Anarchy in the Ashes (31 page)

Someone else is trying to stuff yards of guts back into his belly. He falls down, screams, dies. Good. At least it shut the son of a bitch up. His guts are steaming in the cool air.

God, you shot a woman. It's a good hit. The cunt falls funny, kind of limp and boneless.

Then the thought comes to you: How long has it been since you've had any pussy?

What a time to be thinking of that.

Turn to speak to your buddy, just a few feet away, in a ditch. That red rain you felt? That was his blood. He's still alive, but just barely. The blood is really gushing out. No time to worry about the dying. You've got to concentrate on staying alive.

Eyes smart and sting from the smoke and dust of battle. Get it all together, pal, 'cause here come the enemy. Close.

There is that dude from Bravo Company, the one who used to brag about all the pussy he got. He won't be getting any more. Took a slug right between the eyes. All that yuk leaking out of his head.

Suddenly, too quickly, you're mixing it up hand to hand. This is stupid; the enemy looks just like you. His mouth is open, his eyes are wide with a combination of fear and excitement, and he is dirty and smells bad. Your eyes meet. Brains send the message. Kill.

You're off your knees. (How did I get on my knees? What the fuck was I doing, praying?) Legs support you. You're going to be all right.

Squeeze the trigger. The enemy is dead. No, he isn't! The goddamn rifle is empty! Slam the butt of the M-16 into his balls. He doubles over, puking. Bring the butt down on his neck and pray the goddamn plastic stock doesn't break. If it's from Mattell, it's swell. Hear the neck pop. He's dead. A fresh clip in the weapon. Shoot him just to be sure.

Turn in a crouch, trying to suck air into your lungs, can't get enough air. Another Rebel has just killed that guy . . . what's his name? Third platoon. You notice the strangest things. The guy needs a shave. Force your bayonet into the Rebel's back. (When did you fix the bayonet on the lug?) Damn – it's not as easy as in the movies; the guy is screaming and jerking around and pissing on himself. Oh, shit! The bayonet is stuck in the guy's back. Blow it free. There it is.

Suddenly, you're on the ground, flat on your back. How'd that happen? Am I hit? Oh, God! Don't let my balls be gone!

“Get up, you yellow son of a bitch!” a sergeant is yelling.

Is he yelling at me? Hell, I'm not yellow. I just killed a couple of Rebs. Damn, Sarge, I didn't get down here deliberately, you know. The sergeant takes a slug in the back. Must have gone right through the spine. He falls funny. You can't remember his name.

Get to your feet to face the enemy. What is this, a replay? You just did this.

Some troops have captured a Rebel woman, pulling the pants off her. Aw, come on, guys! She's screaming as they mount her. They're hurting her. That's not right, guys; we're not animals.

“Want some pussy, Jake?”

They're talking to you, stupid. “No.” Turn away. Don't have to look at this.

The woman is really screaming in pain.

A man is on the ground. A Rebel. Some government troops are sticking him with bayonets.

“Beg, you motherfucker!” they yell at him.

“Go to hell!” the Rebel shouts his defiance.

The Old Man said no prisoners. So the Reb is shot. But they didn't have to shoot him
there
. He's screaming in pain.

It's quiet. You look around you. Is it over? Yeah – almost. HolyMotherofGodJesusFuckingChrist-Almighty! Look at the bodies. All the blood and stuff. Oh, Lord – the sergeant is walking around, shooting the wounded Rebels in the head. Someone tells you that you're now a sergeant. Battlefield promotion. Somehow it doesn't seem like such a big deal. You want to scream: “But I don't want the promotion!” Then suddenly there is a .45 in your hand an you're stepping through the gore and sthe pain and sthe moaning and sthe pistol is jumping in your hand, ending the moaning and the screaming ands the pain.

No prisoners.

That was the rule on both sides of the conflict.

That woman Reb was still screaming. They were sodomizing her. And calling out crudely as they did so.

You walk away from the sights and sounds of the rape. You could tell them to stop and they would have to. You're a sergeant. But you don't want to lose the respect of your men this early in the game. What the hell? She's only a Rebel. The enemy.

All around you the enemy is lying dead on the ground. And that woman is still screaming. Wish she would shut up.

