Ashes - D Day In The Ashes Part 13

"A lot of Rebels have retired from the field," Cooper said, as they slowly advanced through the town, eyes constantly moving for signs of hostiles. "Some because of wounds, some because of age, some because they wanted to raise a family." He sighed. "Some just couldn't take it anymore."

"And the four of you have been with the general ... ?"

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"Years," Beth said. "We've been all around the world and going again."

A creepie suddenly popped up out of the rubble, and Ben st.i.tched him with a short burst. The team kept walking. Kathy glanced at the dead man, calm and peaceful looking in death. She spoke softly into a small ca.s.sette-corder.

"I hate those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Beth said, cutting her eyes to the dead creepie. "We can sometimes rehab normal people. A lot of people now in the ranks once fought against us. Not these people. You can't do anything with them except kill them."

"Down!" Ben called, and the team hit the ground. "Movement at two o'clock," Ben said to Corrie. "The second floor of that building."

Kathy looked around her as best she could from her p.r.o.ne position. Not a Rebel was in sight. They had vanished amid the rubble.

"Bring a tank up," Ben called, and Corrie radioed in.

Within seconds, a MBT clanked through the wreckage.

"Take it down," Ben said to Corrie.The 120-mm smooth-bore cannon elevated slightly and then began roaring, and the old building began crumbling and flying apart under the impacting rounds. A couple of minutes later, the entire top floor was gone. Kathy had seen two bodies come sailing out of the building. One had been missing a leg.

By the middle of the afternoon, the town had been cleared and the Rebels were bivouacked about two miles from the town, on the road to Argentan.

Ben had 164.

William W. Johnstone offered no objections to Kathy staying with the team, and she was sitting in the front room of an old home, listening to him talk to his batt corns by radio. She looked up just as one of the most physically powerful and strikingly handsome young men she had ever seen walked in.

"The boss's son," Beth said. "Buddy Raines. He's commander of 8 Batt.

The special ops group. The boss's daughter, Tina, is commander of 9 Batt."

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" Ben asked his son.

"Bringing you news that will surely lift your spirits," Buddy said, pouring a cup of coffee and sitting down.

"That means it's sure to depress me," Ben said. "So what's up?"

Buddy smiled. "Emil Hite is on the way."

Ben sat down and stared at his son. "You have got to be kidding!"

"Nope. He and most of his ... ah, flock, slipped aboard a freighter and should be landing in France in a few days. Thermopolis reported them missing and discovered several trucks gone from his motor pool. He traced their movement to South Carolina and the rest is, as they say, history."

"Who is Emil Hite?" Kathy questioned.

"There is no way to describe Emil Hite," Ben said. "He's like the candy bar-indescribable."

Jersey, Cooper, Beth, Buddy, and Corrie all exchanged puzzled glances.

Only Kathy was old enough to know what Ben was talking about. She smiled. "I haven't seen one of those in years, Ben."

"Neither have I. But I sure would like one."

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"What are you two talking about?" Buddy asked.

"A candy bar, son. Indescribably delicious." He and Kathy started laughing at the expressions on the younger Rebels' faces.

"There is one more bit of news, father," Buddy said when the laughterhad faded. "A message from Julie Petti."

Ben didn't even have to ask what it was. Julie had been avoiding him for days. Word had gotten back to him that she had been appalled at the Rebels' treatment of creepies and punks. He nodded his head. "She wants a transfer out of this front and feels that we should not see each other again because we are too far apart in our treatment of human beings."

"That's . . . uncannily close, father," Buddy said. "You never cease to amaze me with your ability to read peoples' minds." ; "I can't read minds, boy. But I can read sign. And I've been reading her sign for the past week. This comes as no surprise. Tell her to stay in the rear if she doesn't like our methods." Then, under his breath, he muttered, "I ought to a.s.sign Emil Hite to be her guide."

When Emil Hite got off the s.h.i.+p in England, he knelt down and kissed the ground ... or the dock, as it were. It had been a rough crossing, and Emil had been sick the entire time. Emil had come a long way from the days when he wore flowing robes, sandals, flowers in his hair, and scooted about preaching pearls of wisdom 166.

