds and he swal-
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lowed some sort of pill, General. He was dead a minute later."
"Well, members of the Movement obviously have enough sense to
manufacture pharmaceuticals. So we're not dealing with total idiots. Did
he say anything of value?"
"The Movement is one of the largest gangs in the area. The other large
gang is the Mau Maus."
"Oh, shit!" Ben said. "Let me guess: They hate all whites."
"Right, sir. That first bunch we ran into is a part of the Mau Maus. A
group headed by a guy who calls himself Mahmud the Terrible. The Lion of
the Desert."
"If he's the lion of the Desert, what the hell is he doing in Toronto?"
"Beats me, sir. Mahmud claims to be a direct descendant of Gandhi."
"Gandhi?"
"Yes, sir. Gandhi."
"How wonderful for him. Let's move out."
The punks and creeps were leaving Windsor like rats from a sinking ship.
The guns of the Rebels across the river, using HE and WP, in addition to
the Rebel planes dropping napalm, had turned the city into an inferno.
The winds were blowing west to east at about twenty miles an hour and
that only served to fan the flames. The punks and creeps ran toward the
east and ran right into roaming P-51 's. The souped-up fighters
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turned the highways into death pyres. Cobras and Apaches came in behind
them and finished the job.
Those gangs in London monitored shortwave sets and went into a panic.
They began fleeing toward Toronto.
"Give them a clear corridor," Ben ordered. "Planes and choppers are not
to fire on them. They're heading for the city, so let them. They'll be
easier to handle there. Let them all bunch up in the city. Let every
gang and creepie in every city west of Toronto get to the city. Then
we'll close off the corridor and finish it."
The creepies already knew how ruthless Ben Raines was. The gangs of
punks were about to find out.
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At Ben's orders, Ike began slowly swinging his battalions south, closing
off any escape to the west. It was the classic pincher movement, and the
creeps and punks ran right into the trap.
Ben halted his battalions' forward movement at noon. "Hold what you
have," he radioed. "Give Ike and Georgi time to close it up."
Ben's northern battalions had moved down into East Gwillimbury, the
westernmost battalion linking up with Georgi's easternmost troopf
Ike was driving hard, pushing Ms people to the max, nipping at the heels
of the retreating punks and creeps, herding them into the trap.
Ben had sealed off everything north to south, running from the
intersection of Highway 11 down to the lake. By midafternoon, Ben told
his people to secure for the night and get some food and rest.
Inside the city it was chaos. Thousands of creeps and
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William W. Johnstone
punks and warlords and assorted street slime had converged in Toronto.
"I was 'bused as a child," one gang leader bitched to Mahmud the
Terrible, the lion of the Desert. "My daddy whupped me and whupped me
somethin' awful. I didn't have no choice 'ceptin' to turn to a life of
crime. Dat's what de social workers tole me over and over. Dey be right,
I'm shore."
"My daddy whupped me, too," Ahmed Popov said. It was rumored that Ahmed
got his last name from a vodka bottle . . . after he killed a tourist in
Miami to get it. "He whupped me 'cause I wanted to hang wit' the
homeboys 'stead of goin' to school and listen to a bunch of shit."
Actually, when the Great War struck, Ahmed was eighteen years old, had
been arrested 122 times-for everything ranging from rape to grand theft
auto, but thanks to liberals, he never served more than two hours at a
time behind bars.
"We got to make peace with the niggers," one of Barney Holland's
lieutenants said. "We got to stand shoulder to shoulder with them jungle
bunnies and fight the Rebels."
"I'll be goddamned if that's so," Barney said. "They can stay on their
side of the city and we'll stay on ours."
"We got to talk about makin' peace with them goddamn honkies over
there," Ahmed said to Mahmud. "We can't win fightin' Ben Raines separate."
"There ain't no way I'll shake hands with that cross-burnin' fool!"
Mahmud said.
"Then we got to fall back into the city and make friends with the
cannibals, Barney."
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"Shit no!"
"We gots to make friends with the Night People, Mahmud!"
"Is you crazy? You want to end up on their supper table along with the
greens and the grits?"
"Then we gonna lose, Mahmud, an' that's a fact."
"We ain't never lost no fight yet, has we?"
"No."
"Then what you so worried about?"
"We ain't never fought Ben Raines."
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All that afternoon and all during the night, the sounds of tanks and
self-propelled artillery being moved about was heard north, east, and
west of the city. The Rebels knew exactly what Ben was doing; they'd
seen this played out many, many times.
The punks didn't have any idea what was about to happen. But the creeps did.
"We must flee," the leaders were told.
"There is no place to flee," was the response from the Judges. "Every
exit has been sealed tight. We will die, but our movement will live on.
We are finished here, but all over the world our kind flourish. And Ben
Raines does not know that others like us have adapted to modern ways.
They have tanks and heavy guns and almost everything that Ben Raines
has. We must accept our fate and fight to the finish."
"As you say," the combat leaders said, and bowed and left the stinking
lairs of the Judges.
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William W. Johnstone
Ben slept well and rose refreshed; he never needed more than a few hours
of sleep. It was still several hours before dawn, and the morning was
cool. Ben got his coffee and walked outside. He did not have to look to
see if Jersey was with him. She always was. Ben sat down in an old chair
on the front porch, sat his coffee mug on the floor, and rolled a cigarette.
Corrie stepped out, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. "Artillery is
in place," she spoke softly. "The crews are catching a few hours sleep."
"We'll commence the barrage at good light. That should be about 0700."
"Where do we go when this is over, boss?" Cooper asked, stepping out of
the house.
"I guess we go back home and settle down for a time. This has been the
shortest campaign I can remember."
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"It's gonna be kind of dull, isn't it?" Beth, the last of Ben's personal
team, said as she joined the group in the darkness on the porch.
To many people, combat produces a high unlike any other sensation. Stay
in it long enough, and one either cracks, learns to live with it, or
begins to enjoy it in a strange way. Many of the Rebels, including Ben,
enjoyed the high of combat.
Ben finished his first mug of coffee and stood up. "Let's wander down to
the mess tent and get some breakfast."
The camp was beginning to stir as Rebels rolled out of beds and blankets
and cots and sleeping bags. The shower area was sending up clouds of
steam in the cool air. Ben had to smile as he recalled how the Rebel
army began to rebuild after the fall of the Tri-States.
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Only a tiny handful of men and women had, over the years, turned into
thousands. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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