Fire in the Ashes

Ben shook himself back to the present and all the woes it brought with it.

Threats and atomic bombs; unions screaming at him for putting people back to work (that made absolutely no sense to Ben); Congress fighting him on a national health plan while people died from lack of medical care (that had always infuriated Ben); teachers outraged because Ben wanted to nearly double their salaries and have them teach ethics and morals. It seemed that no matter what was good for the nation as a whole, some group or organization howled about it.

“People don't care, boy,” Lamar's words returned to him in a whisper of memory. “They don't care—and never have cared—what is good for the entire population; only for their own little group. Woman shows her titty on TV it's a sin—never mind that half the babies in America were breastfed and that is their earliest memory. Make sense, Ben? Hell, no! Some church groups want to ban and burn any book that says ‘fuck’ in it while others want to make it legal to have sex with children.

“It's out of control, Ben; has been since the ‘60s. You just do the best you can in the time given you ... then get the hell out of that man-lulling office."

Ben rose from his desk, stretched, and walked to his quarters. He ordered dinner sent up to him and flipped on the TV.

News. If one wished to call it that.

Organized labor was meeting in Florida, the leaders calling President Raines a dirty communist for practically forcing members to go to work at substandard wages.

Ben chuckled grimly. Only about five percent of the world's population was working and 3.5 percent of that was in America; he really didn't see what the union members had to bitch about.

Certain religious groups were screaming at him because he believed what a woman did with her body was that woman's business and no one else had a right to tell her she could or couldn't have an abortion.

Civil liberties groups were howling about the death penalty.

The rich were shrieking about Ben's plans to make the tax laws more equitable.

On and on and on.

Ben turned off the set.

Then something hit his consciousness: The press wasn't taking sides. No editorials. No not-so-subtle vocal innuendoes. No facial giveaways as to how the reporters really felt. What the hell was going on with the fourth estate?

Did somebody up there really like him?

Ben decided it had to be a fluke.

He looked at his half-eaten dinner, pushed it from him, and went into his bedroom. He showered, stretched out on the bed with a book, and was asleep in two minutes.

Seven

“The C-4 is placed, timers set to go in twenty minutes,” Ike was told. “We should kill or cripple fifty of Hartline's mercs with that alone."

“Smoke?” Dan Gray asked.

“In place. We stayed in radio contact with Ike's group all the way. The smoke will go same time as the C-4."

“Okay.” Ike looked at Matt. “You and me, boy—we're going heads up and straight in Hartline's house. I'll take the front, you come in the rear.” He glanced at two of Gray's Scouts. “You two grab that Jeep-mounted fifty and get behind that block wall by the side of Hartline's house. North.” He looked at two more Rebels. “You two on the south side. Rest of you know your jobs.” He looked at his watch. “Let's do it, boys."

“Don't forget us, you sexist pig!” a woman spoke from the darkness of the home. She chuckled.

“'Scuse me, honey,” Ike grinned, glancing at the three women of Gray's team. “I keep forgettin'."

“You didn't forget last night,” she fired back, her white teeth flashing against the deep tan of her face.

“Darlin',” Ike smiled. “That was the most memorable moment of my life."

“Lying Mississippi bastard,” a woman muttered, no malice at all in the statement.

The men and women chuckled, breaking the slight tension.

“Let's do it, lads and lassies,” Dan said.

They moved out. It was five o'clock in the morning.

* * * *

Sam Hartline buckled his web belt around his lean waist and looked at Jerre looking at him from the big bed. The only light was a small nightlight.

“You're a class act, Jerre-baby,” he said. “And I intend to keep you for my own. You understand that?"

“I hear you."

He chuckled. “No other man will have you, baby. I promise you that. You're mine. My property. Mine to do with as I see fit. Be honest—has it been a bad life?"

She had to admit it had not. He had never laid a brutal hand on her. She had the best clothes, the finest food, the nicest treatment any prisoner ever had.

But she was still a prisoner.

Worse yet, she had to fight to keep from responding to his lovemaking, for he was skilled and had more equipment than she had ever encountered.

And last night, the memories flooded back, her reserve had broken, and she had clutched at his shoulders as one raging climax followed another.

And that shamed her.

She still hated him.

“Ta-ta, love,” he grinned at her. “You go back to sleep now and dream about my cock."

He laughed aloud.

A huge explosion shook the darkness of early morning. Fire shot into the predawn skies as a fuel depot went up with a swooshing sound.