William Johnstone - Fire in the Ashes

The mercenary laughed. “Do you really believe that? If so, then you’ve been brainwashed. You people are being used—can’t you see that? Ben Raines is using you. That’s all he’s doing.”

“He’s going to free us!” the same woman shouted, her voice filled with conviction.

“Really?” the mercenary said, moving closer to the rows of defeated citizens. “Well… where is he? He’s got thousands of Rebels under his command. Why weren’t they here, fighting alongside you people? Why didn’t his guerrilla fighters come here, or up in Warsaw yesterday, or down in Marion or Muncie? You people are being tossed to the dogs and don’t even know it. Raines knows you people aren’t fighters; he knows you’re going to die—and he doesn’t care. He’s buying time, that’s all. Time.”

He shook his head sadly as he walked down the rows of citizens, some wounded, bloody. All tired, some so exhausted their legs trembled, threatening to tumble them to the road.

“How long has it been since you people had a good hot meal? A T-bone steak? A good cup of hot coffee? Well, you can bet Raines and his Rebels aren’t going hungry. They’re eating three squares every day! Sleeping soundly at night… while you people are starving and dying. Think about that for a while.”

He walked back to the teenager, waiting beside his car. Cleaned up, she would be very attractive. “What’s your name, honey?” he asked.

“Lisa.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had a good hot meal? Clean clothes? A nice bed with clean sheets on it?”

She was reluctant to answer.

“I won’t hurt you, Lisa. I promise,” the mercenary said with a smile. “Come on, tell me.”

“Long time,” she finally said.

“Would you like to have those things? I bet you have friends who would like to have them, too—right?”

She slowly nodded her head.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt anyone else. Please believe that.” He worked his best I’m-so-misunderstood-but-so-lovable expression onto his face. “I’m going to disobey orders and not take most of these folks to the camps. I think I can talk my way out of trouble. Now, here’s what I want you to do for me. I want you to get your friends together… young people of your age, and talk to them. These aren’t all the survivors, right?”

Her hesitation in replying told the mercenary captain he was right. He waited for her to tell him.

“No, sir,” she finally spoke.

“My name is Jake, Lisa. You call me Jake. Okay, now. I want you to get a couple of your buddies from the group that just surrendered, and I want you to go to your other friends, tell them about Ben Raines… what I just told you, and bring as many of them that will come with you back here.”

Her young-old-wise eyes grew suddenly dark with suspicion.

“Lisa… let me finish before you conclude I’m up to something no good, okay? Fine,” he said when she nodded her head. “Tell you what I’ll do just to prove to you I’m on the level. I’ll be the only one here—or anyplace you and your friends want to meet me. An open field, a warehouse—you name it, and I’ll be there, alone, waiting for you. I’ll be an easy target, Lisa; but I trust you, and I hope you trust me.”

It had been a long time since the teenager had found any reason to trust anyone not of her immediate peer group. But she found herself—to her amazement—trusting this tall, pale-eyed soldier.

“All right,” she said.

“Good! Good, Lisa.” He turned to a sergeant standing nearby. “Sergeant Staples, take the survivors to Decatur, see they are fed and their wounds taken care of. Give them shelter.”

“All of them, Captain?” the sergeant questioned, careful to phrase it so he would not be guilty of disobeying an order.

Captain Jake Devine looked at Lisa, then at the tired group of survivors. “Yes,” he said. “All of them. I want this fighting and killing to stop.”

When Jake turned to the girl, all suspicion was gone from her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, putting a hand on his muscular forearm.

“Trust me, Lisa,” Jake said. “That’s all I ask of you.”

“I… think I do, Jake.”

“Good. You won’t regret it, I promise. When can you meet me, and where?”

“Right here. In…” she looked at her watch “…five hours.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

When the survivors had been loaded onto the trucks, and Lisa and her two friends were gone, a mercenary walked up to Jake. “You slick-talkin’ bastard,” he said. “How do you do it, Jake?”

“I was raised in the church, Tony. It’s my life of clean living. Besides, wouldn’t you really rather fuck than fight?”

“Any day.”

“Okay. We just keep on doing it my way. Hartline don’t give a shit how it’s done—just as long as it gets done. It’s easier this way.”

“Damn sure can’t deny that,” the merc said. “How about them survivors we picked up down in Marion?”

“Why… Tony,” Jake smiled. “We’re their friends. Friends don’t hurt friends. Friends care for friends. Make sure they’re comfortable, have enough to eat, a warm place to sleep. In two weeks, Tony, they’ll spit in the face of Ben Raines. Bet on it.”

“You’ll get a promotion out of this, Jake.”

“Oh, I intend to get that, Tony. Don’t ever doubt it. Oh, and Tony? Those people we picked up from that cell in Kokomo?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They are still isolated, aren’t they?”

“No one knows we got ’em.”

“Have you interrogated them fully?”

“I think we’ve gotten all we’re gonna get out of that bunch.”

“Well, after you get this group all settled in and comfy…” He paused to light a cigarette. “…take that bunch out and shoot them.”

Dawn had expected her first full day of work at the camp’s main CP to be uncomfortable—after the events of the previous night. But she found just the opposite to be true. General Raines was friendly, but not forward; he was the boss, but without being overbearing about it.

He fascinated her.

She had heard so many stories about the man: about how tough he was (he seemed like a pussycat to her); about how fierce he was (he was mending the broken wing of a bird when she reported for work that morning); all the whispered and rumored things about him just didn’t hold true in the presence of the man.

“Sleep well?” Ben asked.

“Fine, General. You?”

“Like a baby. You look very nice this morning, Ms. Bellever. What is that fragrance you’re wearing?”

She smiled. “Soap.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Soap. Perfume is rather a short commodity in this camp.”

“Umm,” Ben said. He handed her a list of things he wanted her to do and left the tent.

When she returned from her lunch break, there was a bottle of Shalimar sitting on her desk.

True to his word, Captain Jake Devine was standing alone, leaning against his car, parked on the shoulder of the highway. His M-10 was nowhere in sight; he wore only a holstered pistol at his side.

“You see,” Lisa said, smiling at Jake but directing her remark to the crowd of young people with her. “I told you he’d be here and be alone.”

“The ditches are probably full of government agents and mercenaries,” a young man said, looking furtively around him. “We’re probably all going to be taken and tortured.”

Jake laughed at this. He jerked his thumb toward the back seat of the car. “You young folks want a Coke?”

“A real Coke?” a young lady asked. “I mean, like a real Coke?”

“The real thing,” Jake said, chuckling. “But I bet you’re too young to remember that slogan.”