Fire in the Ashes

“No,” Krigel told him. “They are under the control of the people."

* * * *

“You can't just walk into a town and take over, declaring martial law!” a police chief in Kansas loudly protested.

“We just did,” Captain Gray said, his British accent sounding strange in the Kansas flatlands.

“But ... but...” the police chief sputtered. “What about the constitution?"

Both Captain Gray and Tina Raines smiled. Gray said, “Standing behind that badge, wearing that federal flash on your shoulder, and with your jails and prisons full of innocent men and women, do you really wish to discuss the constitution?"

“I guess not,” the chief replied. He sighed. “What do you want me and my boys to do?"

“Direct traffic,” Tina told him. “Maybe you can do that without fucking it up."

* * * *

The column of Rebels moved slowly through Virginia, meeting only scattered and usually light resistance from federal police and some guard units still loyal to VP Lowry. They were given a chance to surrender. If they refused, the Rebels hit them brutally, many times, taking no prisoners. Whenever they came to an armory, the Rebels took everything that wasn't nailed down, sometimes caching it for later use, sometimes giving it to the people, sometimes taking it.

They burned all police stations to the ground, first gutting them with fire and then using explosives to destroy the buildings. They destroyed all government records of the personal lives of citizens and turned the job of peace-keeping over to the people.

They armed all adults who wanted to be armed and told them to protect themselves against arrest should the federal police or troops come in after the Rebels left. In most areas of southern Virginia, the back of the police state was broken.

At noon, Jim Slater and Paul Green landed their twin-engined craft at the small airport of Radford, Virginia. Except for a few curious stares, no one said anything about the way they were dressed, their guns, or what they were doing in Radford. Everyone knew long before they landed. They were met by a Virginia federal highway patrolman. He wore the bars of a captain. Another patrolman, the stripes of a sergeant. They walked to within a few yards of the Rebel pilots and their gunners, the gunners armed with M-60 machine guns.

“I gather it would be rather foolish of me to try and arrest you people?” the captain said.

“Considering the circumstances and all,” Jim replied, “I'd say it would be downright dumb."

“I know you are the vanguard of a much larger force of Rebels,” the captain stood his ground. “And I know you people have destroyed any law officers who tried to stop your advance in Kentucky and Virginia. Just how much bloodshed do you anticipate in this area?"

“That is entirely up to you people,” Jim told him.

The captain looked at his sergeant. Both men shrugged. “Under this new system we keep hearing about,” the captain said, “will there even be cops?"

“Peace officers,” Jim replied. “We're going to try to keep cops to a minimum. You men think you can handle the title of peace officer?"

“What's the difference between a peace officer and a cop?” the sergeant asked.

“You enforce the laws the people tell you to enforce and you don't hassle."

“I think we can handle that,” the captain said dryly. “We were both police officers years before the federalization order came down. All right, count us in."

“Y'all sure give up easy,” Jim's gunner said. “What's the catch?"

“Simple,” the captain replied. “You people are going to win the first round of this war. I have no intention of dying fighting you. You're still going to need officers to investigate accidents, patrol the highways, take care of drunks, and pick up the bloody pieces of stupid fools who shoot themselves with all those guns you people are passing out—right?"

Jim grinned. “Maybe you two will make good peace officers after all."

The highway cops didn't see the humor in it. The captain made that clear. “We've always been good cops, Reb. So have a lot of other men. But we needed a job. I never tortured any citizen in my life, and neither did Harry here,” he nodded at the sergeant. “Lots of cops didn't. I like to think we probably saved some people from that fate."

“Okay,” Jim smiled. “I think you guys will be all right. I'll take you at your word. Now then, how many troopers in your district are good cops and not bully boys with a badge and a gun?"

“Not very many,” the captain said reluctantly. “Not like it was before the bombings of ‘88. Maybe ... thirty percent of the troopers are still good cops."

“How about the sheriffs and deputies and local cops?"

The sergeant spat on the ground. “Shit!” he said. “Asshole buddy system prevails there. They got their friends who can do no wrong—everyone else gets hassled. Not a whole hell of a lot different from before the bombings, if you know what I mean."