AMBUSH!
  Ben Raines's eyes caught the glint of
sunlight off metal or glass in the tall grass
by the side of the overpass. Might be a sniper up
there, he thought. He turned back to Big Louie.
  "What about it?" Ben asked.
  Louie's lips grew pouty. "Ultimatums,
general? That's not a very nice way to begin a
relationship."
  The man standing beside Louie suddenly turned,
stepping to one side, a movement that put him
directly in front of Ben.
  A moment later the sound of a rifle booming reached
them.
  The slug hit the man's battle harness, and an
explosion momentarily deafened Ben just as the
man in front of him seemed to disintegrate before
Ben's eyes.
  Then the rifle cracked again and something smacked
Ben on the back of his head, dropping him into darkness
...
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I leave this rule for others when I'm dead.
Be always sure you're right-then go ahead.
David Crockett
If life had a second edition, how I would
correct the proofs?
John Clare
BOOK ONE
Chapter 1
  The young man listened to his mother's screaming
harangue, but paid scant attention to her shrieking.
It was always the same. Everything bad that had happened
was the fault of Ben Raines. Ben Raines was the
Great Satan. Ben Raines this and Ben
Raines that and Ben Raines must die.
  The young man had known for some time that his mother was very
nearly a basket case. But she was still his mother,
and-What was that old saying? Blood is thicker than
water, or something like that.
  The young man stepped further back, in order
to better inspect the crowd who listened with rapt
attention to the woman's words. The expression on their
faces was one of love and devotion and fanaticism.
  Hell, they're just as crazy as she is! the young
man thought.
  Poor, misguided, foolish people.
  The young man looked at the new additions to his
mother's army. Those scabby, savage motorcyclists
who had come roaring in from the west, after being soundly
defeated by General Raines. He had listened to his
mother speak to them when they first arrived.
  Same old shit.
  The young man backed further away from the mob
  and shook his head sadly. He thought: You made a
mistake, Mother, when you insisted I be educated.
When you insisted I learn languages and study the
writings of the ancient intellectuals. Patrick
Henry said it, Mother: I have but one lamp by which my
feet are guided, and that is the lamp of
experience. I know no way of judging the future but
by the past.
  And if I stay with you, Mother, I'll soon be as
crazy as you are. And you, Mother, your babblings, are not
the answer. Your hate has consumed you.
  He saw movement to his right and just to his rear.
He cut his eyes. An old man motioned to him.
He walked to the old man.
  "I see your motorcycle is ready for the
road," the old man said. "You've made up your
mind then?"
  "Yes."
  "Good. It's past time for you to get away from your
mother, before she poisons you, like she has done so many."
  "I fear I shall never see you again, old man."
  "You won't. The cancer is growing. Sometimes the
pain is almost too much to bear. I think I only
lived this long to see you gone and free from your mother."
  "Is he really my father, old man?"
  "Yes. Of that I am certain. You have his eyes,
his intelligence, his bullheadedness, and his drive
to organize; to pull something better for all out of the
ashes of this horror we've been living in for
years."
  "Should I, when we meet, tell him the
entire truth, old man?"
  "Oh, yes. Don't try to lie to him. He'd
see through that instantly."
  "Is he really a god?"
  The old man hesitated. "I... don't know.
I rather doubt it; but I can't be sure." He
gripped the young man's thick, strong arm. "Go now,
boy. Turn away
  and never look back. And may the true and only
God ride with you."
  The old man limped painfully into the timber.
  The young man walked swiftly to his
motorcycle and cranked it into life. He toed it
into gear and rolled out. He did not look back.
  "How would you have changed history, General
Raines?" a young Rebel asked Ben.
  The Rebels were bivouacked by the shores of a
small lake in Central Kansas. They had
pulled over early in the day to make some much needed
repairs to some trucks.
  "That's a very interesting question, son," Ben said with a
laugh. "What time frame in history are you speaking
of?"
  "Ten years before the Great War," another young
Rebel said.
  Ben started to ask, "Which Great War?" But he
knew which one the Rebel meant. The world war that brought
the entire world, free and otherwise, to its knees.
The war from which the world had never recovered.
  How would I have changed history? Ben silently
mused. He hid a smile, thinking: I would have shot
every goddamned liberal.
  But he knew he would not have done that, for while Ben
Raines sometimes leaned so far to the conservative right
some wondered how he managed to walk upright,
figuratively speaking, Ben shared many of the liberal
views. The difference was, Ben backed up his
views with gunpowder.
  "What do you know about that time before the Great War?"
Ben asked, looking at the young Rebel who had
asked the question. The young man could
  not have been much more than ten years old, if that
old, when the world collapsed.
  Several hundred Rebels, including Ike
McGowan, had gathered around. Ike had been with
Ben from the outset; had been with him, working beside him,
when Ben's dream, the Tri-States, had become
reality. The ex-navy Seal was just about Ben's age;
both men's hair peppered with gray.
  Ike winked at Ben.
  The young Rebel said, "I know that it was a time of
great confusion. Of a lot of people being rich and a lot of people
being poor, with not much in between."
  Ben also knew the young man had no real knowledge of what
being rich or poor meant. The dollar had not been in
use for some time. And within Rebel-held territory,
no one went hungry, or went in rags, or
lacked proper housing or fuel to keep warm. But
outside of Rebel-controlled territory in this,
what was left of America, roaming gangs of thugs
and punks and killers ruled. Men and women and children
lived in daily fear for their lives.
  Again, Ben had to hide a smile. Hell, he
thought, maybe that much hasn't changed in this, the
second decade after the Great War, and the government
smashing of the Tri-States.
  "It was a confusing time," Ben said. And the gathering of
Rebels, young, middle-aged, and old, fell
silent in order to better hear the words from General
Raines. "It was also a time of great greed. The
philosophy of many was: Give me more money for
less work. I want everything my neighbor has.
Many companies literally priced themselves out of existence
while the quality of their merchandise went to hell in a
bucket. Not all people felt that way, but enough
did to tip the balance.
  "It was a time when the criminal had more rights than the
law-abiding citizen." Don't they ever get tired
of hearing this? Ben thought. How many times over the years
have I made this same speech? A hundred? More?
Probably.
  "The United States was surrounded by nations who
called themselves our friends, but not so secretly hated
us. Britain, and in some respects, Canada,
stayed with us to the end. If the germ-carrying bombs had
not come, we would have probably had to fight a war with
Mexico. Communism had already crept up to that
nation's southern borders. Our United Nations was
nothing more than a cancerous wart sitting in New
York City. All anyone would have had to do was count
the votes against us every time a vote was taken, and they
could have seen what was happening. Many of the so-called
Third World nations wanted our money, our aid, and
then turned around and farted in our faces every chance they
got."
  Ben took that time to roll one of the few
cigarettes he allowed himself daily. Piss-poor
cigarettes they were, too. Good tobacco, if there
ever was such a thing, was no more. Like coffee, a free
ride, welfare, Legal Aid, the
ACLU, unions, the stock market, General
Motors, apple pie, and the girl next
door-all gone. When the government crumbled, it was
the end.
  "What would I have done?" Ben asked the question. "It
was so complex, and yet so simple. I -- his
  "General?" an aide interrupted. "Sorry,
sir. But we've got company."
  Ben ground out his hand-rolled smoke and stood up.
"Where and how many?"
  "Comin' from the east, sir. Half a dozen cars
and trucks. Scouts say four people to each car, the
trucks are full of people."
  "How far away?"
  "Couple of miles out, sir."
  Ben picked up his old Thompson SMG, knowing
all eyes were on him as he did so. "Let's go
see what we've got, people."
  "Pitiful," Ike said. "No matter how many
times I see it, it's still pitiful."
  The men were beaten down; the eyes of the women
frightened; the kids dirty and probably hungry.
  "I know," Ben said.
  "We don't mean y'all no harm," a man
spoke from out of the ragged group. "But we'd be
much obliged if y'all had some food for the kids."
  "Alabama?" Ben asked the man.
  "South Carolina," the man replied. "We
don't look like much now, sir, but we was doin' all
right until Khamsin and his people blowed in. We had us
a coop farm, nice gardens, ever'thing. We'd fought
outlaws, motorsickel gangs, white trash, and
black trash and you name it, and we'd pulled through all
right. But Lord have mercy! That Khamsin and his bunch of
heathens was just too much."
  All the Rebels gathered around had noticed the
black family among the whites. One good thing had
come out of the horror of germ and nuclear war: Blind
prejudice, among most, was a forgotten thing.
  From the intelligence Ben had received about Khamsin
and his troops, the residents of South Carolina were
indeed having a bad time of it. Ike had just
returned from Khamsin's HQ, where the ex-Seal
had led a small team in to rescue his ladylove,
Nina. During the raid, the so-called invincible
Khamsin, The Hot Wind, had been wounded in his
Libyan ass.
  Ben said, "You people get something to eat. We'll
talk later." He motioned Col. Dan Gray
to one side. "Find out as much as you can from these
people, Dan. They seem like fairly decent folks
to me."
  "My first impression agrees with that, general," the
Englishman said. "This would be a fine place to start
another outpost, right, sir?"
  "You're reading my mind again, Dan," Ben
replied with a grin.
  Gen. Ben Raines's latest dream was to build
a series of outposts across the land, stretching from east
to west, and eventually, from north to south, each outpost
about a hundred miles apart. The outposts would be
staffed by civilians, with a small contingent of
Rebels to beef them up. Maybe then, yes,
only
then, could the nation begin the slow, painful process of
pulling itself out of the ashes of ruin and war and desperation.
  It damn sure was worth a try. The people
certainly had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
  Since the Great World War, no country had been
able to pull itself out of the rubble and form even a semblance
of workable government.
  No one except Ben Raines and his Rebels.
  Tri-States had worked. It had not worked to the
satisfaction of all, but it had worked to the
satisfaction of all those who lived within its
borders. But then the struggling government of the United
States, with all the fury and intolerance of a
government toward any type of change, had smashed
the Rebels' dreams.
  Shortly after that, Ben Raines and his Rebels
had taken over the government of the United States,
and Ben had been installed as president. It was to be
a
  short tenure, for after the horror of germ and
nuclear warfare, there followed the plague that
threatened to completely wipe out humankind worldwide.
  But the human spirit is difficult, if not
impossible to crush, and many more people than Ben and his
Rebels first thought survived through the disease-carrying
rats and fleas.
  But there was not a stable government anywhere in the
entire world. The world, the countries of the world, the
government of those countries, large to tiny, from
Russian to Monaco, were no more.
  Ben had not traveled outside the boundaries of the
United States since the Great War, but he had
no reason to doubt the stories that had drifted to him.
The stories were appalling. Many people around the world had
reverted back, in such an amazingly short time,
to barbarism. Even in what remained of the
United States, warlords had risen out of the rubble and
ruin, to claim all sorts of territory,
to enslave the people, to rob and rape and loot. There were people
within the borders of the United States who had
reverted back to the caves, calling themselves the
Underground People, rarely venturing out during the daylight
hours. All sorts of cults and so-called
religions had sprung out of the ashes, preaching all
sorts of semi-religious bullshit. Most of it
hate filled. And a lot of the hate was directed
toward Ben Raines and his Rebels.
  The far Northeast was out of bounds for anyone,
human or otherwise coms far as Ben knew. That
area of the country had taken several nuclear hits,
along with a few other cities. Most had died from the
germ warfare.
  And there were mutants that roamed the land, products
of the germ and chemical and nuclear bombs. Part
human, part animal, and God alone
  knew what else. Great hairy beasts, the
adults as large as the biggest polar bear, and
twice as dangerous because the mutants had some
capacity for thought and reason.
  There was danger anywhere one ventured. No one
dared to go unarmed. To do so, to be unprepared,
to drop one's guard for even a moment, in this now
savage land, was to court death-or worse.
  And in South Carolina, waiting to spread like a
wildfire, was the Libyan, Khamsin, The Hot
Wind, and his thousands of troops. For now, Khamsin
and his people were contained; Ben's Rebels and the civilian
fighters along the borders of South Carolina were
holding The Hot Wind, allowing it to blow within that
state, but preventing it from spreading.
  But while some of his people may have been kidding themselves,
Ben Raines knew that Khamsin and his troops could
break out wherever and whenever they chose to do so. Why they
had not done so was something that still puzzled Ben.
  But he knew that before he could really, effectively
start his outposts across the land, Khamsin had to be
dealt with. And dealt with in extreme prejudice.
  In other words, kill the son of a bitch!
  "Now I think I'm a good Christian man,
General Raines," the spokesman with the group from
South Carolina told Ben. "But I worship the
God I choose. That damned bunch of heathens that's
took over South Carolina is forcin' people to forsake
Jesus Christ and God Almighty to worship
Allah. Now, I ain't knockin' anybody's
religion, but I'll worship my God,
not somebody else's God. And I'll fight for that
right, sir."
  The man was ragged, but there was steel in his
  words, and the weapons they all carried were old, but
well cared for.
  Ben held out his right hand and the man shook it.
"You're my kind of man, sir," Ben told him.
"Are there any more following behind you?"
  "Not many more, General Raines." The man had
gotten over his shock upon learning that he was in the
company of the legendary and famed Gen. Ben Raines.
  Ben looked at his map. The column was just north
of Great Bend, Kansas, a small city that had,
before the Great War, a population of about sixteen
thousand. Ben had briefed the newcomers of his plans
of forming outposts across the country. The people from South
Carolina were all immediately interested and eager to be a
part of it.
  "It won't be easy," Ben told them all.
"And it will be lonely and dangerous."
  "You lead, sir," the spokesman said. "And
we'll follow."
  Ben smiled. "Let's go!"
Chapter 2
  Nothing.
  A strange, almost eerie silence greeted the
column as they rolled up to and stopped at the
outskirts of Great Bend, Kansas.
  Ben got out of his truck and stood alone in the
center of Highway 56. He listened intently, but
could hear only the lonely sighing of the hot, late
summer wind as it whispered dark and bloody
secrets from times past.
  Ike joined Ben, and Ben was glad that the man had
flown back from Base Camp One after Nina's
rescue to rejoin him.
  "Eerie," Ike said.
  "More and more we're seeing this," Ben said, his voice
soft in the heat that reflected up off the roadway.
"People forsaking the towns to head for the deep country.
Splintering off into groups of two and three
families. But they don't realize, even now,
they're committing suicide by doing that. Seems like
  they'd know by now that the only strength is in loyal
numbers."
  "They'll probably realize it," Ike said
sourly. "Right before they die."
  "Hell of a way to find out," Ben said.
"Sergeant!" he called. "Get a flag from the
truck. Dan! Send your teams in to recon
the town."
  "Right away, sir!"
  The long column waited under the sun. A hour
passed before the recon team leader radioed back.
"Nothing and nobody, sir. The town, as far as
we're able to determine, is deserted."
  "Cordon it off," Dan," Ben ordered. "Then
begin a house-to-house, building-to-building
search. Let's be sure of what we've got."
