Fire in the Ashes

“Just a skeleton crew. My people took care of them about two hours ago."

Ben sighed, his pain momentarily forgotten. “All right, Hec. But this commits us past the point of no return; your people aware of that?"

“Yes, sir. To a person."

“Good luck, Hec."

Ben slowly removed the headset and handed it to the operator. The young man looked at him, questions in his eyes. “From now on it's open warfare, isn't it, General?"

“Yes, it is, son. It sure is."

Chase stuck his head in the tent. “Now will you get your ass back to bed?” he shouted.

* * * *

“I know what you're thinking, Ben,” Jerre said, when Ben was once more in bed.

He looked at her. “Oh?"

“You're wondering if you're doing the right thing. You're thinking some of those agents were just kids when the bombings occurred; they might not even remember what it was like before. And some of them might not really go along with Al Cody and President Addison, but they're just doing their jobs."

“You do have a way of getting inside my head,” he said dreamily, half asleep.

“I should,” she smiled. “After all, you screwed me when I was only nineteen, you dirty old man."

“So am I doing the right thing, Jerre?"

“You know you are, Benj,” her words held a hollow, echoing sound as he drifted off into sleep.

He was remembering how they met, ten years back...

* * * *

He had seen her walking slowly down the road—trudging was more like it—just north of Charlottesville, Virginia. It was just a few weeks after the world had exploded in germ and nuclear warfare. Frightened, she had jumped across a ditch and hurt her ankle. Ben found himself looking down the barrel of a small automatic pistol.

He had finally convinced her he meant her no harm, and she allowed him to look at her ankle, finally convincing her she should soak the ankle in a nearby creek.

She had been in college in Maryland when the bombs hit. She'd been sick for a week. The whole experience had been “Gross, man. The absolute pits."

They had talked the afternoon away, and she came to trust him. That night, she came to his bed, young and coltish and smelling of soap, fresh from her bath.

They had traveled the country, growing fonder of each other. But she had told him she would leave when she felt the time was right, ‘cause right now, he thought she was cute; but that cute would get old pretty damn quick, she thought.

He had taught her as much as he could in their time together—teaching her, he hoped, to survive.

“But,” he had told her, “it might help improve your shooting if you would open your eyes."

He had left her just south of Chapel Hill.

He still had the letter she had written him.

* * * *

The agents walked blindly into a murderous ambush at the Air Force base. As they deplaned, they thought nothing of the Air Police sitting around the airport in Jeeps. The M-16s in their hands and the M-60 and .50-caliber machine guns mounted on the Jeeps were nothing out of the ordinary. The agents paid little attention to them.

They also paid little attention to the AF captain and sergeant who boarded the plane when the last agent got off.

The pilot felt the cold steel of a .45 pistol pressing into his neck. He did not turn around. He just listened to the low voice explain how it was his option whether to live or die.

“Just keep your cool, Captain,” the Rebel told him. “You're not going to be on the ground very long."

The pilot fought to keep his nerves steady as heavy gunfire ripped the late afternoon. The screaming of the agents churned his guts and tied them into soft knots. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at his copilot. He, too, had a pistol shoved into his neck.

“Your wife's name is Loraine,” the Rebel told him. “Your copilot's wife is Betty. Right now, they're safe; fuck up, and you'll never see them again."

That was a high bluff. The Rebels had no intention of harming any innocent person; but the pilots didn't need to know that.

Outside the plane, the gunfire was still intense.

“Just tell us what you want us to do, mister,” the pilot replied. “We're civilian fliers, not military.” He watched an agent running across the tarmac. A machine gun barked; a row of bloody dots appeared on the man's back. He fell face-first on the tarmac and lay still.

“While we're loading the bodies on the plane,” the Rebel said, “you're going to refuel and take a piss if you need to. Then you're going to fly back to Richmond and you are going to maintain radio silence all the way except for landing instructions. Is that clear?"

“Yes, sir."

“While you're getting your instructions to land, you are going to tell the tower to get hold of Director Cody. Have him meet you at the airport. Tell him this: General Raines is alive and well. He sends his best wishes in the form of this little present. Tell him Tri-States will rise again. Tell him from this point on, it is open, no-holds-barred warfare. I hope, gentlemen, we will not see one another again. Stay in your seats until I give the word."

“Yes, sir."