A Rebel is still alive, shot hard in the chest. He's looking up at you, defiance in his eyes. You shoot him in the head and try not to look at the wedding band on his left hand, third finger. Maybe that was his wife the guys are screwing up the ass.

Don't think about that.

Rationalize the situation. Look, you say silently to the dead man, don't blame me. I'm just following orders, man.

The enemy is defeated, most dead, and it's just too quiet around here. Somebody say something. But everybody you look at averts their eyes. Guys are breathing too hard; somebody tosses his breakfast, puking on the ground. Someone else is praying. The Lord's Prayer. You feel like laughing. Man ... you think God is listening to this shit?

You spin around. “Who said that?” you demand in a harsh voice.

Nobody will answer.

Our Father which art in Heaven ...

A Rebel is moaning in pain.

Hallowed be Thy name ...

You point to the Rebel. “Shoot him!” you order.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done . . .

The gunshot is so goddamned loud.

In earth, as it is in Heaven ...

There is a guy from your platoon, kneeling, holding a tiny, blue-colored bird in his dirty hand.

Give us this day our daily bread ...

The bird is dead.

And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors ...

Everybody gathered around to look at the bird. No one speaks. It's quiet.

And lead us not into temptation ...

There isn't a mark on the bird. No blood. Seems funny to see something with no blood on it. Wonder what killed the bird?

But deliver us from evil . . .

“Hey, Sarge?”

“Yeah?” Your voice sounds funny. Odd.

For thine is the kingdom, and the power . . .

“You know what, Sarge?”

And the glory...

“What?”

Forever . . .

“We won.”

Amen.

Gale was silent for a time that evening of the IPF's first major defeat on American soil. Then, after an hour had passed, with Ben leaving her alone to work it all out in her mind, she came to him.

She stood looking at him for a moment before speaking. “We did the best we could, didn't we, Ben? I mean, the fighting?”

“Better than I thought we'd do, Gale. Better than I could ever imagine, in fact.”

“You're not just saying that?”

“No.”

“Your people – our people, the Rebels – they knew they would suffer losses, didn't they?”

“Yes.”

“But still they laid their lives on the line for people they had never met?”

“That is correct.”

There were tears in her eyes as she said, “Then I won't nag you about it again, about doing anything else.”

“It isn't over, Gale. We haven't given up. I have teams moving to the north right this minute, to rescue as many people as possible. But what we have to do is recoup and rest, plan our next move carefully. We'll eventually beat Striganov – I'm sure of that – but we just can't do it now.”

“We'll always be fighting, won't we, Ben? I mean, fighting somebody or something?”

“It looks that way, Gale.”

She wiped her eyes and kissed him. “Well . . . least I feel reasonably safe when I'm around you,” she said with a smile, some of her spirit returning.

He put a big hand on her stomach. “How is the kid doing?”

“Kids, Ben,” she corrected.

“Right. Twins.”

“They're fine.”

He smiled at her. “Ever been to the Great Smoky Mountains?”

“No.”

“It's lovely. You'll like it.”

“When do we pull out?”

“In a couple of weeks. We'll let the more seriously wounded get fit to travel. And we'll probably be joined by General Tanner's people and by the kids. Should be interesting.”

“Know what I want to do right now?” she questioned. There was a smile on her lips and her dark eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Play Monopoly?” Ben said with all innocence.

“That's one way to describe it. How many times do you think you could make me pass Go?”

He thought about that for a moment, then leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“Oh my, Ben! Well . . . if you can do that, then I'll just have to think of something nice for you. Have any ideas?”

He again whispered in her ear.

She drew back as if in shock. “Pervert!” she said, but with a smile.

 

 

General Tanner's “grandfathers” pulled into Ben's base camp. The old warriors were jubilant as they met with Ben and the others and each congratulated the other on their shared victory over the IPF.

The teams began returning from the north, returning with men and women who told horror stories about their treatment at the hands of the IPF. They told of the mutant breeding farms, of being forced to have sex with the monsters, and of those women who were heavy with mutant children having been taken to the west.

“How many did the teams miss?” Ben asked.

“About half of us,” he was told.

It sickened Ben, but he was fully cognizant of the fact there was nothing he could do – not at this moment.

“You did all you could, Ben,” Gale told him, and that made him feel better. “Someday, perhaps. But I've come to realize that you can't shoulder the troubles of the world alone, honey.”