He motioned for an aide to come over. "At Dan's
orders, start the other teams in to label and store
anything that's useful. G."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben turned to the man from South Carolina. "Are
you in contact with any of the people coming up behind you?"
  "No, sir. But they know the route. That was
preplanned."
  "Any malcontents among them? Bigots,
laggards, anyone like that?"
  "No, sir. We copied our form of existence from
you, general. From the old Tri-States
philosophy. Everybody works. If they don't
work, they don't stay. We take care of the old and
sick. But able-bodied people work."
  "We'll stay here with you for a couple of
days," Ben told him. "If you've survived this
long, you know something about defense. We'll upgrade
your weapons, leave you plenty of ammo and the wherewithal
to produce more. Then we'll push on. For this first
  winter, food might present a problem for you. You
might be eating a lot of game, but I suspect
you're used to that."
  The man grinned. "Growed up on it, general.
We'll start farmin' and putting in gardens come
spring."
  Ben sighed. "Well, it's a start. We might
be able to pull it off. God knows, we've got
to try."
  "It's never gonna be the way it was, is it,
general?"
  "Not in our lifetime," Ben said, thinking,
probably never again.
  Ben was awakened by the guard commander just after
midnight. "We got company, general."
  Ben pulled on his boots and slipped into his
ammo harness. He picked up his Thompson and said,
"Who are they and how many of them?"
  "Identity unknown, sir. At least a couple of
hundred of them out there."
  "Have they made their intentions known?"
  "They're either awfully arrogant or extremely
stupid, Ben." Ike's voice came through the
darkness. "They think they're slipping up on us.
Our forward posts reported them moving into our area
about forty-five minutes ago. I decided to let you
sleep until we were sure what they were up to."
  Ike had moved closer, and Ben could see the
smile on the man's lips. "And exactly what
are they up to?"
  "We captured one of them. Dude looks like
something out of one of those old punk-rock movies.
Of all the things I have to remember from back in the
'80's, it would have to be that shit."
  "They are rather unforgettable," Ben said drily.
"Warlords type?"
  "Right. Are you ready for this, Ben?"
  "Give it to me."
  "They follow some guy calls himself Zorro."
  "Does he wear a mask and a cape?" Ben
asked with a smile.
  The young guard did not have the foggiest idea what
General Raines and General McGown were talking
about. Zorro was a new one on him.
  Ike laughed. "Let's hope not. I'd be
laughing too hard to shoot him."
  "You're in our territory," the young man told
Ben. "And for that, you all will die."
  Ben sat and stared at the odd-looking young man.
His head was shaved, all except for a strip of hair
down the center of his head. And that was colored orange
and green. He wore high-topped boots, leather
britches, and a sleeveless T-shirt.
  "You're the goddamnedest thing I've ever seen
since the days of Alice Cooper, boy," Ben
told him. "Do you know who we are?"
  "I am not a female!"
  "Neither was he. Answer my question."
  "You are invaders in our territory. You will all
die."
  The young man's body odor was getting a bit
much. Ben wondered if the young man had ever been
introduced to soap and water. "My name is Ben
Raines."
  "You lie!" the young man shouted. "Ben Raines
does not exist. He is a myth. No man can do
what he is said to have done. You're an imposter!"
  "Sorry to disappoint you, boy," Ike said. "But
you're lookin' at the real article."
  Obviously, the stories about Ben being a god either
  had not reached Zorro and his group, or
else they simply chose not to believe them.
  The young man spat in Ben's face.
  Ben backhanded the strange-looking young man clear
out of his chair.
  With the young man staring up at him, blood leaking from
a cut lip, Ben said, "You've been treated
pretty good in this camp, boy. If you'd been
wounded, we'd have patched you up; if you're hungry,
we'll feed you. But if you ever spit in my face
again, I'll kill you!"
  The sounds of gunfire split the still night air.
The yammering of M-60's and .50 caliber
machine guns hammered and chugged.
  The young man had jerked on the floor as the guns
erupted. Ben had neither blinked nor moved, but just
continued staring at him.
  "Cease fire." Dan's voice roared over the
noise. "Cease fire. Someone's out there with a white
flag."
  Ben turned to the young Rebel who had captured
the-whatever the hell he was, and Ben wasn't all
sure. "If he moves, shoot him, son."
  "Yes, sir!"
  Ben stepped out of the building with Ike just as a
runner came panting up. "One of those
funny-lookin' people has come up with a white flag,
general. Says he wants to talk with our leader."
  "Well..." Ben had to fight back a chuckle.
"Take me to him."
  "Ben," Ike said. "This is getting
ridiculous! What's with these people? Have they been
freaking out on old movies?"
  "I don't know, Ike. But their guns are sure
real."
  "For a fact."
  Both men came to a sudden halt at the sighting of
  the truce-flag bearer. Ike had to choke back
a laugh. But his stifled humor was infectious: Ben
had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep from laughing.
  Old Doc Chase appeared in the night and stood
with his hands on his hips, glaring at Ben and Ike.
"It's not funny! It's tragic. And you both ought
to be ashamed of yourselves!"
  The young man with the white flag was dressed almost
identical to the young man guarded by the Rebel. With a
couple of exceptions:
  He wore a black mask over his eyes and had
on a long black cape.
  Perhaps it was because of the long and brutal fight that Ben
and his Rebels had just endured, defeating the
Russian, Striganov, and Ben finally killing his
old adversary, Sam Hartline. Pent-up
emotions and wire-tight nerves, perhaps. Whatever the
reasons, Ben and Ike sat down on the curb by the
littered street and laughed until tears were rolling
down their cheeks. The two men were so weak from laughing
at the sight they had to lean on each other for strength
as their laughter wound down.
  Other Rebels had gathered around, most of them
young, too young to know anything about Zorro. They thought
the flag-bearing person was dressed a bit oddly; but
from the way General Ike and General Ben were
laughing, you'd have thought they'd just heard the funniest
joke in the world.
  "You're laughing at me!" the orange-haired,
caped young man screamed.
  Ben waved at him. "No, son. Not you. I would
explain, but I think it would take too long."
Chuckling, Ben got to his feet, helping Ike
up. "Anybody hurt in all that gunfire?" he
called.
  "None of our lads and lassies!" Dan Gray
called.
  "But we dropped a dozen or so of ... whatever
in the world these misbegotten folks might
be."
  "Zorroettes!" Ike burst out, and both he and
Ben started laughing again.
  Now Dan started chuckling. Soon his chuckling
had grown into full-throated laughter.
  The younger Rebels stood smiling at the antics
of their senior officers, but they didn't really know
what was going on.
  CSM James Riverson walked onto the
scene and stood for a moment, smiling and shaking his head.
He looked at the caped young man, anger on his
unshaven face. "You foolish young man," James
told him. "Do you know who your people attacked this
night?"
  "No. And I don't give a shit, neither."
  "Gen. Ben Raines and the Rebels."
  That shook the young man down to his high-topped
boots. His face paled in the dim moonlight.
"General Raines does not exist," he said, his
voice very shaky.
  James pointed toward Ben. "General Raines,
meet ... Zorro." Then James started laughing.
  "Stop laughing at me!" the young man screamed.
"I command you to stop it!"
  Ben walked to the young man, stopping a few
feet from him. "What is it you want ...
Zorro?" He managed to keep a straight face.
  "I want my brother's body. You have it."
  "No, I don't have your brother's body. But
I do have your brother. He's very much alive. But
what do we get out of this exchange?"
  "I'll ... allow you to live."
  "That's big of you, son. Now I'll tell you
something. You can have your brother, and welcome to
  him. I hope to God you both go somewhere and take
a bath. Preferably with soap. A group of
Rebels will be resettling this town, this area. And I
am giving the orders that if they see anyone with
hostile intentions, they are to shoot them on the spot.
Do you understand that?"
  "You have no right to come in here giving orders to me!"
  "Now you listen to me, you ... Hollywood
reject." Ben felt certain the young man had
absolutely no idea what Hollywood meant.
He pointed a finger at the caped and masked young
man. "Do you have farms, gardens, windmills to pull
water up?"
  Zorro shook his head.
  "Do you have schools, hospitals, newspapers,
libraries?"
  He shook his head again.
  "I figure you for about twentysttwenty-two years
old. That means you had time for some schooling before the
bombs came. And you had ten years after that for
education. Right?"
  Zorro glared at him.
  "Can you read, you bastard!" Ben lost his temper,
as he so often did with people who seemed hell-bent on
wasting their lives, and more importantly, the lives
of others; who seemed content to just exist. In Ben's
mind, and in the minds of all who followed him, in this
age of no-free-ride, no one had the right to just
exist. If there ever was to be another America,
everyone had to work toward that goal.
  "I can read," the young man replied sullenly.
  "How many of your followers can read?"
  "Some."
  "Are you making any effort to teach them?"
  The silence answered Ben's question.
  "You stupid young fool!" Ben's voice lashed out
at him. "Even the Underground People are teaching their young
to read and write and figure. Without education, you're
doomed. And you're damning those who follow you."
  "We get by."
  It's worse than trying to teach social
codes and manners to a redneck, Ben thought. "Bring
Zorro's brother out here," Ben said.
  The young man was led out.
  "What's his name?" Ben asked Zorro.
  "Lash."
  Ike started laughing. Ben struggled to keep a
straight face. "I don't
even
want to know how he got his name. Now listen to me.
If you and your followers want to live in peace with
us, that's fine. If you want war, that's fine. But
if it is the latter, I'll wipe you and all that
follow you from the face of the earth, then I will stack your
stinking, ignorant bodies out in the prairie for the
buzzards to eat. Is that understood?"
  "Understood, Ben Raines."
  "Get out!"
  When the two young men were gone, escorted
by Rebels, Dr. Chase walked to Ben's side.
"You're getting harder, Ben."
  "Yes, I am, Lamar. And I'll tell you
why. If we- you, me, Ike, Cecil, all the
Rebels-we don't get a grip on the handle of
this thing and start twisting it around, we will have nothing
to leave our children. Nothing except
savagery, barbarism, and years of ignorance.
Education is the
only
way we're going to pull out of this mess. And don't
you think for an instant that Zorro what's-his-name
doesn't know that. He knows it. But he's smart enough
to know
  that with education, his followers would leave him.
  "Lamar, I have hated ignorance all my life.
In every one of the books I wrote, under whatever name,
somewhere in those books, I made my comment about education
being important. Now, more than ever, we've got
to stress education."
  Chase waved him silent. "Don't lecture
me, Raines. Hell, I agree with you. But what
leadership have people like this ... Zorro had to follow?
None! And
you
know
that."
  "That's their problem, Lamar. All that shows me
is that they're ignorant to the core, and worse,
proud of it."
  The doctor, another Rebel who had been with
Ben from the outset, having met him outside
the ruins of Denver a few months after the Great
War, stared and glared at Ben in the dim natural
light of night. "What would you do with people like that, Ben?"
he asked softly.
  Ben returned the stare, letting his eyes speak
silent, cold words.
  "I see," Chase said.
  "I'm glad you do," Ben replied. He turned
around and walked up the silent, Uttered street,
to his billet for the night.
  Dan Gray stepped out of the night to stand by Dr.
Chase. "If Ben's dream could come true,
Lamar, we could all lay down our guns and live
in peace."
  "Laying them down on the ground that covers the
bodies of those who chose not to read Themistocles,
Aeschylus, and Pindar, Dan?"
  "You've read them, yet you're here," the
Englishman said softly.
  "Yes," the doctor said quietly. "I
suppose you're right. But I am so weary of war."
  "And you think Ben Raines is not?"
  "Dan, I'm sure he is. But I'm wondering
if he knows that on this night, he made a mortal
enemy of that Zorro-type?"
  "He knows."
  "I have this uneasy feeling that he did so with
careful deliberation."
  "Your feeling would be correct, I should
imagine."
  "For God's sake, Dan!"
  "It isn't so awful, Lamar. So one or ten
or twenty dies in order to salvage two or
three hundred. You've seen Ben do it before. Why
should his actions on this night offend you so?"
  "In other words, Dan-you can't make an
omelet without breaking some eggs?"
  "Something like that, doctor."
  "Perhaps it's time for me to stay behind, Dan. To run
my hospital and care for the sick at Base Camp
One." The words were not phrased in question form.
  "That is a question only you can answer, doctor."
  "You think it's going to get worse before it gets
better, don't you, Dan?"
  "Most assuredly, doctor."
  "Well, to hell with it!" Lamar Chase said.
"Someone has to tag along to look after that damned
long lean drink of water. Might as well be me."
  "I thought that would be your answer."
  "You're all going to die!" The angry
words sprang out of the night. "If you stay here,
you're all going to die. Die! Die! I am
Zorro, supreme leader of this area."
  "Hold your fire!" Dan called. "Pass the
word," he ordered. "Let the fool sign his own
death warrant."
  "What price peace, Dan?" Lamar asked.
  "One look at the graveyards of the world should
  answer that, Lamar."
  The doctor and the warrior parted. The night once
more grew silent.
  Not quite as silent as a graveyard-but close.
Chapter 3
  The outline of Great Bend gradually faded in the
rearview mirror of the last vehicle in the long
column. Everyone in the Rebel column felt a
small sense of loss; they had all left friends behind
in the prairie outpost, and all wondered if they would
ever seen them again.
  The Scouts were ranging miles in front of the
column, and as was his custom, Ben drove at the
head of the column, in his pickup truck, alone.
  "We have company, general," a Scout radioed
back. "On both sides of the column.
Motorcycles and dune buggies. I think
it's the caped-terror and his bunch." Ben pulled
over, halting the column.
  Ben's smile contained no humor as he looked
at the battered, rusted, and bent road sign:
Chase 6 miles. He lifted his mike to his
lips. "Is there anything in Chase?"
  "Nothing, sir. It's a ghost town. That's where
we've pulled over."
  "How many people you need to pull this off?"
  "One platoon, sir."
  "You listening to this transmission, Ike?"
  "Ten-four, Ben. I've got a platoon
leader moving out now."
  "Keep me informed."
  "Ten-four, Ben."
  Ben sat in his pickup, listening to the silence
build around him. Most of the vehicles in the long
column had shut down their engines. Ben was not
particularly proud of what he was doing. But he'd
done it too many times in the past to expect to lose
much sleep over it.
  To kill the snake, one had to cut off the head.
  In his side mirror, Ben could see Ike
walking slowly up to him. Ben got out of his truck
and waited on the cracked highway for his friend.
  "You and Dr. Chase have a few words last night,
Ben?"
  "Nothing serious. Chase has always been a good
balance point for me, Ike. I really expect this
run to be his last. I'd like to see him slow down.
Maybe stay back at Base Camp One and run
his hospital. As a matter of fact, I think
I'll suggest it comin a very tactful way. He'd
be much more valuable to us as a teacher."
  Nodding his head, Ike said, "Oughta pop anytime
now."
