William Johnstone - Out of the Ashes

No. He shook his head. We weren’t wrong. Not at the outset. It was basically a good plan, restoring America to her constitutional roots.

He sighed as he looked at the cooling body of Adams. You got too big for your boots, partner. Went off the deep end. I think, toward the end, you were crazy.

He picked up the phone, telling the operator, “Get me the White House, miss. Tell whoever answers that Col. Bull Dean wants to speak with Crazy Horse Travee.” He laughed. “That should get his attention.”

Only hours before the press broke the rumors of a nuclear war looming worldwide, in almost every state in America, people who knew how to survive, were ready for war, were vanishing.

Prof. Steven Miller disappeared from the campus of USC. The quiet, soft-spoken professor of history, a bachelor, could not be found. His apartment was unlocked, but nothing appeared to be missing or even out of place. An associate professor thought it strange, though, when a box of .223 ammunition was found in a bureau drawer.

“M-16 ammunition,” a policeman observed.

“But Steven didn’t like guns,” his colleague said. “Least he said he didn’t like them. Come to think of it, he never joined us in any gun-control activity.”

The policeman shrugged.

An hour later, the policeman had vanished.

Jimmy Deluce, a crop-duster from the Cajun country of Louisiana, and a dozen of his friends did not report for work. No one seemed to know where they went.

Nora Rodelo and two of her girlfriends were last seen shopping together in Dodge City, Kansas. They dropped out of sight.

Anne Flood, a college senior in New Mexico, and a half-dozen of her friends, male and female, got in their cars and vans and drove away. A neighbor told his wife to come quick, look at that. Those kids are carryin’ guns, Mother. Look like machine guns. Don’t that beat all?

James Riverson, a huge, six-foot, six-inch truck driver from the boot heel of Missouri, and his wife, Belle, were last seen getting into James’ rig and heading west.

A neighbor had called to him, “What’re you haulin’ this trip, James?”

James had smiled, answering, “A load of M-16s and ammo.”

His neighbor had laughed. “M-16s! James, son, you are a card.”

Linda Jennings, a reporter for a small-town Nebraska weekly, did not show up for work. No one had seen her since the day before. She had received a phone call and immediately begun packing.

“Young people!” her boss had snorted.

Al Holloway, a musician in a country and western band, did not make rehearsal. A friend said he saw him getting into his car and heading out. Said it looked like he was carrying a submachine gun.

Jane Dolbeau, a French Canadian living and working in New York, was seen leaving her apartment. A young man she had dated had waved at her, but Jane had not acknowledged the greeting. He said she seemed preoccupied.

Ken Amato and his wife and daughter locked up their house in Skokie, outside of Chicago, and drove away.

Ben Raines sat in his den, listening to classical music and getting drunk. He had no idea that the gods of fate were laughing wildly, shaping his destiny.

“General Travee? There is a man on the phone claiming to be Col. Bull Dean. He says he wants to speak to Crazy Horse Travee. Begging your pardon, sir.”

Travee laughed. “So the ornery ol’ Bull is alive.” He jerked up the phone. “Speak, you snake-eater!”

Bull laughed. “It was Adams, sir. Not me. The rebels are out of it. I can’t tell you everything Adams did, ‘cause I don’t know it all. But I’ll tell you what I do know.”

“Give it to me fast, Bull. I don’t think we have much time.”

Travee listened for several minutes, nodding and grunting every now and then. Finally, he said, “What are you going to do, Bull?”

“I’m going to sit right here on my front porch and watch the ICBMs come in and go out. Fort Drum will surely take one nose-on, so I’ll just sit here quietly until my time comes. I can’t think of a better way for a worn-out old soldier to go out. Give ’em hell, Crazy Horse.” He hung up.

Travee stood for a precious moment, his thoughts flung back over the years, his memories of a wild young Ranger named the Bull—the most decorated man in the history of America.

“It sounded to me, General,” Logan said, “as though you were genuinely glad to speak with that traitor.”

Travee glared at him. “Shut your goddamned liberal mouth, you prick! Bull Dean is ten times the man you’ll ever be. Now sit down, shut up, and stay out of the way, or I’ll tear your head off and hand it to you.”

Logan sat down in a corner, crossed his legs primly, and closed his mouth.

“VP Mills’ wife is dead,” General Hyde said, walking into the room. “California Highway Patrol just found her body.”

“How did she die?” Rees asked. “And why? Killing Ruth was an unnecessary act of violence.”

“She was shot in the head.” General Hyde shrugged. “As to who killed her, we’ll probably never know. We don’t have that much time left us.”

“Sir.” An aide spoke to President Rees, his face white with strain and exhaustion. “The Russians have just formally broken off diplomatic relationships with the United States. Their embassy is closed and they are boarding planes to go home.”

“Their UN ambassador?”

“He is airborne. Most of the ambassadors from the Soviet bloc countries are gone as well.”

“Do we have contact with our embassy in Moscow?”

“No, sir. Everything is being jammed by the Russians.”

“Damn,” Rees cursed. “Have you spoken with the Chinese?”

“Yes, sir. The Chinese were unusually blunt. They said to pick a side and do it quickly.”

“Did you give them our reply?”

“Yes, sir. They seemed pleased.”

Brady limped into the room. “We have reports of massive riots in Turkey, India, Iran, a dozen other countries. Three embassies have been burned to the ground, our ambassadors killed.”

“My men?” General Dowling asked.

“All dead, sir. This time they died fighting.”

“Good,” Dowling said, clenching his fists. He and General Travee locked eyes for a few seconds. “It’s time, C.H.,” the Marine Corps commandant said. Travee nodded. Dowling turned to an aide. “Tim, order all marines on full alert. Battle gear. Tell them to stand by. I’ll be goddamned if I’m going out with my thumb stuck up my ass.”

Each man of the Joint Chiefs followed suit with his branch. Rees was not consulted, and his face mirrored his immense relief. Senator Logan jumped to his feet.

“None of you can give those orders without first consulting Congress.” Hilton Logan was scared. The military scared him. Guns frightened him. Violence made him nauseous.

He was ignored.

General Travee spoke to his president. “Sir, I am declaring a national state of emergency—martial law. The Constitution of the United States is hereby suspended. I am assuming full control.”

Shooting, faint and far away, drifted to the men sitting on the park bench in New York’s Central Park. A hard burst of gunfire followed, from automatic weapons. There were cars and trucks backed up for miles on the expressways around the city: a mass exodus.

“It’s no longer safe in the city.” The Albanian grinned, and the Chinese laughed at him.

“How many warheads and what kind?” the Chinese asked. “Not that it will do my country any good. I can’t get through to them.”