It made him feel better, but still left him with an ugly taste in his mouth.

Standing alone outside his headquarters at dusk, Ben looked toward the setting sun and murmured, “Someday, Striganov, I promise you. Someday, I'll find you and kill you.”

Behind him, Gale heard the promise and shuddered as a hard chill of fear shook her. She wondered if she would be permitted to live that long? She hoped so. She knew Ben did not love her, knew that for a fact – her woman's intuition told her that. But she felt him to be content with her, and she had enough love for the both of them. Of course, she would never let him know that, she thought with a smile, as the chill of sudden fear left her.

She stood in the shadows of the motel and looked at the man, so tall and strong as the rays of the setting sun silhouetted his shape, making his shadow appear fifty feet long, making the man fit the image so many thought him to be.

And did she feel that way as well?

She didn't know. And she was afraid to question her mind too closely on the subject.

She turned and slipped quietly away.

 

 

“Here comes the Orphans' Brigade,” Buck said, sticking his head into Ben's quarters. “General, you got to see this to believe it.”

“That bad?” Ben questioned, getting up from behind the desk. He put on his beret and headed for the open door.

The columns of young people were still about a mile away from the HQ. They were marching steadily. Ragged and dirty and appearing malnourished, the kids marched with their heads held high.

Ben, with Gale by his side, watched the young people. One column was marching in from the northwest, the other from the northeast.

“Damnedest thing I believe I've ever seen,” Ben said, his voice not much more than a whisper.

“Oh, Ben,” Gale said, taking his hand. “Some of them are just children. Babies.”

“Don't you believe it, Miss Roth,” Buck said. “Those kids – most of them, so I hear tell – have been on their own for years. They're tough little guys and gals. And the way it was told to me, most of them would as soon kill you as look at you.”

“Buck, I can't believe that,” Gale replied, her heart going out to the little ones in the columns.

“Believe it,” Ben told her. “They've had no schooling, no parental or adult guidance, no discipline other than what they impose on themselves. A sort of tribal law, I should imagine. They have had but one thought all their waking years, and that is to survive. Yet another sad fact of postwar.”

“They look so helpless,” Gale muttered.

“Bear in mind,” Ben said, “those two columns of kids helped destroy four battalions of trained IPF personnel. And they took no prisoners.”

“Colonel Gray mentioned that they looked helpless,” Mary Macklin said, joining the growing group. “He offered one little girl a candy bar and she bit his hand to the bone.” Mary smiled at the mental picture. “His LRRPs said the colonel then became quite ineloquent.”

Gale looked at Mary. “Poor little girl,” she said.

“Then that poor little girl grabbed his rifle, kicked him in the shins, and took off into the woods with the AK.” She said it all with a straight face. But there was a definite twinkle in her eyes.

Gale looked shocked at the telling.

“How old was the girl?” Ben asked.

“Eight,” Mary said.

Ike walked up and looked at the approaching young people. The leading edge was only a few yards away. The young people stopped and were looking at the adults looking at them.

“Aw,” Ike said, “look at them poor, little kids. Makes your heart ache, don't it? Me and Sally got to take in a few of them to raise.”

Ben smiled.

Ike walked into the street and stood smiling down at the first few young people. He felt his heart soften as he looked at the ragged and dirty little kids. The stocky ex-SEAL knelt down beside one little, dark-haired girl.

“Howdy, honey,” he drawled in his best Mississippi accent. “My, you sure are pretty. How'd you like to come live with me and my wife?”

The little girl, no more than nine or ten, pulled a pistol from a holster and pointed it at Ike. Ike paled in shock. She said, “How'd you like to eat lead, fatso?”

Ben had to struggle to keep from laughing at the expression on Ike's face. It was very difficult to get anything over on Ike, and Ben knew this story would fly around the camps of the Rebels. Ike would never live it down.

Gale glanced at Ben. “
Ben
!” she hissed. “Damn it, it isn't funny.”

Ben groaned, suppressing a chuckle.

“Now, darlin',” Ike said, very carefully getting to his feet. “There just ain't no call for nothin' like this. I don't mean you no harm.”

“Yeah?” the cute little girl asked belligerently. “That's what them guys told me last year, too. I believed 'em. You know what they done to me?”

“I'd really rather not hear about it, if you don't mind,” Ike said.