  "Yeah. Chase thinks I enjoy this, Ike."
  "No, he doesn't, Ben. He's just tired of
this endless war. I think he'd like to try another way
of settling things-like with this bunch of kids-but he knows,
down deep, that what you're -
we're-
doing, is the only way."
  "I wish somebody would show me another way,
Ike. If it had just a chance of succeeding, I'd
damn sure try it."
  Two quick rifle shots split the late summer
air. They came from the rear of the convoy. Ike
lifted his
  walkie-talkie to his lips. "Ike.
What's that shooting about?"
  While Ike was listening, Ben's ears could just
pick up the very faint sounds of heavy gunfire; his
eyes seeing black plumes of smoke rising from out
on the seemingly endless prairie.
  Ike lowered the walkie-talkie and looked at
Ben. "Zorro and his brother, Ben. Rear guard
caught them trying to plant charges under one of the fuel
trucks. They're both hard hit."
  "Come on."
  Ike got in the passenger side, and Ben pulled
off the road and onto the once wheat and corn-filled
land, now long grown over with weeds and wild
runners. As they drove, Ben's radio
crackled. Ben lifted the mike to his lips and
said, "G."
  "We broke the back of Zorro's boys and
girls," one of Dan Gray's Scouts
reported. "We followed your orders and took a
lot of prisoners, general."
  Ben had broken one of his rules this day and allowed
the taking of prisoners. Solely for the sake of
Dr. Chase. Ben wanted to prove a point, but
he hoped to hell his point was never made. He also
feared it would be made-the hard way-in this
deadly crap shoot.
  "Hold them there," Ben radioed.
  The two young men lay in the center of the old
highway, Dr. Chase and his medics working on them.
Chase looked up as Ben walked over to the
blood-splattered spot on the highway.
  "Both these boys are gut-shot," Chase said.
It was not spoken reproachfully; just stating a fact.
  The Rebel cradling the 7mm Magnum looked
at Ben.
  "Nice shooting," Ben told him.
  The sniper smiled.
  Chase muttered something under his breath.
  "Are they going to live?" Ben asked.
  "You know better," Chase replied without looking
up. "One has a shattered spinal cord and the
other's guts are torn apart. There is nothing I can
do for them except try to ease the pain."
  "Put them in the back of my truck and we'll
take them up to the next town. By the way,
doctor-the name of the town is Chase. Do you
suppose that's prophetic?"
  "Why take them there?" Chase asked, ignoring
Ben's question.
  "I want the prisoners to see that the
caped-avenger and his sidekick are mortals."
"You
ordered prisoners taken?" Chase asked.
"Getting soft, Raines?"
  "No, Lamar. You seem to think there is hope for
people such as these." Ben pointed to the dying young men. "You
can have your chance."
  "You mean that, Ben?"
  "I said it, didn't I?"
  Chase looked long at him. Finally, the doctor
sighed. "Put them in the truck," he ordered.
  The Rebels had killed or wounded about a third
of the attackers. They had the others sitting in a
vacant lot of the tiny deserted town, their hands behind
their heads, fingers laced.
  "See to the wounded," Chase ordered his medics.
  "Personally," Ben said, "I'd drag Zorro
and Lash out of the truck and dump their bodies in the
street, doctor. But this is your show; you handle it the
way you like."
  "Thank you so much, Ben." The sarcasm was rather
thick in his voice. "But how do you know the boys are
dead?"
  "I just looked."
  A medic confirmed it.
  "Put them on the sidewalk," Chase ordered.
  "Charlie Company," Ben ordered. "First and
second platoons. Stack arms here." He
pointed to the sidewalk.
  Chase paid no attention to the orders. Ben looked
at Ike.
  "Everything set, Ike?" he whispered.
  "Right. And I hope to hell this doesn't
backfire, Ben."
  "You and me. Since we're going to be right in the
middle of it."
  "You people!" Lamar shouted at the prisoners, young
men and young women. "Look at your leaders and tell
me what they died for?"
  The eyes of the prisoners looked at the bloody
pair on the sidewalk. "They died fighting for our
right to claim territory," a young woman said.
  "I'll give you that much," Chase conceded. "But
what have you been
doing
with this claimed territory?"
  "We don't have to do anything with it," a young man
said. "It's just ours."
  "I've seen no signs of farms or gardens or
anything like that," the doctor said. "Where do you
get your food?"
  "People pay us tribute to live here."
  Ben smiled, and his smile annoyed Chase.
  Doing his best to ignore Ben's smile, Chase
asked, "Suppose you were given the chance to better
yourselves, would any of you take it?"
  Ben and Ike picked up very quietly on the
furtive glances that passed between the prisoners.
  "How do you mean, "better ourselves"?" a young
man asked.
  "Have an education. Live in ... relative
peace. Work and build and plan for the future. That's
what I mean."
  Several of the prisoners exchanged soft whispers.
One of them who squatted near a stack of weapons
cut his eyes to the weapons, very quickly, and then looked
back at Chase. "Can I stand up?" he asked.
"I hurt my leg and it's crampin'."
  "Of course," Chase told him.
  Ike very quickly clicked his CAR-15 off
safety. James Riverson shifted positions, a
seemingly harmless movement. But the muzzle of his
M-16 was now pointed toward the large group of
prisoners.
  Dan Gray and Ben very briefly locked
eyes as the Englishman turned. Now the muzzle of
his automatic weapon was pointed directly at the
front row of prisoners.
  The young man stood up, rubbed his leg, and took
a step toward a stack of weapons. Just one step, but
it put him very close.
  "Work?" the young man said. "What kind of work you
talkin' about?"
  "You have to work to live," Chase said patiently.
"It's wrong to force people to give you tribute if they
don't want to give it."
  "Who says it's wrong?" a young woman asked,
rising to her feet.
  She scratched her head, and Ben could practically
see the fleas hopping about on her head.
  The smell of unwashed bodies was rank in the still,
breezeless summer morning.
  "God says it's wrong," Chase told her.
  "Not our god," the young woman said.
  "What God do you worship?"
  "That one," she said, pointing to the bloody body of
Zorro.
  "But he's dead!" Chase said. "That should tell you
something about your choice of whom to worship. Doesn't
it?"
  "Naw." She shook her head. "We'll just find
another one."
  "Is it that easy?" Chase asked.
  "Sure. We have a dance-thing. The one who dances
the longest is the chosen one."
  "A ... dance-thing?" Chase said slowly. "Can you
read?" he asked her.
  "What for?"
  "So you can teach your children!" Chase's voice held
a definite note of annoyance.
  "Why do that? Readin' don't put food in our
bellies. It don't protect us from the rain and the
cold. It don't do nothin'."
  Many of the prisoners were now standing, and several had
moved much closer to the stacks of weapons.
  The Rebels did not order them to get back on
the ground. Many of the Rebels had turned their backs
to the prisoners, seemingly uninterested in the
proceedings.
  "Suppose we turned you all loose?" Chase
asked. "What would you do?"
  "What do you want us to do?" a young man asked.
  "If I didn't know better," Ike muttered,
"I'd swear he had some experience talking with a
social worker."
  "I want you to make something of yourselves," Chase
told him. "To help us in rebuilding the United
States."
  "You mean, laws and rules and all that shit?" the
young woman asked.
  Chase looked at Ben, a helpless and annoyed
look in his eyes. Ben shrugged.
  "To have any kind of workable, productive
society," Chase said, "one must have rules and
laws. Without them, you have anarchy."
  Ben had clicked his Thompson off safety.
  Ike and Dan had seen the movements of the
prisoners toward their high-topped boots and
suspected they had knives tucked in there.
  "Have what?" the young woman asked, taking yet
another step toward the stacks of weapons. She was
within reaching distance now.
  Ben cut his eyes upward. Several Rebels were
on top of a nearby building with M-60 machine
guns. Ben carefully eased his finger onto the
trigger.
  "Anarchy," Chase persisted. "Lawlessness."
  "Oh, yeah," the young woman said. "We sure
don't want none of that. That'd be terrible."
  Chase looked at the young woman.
"Everything I've said. It's just a big joke to you,
isn't it?"
  She shrugged. She would have been a pretty woman
had she cleaned up and got the fleas off of her.
  But now she wasn't going to have time to do anything.
Except die.
  "You got your way of life, we got ours," she
said. "You're not going to change, and we're not going
to change."
  "That's a pity," Chase said. "But I had
to try."
  "Big Louie is waitin' for you folks *bout
a hundred miles further," she said. "Some of you
might make it to his turf. I hope so. He
likes to burn people alive."
  "Sounds like a perfectly delightful fellow,"
Chase said. "But why would you think that just some of us would
make it?"
  Screaming, the young woman leaped toward the stack of
weapons. The slugs from Dan's M-16 stopped
her in mid-air, flinging her backward, dead before she
hit the concrete.
  The prisoners charged Dr. Chase and Ben and
Ike and Dan, knives in their hands.
  It was carnage. And it was over in less
than a minute.
  Twenty-odd of the prisoners had not moved from their
spots on the vacant lot. When the gunfire
started, they simply hit the ground and stayed there.
  When the gunfire had echoed away and the gunsmoke
had cleared, Ben looked at those who had elected not
to fight, and thus stay alive.
  "If I decide to turn you loose, what are you
going to do?" Ben asked.
  "Git away from this spot just as fast as I can," a
young man said. "I might join up with another gang.
I might not. I ain't sure. But one thing I am
sure of. I ain't gonna fuck around with you people no
more."
  "Clear out," Ben said. "And I don't ever
want to see you again."
  The last glimpse any one had of the young man, he
was loping across the plains. He did not look back.
  "How about the rest of you?" Ben asked the group of
young men and women.
  "Just let us get away from here and you," a young
woman said. "I know me a fellow down in New
Mexico wants me to come live with him and raise
sheep. I figure now is a damn good time to do just
that."
  "Your religion must not be too strong." Chase
  couldn't resist one more shot at it.
  She looked at him. "What religion, you old
fart? Stealin's just easier than workin', that's all."
  Chase shook his head and walked back to his
vehicle.
  "Aren't you going to patch up the wounded, Le-mar?"
Ben called after him.
  "Fuck "em!" Chase said.
Chapter 4
  The column pulled over early that day and made
camp, while recon patrols were sent out to check
on Big Louie's whereabouts.
  "He's pretty close," Ike said. "What's
left of Kansas City is gonna be hot for
another threestfour thousand years."
  It was late afternoon, and Dr. Chase, Ben,
Ike, Dan, and a few other Rebels were sitting in
the shade of a tree, drinking a concoction called
Rebel Rouser-homemade whiskey, actually.
  And Lamar Chase was hitting the sauce harder
than anyone else.
  "What a blind, stupid, idealistic old fool
I've become," he said.
  "That's bullshit, Lamar," Ben told
him. "You just got tired of it all. All the killing
... the whole nine yards. We all do at one time
or the other."
  "Yeah," Ike said. "You got the that's it, I
quit, I'm movin" on' syndrome."
  "Sam Cooke," the doctor said, refilling his
cup with booze.
  "What?" Ike said.
  "Who?" Dan asked.
  "Goddamn, Lamar!" Ben said. "You are
gettin' old. Or drunk. Or both. I don't
even remember that one."
  "Sam Cooke recorded that," Lamar said. He
hummed a few bars.
  Dan grimaced. "I hope it sounded better
than that."
  Lamar, quite uncharacteristically, gave the Englishman
the finger.
  After the laughter died down, Ike said, "I
wonder what this Big Louie is going to turn out
to be?"
  "Oh, another loser, I should imagine. Don't
you agree, general?"
  "Sure. Just like Zorro and Lash and all the
others we've encountered over the long and
bloody years we've been together. It really wouldn't
have made any difference. War or peace; prosperity
or depression; full working government or
anarchy-they'd have been losers of one type or
another, no matter what."
  "Raines, do you really believe that?" Chase
challenged.
  "Certainly. How many people did you know back when the
world was whole, more or less, who fucked up everything
they tried to do? When they lost a job, it wasn't
their fault; it was somebody else's fault. If
they lost at cards, somebody cheated. If they got
a ticket, the cops were picking on them. When they
got caught cheating on their income tax, they'd lie
to the examiner; and they could lie so well, they actually
believed it themselves. If they made a hundred thousand
dollars a year, they'd live on a hundred and ten
thousand. And when they went bankrupt, it was never their
fault. Losers. This situation we're all in now
is just perfect for them. It was made to order. They were
losers in a land of plenty, and they'll be
  losers until the day they finally do the world a
favor and die."
  "You really are a jaundiced bastard, Raines!"
La-mar said. "What a perfectly horrible
opinion of humankind you have." He tossed back
another belt of Rebel Rouser.
  "You're a minority of one, Lamar," Ben told
him.
  "Oh, of course I am!" the doctor cheerfully
admitted. "I just like to hear you rant and rave, that's
all. I'm sure as hell not going to tell you that
you're right. You're such an insufferable martyour as it
is."
  Ben laughed. This small group he had around him
now-the only one person missing being Cecil
Jefferys-could always be counted on to tell him the way
it was. Without pulling any punches.
  "I didn't ask for this job," Ben said with great
indignation.
  "Oh, God!" Lamar said. "Here he goes
again."
  Dan excused himself, leaving to go check on the
guards and to see if any intel had been received on
Big Louie.
  The column had left Highway 56 just east of
Marion, Kansas, angling south on Highway
77 for a few miles, then once more heading east on
Highway 50, picking that up at Florence. They
were camped along the banks of the
Cottonwood River. Chase's medical people had
tested the waters of the little river and found no contamination
from radiation. Kansas City was hot, but like so many
of the cities around the world, the bombs were of the "clean"
variety: killing the people, but leaving the buildings standing.
  The convoy was going east on their present route
only as far as the junction with Highway 75, about
fifteen miles past Emporia. If they didn't
encounter Big Louie by then, to hell with it. They would
cut south down to Highway 54 and continue on east,
  avoiding Kansas City.
  Dr. Chase poured another cup of Rebel
Rouser and said, "What about the next outpost, Ben?"
  "Iola, I'm hoping. Scouts report about
two hundred and fifty or so people in and around that area.
They seem to have some organization. But they've been
having some trouble with roving gangs. Probably this
Big Louie character. We'll meet with the people in Iola
and see if we can't punch Big Louie's
ticket. See about setting up an outpost there."
  A Rebel said, "Seems like whenever we put one
gang out of business, three more pop up."
  "It's going to be that way for a long time to come,
I'm thinking," Ike said, eyeballing Lamar as he
knocked back the booze. "Andwiththe exception
of Zorro and his bunch of nitwits, the gangs
seem to be getting smarter. You agree, Ben?"
  "Many of them, yes. The really smart warlords know
we're after them; and they're doing their best to avoid
us. We can't let up, either. We're going to have
to keep the pressure on."
  Lamar looked at his cup. "It's never going
to end, is it, Ben?"
