Free William W. Johnstone by Wind In The Ashes

the Pumas National Forest, and Grass Valley.
    She checked a few more locations and called her relief operator, walking to General Striganov’s quarters in the newly built command post.
    She could hear the gruntings and the whimpering cries before she reached his office door. She for certain was not going to interrupt the general’s fucking. The general was getting as bad as Sam Hartline.
    She felt certain that was the young girl, Jane, in there with him. He probably had her bent over a desktop and was screwing her butt.
    The woman sighed. The general didn’t used to be this way, she remembered. He had always been such a proper man. A gentleman, even.
    Except with the minorities, of course. But who cared a whit about them?
    It was not until he became associated with that pig, Sam Hartline, that General Striganov became so … perverted with his sexual appetites.
    The girls kept getting younger and younger.
    The sounds of a blow reached her. The sounds of a hand slapping naked flash.
    “Stop your whining, you bitch!” Striganov’s voice carried to her. “You know you like it. Reach around. Spread the cheeks further apart. That’s it. Good.”
    His gruntings picked up in tempo.
    The radio operator shook her head and walked away, out of earshot. Walked to the secretary’s desk and sat down on the edge of the desk. The two women’s eyes met for an instant.
    The secretary said, “It is not for us to criticize the general’s activities.”
    “No one did.”
    “The look in your eyes did.”
    “I’ll remember to be more careful.”
    The girl screamed and the secretary’s hand shook as she lifted her teacup to her lips.
    The radio operator smiled and put the needle to her friend. “You must remember to be more careful, Val. Your emotions gave you away.”
    “Watch your mouth, Hedda. I outrank you, remember.”
    Hedda laughed. “He’ll be calling for the medics now. He probably split her.” The secretary’s intercom buzzed. “Yes, sir.”
    “Call the medics to come get this stupid bitch,” Striganov said.
    “Yes, General.”
    “And where is that damned Hedda?”
    “Standing right here, sir,” she said with a wink at Hedda.
    “Give me a few minutes, then send her in.”
    “Yes, sir.” She looked up at Hedda. “Take a seat. He’ll shower before he buzzes me again. He’ll want to wash the blood away,” she added bitterly.
    “The radio room first,” Ben told his people. “We’ve got to take those people out but leave the equipment intact. The longer we can keep up this farce, the better off we’ll all be.”
    “About fifty IPF men there, sir,” Ben was informed.
    “All right.” Ben spread a map of the airport—compliments of the IPF back in Red Bluff—on the hood of his Jeep. “This is how we’ll go in.”
    “Have you made contact with the Big Lake outpost?” Sam Hartline asked the man in the radio room.
    “Yes, sir. But it’s very poor; breaking up badly. I can just make him out.” “Contact the Mount Shasta outpost.” “Yes, sir.”
    Mount Shasta was contacted, the signal clear and loud. Everything was five by five. Okay. Boring.
    Hartline’s cold green eyes held a thoughtful light for a few seconds. “Get me General Striganov’s CP.”
    The general came on the horn.
    “Georgi? Is everything all right down your way?”
    “So far as I can tell, yes. We’ve had some difficulty reaching some stations. But you’re coming in very clear. It’s baffling.”
    Hartline agreed. Baffling. But … maybe not. He said as much to the Russian.
    “Explain, please?” Striganov radioed back.
    “We know Ben Raines is on the move, right?”
    “Yes. But there has been no sign of any Rebels in our sector. And our network of outposts would have picked up any unusual movements. No, it’s too soon for Ben Raines.”
    “Don’t be too sure, Georgi. I’m going on full alert; sending out recon.”
    “Very well. I’ll do the same. Keep in touch.”
    Hartline turned to his radiomen. “Contact