Fire in the Ashes

It began raining on the afternoon of the fourth day out of the Smokies, the weather turning cool. As Ben's column moved through Kentucky and into Virginia, the skies cleared and the stars seemed close enough to touch. The column moved through the night, meeting no resistance, for the news of their coming had preceded them, and the federal police wanted nothing to do with the Rebels, for those of their kind who had fought the Rebels had died hard and quickly ... and the Rebels were taking no prisoners.

After a few hours sleep, the column again headed east, meeting their first roadblock just inside the Virginia line. The scouts radioed back and Ben drove his Jeep to within a few hundred meters of the roadblock. He picked up a portable bullhorn. His message was brief.

“We're coming through—one way or another. I'm not going around you bastards.” His voice boomed through the early morning mist. “You men can live to tell your grandchildren about this moment, or you can die where you are and be damned with you all. It's up to you. You've got one minute to make up your mind."

To the federal police, the column seemed to stretch for miles. And then they heard the snick of ammo being snapped into chambers; the rattle of belt ammo being fed into machine guns. The federal police heard too, the rustle of leaves and vegetation on the road banks that surrounded them. They knew to fight now would be stupid. They would die. They looked at each other, nodded, and holstered their sidearms and laid aside their rifles and shotguns. One of the men waved the column through. The lead vehicle passed and then Ben's Jeep stopped by the side of the road, by the blockade.

“You men showed good sense,” Ben told them. “Now go on home until the people tell you to go back to work."

“Who is going to keep the peace?” Ben was asked.

“You've got to be kidding!” Ben said. “You men don't really believe you were keeping the peace, do you?"

They shuffled their feet and looked everywhere except at Ben.

“That's what I thought,” Ben told them. “We're arming the people as we go. So my advice to you men is to go home and keep your heads down until the smoke clears. If any of you had a hand in torture or intimidation around here, my suggestion would be to hit the trail and keep your head down. And pray none of the victim's family or friends finds you."

Ben put the Jeep in gear and moved out, leaving a frightened group of ex-federal police standing beside the road.

An hour later a scout radioed back to Ben. “About seventy-five federal cops and the local National Guard have set up roadblocks just up the highway, General. Town of Marion. They're getting ready for a fight of it."

Ben rolled his column to the outskirts of town and then made his way carefully to visual distance of the roadblock. He checked positions and called for mortars.

“I'm not going to lose men fighting those silly bastards,” he told Cecil. “Have they been informed they may surrender?” he asked a scout.

“Yes, sir, several times."

“Their reply, if any?"

“They told us to come and get them."

Ben looked down the deserted street. “Have you checked the area for civilians?"

“Yes, sir. The local cell took care of that. It's all clear except for the federal cops and guardsmen."

Ben sighted through a range finder. “Call it 700 meters. We'll use that telephone pole just to the right of them for an aiming stake. Give them ten rounds of twelve-pounders, HE. That ought to clear it out."

The order was given and the thonk of mortars drifted to them, then the slight fluttering as the projectiles accelerated through the air. The barricade erupted into a mass of wood, burning metal, and mangled flesh. On the rooftops, civilians opened fire with weapons they had, until only a few days back, kept hidden.

In a very few moments, those survivors surrendered. “What do we do with them, General Raines?” a civilian asked.

Ben looked at the man. “Turn them loose or shoot them. I don't give a damn."

* * * *

The wire services and the networks reported the Rebel push without asking permission from the government censors. There were no repercussions; every ham operator in the nation and anyone with a CB unit was reporting on the Rebel's progress.

Krigel's Rebels were raising hell in Mississippi, Arkansas, and Louisiana. Conger's people had pushed up into West Virginia, securing areas as they drove in. General Hazen's people had already secured more than a third of their designated area of operation, and Hector Ramos was driving hard through North Carolina, picking up support as he went, heading toward South Carolina.

“Welcome to the state of Arkansas,” the governor greeted General Krigel from his new state capital of Pine Bluff. “Am I to understand the government's police state is over?"

“It is in this area,” the general replied. “You may inform your police they are no longer under the auspices of the federal government."

“You mean they are under my control?” the governor asked with a smile.