  "No, Lamar. It isn't. I thought for awhile
it would. I thought for awhile it would take us two,
maybe three years to clean up the country. Then we
could all settle down and live out our lives in
relative peace. I was wrong."
  "You're not the only one who was wrong, Ben,"
Ike said.
  Ben looked at his friend.
  Ike poured a short two-fingers into his cup.
His smile was both knowing and sarcastic. "You
remember all the talk shows and books and
magazines back in the late '70's and
'80's-all that crap about how the military sucked
and how peace advocates were always
  blabbering about
they
would be the ones who would build a better
society if any major tragedy ever occurred.
And
their
way was the only way. Just a more articulate
extension of the peace and love bullshit of the
'60's." He knocked back a belt of booze.
  "Well, guess what, folks? Where are they
now? Guess who is out here trying to put this nation
back together again? Old soldiers. Surprise,
surprise! And where are the peace and love and lay
down your weapons advocates? In the grave, I
guess. I sure haven't seen any lately. But
more than likely, any who survived are high up in
the mountains or in the deep woods, in little-bitty
communes, keeping a very low profile. And not doing
one goddamn thing toward rebuilding this country. But
what galls my balls is this, and you all know I'm
speaking the truth: When we get this outpost system
complete, coast to coast, and some semblance of law and
order, you just wait and see-here they'll come, whole
bunches of the little mouthy bastards and bitches, all of
them saying, "Oh, we're so happy to see you
big, brave people. Is it safe now? Can we come out
and join you folks?"' You wait and see if it
doesn't happen that way."
  "Wait a minute, Chase," Ike said. "I'm
not done yet. And if we let those assholes in,
they won't be in fifteen minutes before they'll start
sneaking around behind our backs, making all sorts of
snide little comments. Like, "Well, we have law and
order, now, so why don't we put some controls on
those terrible guns? And isn't the death penalty
terribly harsh? Why don't we do away with it?"'
And that sort of bullshit. Fuck "em. Fuck
'em all!"
  Chase looked at Ike. "Jesus Christ,
McGowan! Who pulled your string? What brought on
all this crap?"
  was 'Cause I can see the light at the end of the
  tunnel, Lamar. That's why. And I want
to make my views known, up front, and right now.
The light's still a long way off. We've got a
lot of bloody years ahead of us; but we're
gonna make it. We'll stretch this outpost system
from coast to coast, and then we'll start workin" it
north to south.
Us!
Not those other assholes-
us!
We're the ones going to make it work, with our
blood, and our sweat, and our pain. We got
graveyards stretchin' from Georgia to California,
Michigan to Texas. And those Rebels didn't
die so a bunch of goody-two-shoes types can come in
and spew their verbal poison.
  "That's it, I'm done. Me and Dan talked this
over the other afternoon. That's why Dan left a while
ago; so I could say it. And ... I ain't throwin'
stones at anyone here. Don't think that at all.
I just wanted to clear the air."
  Ike rose and left.
  Ben carefully rolled a cigarette and lit it.
He took a slow drag and exhaled, his eyes on
Dr. Chase. "First time Ike's made a speech
that long in years."
  "But he's right, you know."
  "I know."
  "And some of those people he described will certainly
surface."
  "I hope they don't get near Ike. He'd
probably shoot them."
  "And you, Ben? What about you?"
  "I'd probably help him do it. Or at least
want to help."
  Chase shook his head. "Going to become very
interesting around here very soon." He poured another
cup of Rebel Rouser and downed it.
  "Lamar, are you going to sit here and get drunk?"
  "That is my intention."
  "You're going to have a hell of a headache in the
morning, old friend."
  "Nonsense! I never have hangovers."
  "How long has it been since you were last
drunk?"
  "Oh ... twenty years or so." Ben smiled.
"Good luck."
  "What's the matter with Lamar this morning?" Dan
asked Ben.
  "He isn't feeling well," Ben said.
  Lamar was sitting in front of his tent, a cup of
coffee on a small camp table in front of him.
Using both hands, he managed to get the cup to his
mouth and take a sip without spilling too much of it.
  "Worse crap I ever tried to drink," Lamar
bitched. "Almost pure chicory."
  "Would you like to have a bit of the hair of the dog that bit
you?" Dan called cheerfully.
  Lamar glared balefully at him. "How would you like
to be circumcised without benefit of anesthesia?" the
doctor growled.
  Laughing, the two men walked toward the
communications truck.
  "Anything on Big Louie yet?" Ben asked the
young woman Rebel manning the truck jammed full
of electronic gear.
  "I've been putting together bits and pieces as
they come in, general. I got the last transmission
about twenty minutes ago. Want me to read what
I've got so far?"
  "Please." Ben accepted a cup of tea from
Dan's batman, Carl, and sat down. Some of the
Rebels liked the strong chicory-thick crap that
now passed for coffee. Ben did not. Oh, he'd
drink it if there was nothing else, but he preferred
tea. And the Rebels had warehouses full of tea.
It seems that in their
  haste to loot coffee, thousands and thousands of tins
of tea were passed over, as well as warehouses
full of it.
  "Big Louie," the woman Rebel read.
"Age forty-eight, approximately. Real name
unknown. Until recently controlled territory from
Nebraska line to Topeka, south. West
to Manhattan. Now has included everything east of the
old Kansas Turnpike to the Missouri
line ..."
  "Very enterprising chap," Dan said, nibbling on a
cracker.
  "Yes," Ben agreed. He looked up as Ike
entered the truck.
  "What's wrong with Lamar this morning? I said
hello and he told me to go screw myself."
  "He has a slight hangover," Dan said.
  "Shall I continue, general?" the woman asked.
  "Please. Sorry for the interruption."
  She gave Ike a dirty look. He grinned
at her.
  She brought Ike up to date and said, "Big
Louie had approximately three thousand men and
women under his command."
  "Three
thousand!"
Ben blurted.
  "My word!" Dan said.
  "Where in the hell did he come up with three thousand
people and where in the hell has he been hiding them so we
didn't pick it up?" Ike asked.
  "Here we go again," James Riverson spoke from
the open door.
  "I'm afraid so, James," Ben said.
"Go on, young lady," he told the radio
operator.
  "The Scouts have picked up information that indicates
Big Louie is a college graduate with a
degree in economics from the University of
Kansas. Knows this area as well as, or better,
than anyone. Served in the Marine Corps.
Officer. Captain. Runs his
organi
zation with military precision. His people are extremely
well armed. Has enslaved the Potawatomi,
Kickapoo, Sac, and Fox Indians. Uses
them as forced labor on his farms. Extremely
successful with farming and ranching. Has reopened
schools and many area hospitals. Restored
electricity and many social services." She
looked at Ben. "The last part says that his idol
is Gen. Ben Raines."
Chapter 5
  "He's a warlord! Has enslaved entire
tribes of Indians and uses them for forced labor.
And I am his
idol?"
Ben kicked a camp chair over. "Where does this
son of a bitch think he's coming from?"
  The entire Rebel contingent had made themselves
busy in other parts of the camp when Ben started
yelling. All except Ike, Dan, Lamar, and
James. They sat and watched and waited while Ben
vented his spleen.
  Lamar grimaced as Ben yelled. He took
two more aspirin.
  "Where is this bastard's HQ?" Ben yelled.
  "Topeka," Ike told him.
  "Well, the guy must be crazy! What was it that
girl with the orange and green hair told us? That he
liked to burn people alive!" He pointed a finger at
Dan. "I want as much intel as your Scouts can
get me. Troop placement, location of farms and
ranches, condition of the people inside his territorial
claims, the whole ball of wax."
  "Right away, sir."
  "I'm glad the kids aren't here," Ben said,
calming down a bit. "They'd want to go in there as
my eyes and ears."
  He thought of Lora and wondered how she was getting
along. He had grown very fond of the little girl.
  "Ike? Tell the people to eat and sleep and check and
clean their weapons carefully. I want a full
report on our ammo situation. Anything that
we might need flown in from Base Camp One,
order it done so, immediately."
  Ike nodded his head. "Damn sure can't have a
two-hundred-mile gap in our outpost system, can
we, Ben? Especially one running right smack through
a warlord's territory."
  "We sure can't, Ike."
  Ike walked off, shouting for his aides.
  "Kick-ass time again, huh, Ben?" James
asked.
  "Looks that way, James. How's morale?"
  "High. Of course, they thought they were going home.
But they'll follow you anywhere you lead, Ben."
  "Explain the situation to them, James."
  The command sergeant major nodded and walked off, a
huge man, so big his M-16 looked like a toy
in his hands.
  "Want a drink, Lamar?" Ben said, his good
humor returning-slowly.
  "Hell with you, Raines! You gonna start barking
orders at me, too?"
  "If I have to tell you what to do, you old goat,
I'm in real trouble."
  "I'm too short of everything for a full scale
battle, Ben. I'll get on the horn
to Base Camp One and tell
  Cecil to start shipping me supplies. Where's the
LZ going to be?"
  "I don't know, yet." He looked at a map
of Kansas. "We're sitting right on the edge of
Big Louie's territory. I don't want to go
as far south as El Dorado; that'd put us too far
off center. Well, shit on it! We'll knock
down the telephone poles and land them in the road.
On Fifty-six, somewhere between Herington and
Council Grove. Tell Cec I'll call in
the LZ in the morning; soon as I have Scouts
check it out."
  "And away we go," Lamar said, rising from his
chair and groaning from his hangover.
  "Jackie Gleason," Ben said with a grin.
  After Lamar had gone, alternately bitching and
moaning, a young Rebel touched Ben on the arm.
  "Sir?"
  "Yes, son?"
  "Who's Jackie Gleason?"
  The young man had crossed into Indiana, met up
with a group of pretty nice people and stayed with them for a
day, listening to them talk.
  Gen. Ben Raines, they had heard, was
returning East, victorious after his defeat of the
Russian and the mercenary, Sam Hartline. They were
on their way to Ben Raines Base Camp, in
North Georgia. Would the young man like to come along?
  No. He thought he'd head west. Any idea
where Ben Raines might be about now?
  Colorado. Maybe as far as Central
Kansas.
  The young man pulled out before dawn. Heading west.
He carried a .45 autoloader on each hip.
A knife on his side and another one in a sheath on
his right boot.
  He was square jawed and tanned, very heavily
muscled. His hair was dark and curly. His eyes
could be warm or friendly, or deadly cold. Usually
they were expressionless. The young man was quite handsome; but not
in the pretty-boy manner. His was a rugged
handsomeness.
  He wore no riding helmet; only a red
bandana tied around his head. A bandoleer of clips for
his weapons was slung over one shoulder. Clips for the
weapon he carried in a leather boot on the
motorcycle.
  The weapon was an old Thompson submachine
gun.
  Khamsin sat in his headquarters in South
Carolina and listened to his field commanders as they
reported. The Libyan terrorist-turned-general
sat on a pillow. The wound in his ass, compliments
of Ike McGowan, still bothered the man.
  "We could break out at any time we wish," a
man said. "The Rebels' positions along our
borders are thinly manned."
  "So they would have you believe," Khamsin said. "But
behind them they have heavy artillery, missiles, and
rockets. Oh, they'd let us break through. Then as
soon as we were inside their territory, they'd put
us in a box and destroy us. You all are far too
confident. The black person commanding these troops
while Ben Raines is out West is Cecil
Jefferys. And Raines did not put him in charge
thanks to some renewed program of racial
equality. General Jefferys is in command because he
is an excellent soldier. No,
  brothers, no. The Rebels are accustomed
to facing and fighting and winning against superior
numbers." He looked at an open folder on his
desk. "Each Rebel is trained and mentally
conditioned to neutralize five of the enemy. Kindly
bear in mind that the people who initially set up the
Rebels' training program were Special Forces,
Rangers, Marine Force Recon, Seals,
SAS, and French Foreign Legion personnel.
And kindly bear in mind that six,
six
Rebels wreaked havoc upon this very HQ, killed
several hundred of our best troops, and stole a
prisoner from under our noses. Six!"
  And wounded me in the ass! Khamsin thought
bitterly.
  How humiliating!
  "General Khamsin," a commander said. "Allah
has blessed The Hot Wind."
  Allah is not down here getting His butt
kicked, Khamsin thought. Then he silently said a
short prayer, asking for forgiveness for his thoughts.
  "It is useless to send coded messages to our
scouts in the field," another commander said. "The
Rebels break the codes routinely."
  "Do we have any intel on who is in charge of that
section?" Khamsin asked.
  "A person by the name of Lansky," he was informed.
  "Naturally," Khamsin said. "Will we forever be
cursed with those wretched people?"
  No one offered a reply to that. Another
six thousand years certainly seemed feasible.
  Sister Voleta sat alone in her house. She
had
  gradually gotten over the shock of her only
son's leaving. Now, looking back, she realized that
she should have seen the signs.
  He was just too much like his father: too opinionated,
bullheaded. He never wanted the power she could have
given him; too concerned about the needs of others-and he
had consistently rejected her teachings. This was not the
first time he'd left her.
  Even when the world was whole the boy had been too
curious about what lay beyond the next hill. He
possessed a brilliant mind, but she could never
channel it exactly to her liking. Stubborn little
bastard! she thought.
  But in her own crazed sort of way, she did
love him.
  But she didn't wish him well at all.
  For she had a pretty good idea where he might be
heading. And if the two of them ever got together- she
didn't like to think about that at all. The
possibilities were just too staggering in scope.
  She answered the knock on her door.
  "The old man is ready," she was informed.
  "Gather everybody," she ordered. "I want them
all to see what happens to traitors."
  "The old man is singing some Christian song.
He has no fear."
  "He'll have plenty of fear when the flames sear
his flesh, and his singing will take on a different note.
I assure you of that."
  "We had best curtail any further burning,"
Big Louie said. "We have been discovered by Ben
Raines and his Rebels. I suspect them to come
charging in
  here at any time. Pity. I do so like to hear the
screaming."
  "Yes, sir, Your Majesty," the aide said,
bowing. He left backing up.
  Most of the intel received on Big Louie was
correct-as far as it went.
  Big Louie did earn a degree in
economics. However, he never received it. When he
learned that he had failed to maintain a four-point
grade average, he tried to burn down the
administration building.
  He was not convicted of that. The only witness to the
crime died in a dorm fire.
  Big Louie was in the Marine Corps.
But he was not an officer. He was a buck-assed
private. He was dishonorably discharged after he
burned down a barracks. He did some stockade
time for that, too.
  He changed his name and went to work on Wall
Street for a brokerage firm. He was charged with
insider trading and almost came to trial. But all the
evidence against him was destroyed by fire. Including the
man who caught him.
  Then the Great War erupted worldwide.
  Big Louie soon learned that a great gift of
gab was not enough to keep him alive. One had to be tough
and hard as nails. For the very first time he was grateful
for his Marine Corps training. His only regret was
that he hadn't paid more attention.
  And he soon learned that many people were willing to do
anything,
anything,
to stay alive.
