Ambush in the Ashes by William W. Johnstone Page B

the gangs of punks want anything to do with it.”
     
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    “This is why the people back up the road looked at me so strangely when I said our next stop was Gambia. I should have pressed them for details. All right. We’ll bypass Banjul; give it a wide berth. We’ll hold up just inside the Guinea-Bissau border and wait for Nick to catch up. He’s supposed to be in Bansang late this afternoon or early in the morning.”
    “Right. I’ll bump him now. Oh, the two prisoners just died without saying anything.”
    Before Ben could reply, Chase came walking up. “What’s this about Banjul, Ben?”
    Ben very quickly summed up what Corrie had told him.
    Chase nodded. “That ties in with what a doctor told me back in Banjul. But he said it was all rumor. He could confirm nothing.”
    “Bypass it, Lamar?”
    “I don’t think we have a choice. We can’t save every human being on the continent. It’s a noble thought, but impossible for us.”
    “Corrie …”
    “I know, boss. Tell the captain of the ship bringing the reporters’ supplies to push on, or sail on, whatever sailors do, down to the port of Bissau. Tell the charter plane bringing in the press to hold off until we are sure the airport can handle them.”
    “That’s right, Corrie.”
    Chase looked at both of them strangely, then said to Ben, “She can read your mind? God, poor girl!”
    The going was so slow through the tiny country that many times the Rebels chose to walk alongside or behind the trucks rather than endure the torturous ride.
    “What a choice,” one Rebel was heard to say. “Blisters on my feet or blisters on my ass.”
     
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    William W. Johnstone
    Ben only smiled when he heard that. He knew that the time for a commander to really start worrying was when the troops stopped bitching.
    Despite the terrible roads and the slow going, Ben and his Rebels make it across the tiny country without further incident. As to who was behind the failed ambush, Ben never found out. The Rebels had gathered up many of the weapons used by the ambushers and they were in good shape, and, as Ben was quick to point out after looking at several of the bodies, so were the boots. Good gear can tell an experienced field commander much about a unit.
    Nick Stafford and his 18 Batt reached their objective without running into trouble, and they reported that while Bansang was no paradise, the people there were making a great effort to climb out of the tragedy of war and resume some degree of normalcy. Nick and his people would stay for a few days, his doctors seeing, as much as possible, to the needs of the people. Nick and his 18 Batt would then have to travel east over to Basse Santa Su before cutting south and eventually make it into Guinea-Bissau … which used to be known as Portuguese Guinea. The other battalions were keeping pace with Ben’s 1 Batt, although the west-to-east line would appear very snake-like on any map.
    Ben’s Scouts reported that the city of Bissau was coping, and while the citizens had suffered at the hands of gangs, the gangs had fled upon hearing that the Rebels were fast approaching the city. The reputation of the Rebels was quickly spreading all over the continent. Ben knew that eventually the hundreds of gangs would band together under one leader and make a stand of it-they would have no other choice.
    During a rest break, Paula found Ben and sat down on the ground across from him. “I’ve just spoken with
     
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    some of the reporters. They think you’re deliberately stalling to keep them out of the country.”
    Ben screwed the cap back on his canteen. “I don’t give a damn what they think, Paula. I did what I did for their own safety. If they haven’t got enough sense to understand that, to hell with them.”
    “You really hate the press, don’t you, Ben?”
    “I don’t have much use for a lot of them. But hate? … No, I don’t hate them. What I hate is to see the press going right back to being what