William W. Johnstone from the great G.o.d Blomm. A long way, but not that far.

When Emil felt the earth-or the dock-remain firm and unmoving beneath his feet, he rose wobbly to his full height-which wasn't all that much-and looked around him. "France," he whispered. "The cradle of liberty." He smiled. "And broads." He looked back at the faithful who had accompanied him; about thirty men and women who knew exactly what Emil was all about but liked him anyway.

Emil marched up to an official-looking person who was carrying a clipboard and said, "I am Colonel (he wasn't) Emil Hite, commander of the Blomm Brigade (no such outfit) of Raines's Rebels. I must get to France. General Raines needs me." (About like a head cold.) The elderly Englishman gave Emil a thorough going-over, from boots to beret, taking in all the medals and ribbons Emil had pinned on his uniform, which ranged from the Burma Campaign of World War Two to Vietnam, and covered every inch of fabric from waist to neck and both sides of the jacket.

"My word!" the dock-master said. He pointed with his walking stick to a s.h.i.+p down the way. "She'll be sailing with the tide. You can board anytime."

Emil turned to his group. "Come, warriors. Forward into the fray. I can a.s.sure you all that General Raines will be so overcome with emotion when he sees us, he will be rendered incapable of speech."

More than a modic.u.m of truth in that statement.

The captain of the s.h.i.+p, a st.u.r.dy Scotsman and a veteran of dozens of trans-Atlantic crossings, and a 167167.

survivor, stood on the bridge and watched the strange collection of men and women march up the gangway and board his s.h.i.+p. He had never seen anything quite like them. He turned to his first mate.

"They must be some sort of secret weapon General Raines plans to use.

Although I can't possibly imagine how."

The trip from Southhampton to Le Havre was uneventful, except for the captain having to retreat to his quarters with a splitting headache after listening to Emil talk for fifteen minutes.

"G.o.d is on our side," Emil said to the first mate.

"I certainly hope so," the first mate replied, then hid in a lifeboat for the remainder of the crossing.

On sh.o.r.e Emil commandeered several trucks, and after getting lost fifteen times, managed to reach Ben's CP about an hour before dark. The Rebels in the area saw him coming, and most managed to make themselves scarce. But they forgot to warn Ben, who was busy going over maps in the house.

A Rebel on the porch saw Emil coming and dropped a sandwich on the floor in his haste to get away. Emil leaped up onto the porch and stepped right into the peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly. He went slipping and sliding and flailing his arms through the open front door and into the main room, his antics resembling a cross between the frug and country line dancing.

Jersey had gotten up to see what the commotion was all about, and Emil ran into her and knocked her flat on the floor.

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit!" Jersey hollered.

Kathy Bonham, not knowing what this human Tas- 168.

manian devil was, just barely managed to get out of Emil's way.

Emil unintentionally bugalooed across the room and landed on top of Ben's desk, sending maps, notes, a mug of coffee, and Ben's fresh-baked piece of apple pie to the floor.

"Lafayette!" Emil cried, nose to nose with Ben. "I am here!"

"France might never recover from this," Ben said. He cut his eyes to Cooper, who was trying to keep Jersey from shooting Emil.

Ben had no choice but to a.s.sign Emil and his group to his own 1 Batt.

That was the only way he knew to keep Emil out of trouble. There was another reason for that decision: Emil was scared to death of Jersey.

The little bodyguard had threatened to shoot him more than once. As long as Jersey was around-and she was always around Ben-Emil was on his best behavior, which wasn't anything to write home about, but it was better than the norm.

"What will you do with him?" Kathy asked, the morning after Emil's arrival.

"Believe it or not, Emil and his bunch have turned into tough littlefighters," Ben said with a smile. "Not that it was that way at the beginning." He laughed at some old prank of Emil's. "Once you learn to accept his rather unorthodox ways, he's really quite likeable."

"He's a p.r.i.c.k," Jersey said, from across the room. "Why don't you send him back to Thermopolis?"

Ben thought about that for a moment. "I have a better idea. Why don't we bring Thermoplis over here?"