  And if you threatened to set them on fire,
everybody
was willing to do anything to stay alive.
  When the Tri-States had finally opened their
borders to the outside, Big Louie was among the first
to go in and look around-being very careful to stay out
  of trouble while inside those borders. Ben
Raines and his Rebels weren't like the law outside
of Tri-States. Fuck up inside
Tri-States and the law there would either shoot you right off
the bat-or wait and hang you later.
  And they didn't have any crime within those borders,
and that fascinated the crazy mind of Big Louie.
The whole world was staggering around trying to create some
semblance of order out of the ashes, and Ben Raines and
his people were just as content and orderly and happy as that bug
in the rug.
  It was, to Big Louie's mind, and to the minds of
most everybody else, flat, flippin' impossible
to do what Raines and his people had done.
  But by God! They had done it.
  Big Louie soon began to recognize and
appreciate what Ben Raines had done. And he
began to realize that if one didn't go quite as far as
Raines had gone, and sort of reversed some of it, that
would work, too.
  If one took a certain type of person-not the
type that Ben Raines had selected to live in
Tri-States, but the less desirable types-and
promised them free medical care, schools for the
kids, enough to eat, and other social
amenities, why the silly shits would do almost anything
for you in return. Including turning their heads
to certain, shall we say, extremes or excesses
on the part of those in command.
  After the second and seemingly final collapse
of the government of the United States, Big Louie
put his plan in operation. And it just tickled him to no
end to discover that it really would work.
  And what was so simple and amusing was that anyone who
didn't like what Big Louie did-why, just
  set them on fire and listen to them holler.
  And Big Louie had one very large and very dark ace
in the hole that only he and a very few others close
to him knew about. And if Ben Raines fucked around
with him too much, why he'd just push the button and
let them birds fly!
  Big Louie sat on his throne and laughed and
laughed at that.
  Yep, ol' Ben Raines was the bull of the
woods, all right-and he could go on being bull of the
woods; as long as the woods he was bull of
wasn't anywhere near Big Louie's territory.
  "What we've got, general," Dan Gray
said, "is a collection of some of the most despicable
people in the world gathered around this Big Louie
character."
  It was not yet dawn, yet Ben and his commanders had
been up for several hours, going over gathered
material on Big Louie.
  And no one had found a thing to like about the man or many
of the people who resided within his territory.
  "Let's give them the benefit of the doubt," Ben
said, adding, "for the moment, that is. This Big Louie
character has, or so it seems, set up a workable form of
government, complete with shops, stores, trading
areas, farms and ranches, and his own currency backed
by a gold reserve. Fashioned, in a way, after our
Tri-States. Okay, we all see that on the
surface. Let's dig for some dirt."
  "The first spadeful contains the fact that he has
enslaved four different Indian tribes," Dan
said.
  "Playing devil's advocate," Ben said, "I
see the next
  shovel containing the fact that he has set up
schools and hospitals and some sort of a
food-for-all program."
  "He kidnaps women to keep his army happy,"
Chase said.
  Ben couldn't think of anything else good
to say about the man, so he kept his mouth shut.
  "He burns folks alive for amusement,"
Ike said. He looked up as the sounds of rain
hitting the canvas overhead intensified. "Shit!
Cec said his weather people say this storm is gonna last
two or three days. And the pilots ain't real
thrilled about flyin' some of our old birds in bad
weather; gonna be a lot of lightning with this storm."
  "Let's get back to Big Louie," Ben
suggested. "Anybody got anything else good to say
about the man?"
  No one did.
  "Dan," Ben said. "We're not going to be able
to do much until this storm blows out of here and we get
resupplied. So tell your people to get me some
prisoners. See if they can't penetrate just
inside the borders and jerk some fat cats out of the
nicer homes. Caution them not to kill
anybody-unless they absolutely have to. We still
don't have any really solid evidence to go on about this
Big Louie character. And I'm not going to commit our people
on hearsay."
  "Right now, general," Dan said, and left the
tent.
  A runner entered the big tent just as Dan
was leaving. "General, a message just came over the
horn from Base Camp One."
  "Give me the high points, son."
  "One of General Jefferys's roaming patrols
met up
  with some folks from Indiana. They said there has
been a major shake-up at this Sister Voleta's
camp. A defector. Really shook the woman up
bad. The defector is supposedly heading west,
to find you."
  "Is that it?" Ben asked.
  The runner hesitated. "No, sir."
  "Well, who is this person?"
  "Your son, sir."
Chapter 6
  The heavy storms and rains were still south of the young
man's position as he barreled on westward. He
crossed the top of Missouri and made it
into Kansas before the rains hit him, forcing him to seek
shelter. He pulled under a carport, dried off,
then checked his motorcycle. He carefully
inspected the interior of the house and found it Uttered
with rat shit.
  He closed the door behind him and set about making his
camp on the carport. After carefully
inspecting the skies, the man decided that this storm
would not blow away in a few hours; it had settled
over the area. He made up his mind he would stick
around until the storm had blown past.
  Ben Raines Blackman built a small
fire and cooked a rabbit he had shot while
looking for a place to hole up from the weather. He
carefully buried his trash, unrolled his sleeping
bag, and spread it out on the floor of the carport.
He then field-stripped, cleaned and oiled his
weapons. Taking a bar of soap from his kit, the young
man stripped and stepped out into the warm rain and bathed.
He dressed in clean clothing
  and lay down on his sleeping bag.
  He was close to Ben Raines now. He could
sense it. And he could sense something else, too:
Trouble. There was something in the air besides wind and rain.
Buddy, as his mother had nicknamed him when a baby, was
by no means clairvoyant; just a very intelligent and
observant young man. His mother and her friends were, he
knew, a bit around the bend, mentally speaking, but they
had schooled Buddy well in the art of survival.
He had been schooled in all forms of martial
arts; he was an expert with nearly any weapon he
could get his hands on; he knew what
plants to eat in the woods and which to leave alone; he
could build a shelter from practically nothing.
  He was very nearly self-sufficient.
  Listening and watching the rains fall, Buddy let
his thoughts drift back to his mother and her whacked-out
beliefs. He should have pulled out a long time back;
he knew that. Much of what his mother did was totally
repulsive to him.
  However, she had never involved him in anything he
felt was wrong. She had shielded him from her baser
actions.
  Of course, he knew what she was doing, and just the
knowledge of it made him an accessory-but perhaps he would be
forgiven for that.
  On sudden impulse, Buddy rose from the
sleeping bag and rolled his motorcycle into the
utility room at the back of the carport, hiding it
from-from whom? He wasn't sure. It just seemed like a
good move to make at the time.
  He rearranged his sleeping bag, placing it behind
some piled-up old boxes on the carport. He
decided against making some tea and put out his small
fire.
  There was just something about this area that was making Buddy very
wary.
  The storm blew in that afternoon, raging in full force,
pushing every living thing into shelter. There could be no
flights from Base Camp One until the storm
blew itself out.
  But the storm was a wet blessing to Dan Gray's
Scouts, who had slipped into the territory claimed
by Big Louie. The storm hid any slight noise
the skilled guerrilla fighters might make.
  One Scout team, led by Ben's daughter, Tina,
came upon a fine, well-kept home just outside of
Manhattan, Kansas. Tina peeked through a
window and smiled at the sight. A fat man, his
equally fat wife, and two fat teenagers were
watching a movie from a VCR.
  "Those at the slickest-lookin' folks I've
seen in a long time," a Rebel whispered to Tina.
  "Well fed for a fact," Tina whispered back.
"I don't think they're going to like being marched through this
weather." She smiled.
  "You're breaking my heart, Tina."
  "Yeah, poor babies," another Rebel said.
  The Rebels stood in the pouring rain and driving
winds and watched as a young woman walked into the den.
The woman was carrying a tray of snacks and
drinks.
  "Get over here, you bitch!" the fat teenager
shouted at her. The woman cringed at his voice.
"Hurry up. I'm hungry."
  The young woman obviously did not move fast enough
to suit the fat boy. When she had placed the tray
on a table, the fat boy rose from his chair with a
grunt and slapped her.
  "Nice kid," Tina muttered.
  "That woman is wearing some sort of a dog
  collar," said one of the Rebels.
  "I think they used to call them choke chains,"
another Rebel said. "But that one appears to be
welded together."
  The extremely fat girl waddled to her feet and
kicked the young woman in the butt. The mother and father
thought it all very amusing.
  "I want her now!" Fat boy said.
  "I wanna watch!" Fat girl said.
  The father waved his hand and the boy hooked a leash
onto the choke chain, forcing the woman to crawl along
on her hands and knees. She was silently weeping.
Fat girl followed Fat boy out of the room.
  "What a delightful family," a Rebel said,
disgust in his voice.
  "You ready to bust up their party?" Tina
asked the group.
  "Yeah. Let's do it before I puke!"
  Tina assigned members of her squad to their
places. Somewhere in the house, they could hear the sounds
of screaming.
  "Now!" Tina spoke into a handy-talkie. A
Rebel kicked in the back door at the same
instant Rebels were pouring in through the front door.
  Tina placed the muzzle of her M-16 against the
neck of the man. "You wiggle and I'll blow your
head off."
  "How dare you burst into my house!" the man
blustered. "I'll see you burned alive for this!"
  Fat boy and Fat girl were herded out into the den,
a Rebel poking the boy on his bare ass with the
muzzle. Fat girl was bawling. The young woman
wearing the choke chain was struggling into her clothing.
  "How do you get that chain off of her?" Tina asked
the man.
  "You don't. They're welded on at the
prison. Who are you crazy people?"
  "Get up," Tina told him.
  "I must certainly will not!"
  Tina popped him on the mouth with the butt of her
rifle. Blood flew and teeth popped under
the impact. "Get up, goddamn you!"
  Moaning and holding his busted and bleeding mouth, the
man got to his feet, swaying slightly.
  "Get Fat boy some clothes," Tina said.
"She looked at the man's wife. "Get up!"
  The older woman jumped to her feet. "They're
Ben Raines's Rebels," she told her husband.
  "Right," Tina told her. "Now shut up." She
looked at the young woman. "Are you a slave in this
house?"
  "Yes, ma'am. I'm a half-breed Indian.
My mother was white, my father was Fox."
  "Pack a few clothes," Tina told her.
"We're getting you out of this place. We'll cut
that chain off back at camp."
  "You can't do this to us!" Fat boy wailed. "His
Majesty said we was all safe here."
  "His Majesty?" a Rebel blurted.
  "King Big Louie," Fat girl said, still
blubbering. She wiped her snotty nose with the back
of her hand.
  "Well, guess what?" Tina said. "His
Majesty lied!"
  "Incredible," Ben muttered. "He's been
getting away with it for more than three years,
and we didn't even know about it."
  "Forcing minority women into prostitution," Dan
said. "Or for that matter,
any
woman who tries to resist Big Louie's
orders."
  "My God, Ben," Lamar said, looking at the
captured man and his wife and fat kids. "This
Louie has
  gathered the scum of the earth inside his borders."
  "I resent that!" the man said. He was tired and
haggard looking, but was recovering some of his bluster.
"We only enslaved the Indians and niggers and other
inferiors." The words were slightly slurred due
to his swollen mouth.
  "If you open your mouth again," Ben told him,
"without my telling you to do so, you're going to lose some
more teeth."
  The man closed his mouth.
  "Get them out of my sight," Ben ordered.
"All except for the wife. How are they coming on the
lady's chain?"
  "It's off," Ike said, entering the tent. "The
medics are checking her out now."
  The man and his fat-assed kids were herded
out of the tent. Fat girl was still blubbering. It was not a
very appetizing sight.
  Ben sat down, facing the woman. "You have
probably guessed by now who I am, correct?"
  "General Ben Raines."
  "Right. Now, how much of what your husband said was
truth, and how much of it was bullshit?"
  "He told you the truth ... as far as he took
it."
  "Well, lady, you pick it up where he left it
off."
  "And what do I get if I do? And he isn't
my husband."
  "The kids?"
  "His. What do I get out of telling you what
I know?"
  "You can walk out of this camp alive. We'll
take you down to the Oklahoma border and turn you
loose."
  "That isn't much, general."
  Ben smiled at her. "Considering that you have taken
part in enslaving people against their
  will; taken part in burning people alive, and God
only knows what else, do you want to hear the
alternative?"
  "I can probably guess it."
  "Start talking."
  "The man I was living with is not representative
of most of the people living under Big Louie's rule. And
neither are those lard-butted kids representative
of the young people. Big Louie patterned his kingdom after
your old Tri-States. Sam, that's the man I was
living with, was the exception. Most others are very fit
and well trained. Everyone is armed, armed well, and
knows his or her assignment in case of trouble. There
is about thirty-five hundred people within Louie's
boundaries. And they will fight. They have a way of
life that suits them, and they will defend it. And if you
think I'm kidding, general, you'd damn well
better think again."
  "That jibes with the latest Intel, Ben," Ike
said. "It's not going to be a piece of cake."
  "Regular army or police force?" Ben asked.
  "Oh ... probably three hundred and
fifty," she said. "That's not counting the guards at the
prison farm where the slaves are processed."
  "How long have you been with Louie?"
  "Three years. My real husband was killed
fighting warlords."
  "And you don't think it's wrong what
you're doing?"
  "No," she replied without hesitation. "It's just
the way things are. The strong dominate the weak."
  Ben stared at her. "You're in ... your early
forties, I'd guess."
  "Pretty good guess."
  "That would make you about thirty when the Great War
came."
  "Another good guess."
  Ben had to give the woman this much: There was no
fear visible in her eyes, her voice, or her
mannerisms. "So I don't have to lecture you on
decency or laws or moral codes."
  "I hope not. You're dreaming, Ben Raines.
You and your army will never bring conditions back to what
they were. The whole world is a jungle, Ben
Raines. Dog eat dog. For God's sake,
man-if there really is a God, which I doubt-Big
Louie is just one of probably two hundred or more
warlords and self-styled kings. And that's just the ones that
I know of. Probably twice that many scattered
around the country. I work in communications, general.
We know almost everything you people are planning to do. If you
stamp out Big Louie, the next day you'll be
fighting another warlord, and then another and
another. It'll never end. Why don't you and your people
just go on back to Georgia, do your little thing with
Khamsin and his rag-heads, and then settle down in
your own little spot? Let the world take care of itself.
Who do you think you are-Don Quixote or Sancho
Panza?"
  "You're an educated woman."
  "I have, had, a Masters, yes. And I was a very
good teacher. What's that got to do with the price of eggs,
now?"
  "You don't teach in Big Louie's schools?"
  She laughed at that. "Not hardly. I never let
him know I was a teacher."
  "Why?"
  "Because I wasn't planning on staying around that
long. Then Sam offered me security." She
smiled. "You see, Ben Raines, not
that
much has changed about living."
  "What's this Big Louie like?"
  "Quite mad. He enjoys inflicting pain on people;
likes to hear them scream. But he isn't a raving
lunatic. He is usually quite lucid. And he is
a genius. Hell, he built something out of nothing,
didn't he?"
