Fire in the Ashes

“You know what will happen to both of us if Hartline discovers what we're doing?"

“Yes."

“All right,” Roanna said. “Let's do it."

* * * *

The lights of the small airstrip winked at the Kansas ag-pilot. Married less than a year, Jim Slater was anxious to get back to earth and to his wife. Suddenly, a Piper Club came up fast on his right, flying without lights, startling him. His ‘phones crackled a message that chilled him, turning his guts to ice.

“Watch yourself, Jim. FBI agents on the ground waiting for you. Someone spilled the beans about your running guns for the Rebels. They busted into your house and took Jeanne about noon. They raped her, man. She tried to run away and they shot her. She's dead. I'm sorry, Jim."

The Cub was gone into the night before Jim could acknowledge the message.

Jim circled the small strip before landing. When his wheels touched down, he quickly taxied to the far end of the strip, cut his engine, and jumped out, running into a hangar, slipping through the darkness. He ran to his locker and fumbled inside until he found the hidden panel. Far down the field he could see the bobbing lights of flashlights moving toward him, behind the lights, running figures in the still-warm night.

Cursing under his breath at his clumsiness, and angry because of his tears, Jim hurriedly pulled out a Browning Buck Gun and began shoving magnum loads into the 12 gauge. He slung an ammo belt around his waist and moved to the open window, staying low. Chambering one shell, he fed another into the magazine and waited. The agents stopped some twenty-five feet from the hangar and began talking. Jim listened to the conversations before taking any action. He wanted to be sure he was killing the right men.

“The son of a bitch is gone, I tell you. I watched him run over there, into that field."

“Too bad about that wife of his."

“Yeah, I could have stood some more of that pussy. Man, that was tight."

Jim emptied the Buck Special into the dark shapes, watching one man's head fly apart as the slugs ripped and tore their explosive path. He reloaded and emptied the Buck Gun once more into the still forms on the dewy grass.

At twenty-five feet, magnum-pushed slugs are brutal.

Moving to the bodies, sprawling grotesquely in sudden death, Jim picked through the gore and gathered all the weapons, ammo, IDs, and money. At the agents’ cars, he opened the trunks and found high-powered rifles, an M-16, and several riot guns. He took them all, stashing them in his personal plane. He heard footsteps behind him and spun, ready to kill again.

It was Paul Green, a mechanic at the field.

The two men stood for a moment, looking at each other.

“You played hell, Jim,” Paul finally said. “I heard about Jeanne—I'm sorry.” He looked at the lumps on the grass, gathering dew. “What now, buddy?"

The two men had gone through school together. Jim leveled with him. “I head for Tennessee, to the Park. Might as well tell you, I've been part of the Rebels since ‘97."

Paul smiled in the darkness. “Hell, Jim, everyone in town knew that. You want some company?"

Jim pointed to his private, twin-engined plane. “Let's get ‘er gassed up and get gone. I got no reason to go home, now."

Eight

In the southwest part of the nation, Colonel Hector Ramos's Rebels began their search of deserted military bases, looking for weapons. In some bases, the military can be devious in hiding the main armament room, and it takes an ex-military man to find them. Hector knew right where to look.

“Hola!” Rosita Murphy said, stepping down into the coolness of the long corridor, gazing at the long rows of M-16s, M-60 machine guns, and other infantry weapons.

Hector grinned at the small woman. “Nice to know the Irish in you can still be overriden by your mother's tongue."

She returned his grin. “My mother made sure I could speak both languages, Colonel. I gather these,” she waved at the rows of arms, “go to Tennessee?"

“You gather correctly.” He looked at the new member in his command. The little green-eyed, Spanish-Irish lady was quite a delightful eyeful. “Ever met General Raines, Rosita?"

“No, sir. But I'm told he is quite a man?"

“He is that, little one. Mucho hombre."

“He married?"

Hector's grin widened and his dark eyes sparkled. “No."

She glanced up at him. “Why are you grinning at me, Colonel?"

He shrugged. “No importa, Rosita."

“Umm,” she replied, as she watched her commanding officer direct the removal of the weapons, most of them still encased in cosmoline, gleaming in grease under the beams of light from heavy lanterns now being placed in the corridor.

Unknowingly, she half turned toward the east, toward Tennessee.

* * * *