Part 1 (1/2)
Wind in the Ashes.
BY WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE.
Me, comprenez-vous?
Non, je ne vous comprends pas!
I bend but do not break.
-Jean de la Fontaine
Book One
Chapter One.
Ben stood in the deep timber that surrounded his camp and listened to the sounds of nature returned to pure nature. Was earth's destruction the work of G.o.d? he pondered. Back in '88, when the world's leaders finally decided upon the ultimate answer to everything-war-was G.o.d's hand guiding the human hand that pushed the b.u.t.ton?
Had He tired of it all? Had He so wearied of humankind's continuous s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g-up that He, not mere man, decided upon the ultimate response?
Ben didn't know. But he strongly suspected his suspicions were correct.
I am facing so many problems, he silently mused. And not the least important of them is the matter of getting back to G.o.d. If this shattered and battered land is to ever pull itself out of the ashes and back to some degree of normalcy, the land and its people are going to have to have some divine help.
Not a very religious man, and certainly not a praying man, Ben felt impotent in his lack of ability to communicate with The Man.
He thought of Gale. He smiled. Or The Woman- whatever the case may be.
But, he thought with a sigh, I firmly believe the age of miracles is long past. And since G.o.d so loved His warriors, perhaps He is looking to warriors to aid Him. So-he touched the b.u.t.t of his shoulder-slung Thompson-let us give G.o.d a helping hand.
But, he mused, looking heavenward, it is a two-way door, Lord. I can't do it alone. So don't leave me alone. Lend me a hand.
Amen. Or whatever.
Ike and Colonel Dan Gray stood several hundred meters back from Ben, watching him.
”I do believe the general is praying,”
Colonel Gray remarked.
”Probably,” Ike agreed. ”Ben never wanted the role of leader. He d.a.m.n sure never asked for it. Everybody just thrust it at him without giving him any options. I'll say this, though: a hundred years from now, when this nation is once more functioning, and historians are writing about how it pulled itself out of the ashes of war, that man standing right over there will be the man they write about.”
”Most a.s.suredly. I do wish he'd carry a more modern weapon, however. That d.a.m.ned old Thompson has to be fifty years old.”
Ike grinned. ”There isn't an original partleft in that thing. It's been reworked so many times it's practically brand new.”
They watched as Ben touched the stock of the Thompson submachine gun and turned, looking at the men looking at him.
”Does Ben know that weapon is nearly as revered and feared as he is?” Gray asked.
”Yes. But he doesn't know what to do about either.”
Ben walked toward his friends and fellow warriors.
”If he pulls this off,” Gray said, referring to the upcoming confrontation with the Russian commander of the IPF, Striganov, and the mercenary, Hartline, ”Ben will be more feared and revered than before.”
”He knows that too. He also knows he doesn't have any choice in the matter. He's just got to do it, and he's going to.”
Ben was fast approaching them.
”He's fully recovered from his wounds,” Gray observed. ”And you know what that means.”
Ben settled it. ”a.s.similate all the recon intel thus far received,” he ordered.
”Ike, get on the horn and tell your motorized battalion to push it. Get here. Both of you meet me in my CP in one hour. We're jumping off in forty-eight hours.”
Ike grinned. ”Yes, sir!”
”It's going to be a b.l.o.o.d.y son of a b.i.t.c.h!”
Ben told the Rebels gathered in his command post.
He pointed to a spot on the map on the table.
”Striganov and Hartline control everything, and I mean everything, from the Nevada line west to the coast in this area of California. In Oregon, Hartline's people control everything west of Highway Ninety-seven. Now both men have their people spread pretty thin. But even at that, we're going to be badly outnumbered.”
”Ain't we always?” a young lieutenant muttered, caught herself, flushed, and glanced at Ben.
”Sorry, General.”
Ben smiled. ”That's all right. And you're right.
But right, I think, is the key word here. We're right, and they're wrong. Now, our recon intel shows that Striganov and Hartline have beefed up their own people considerably by enlisting a lot of these local warlords. Their people are, for the most part, ill-trained with a noticeable lack of discipline; but they're very savage. As much as I despise Hartline and Striganov, I will give them credit for having professional soldiers under their commands. But we must not discount the warlords. Bear that in mind-always!
”I hate to split our forces. But under the circ.u.mstances, I don't see any other way to accomplish our mission. We're not going to stand and slug it out, people. We try that, and we'll get creamed. As good as we are, we can't survive against these overwhelming odds in a stand-up, conventional type of war.”
Ben paused, noting the grins of Ike and Gray.”You two apes find something amusing about all this?”
he asked.
”Oh, quite, General,” Gray said.
”Oh, just ducky, lovey,” Ike mimicked the Englishman's precise manner of speaking. Something the Mississippi-born Ike had been doing for years.