  "By enslaving others."
  "Minorities, General Raines. Indians,
greasers, Jews, niggers. The strong will survive,
General Raines. It's the way of the world, and it always
has been. I don't have to tell you that. Or I
shouldn't have to tell you. People put up with Big
Louie's excesses, general. Every time he starts
going off the deep end, so to speak, the doctors
jack him down with Thorazine and let him float for a
few days. He's a joke, general. The man who
really runs things is named Ashley. I don't know
whether that's his first name or his last name."
  "Why do people put up with Louie?" Ben asked.
  "Because they're
comfortable,
general. They live in nice homes. They have
plenty to eat. They're safe. We have
electricity, running water ... all the things we
had before. Currency, shops to spend it in. Just like
before. And no taxes."
  "And slaves."
  "That's right, general. Slaves. And down near
Ponca City, Oklahoma, there is another
place very similar to Big Louie's. And they have
slaves. And over near Fayetteville,
Arkansas, there is yet warlord's headquarters ...
with slaves and whores and all the so-called abuses
you've got your ass up over your back about. You're
fighting a losing battle, general."
  Ben turned to a Rebel sergeant. "Arrange for
this ... lady and her family to be transported
down to the Oklahoma line. Turn them loose down
there. No weapons."
  "You don't give us weapons, general," she
said.
  "You're condemning us to death."
  Ben's smile was not pleasant to view. "You
want me to just shoot you here?"
  She stood up and walked to the flap of the big
tent. "I guess we'll take our chances out there.
You're a hard mother-fucker, Ben Raines."
  "So I've been told, lady. So I've been
told."
Chapter 7
  Ben interviewed the other prisoners taken by Dan
Gray's Scouts. Their stories were much the same.
And under prompting, the name Ashley surfaced in each
interview. And not much about the man proved to be in the
least admirable.
  When the last prisoners had been
interviewed, then transported many miles away,
Dr. Chase said, "This Ashley appears to be the
real power behind the throne, Ben."
  "Yes. But who in the hell is he? Where does
he live? No one seems to know."
  "They might be lyin', Ben," Ike said.
  "I don't get that impression. But I do get
the feeling that everyone, including Big Louie, is very
much afraid of this Ashley. But why?"
  "And I get the impression that he knows you,
Ben," Ike said.
  "Yeah. I picked up on that, too. But I
don't recall ever knowing anyone named Ashley.
Wait a minute! Wait just a minute." He was
thoughtful for a moment. "No. Hell, no. It couldn't
be."
  "Something, Ben?" Lamar asked.
  "Just for an instant, that name rang a little bell in
my head. But it slipped away as quickly as it
came. I
  just don't know
anybody
named Ashley. Of course, it might not be his real
name."
  Outside, the rain picked up, slashing
against the squad tent. "It's supposed to clear out of
here in a couple of days," Ike said.
  Ben nodded his head. "Was that woman right,
Ike? Am I, are we, dreaming? Do we have any
kind of a chance of restoring some normalcy to this nation?"
  Ike, Lamar, Dan Gray, and James
Riverson all stood silently for a moment. The
rain and wind lashed at the tent. Ben looked at
each man.
  "Yes," Ike finally said. "Not like it used to be.
Never that; not in our lifetime. But, yes, Ben, we
can do it. But we're all going to be fighting for the rest
of our lives to do it."
  Ben sighed. "Sometimes I get so discouraged."
  The flap of the tent was opened. A Rebel stepped
in, the woman Tina and her team had rescued right
behind him.
  Ben stood up and smiled at the woman.
"Miss. You look a lot better without that collar
around your neck."
  "First time it's been off in months," she told
him. "Are you planning on making war against Big
Louie and his people?"
  "Yes."
  "I wish to join your army, Ben
Raines."
  "All right. But I'd like to know your name."
  "Denise. Denise Vista."
  That brought a smile to the lips of all the
Rebels.
  "Something amusing about my name?" Denise asked.
  "Not at all, ma'am," Ike said. "Vista was
the name of the capital of the old Tri-States.
Brought back a lot of memories, that's all."
  "I see," the woman said softly.
  Denise was perhaps five-five, very nicely
proportioned, and had dark brown hair, dark eyes,
and an olive complexion.
  A survivor, Ben thought. She's tough.
"Denise, what do you know about a man called
Ashley?"
  "Very little. I've seen him, two, no, three
times. He's tall, perhaps forty years old.
Speaks with a heavy southern accent. He's the real
power behind Big Louie."
  "Where does he live?" Ben asked.
  "I don't know. It is whispered among the
slaves that he has several homes, not all of them
within the boundaries claimed by Big Louie. He is
always armed, and always has many bodyguards with
him."
  Ben shook his head. He felt like he should know this
Ashley person, but could not put a face to the name.
Perhaps it would come to him in time.
  He was conscious of the woman's eyes on him.
Ben met her gaze. "A question, Miss Vista?"
  "You don't look like a god, general."
  Ben laughed. "I'm no god, Miss Vista.
I'm just a very mortal man, with more than my share of the
normal human weaknesses."
  "Not all gods take the same form, General
Raines," she said.
  "I know little about gods, Miss Vista. So I
almost never argue the subject."
  "I see," she spoke softly, her voice just
audible over the storm. "Well. Do you have any other
questions for me, general?"
  "Not at this time."
  "Where do I sleep?"
  "The corporal there will show you to quarters, miss.
Someone will check you out with weapons and outfit you with
uniforms tomorrow. Good night, Miss Vista."
  "Good night, general." She turned, stepping out
into the rainy night, and was gone.
  "Very attractive woman, Ben," Dr.
Chase said, a twinkle in his eyes and a slight
smile on his lips. Chase knew Ben well and
could see the stirring signs of interest within the man.
  Ben turned, facing him. "Oh? Yes. I
suppose so. I hadn't really noticed."
  Ike laughed, winking at Dan. "Ben, I
sure am glad you fight a whole lot better than
you lie."
  The sounds of a slow-moving vehicle woke Buddy
from a sound sleep. He slipped from his sleeping
bag, pulled on his boots and laced them, then
picked up his Thompson, easing it off safety.
He crouched in the darkness of the carport, waiting.
  The headlights of the car appeared, dimly at first,
cutting through the heavy rain. The car slowed, then
pulled into the drive. Buddy waited behind the wooden
boxes, silent and unseen. And deadly.
  Buddy watched through a small opening between the
crates as two men got out of the car, both of them
armed with M-16's. They stood for a moment, outlined
against the glare of headlights.
  Not very professional of them, Buddy thought. How
easy they would be to take.
  But he waited, sensing that these men were not a part of the
Rebels. From all he had heard, the
Rebels were the most professional and well-trained
army operating anywhere in the world.
  "Long ways out," one of the men said. "You reckon
some of them goddamned Indians kidnapped them
folks?"
  "I can't see that, Jack. We got them
Injuns beat down to nothing. They so whipped out they
near-abs ask permission to shit."
  "Some of them squaws got some fine pussy,
though," his partner said.
  "Like a nigger; that's all they good for."
  Racists, Buddy thought. But who are they and what
do they represent? Or who do they represent?
  "You got your flashlight?"
  "Yeah."
  "You take the left side, I'll take the right.
Be careful; can't see crap in all this rain."
  Buddy laid his SMG aside and silently
pulled out his long-bladed hunting knife. The
knife was a full fourteen inches long; a battle
knife. The blade was honed to deadly sharpness. He
carefully slipped out the rear of the carport, between the
house and the utility room. He waited by the corner
of the house.
  The man who had taken the right side of the
house appeared, ghostlike in the night storm, moving
carefully, his weapon at combat ready.
  Buddy gripped the handle of his knife, holding the
blade against his leg to prevent any glint of light
off the heavy blade.
  The man stepped closer. Now he was muttering
to himself, his words drifting out of the stormy air.
"Fuckin' Ben Raines and his Rebels. I hope
they do try to pull some shit in here. I'll cut that
bastard's head off and stick it up on a pole so's
people can see Raines ain't so damn tough."
  Buddy stepped out and swung the heavy blade. The
man's head plopped wetly to the soaked ground.
Blood arched from the severed neck, mingling with the
torrents. The eyes were still open on the head, staring
at nothing, seeing only darkness.
  Buddy grabbed the body before it could hit the ground
and possibly alert the other man. Quickly, Buddy
laid the M-16 to one side and slipped next to
  the house. He raised the bloody knife,
waiting.
  "Jack?" The voice came just a few feet from
where Buddy was pressed against the house. "Jack? Can
you hear me?"
  Jack could not answer, and the questioner would never
utter another word.
  Buddy's knife flashed in the rainy night. The
blade struck the man on the back of his neck and
came out just under the man's chin. The head spun in the
wet night and slopped to the ground, as blood
squirted.
  Buddy quickly took the men's weapons and all their
ammunition. He cut off the motor and headlights
of the car and searched the vehicle. He found several
days' rations of food and took that to add to his own
supply. He stood for a moment in the rain,
oblivious to it, and listened, all his senses working
hard.
  He could not see, hear, nor sense anything that
might alarm him.
  Buddy searched the yard and found two long poles,
almost identical in length. He went back to the
bodies and recovered the heads, sticking one on each
pole, then sinking the poles deep into the wet earth,
about five feet apart. The bug-eyes open, the
faces grimacing in that last hot moment of pain, the
heads stared sightlessly from their height.
  Returning to the car, Buddy found a pad and pen and
wrote:
Compliments of B.r.b. Now you have two of
us to deal with. Have a nice day.
  Buddy had wrapped the weapons up in his piece
of canvas and secured them to his motorcycle with
rope. He rode through the night before braking at an
old rusted and warped road sign. Hiawatha 9.
  Using the headlamp of his motorcycle, Buddy
checked his maps. He was undecided as to which
direction to take. He was very wary of this country he
  was in; something was very wrong around here. But he
wasn't sure about it. Was this an area controlled
by some warlord or self-styled king? Possibly, he
thought. That would explain the hate he had heard in that
man's voice; the hate directed toward Ben
Raines. For all knew Ben Raines could not and would
not tolerate warlords and their oppressive measures.
  Buddy smiled as the rain slicked his handsome
face. He was sure that when those heads were found,
probably around daylight, someone was going to want to do
some headhunting of their own.
  Buddy decided that the next house he came to,
one that looked occupied, he'd just find out what was
going on.
  It was a man and a woman, both of them about
Buddy's age, he guessed. He squatted in the
darkness of their bedroom and looked at the
sleeping couple. He had silently, moving like a
slight soundless breeze, inspected the house. It was
empty except for the couple.
  The man looked rough and mean, the woman
looked-cheap, the word came to him. He really was not
sure what that meant, but he'd read it in one of Ben
Raines's books. What always bothered him about it
was, what does a cheap woman do to get that way?
  Baffling. Perhaps he could ask Ben Raines about that
someday.
  He placed the muzzle of a .45 against the man's
cheek. The man opened his eyes as Buddy jacked
back the hammer.
  "Do you want your brains splattered all over
your woman's face?" Buddy asked, his voice
low.
  "I don't want my brains splattered
nowheres," the
  man whispered. "How the hell did you get in
here?"
  "Your locks are silly. Awaken your woman and
advise her if she wants to live, she will open her
mouth only when I tell her to do so."
  "I'm awake," the woman whispered. "My
God, Gene! What's goin' on?"
  "I reckon this fellow will tell us when he's a
mind to."
  "This part of the country," Buddy said. "Is it
controlled by a warlord? And tell me the truth if you
want to live."
  "Big Louie runs it," Gene said, his voice
soft in the darkness of the bedroom. "I don't know how
in the hell you made it this far alive."
  "Big Louie. Ah!" He had heard his mother
speak of Big Louie. They shared a common interest:
They both like to burn people alive. "My father is
close by. When he hears of Big Louie, I
should imagine he will take the appropriate action.
It would not be wise for either of you to remain. Unless, of
course, you have a death wish."
  "Your father?" Gene said. "There ain't nobody
strong enough to come in here and push us out, boy."
  Buddy grinned. "Wanna bet?"
  "Yore daddy mus' think he's a real
war-hoss," the woman whispered. "Who might he
be?"
  "Ben Raines."
  "Oh, Jesus God!" the woman gasped. "That
can't be. He's "way to hell and gone out West."
  "Not anymore. He killed the
mercenary, Sam Hartline, and defeated the
Russian, Striganov. Do either of you know a man
named Jack, who was on patrol tonight, a few
miles east of here?"
  "Yeah. We both know him. He lives a few
miles on up this road. How do you know him?"
  "I just killed him and his partner. I cut their
heads
  off and stuck them up on poles."
  The woman started squalling, jerking around on the
bed. Gene grabbed her and shook her until she shut
up.
  "Ben Raines is your ...
father?"
Gene asked.
  "Yes. Now, the problem facing me is this: What
to do with you two?"
  "Mister," Gene said. "You come into this house,
movin" like a damn ghost. Afore that, you killed two
of the best manhunters I ever knowed ..."
  Buddy kept his expression bland. He had seen
Gene carelessly drop his right hand off the bed and onto
the floor. The man must think I am a fool!
Buddy thought.
  "... and stuck their heads up on
poles. You just give me and baby a chance, and
we'll clear this area faster than you can blink."
  The muscles in Gene's right arm bunched
slightly. Probably, Buddy thought, as his hand
closed around the butt of a weapon. Buddy had
removed the muzzle of the .45 from the man's cheek
when the woman had begun hollering and jerking around. The
muzzle was now only a few inches from Gene's
side. Buddy waited.
  "Yeah," the woman said. "We be gone faster
than you can kiss a duck."
  "I have absolutely no intention of ever kissing a
duck," Buddy informed her.
  "Well, then, partner," Gene said. "Kiss
this!"
  Before Gene could lift the pistol off the carpet,
Buddy's .45 had barked three times, the booming
loud in the quiet, night-filled house. The force
of the heavy slugs turned the man slightly to one
side, blowing a large hole in his side. Gene
flopped on the bed as one bloody arm was flung
across the woman's bare stomach.
  With a scream of fear and rage, the woman lunged
at Buddy. Buddy whapped her on the side of the
head with the heavy .45. The woman dropped
like a stone, not unconscious, but addled.
  Moving swiftly, Buddy rolled the woman up
in a blanket and tied it cocoon-like around her, using
strips of torn sheet.
  She was fully conscious now, looking at the young
man. "Now what?" she asked.
  "Be silent. I am thinking."
  "This is awful uncomfortable. You tied it too
tight."
  "We all have our little difficulties to bear throughout
life."
  The woman called him a number of very
uncomplimentary names.
  Buddy waited until she paused for breath and
said, "However, if you feel your present dilemma
is too great a burden, I can fix it."
  "How, you asshole!"
  Buddy lifted the .45 and smiled.
  She shut her mouth and silently stared at him.
