William Johnstone: Fire in the Ashes

Ben said, “Order all units to shift positions immediately. They know the drill. We’re moving out of here now! Clear the camp. We’re moving to the Wyoming base. Move it, people!”

Jerre touched his arm. “Ben… you’re not strong enough for this trip. You…”

“I have to be, Jerre. We’ve got to move. This may be all it takes to push Cody off the deep end. You know what our intelligence people are reporting.”

Ike McGowen took it from there. “Torture, rape, physical humiliation; those are words right out of the last report we received, Jerre.” The ex-Navy SEAL chewed reflectively on a blade of grass.

“I can’t believe President Addison would go along with anything like that,” she said. “He’s… hell he’s a liberal. He was heavily into human rights in South America back in the early ‘80’s—so I’m told,” she blushed.

“Mere child,” Ike grinned.

The Medal of Honor-winning SEAL had been with Ben for a decade; one of the men who helped form Tri-States.

Ben grinned at him.

“What are you grinning about, El Presidente?” Ike asked.

“Remembering the first day I met you.”

“Long time back, partner.”

Ben had been traveling down the coast of Florida, spinning the dial on his truck radio when the music rolled from the speaker. The voice followed. Startled, Ben pulled off the highway onto a shoulder and listened.

“Bright beautiful day here in the city with the titties,” the voice said. “Temperature in the mid-seventies and you’re listening to the SEAL with the feel, Ike McGowen.”

Ben drove on, looking for a radio tower. He spotted what had to be the shakiest tower he’d ever seen, leaning precariously by an oceanside house. Ben, accompanied by Juno, a malamute who had adopted him outside of Jessup, Georgia, walked up to the house. They were met by a gaggle of scantily clad females, all carrying automatic weapons.

Ike’s radio station, Ben learned, was KUNT.

Ben wintered with Ike and his female companions. Not only did he winter with them, he married Ike and Megan Ann Green. The ceremony might not have been legal, but it was the best any of them could do at the time.

And Ike, Ben found, had been part of the Rebels long before the bombings of ‘88. Part of the group under the command of Ben’s old CO in Vietnam, Bull Dean.

Ben had heard of the Rebel movement—had been approached by a member of the group in ‘84—but had discounted the movement; laughed it off.

But as he traveled the country, he saw billboards reading: BEN RAINES—CONTACT US 39.2. When he finally did contact the mysterious party at frequency 39.2, he was astonished to learn that he had been placed in charge of all the Rebels.

Ben refused it.

Then Ike had told him, “Go on, General. Hell, I’m not going to push you. Travel the country. Your duty will come to you after a time.”

After the group in Florida broke up, each going their own way, Ben traveled many more miles, but the signs kept popping up: BEN RAINES—CONTACT US 39.2.

Ben finally “saw his duty.”

“Any individual found supporting the Rebels, actively or passively,” the network commentator intoned, “will be charged with treason. Highly placed sources within the Justice Department have told our reporters this move is necessary to stem the flow of arms and equipment to the Rebel movement currently operating in the United States. Ben Raines, the commanding officer of the Rebels has been placed at the top of the FBI’s most wanted list. The…”

President Addison clicked off the TV set and punched a button on his desk.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell the vice president I want to see him—now!”

“Right away, sir.”

VP Lowry was standing in the Oval Office within five minutes. Weston Lowry could see the rage in Addison’s eyes—the man was making no real effort to conceal it. And the VP was making no attempt to conceal his contempt for the president.

The two men disliked each other intensely.

“Whose idea was this treason business for citizens who imply support for Raines?” Addison questioned.

“I don’t believe imply was ever mentioned in the…”

“Goddamnit, you know what I mean!” Addison slammed his hand on the desk top. “What in the hell are you people trying to do, start a civil war? We’re still struggling to get our balance from the battering we took eleven years ago.”

“Mr. President, we sampled the views of Congress—all the key members…”

“I wasn’t told of that.”

Lowry ignored that. “…and they believe the only way this country will survive is to destroy Ben Raines and his Rebels. They…”

“The British tried that in Northern Ireland for years. It didn’t work there, and it won’t work here.”

“…also believe this threat is so serious as to fully warrant the term treason. If they have to, Mr. President, they have the votes to override any veto should it come to that.”

Addison was so angry he was trembling, his cheeks mottled with white flecks in the flush. “Lowry, I am going to call a press conference. During that press conference, I am going to disassociate myself from this scheme and publicly and categorically express my opposition to it.”

“That is certainly your privilege, sir.” Lowry maintained his composure.

“That will be all,” Addison said.

“Yes, sir.”

Lowry was grinning as he walked out of the office, being careful not to slam the door behind him.

The small convoy rolled through the night, speeding past deserted homes and through small empty towns. Ben rode in a car in the center of the armed convoy, asleep, his head on Jerre’s shoulder. James Riverson was at the wheel of the car. As so many of the Rebels in Ben’s personal contingent, Riverson had been with him for years.

“Don’t like it, Miss Jerre,” the huge ex-truck driver from Missouri said, his big hands making the steering wheel appear smaller than normal. Riverson had lost his wife, Belle, in the battle for Tri-States, and their children had been killed by government troops. Riverson hated the central government of the United States, and like so many Rebels, could not understand why Tri-States had been destroyed.

“Don’t like what, James?”

“The way all this is shaping up. The people are going to get caught right in the middle.”

“I know. So does Ben—he doesn’t like it either. He’s going to have leaflets printed, advising the people to stand clear.”

“You know they won’t do it. The majority of citizens don’t understand how we could build a workable society so quickly and their own non-elected officials—most of them, anyway—can’t seem to do anything. Talk, talk, talk. No action. Or damn little action, anyway.”

“Isn’t that the way it’s always been, James? You’re older than I am. Isn’t that the way it’s always been?”

He slowly nodded his head. “I reckon so, Miss Jerre. From 1980 on, I didn’t even bother voting.”

“That seems so sad, James.”

“It was. But hell, what was the point? Supreme Court and federal judges ran the country. The people didn’t have anything to say about it. Not the people who had any goddamn sense, that is.” He grinned in the dim light from the dash. “Excuse me, Miss Jerre. That was selfish of me to say. We all have rights. I just wish they’d have left us alone in Tri-States. We weren’t bothering a soul. Just being happy, that’s all we were doing.”

Ben groaned in his sleep.

“I wonder what the general is thinking of?” James said.

He had first met Salina in a motel in Indiana, just off the interstate. At first he thought she was a white woman traveling with a group of blacks. Since he had just come from visiting his brother in Chicago, where the blacks and whites were preparing to do their best to kill each other off, he thought that odd.