“I guess you and your wife is gonna love me and hug me and give me food and pretty clothes and all that shit?” the little girl demanded Ike answer.

“Well, ah, yes,” Ike said, after wincing at her language.

“That's what them men told me, too,” the girl said.

“So I believed 'em. They took me to a house and raped me – all of them. They hurt me real bad. Then Wade come along and him and his people killed them men. I believe Wade. I don't know you, so I don't believe you and I don't trust you. I got my reasons, mister.”

Ben stepped forward as the HQ appeared to swell with the arrival of more young people. “You can believe him, girl,” he said. “Ike is sincere in wanting you to come live with him and his wife. Ike and Sally are good people.”

The ragged little girl with the pistol in her hand swung old/wise/young eyes to Ben. She holstered the. 38. “Maybe,” she said, suspicion in her voice. “I don't know you neither, but you look familiar. Who you is, mister?” “Ben Raines.”

The little girl reached into a leather pouch on her belt and removed a plastic-covered picture. She compared the picture to the man then turned to face the large knot of young people, now hundreds strong. “It's him!” she called.

The little girl fell to her knees and every boy and girl in the column followed suit. Ben stood open-mouthed, astonishment evident on his tanned, rugged features.

“What the hell?” Ben muttered.

Wade crawled toward Ben. Clearly embarrassed, Ben tried to motion the young man to his feet. But the young man would have none of that.

“Get up!” Ben whispered hoarsely. “What are you doing?”

With his eyes downcast, Wade called out, “All praise Ben Raines.”

“What!” Ben whispered, aware that his people were looking strangely at him.

“All praise Ben Raines,” the hundreds of young people echoed.

Ben lost his temper. “Now just a damn minute!” he yelled. “Everybody here – off your knees. Get up and face me.”

Ben handed his Thompson to Ike and the eyes of the young people all followed the shifting of the old SMG. More than a few sighed audibly. They now viewed Ike in a different light.

Ben motioned the young people up from their prostration, feeling a bit foolish as he did so.

Reluctantly, and with fear on their young faces, the kids rose to their feet.

“You young people do
not
worship
me
!” Ben said, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Nobody worships me. I won't have it. It's silly. Where in the world did you young folks get such an idea?”

“It . . . it is written,” Wade stammered out the reply. The seemingly fearless young man now seemed genuinely afraid standing facing Ben.

Ben looked hard at the young man. “Written? Where is it written that I am to be worshipped?”

“An old man told us,” Wade said. “I mean . . . he didn't exactly say it like that, but he talked real funny – old-time like. And he said that to worship a false god was a sin in the eyes of the Lord. I told him that maybe that was so, but that there wasn't but one man I would ever bow down to, and that was Mister Ben Raines.”

Ben nodded, and to the young people, the nod appeared sagely. Irritation flashed across Ben's face. “Was the man's name the Prophet?”

The crowd of young people drew back, as if much afraid. They knotted together, touching, seeking comfort by physical contact.

“Yes,” Wade said, standing his ground, but looking very much like he would rather cut and run.

Ben looked at the young spokesman. “What did he say or do when you told him that?”

“He . . . said that perhaps you . . . Ben Raines . . . might be the man to do the job at hand. But that on your head would lie the . . . the con-con – ” he struggled with the unfamiliar word – “the consequences should you try but fail.”

“All right. Now tell me this, young man. What do you think the old man meant by that?”

A look of confusion passed over the young man's face. He finally shrugged his shoulders. “That you are a god – what else?”

“He was wrong,” Ben said. “And you are wrong in thinking you should worship me.”

“No, sir.” Wade's reply was softly given, just audible to Ben's ear. “No, sir, I don't think so. Arid none of the people who are with me think so, neither. Mister Ben Raines, I have traveled all over this land,” Wade stated. “I have been to both big waters, east to west. I have been from Canada down to Texas, and I have personally seen with my own eyes what some people have built in reverence to you.”

Ben stirred. Those rock and stone monuments he had heard about but never seen. He did not know how to reply to Wade. A strange emotion moved deep within him. Stirred, turned, then became still as Ben took a deep, calming breath.

Wade said, “You have many, many followers, Mister Ben Raines. We are but a few of them. You have people who revere you living in small pockets all over this nation. But for the most part they are afraid to leave the safety of their tunnels and caves.”