169 Thermopolis jumped at the chance. He and his crew had, at first, thought they would like to stay home and run listening posts. But Ben had guessed the other way. Combat is infectious. For many it produces a high unlike anything else. Besides, Thermopolis liked Emil and could control him.

"And bring Smoot with you," Ben concluded the broadcast.

Thermopolis and his crew would fly down to Ben's home, get Ben's husky, Smoot, and then fly out of the East Coast on a transport.

"You're full of surprises, Ben," Kathy said. "I didn't know you liked dogs."

"I don't particularly care for people who don't like dogs," Ben replied.

"And I have been known to shoot people who abuse any type of animal."

She fixed serious eyes on him. "You are kidding. Aren't you?"

"Nope. People who abuse animals are sorry excuses for human beings. I don't want them around me, and I won't tolerate them around me."

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"You are a complex person, Ben Raines."

"A lot of people think that's so. But it isn't really true. Animals can't help being what they are. Humans can. It's just that simple."

"You really haven't killed a person for abusing an animal, have you, Ben?"

He didn't have to vocalize a reply. The bleak look in his eyes spoke volumes.

Ben let the punks and the creeps and self-styled warlords stew for a time while he waited for Ther-mopolis and his bunch to arrive and take over keeping track of supplies and routes and battalion positions and all the other tedious things that Ben hated and Therm was so good at-actually it was his wife, Rosebud, but she gave her husband the credit.

When the big transport landed, Smoot jumped off and didn't even take time to pee before she leaped into Ben's arms and both of them went rolling around on the tarmac. Smoot had grown into an eighty-five-pound husky. Thankfully, she was, like many of her breed, an easygoing, good natured dog. But Smoot had a very respectable set of teeth, and when angered, she could be quite formidable.

Kathy watched with amus.e.m.e.nt as Ben played with Smoot, the husky clearly the winner as she knocked Ben down several times roughhousing.

Thermopolis finally broke it up, and he and Ben shook hands."Good to have you back, Therm."

"Good to be back, Ben. When do we push off?"

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"I figure it'll take you seventy-two hours to get organized. In a few days."

"Good enough. Let's get to work."

The Rebels were glad to see Therm and his bunch return to their ranks, for the hippies turned warriors were well liked. They preferred to handle the tedious jobs that most others detested, but could turn into vicious fighters when pressed into service.

Duffy Williams and his thousands of malcontents had waited behind their guns while the Rebels s.h.i.+fted around and made ready for an all-out attack . . . but they had not done so patiently. The waiting was getting to them. They were growing increasingly short-tempered and hard to handle as the weather began turning cooler and the nights were becoming downright cold.

Duffy was now beginning to fully grasp the enormity of keeping a large army in food and clothing, and morale up. He began traveling from sector to sector, talking with the leaders of the various groups, cajoling, sometimes threatening, and often making deals to keep them ready to fight.

Ben and his Rebels waited.

Kathy Bonham possessed every trait that made her a good reporter: She was highly intelligent, literate, and had the ability to see both sides of a story and report fairly ... in that, she very nearly stood alone among her peers. As the days pa.s.sed and she more closely watched Ben, she began to realize that she was observing a brilliant military tactician at work; also a very ruthless man when it came to seeing his own plans bear fruit. Ben was inordinately compa.s.sionate to the 172.

William W. Johnstone very young, the very old, and toward domesticated animals and wildlife.

But he was totally without mercy toward his enemies. Ben did not believe that the Rebel way was necessarily the only way, just that it was the right way. Every Rebel she spoke with believed exactly the same. Which came as absolutely no surprise to her.

Kathy also began to realize, with some trepidation, that these men and women would never be defeated. As long as there was just one Rebel left alive, the fight would continue. The Rebel philosophy would never die.

Kathy felt eyes on her and turned. Ben was standing to one side, looking at her. Kathy was a tall woman, almost five feet, ten inches, and while her figure had matured, she could still cause men's heads to turn. She stood for a moment, meeting Ben's eyes.

"You ready to go to war?" Ben asked."Is anybody ever ready to go to war?"

"You have a lot to learn about Rebels, Kathy. The Rebels are always ready. It's what we do best."

"I see. Day after tomorrow is still firm?"

"Yes. We jump off at 0600."