  "Did your man hold a position in the warlord's
army?"
  She nodded her head.
  "What rank?"
  "Company commander."
  "He was close to Big Louie?"
  "Nobody is close to Big Louie. Nobody
exceptin' Ashley."
  "Where is this Ashley person?"
  "Your guess is as good as mine about that, handsome."
  Buddy ignored the "handsome" bit. He knew
what was on the woman's mind: Survival. He
made a quick but thorough search of the house, finding
  detailed plans on what unit was to go where in
case of attack from the outside. He discovered a
map showing all heavy gun positions.
  A slight noise turned him around.
  The woman had struggled out of her bonds and was
standing in a doorway, pointing a pistol at him.
  "Ben Raines's son, huh?" she said, a
smirk on her lips. "I think Big Louie will
look favorably on me for this."
  "Providing you can get me to him."
  "Oh, I'll get you to him. Even if I have
to shoot both legs out from under you."
  Buddy hurled himself to one side just as the pistol in
her hand started cracking.
Chapter 8
  Ben came awake with a start, his heart pounding,
sweat bathing him. He looked around the big squad
tent. It was empty.
  What had awakened him?
  He didn't know.
  Ben lay on his camp bed, listening. He could
hear nothing alien in the night. The rain had lessened
somewhat. Where it had been pouring down in torrents,
now it was only a quiet pattering on the canvas.
  Silently, he slipped from his bed and dressed,
pulling on his boots and lacing them. He picked up
his Thompson and moved to the flap opening, pushing it
aside and stepping out.
  He stood for a moment, smelling the clean,
fresh-washed earth as the light drizzle bathed his
face, waking him fully.
  He felt better, but that feeling of alarm was still with
him.
  Movement to his right turned his head. He watched
as his daughter, Tina, walked toward him.
  "Couldn't sleep, Dad?" she asked.
  "Something woke me. Something strange. I don't
know what it was, or is. You?"
  "Something woke me," she admitted. "Like you, I
don't know what."
  "Let's walk to the communications truck," Ben
suggested. He looked at his watch. Four o'clock.
Time to get up anyway. A natural
dawning, at least. If anything good ever came out of a
worldwide disaster such as the survivors had
experienced, it was the return of God's time; void
of man's fiddling with it, called daylight savings.
  The Rebel on duty looked up as Ben and
Tina entered. "Just talked with Base Camp One,
general. Storm's gone and the stars are out. The birds
will be flying today. They'll bring all the equipment we
asked for."
  "Good! Have you found Big Louie's radio
frequency yet?"
  "Yes, sir. Just the usual radio chatter.
Nothing much happening in there."
  "Stay with it."
  "Yes, sir."
  Outside, Ben waited while Tina got them
cups of hot tea, and then father and daughter sipped and
talked in the pre-dawn darkness.
  "I never placed much credence in the
supernatural, Dad. If supernatural is the
right choice of words. But I awakened with the oddest
feeling."
  "What kind of feeling, Tina?"
  "Like, well, a part of me is ... How do I
say this? It was a feeling of danger,
Dad. But the danger was not for me. Does that make
any sense to you at all?"
  "Yes. Yes, that was the sensation I experienced
at waking. What do you think it means?"
  "The report that your son is on his way out here,
  Dad. Is he your son, Dad?"
  Ben sighed. "Tina, I just don't know. It's
certainly possible. I remember the woman. I
remember the party and what happened afterward. It's
certainly feasible that the young man is my son.
We'll just have to wait and see."
  She grinned up at him. "God, but I bet you
were a randy bastard!"
  "Watch your mouth, girl," Ben said with a smile.
"You're not too big to spank."
  Laughing, Tina tossed him a mock salute and
walked away into the darkness.
  Ben stood for a time, alone in the mist and the ink of that
time just prior to the first silver fingers of dawning.
  Are you my son? Ben projected his thoughts through the
dark. Are you out there? And are you in trouble?
  The woman screamed and pulled the trigger again.
Buddy felt a lance of pain rip his leg, followed
by a warm rush of blood. Buddy rolled, banged
against a wall, and came up with a .45 in his
hand.
  The woman yelled at him and pulled the trigger.
The slug struck the wall close to Buddy's head.
He leveled the .45 and triggered off two quick
rounds. The woman grunted and dropped her pistol.
Cocked, it discharged when it hit the floor, the slug
striking the woman just under the chin, traveling upward,
through her head, and exiting out the top of her skull.
  She fell to the floor, trembled for a few
seconds, then was still.
  Buddy limped to a window and looked out. The rain
had stopped, only a very light mist now falling.
  He waited for a full sixty count. No
headlights appeared; no shouts of alarm cut the
night. Turning away from the window, leaving the house
dark, Buddy found the bathroom, closed the door,
and switched on the lights. The explosion of light
startled him. He was not accustomed to electric
lights. They were so bright.
  He fumbled in the medicine cabinet and found
iodine and bandages. Removing his trousers, Buddy
inspected the wound. Not too bad. The slug had
taken a chunk of flesh from his upper thigh, then
traveled on. Buddy bathed the wound in water, then
gritted his strong, even teeth as he poured
iodine onto the wound. He blinked his eyes a
couple of times and carefully bandaged the wound. He
pulled his trousers back on and took the bottle of
iodine and fresh bandages. He turned off the
lights in the bathroom, stood for a moment in the
darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust, then stepped out
into the hall.
  The house reeked of blood and death.
  Buddy made another search of the house, looking for
anything that might shed more light on Big Louie and his
forces. He could find nothing to add to what he'd already
found.
  He did find several hundred rounds of .45
caliber ammunition, in clear plastic bags. He
took those. He had spotted a Jeep parked by the
side of the house, and even though he hated to part with his
motorcycle, the Jeep would afford him a bit more
protection and, with its four-wheel capabilities,
could take him through places where the bike might bog
down.
  He looked at the woman, sitting on the hall
floor, her legs spread obscenely wide, her
nightgown hiked up to her waist, two bullet
holes in her chest. Her eyes were open, staring wide
in death.
  Buddy walked into the bedroom, to stand over the
  blood-soaked bed. He turned away and walked
out of the house to the Jeep. There, he transferred
all his gear from the motorcycle and covered it with a
cammo tarp he had found folded in a utility
room.
  The Jeep started at the first try, the engine
running smoothly. The gas tank was full, and there
were two five-gallon gas cans secured on the
rear of the Jeep. Letting the motor warm up,
Buddy checked the spare gas cans. Full.
Walking back to the drivers' side, Buddy glanced
into the back seat; one final check before pulling out.
There was a knapsack on the floorboards. He
checked it. Heavy with spare clips and ammo for an
M-16 and eight or ten grenades.
  "Well, now," Buddy said, smiling in the misty
night. "The odds are improving in my favor."
  He loaded the M-16's he'd taken from the
headless men and laid them within easy reach. He
backed out of the drive and looked up at the sky. It
would be breaking dawn very soon. Best to hunt a
hole right now.
  Buddy clicked on the radio mounted under the dash
of the Jeep and began searching the bands. He
heard chatter that was almost military, except that they
used nicknames. He knew that was not any of
Raines's Rebels. He carefully searched the
frequencies.
  He smiled as he heard, "Recon four
to Eagle base."
  He knew that General Ben Raines was often
referred to as the Eagle.
  "Go, Recon four."
  "We're between Delaven and Wilsey. Have
secured a portion of Fifty-six for an LZ.
Please advise the general."
  "Ten-four, Recon. Will do. Eagle base
clear."
  Buddy checked his old and well-creased road
map. He was well north and some east of that area.
And
  from the communications just overheard, General Raines
was some distance from the just secured landing zone. But where?
North, south, or west of it? Not east of it, for that
would put the general inside of Big Louie's
claimed territory.
  Buddy reached around behind him and took out two
grenades from the knapsack, laying them on the seat
beside him. He had made up his mind. There
was a lake just west and south of his present position.
He could make it before dawn. He'd go there and rest
and hide; listen to the radio. When General Raines
arrived at the LZ, Buddy would know.
  The young man had a funny feeling in the pit of his
stomach, and his mouth was dry just thinking about meeting
General Raines. He would not deny the truth: He
was afraid of Ben Raines. Most people he had ever
talked with about Ben Raines admitted that they, too,
were afraid of him.
  Buddy had fought outlaws, warlords, crazed people, and
mutants. He had killed many times in defense of
his life. He had, of course, known fear many times.
  But not this kind of fear. This kind of fear was
different.
  Buddy put the Jeep in gear and pulled out,
glancing once more up at the sky. It looked like the
dawn was going to bring a beautiful day.
  The feelings that both Ben and Tina had awakened with
had vanished, both of them experiencing the lifting of
tensions just about dawn. Although they were not together at the
time, each knew.
  The old prop-job planes from Base Camp
One had left at five o'clock, their time. They should be
landing, barring any unforeseen
difficulties, late that afternoon.
  Ben gathered all his commanders in his big tent, around
a table, a map of the area spread out.
  "As usual," Ben said, "we're going to be
spread thin. If we had more people, it would be a very
simple matter to destroy this Big Louie. We'd
just put him in a box and squeeze it tight. But we
can't do that. But what we can do is terrorize those
living in his territory; those who willingly accept and
take part in the slavery and torture. And from all the
intel we've received, that is just about everybody.
We're going to hit and burn and run, freeing all
slaves as we do so.
  "This Big Louie has very thin control of the area
south of Highway Fifty-four. The people we talked
with say Louie's people are struggling to get a toehold
in that part of the state. Dan has teams in that area
now, quietly talking to the people and raising a little hell
with Big Louie's people. The survivors are joining
our ranks. I'm giving command of that area to Tina;
she'll be leaving as soon as the planes arrive and
she and her people can resupply."
  Dan nodded his head in agreement. "She's earned
her command, general."
  The others gathered around nodded their heads
in accord.
  "Dan," Ben said. "You and your group will work
north from Highway Fifty-four. In a curve.
Run your teams from Iola east to the Missouri
line, then curve your eastern groups north and work
them westerly."
  Dan studied his map for a moment, marking in his
perimeters.
  "We're going to have to cache supplies inside
enemy territory. Where you put them is your
business. We obviously can't carry enough on our
backs for a sustained operation. Ike, as soon as you
and your
  people get resupplied, take off north, to the
Nebraska line. When you get my word to jump off,
strike south.
Everybody
stay well clear of Kansas City.
  "I'm spreading my people along the old Kansas
Turnpike and pushing eastward. We're leaving them
lots of holes to escape; that's fine. I don't
give a damn if they all run. Chances are
they'll never regroup. But one thing for certain: We
have to kill Big Louie and this Ashley person.
That's it, gang. Now all we have to do is
wait for the planes."
  "General Khamsin. Many planes have taken off
from the Rebels' Base Camp."
  "Heading in which direction?"
  "West, sir."
  "Heavily laden?"
  "They appear so, sir."
  "Resupplying General Raines out West.
He's found him another windmill to tilt. Did
General Jefferys leave with the planes?"
  "No, sir. No troops left."
"Damn!"
Khamsin hit the desktop with a balled fist. He
was thoughtful for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his
head. He swiveled his chair and gazed out the window
for a moment. Without turning around, he asked, "What
is our latest estimate on the Rebels in North
Georgia?"
  "An estimate is all it would be, general.
There are new arrivals daily. And General
Jefferys keeps shifting his troops around, making it
impossible for us to tally them."
  "Your best estimate, then."
  "Between two thousand and forty-five hundred."
  "And here I sit with my divisions,"
Khamsin said,
  a bitterness in his voice.
  "The men will follow The Hot Wind, sir."
  The wind blows hot from hell, too, Khamsin
thought. He rose from his chair and walked to a large
map. He leaned closer and peered intently at
several spots along the Savannah River.
"Gather your best, your
very best
assault troops. Start them infiltrating
into Georgia. Very small teams, carrying as much
high explosives as they can. Have them spread out,
east to west, all across the top third of the state,
staying south of this highway." He tapped the long
line indicating Interstate 20. "Move the teams
out one hour apart and start them immediately. In
seventy-two hours, and if they're careful, it will
take that long for the plan to be discovered by Rebel
intelligence, I can have a thousand troops in
Georgia. Tell them to seize transportation from
civilians. Kill the civilian men, of
course," he added, almost as an afterthought. "And the
woman and children, too, if they present much of a
problem. Every twenty hours, double the size of the
teams." He began pacing the room, growing
excited with his plan. "Yes. Yes. Not one thousand
men in seventy-two hours, but five thousand men."
He looked at his XO. An intense,
fanatical light was shining in Khamsin's eyes.
  The XO waited.
  "Perhaps," Khamsin said, "if Allah smiles
upon us, when Ben Raines returns from his
adventures in the West, he will find his precious
Base Camp One nothing more than smoking ruins and
his so-called undefeatable army in headlong retreat,
panic and fear in their eyes, and their women here!"
He thumped his desk. "Toys for our loyal
troops to play with at their leisure."
  Khamsin rang for coffee.
  The dark bitter coffee poured, Khamsin lifted
his
  cup. "To victory!"
  The general and his XO toasted.
  A bit prematurely, some might say, for they
were forgetting a number of very important things.
  Like about three thousand Rebel troops, under the
command of one Cecil Jefferys.
Chapter 9
  "What's wrong?" Cecil asked the radio
operator.
  "Sorry to have disturbed you, sir," the Rebel
communications officer said, "but I wanted you to hear
this."
  Cecil listened. "I don't hear a thing."
  "That's right, sir. Nothing. I just scanned all
the frequencies The Hot Fart uses ..."
  "I believe that's The Hot Wind,
lieutenant," Cecil said with a smile.
  "Yes, sir. Hot Wind, hot shit, whatever.
He's still a lump of camel turd. But the silence
is what bothers me, general. All of a sudden, about
two hours ago, all the chatter stopped. I mean,
there is
nothing
being said."
  "And you've been searching the bands ever since?"
  "Yes, sir. Total dead silence."
  "Is the equipment working properly?"
  "Yes, sir. I called the engineer in and had her
check it. Then we contacted several of our long
range recon patrols; one of them up in Ohio.
Everything is five by five, general."
  "I think The Hot Wind just blew out whatever
surprise he might have had in store for us,
lieutenant."
  He turned to a runner. "Get the XO over
here, right now!"
  "Yes, sir!"
  "What do you think it is, sir?"
  "I don't know. But whatever it is, it isn't
good news for us. I'm very glad you picked up on
this, lieutenant. Go to Code C and tell any
patrols close to home base to get back in here,
pronto."
  His XO at his side, Cecil said,
"Everybody up, Joe. Red alert. But keep the
hustle and bustle down to a minimum and no talking
about it. Mark and his brother, Alvaro?"
  "They've got their people down near the Interstate,
general. Just east of the Oconee National Forest."
  "I don't want any unnecessary chatter on the
air, Joe. Send a light plane down to their
camp. Advise them that Khamsin is up to something.
What, we don't know. Yet. Tell them to go
to full alert. But do it quietly."
  "Yes, sir."
  Many of the Rebel company commanders had gathered around
the two men, standing quietly, listening.
  Cecil looked at them, then briefed them.
"Get your people together, but do it easy.
Quickly, but calmly. Full battle gear, five
days' rations. Get your people ready."
  The CO'S saluted and left.
  Back in his command post, with his senior commanders around
him, Cecil stood and stared at a large wall
map.
  "If I were the Libyan," he said, "I would
hit us full force. He's got thousands of
combat-ready troops; he could overwhelm us with
numbers. It's amazing to me that he hasn't already
done it. For some reason, he's very hesitant. But
then I have to consider that
  Khamsin was schooled as a terrorist; Abu's
student and his best. And because he is basically a
terrorist, that makes him several things. A
fanatic in his mind, totally ruthless, and a coward at
heart. The troops he has is all he's got
... right now. So Khamsin is not going to personally
die for Allah. Not if he can help it. But he will
send a couple of thousand to their deaths, in order to gain
... what? A toehold? Yes. Certainly. But
where? And using what methods?"
  Cecil stepped back from the map and sat down at
his desk. "A few thousand men, slipped into our area
in very small teams, to be used as ...
sappers!"
  Colonel Williams looked at Cecil.
"Like "Nam, general?"
  "Yeah," Cecil said. "But more than sappers,
Joe. Men schooled in the art of sabotage. There
are no communications lines to cut-not anymore. So
their mission would be multiple. Terror, sure. But
more than that. They'd be good troops. Some of, if not,
his best. If they could get inside our territory,
we'd have a full-scale guerrilla war on our
hands."
  "And if Khamsin's troops could establish a
front," Joe said, "it would be only a matter of
time before his main forces would roll right over us. Like the
Tri-States," he added softly. Joe had been
a company commander back in those days, gradually
climbing the rank ladder to become second in command
of the eastern-based Rebels. Joe was a good solid
soldier, one hundred percent loyal to Ben
Raines, Ike McGowan, and Cecil Jefferys.
  "Yeah," Cecil said. "Like the Tri-States,
Joe."
  The planes were, at first, only tiny dots in
the blue sky. Then they took shape, did a
fly-by of the LZ, and began setting down
on the old highway.
  Ben shook hands with the pilot of the first plane down.
"How are things back at Base One?" he asked.
  "Well, general, they were fine when we left. But
the last communication we received was, well, odd."
  "Odd, how?"
  "General Jefferys came on the horn. Said a
front was moving in, probably from the south.
Advised us to stay out here. Said the old birds were
too valuable to risk getting caught up in a
hailstorm. General Raines, I checked the weather
shack just before leaving. There are no systems anywhere
back East. And there sure as hell isn't any
hail."
  "Khamsin is making a move, Ben," Ike
said. "Cec isn't sure where or how; that's why he
said 'probably from the south." his
  "And the hail is lead," Ben said. "What else
did he say?" he asked the pilot.
  "Well, odd again, sir. He said due to wind
disturbances, communications would be difficult.
Hell, sir. There was no wind when we took off.
It was dead calm."
  "The Hot Wind," Ben said. "Get
unloaded," he told the gathering knot of
pilots. "Come on, Ike."
  They walked to a communications van. The engineer
had just finished rigging an antenna. "Can you get through
to Base Camp One?" Ben asked.
  "Yes, sir. No sweat." In half a
minute, he had contacted the Rebels in
Georgia. "Stand by for traffic from the Eagle."
  Seventy miles away, straight north, Buddy
laid by his Jeep, tucked away in a clump of
trees, and listened.
  Ben took the mike. "This is the Eagle. Get
me the Hawk."
  The Hawk must be General Jefferys, Buddy
thought.
  Cecil came on the horn. "Afternoon, Ben," he
said cheerfully. "How's the weather out there?"
  "Very nice, Cec. I hear you have a slight
problem with the wind out there. That right?"
  "Definitely picking up, Ben. The
temperature, too."
  The Hot Wind.
  "Well, Cec, I guess all you can do is
plug up any holes in the buildings."
  "That's about it, Ben. Oh, I think we'll
ride out the storm. I believe a
surprise party was initially planned for me, but I
got wind of it. I guess that blew the
surprise."
  Ben and Ike smiled. "Yeah, I hate to hear
that, Cec. I forgot about your birthday."
  "Yeah, me, too. Ben. But they're giving me
my present anyway. Someone found an unopened
carton of Camels."
  Ike laughed aloud.
  "They could be bad for your health, Cec."
  "That's what I keep hearing. But I've got a
carton of Luckies in reserve, just in case."
  This time, it was Ben who laughed. "I heard that,
Cec."
  "What in the hell are they talking about?" Buddy
said aloud.
  "Don't hurt yourself blowing out all those candles,
Cec," Ben said.
  "I shall do my best not to, Ben."
  "If you don't need the birds back, Cec,
I'd like to keep them out here."
  "I think that would be best, Ben. You might need
them. You take care, Ben."
  "Same to you, Cec."
  "He doesn't sound too worried,"
Ike said. "Of course, I never knew him when he
sounded worried about anything!"
  "If he needs help, he'll holler. That's
why he told the pilots to stay here. With these
planes, we can jump in a battalion back
home, if it comes to that." Ben was silent for a few
seconds, his brow wrinkled in thought. He turned
to James Riverson. "James, break out all those
chutes we used back in California. Have the
riggers unfold, stretch, and dry them. Then
repack." He looked at Ike. "If Cec
calls, Ike, you and your people will fly back and jump
in. Understood?"
  "Right, Ben. But that's going to leave the north
wide open."
  "Can't be helped. For the time being, if we can push
Big Louie and his assholes north of Interstate
Seventy, it'll have to do. And we may lose Base
Camp One. I won't risk destroying everything
we've managed to accomplish for a piece of ground.
Not when the entire nation is open to us."
  "I wasn't going to bring that up. I hoped you
would."
  "Cecil feels the same way, Ike. Besides,
he has sealed orders he'll open if
conditions warrant that. We'll move
into Louisiana. I've had a small team in that
area for over a year."
  Ike grinned. "Close-mouth bastard, ain't
you?"
  Ben returned the smile. "Yep."
  Teams from the Islamic People's Army, the IPA,
were moving into Georgia, heavily laden with
explosives. And General Khamsin, almost drunk
with the thoughts of victory, had increased the numbers
moving across the Savannah River. A small
observer team of Rebels, located just south of
Augusta, had been forced to retreat before being
overrun. They got off
  one terse message to Base Camp One.
Hundreds of troops crossing river. Must pull
back.
  Another team of Rebels, also forced to pull
back from their position further south, got off this
message:
Faced with several battalions of IPA troops.
Cannot contain them. Pulling back. Will link up with
other recon teams and commence guerrilla warfare against
enemy. Good luck.
  Cecil radioed back to all recon
units pulling back from the river:
Negative on guerrilla tactics for time being.
Pull into deep cover and keep your heads down.
Maintain radio silence. Have plans for you people
later. Good luck.
  To all roaming recon teams between Interstates
85 and 20, Cecil radioed:
Hunt a hole and stay low. Do not engage enemy
unless absolutely necessary. Maintain radio
silence. Good luck.
  Mark and Alvaro pulled their people back deep into the
Oconee National Forest and dug in. They kept
their heads down and waited for orders from General
Jefferys.
  "Joe," Cecil said to General Williams,
"I think, like the old commercial used to read, we are
in a heap of trouble."
  "I think, sir, that you are right."
  Cecil thought of the sealed orders Ben had given
him. But he wasn't ready to open them just yet. For
he had a strong suspicion what they contained. He
knew there was no way he was gong to contain The Hot
Wind's troops. Not outnumbered forty or fifty
to one. Cecil had been playing games with
Khamsin's recon people, constantly shifting
troops around the area. He had less than a thousand
regular Rebels at Base Camp One.
  He silently counted his numbers. Mark and
Alvaro had about two hundred and fifty people. Counting
all recon teams, there might be an additional two
hundred and fifty. Perhaps fifteen hundred men and
women, and kids, among the untrained.
  Cecil sighed.
  Blunt old soldier that he was, Joe summed
it up. "It's fucking impossible, general."
  "Yes, I know, Joe. But I'm not going
to roll over and run away just yet. Joe* order
the untrained civilian women and all kids under the
age of fourteen out of here. Send them across the line,
into Alabama." He hesitated. "One platoon
of Rebels with them. Clear the hospital of wounded.
Send them, too. Order the motor pool to get every
vehicle that will run ready to do so. That's just in
case. Fully fueled. Fill tankers and get
them rolling west. Start stripping this place right now;
but load trucks and pull out only at night. War
lights only. Let the civilian women drive the
trucks."
  "General?"
  "Yes, Joe?"
  "Let's send the old soldiers with the
civilians."
  Cecil smiled, remembering. He nodded his
head. "Fine, Joe."
  Buddy lay on his sleeping bag in the deep
timber and let his thoughts drift back to his mother.
As a child, when conditions were normal, she had been a
good mother. Schools, nice clothes. Then after the
bombs came, she had left him with the Old Man,
returning only occasionally to visit him. Sometimes,
Buddy had thought, she must have forgotten he was alive.
The Old Man had really raised him. And then
Buddy found out why she waited years to see him.
  He pushed that from his mind.
  But years back, when the Old Man was younger, he
had taught Buddy to survive. He taught him
to use a knife, a bow and arrow, to make deadly
traps, taught him about all types of weapons-and
mainly, Buddy had later learned, kept him away
from his mother.
  And it was only a year back that Buddy had
learned the Old Man was really his grandfather.
  Dawn.
  Ben stepped out of his tent and almost collided with
Denise. At first, he did not
recognize the woman. She was dressed in lizard
cammies and beret, her dark hair pulled back and
tied. Her field pants bloused into boots. She
wore a .38 belted around her trim waist. A
hunting knife in a sheath on the other side.
  She saluted and said, "Reporting, sir."
  Ben tossed her a salute and said, "Never
salute an officer in a combat zone, Denise.
That's a good way to get somebody killed.
Snipers."
  "Oh! Sorry, sir."
  "That's all right. Just don't do it again.
Reporting for what, Denise?"
  "As ordered, sir."
  Ben blinked and scratched his head. "I didn't
order you to report to me."
  "No, sir. General McGowan did."
  "To do what?"
  "Well ... I don't know, sir. He just said
that you needed an aide and told me to report first
thing. So here I am."
  Looking around him, Ben saw Dr. Chase,
Ike, Dan, and Tina all standing together, giggling and
  trying not to look in his direction.
  Even Carl, Colonel Gray's
batman, was smiling, looking in every direction
except at Ben Raines.
  "Assholes!" Ben said.
  "Just like opinions, general," Denise said with a
straight face.
  "What's that?" Ben asked, looking at her.
  "Everybody has one."
Chapter 10
  A runner from the communications van reached Ben,
nearly out of breath. She handed Ben a folded
piece of paper. "This just came in, sir. From
General Jefferys."
  Ben opened the paper.
Will hold long enough to allow civilians to leave area.
Believe it is impossible to contain IPA troops
for very long. Good luck.
  "Bad?" Ike asked.
  Ben handed the paper to him. Ike read it and said,
"Shit! It must be bad for Cec to send something like this.
You want me to get my people together, Ben?"
  Ben shook his head. "I don't know, Ike,"
he said with a sigh. "I think this message is coded.
For Khamsin's benefit. I think Cec has
something up his sleeve. I think he wants
Khamsin to believe he's in panic."
  Ike was thoughtful. "You may be right. He sure
didn't ask for any help, did he?"
  "No. And he wouldn't hesitate to ask. But I
can't contact him about it without tipping his hand ... if
he's holding a good hand, that is."
  "Just a few hours ago he was not worried at
all," Ike mused aloud. "Ben, there is no way
for Khamsin to have moved that many troops into position this
  soon. His troops are not concentrated; they're
all over South Carolina."
  "Very well." Ben made up his mind. "It's
Cecil's show; we'll let him open and close the
curtains as he sees fit. If he needs us,
we're only a few hours away."
  "I wonder if he's opened those sealed orders
yet."
  "I doubt it. He'd have said. All right, Ike.
We've got two fronts, as usual. Let's
start taking care of this one."
  Emil Hite had been down for a year, but far from
being out. The former used-car salesman from
Chattanooga was also known as a con man from several
other states, and for awhile he had even been known as
Father Emil, earthbound emissary of the Great God
Blomm.
  It had been a pretty good scam for as long as it
worked. Until those Ninth Order assholes had
screwed it all up. And then those totally brutish
mercenaries came charging in. And they
really
fucked things up.
  But eventually they had left, leaving only a
small number of Emil's former converts behind. But
they were the hard-core Father Emil followers, totally
loyal to him. And conditions being what they were,
worldwide, it didn't take Emil long to put together
another scam. One thing Emil could do, and do well,
was talk very convincingly.
  And he had talked enough to gather about two hundred
new followers. Of course, he knew they were all
yo-yos-some of them totally around the bend; but that
didn't matter, not as long as they waited on him
hand and foot and catered to his every need.
  He had convinced his followers that the Great God
Blomm, who had once sat by the side of the
Almighty, had deserted them, allowing those brutish,
  repugnant types to enter their lives, as
punishment.
  Now Blomm was back, stronger than ever on the
side of Father Emil and his flock. But,
he cautioned his robed troops, "Don't expect
miracles from me. I cannot deliver miracles.
All I can do is tell you what Blomm tells
me."
  In other words, get off my ass and cool it with the
demands for me to turn water into booze, and all that
other hokey shit.
  They believed it. Sure, they believed it.
Made as much sense as some of those religions that were
alive and kicking back when the world was normal-more or
less.
  Just to keep his followers guessing, Emil would
occasionally fall on the ground and thrash around, speaking
in tongues. Then he'd get up, brush himself off,
and do his rendition of the Mashed Potatoes, the
Funky Chicken, the Dog, and the Twist.
  Hell, they loved it!
  Silly shits!
  And, Emil suspected, more than a few knew it
was all a scam. He knew he was comic relief
to many of the growing numbers. But he deliberately and
very carefully kept those in the minority. They handled the
tribute to Father Emil-and got more than their share of the
pussy, too.
  Emil had settled in North
Louisiana, had him a real nice church (used
to be a Baptist church) complete with a little band that could
really cook with Christian rock and Roll. Emil
had rewritten several hymns, putting them to the
tunes of "Shake, Rattle, and roll,"
"Don't be Cruel," "Money, Honey," and
"Pissin' In The Wind." To name just a few.
  The flock really got down and boogied when
Emil would pull his robe up past his knees,
signal the band to start jammin', and Emil would start
belting out in song.
  Hot damn! but he loved to see those sisters
strut their stuff, prancing up and down the aisles,
shaking their money-makers and shouting in tongues.
  But this new group was just a tad different from the last
group Emil had formed. This time, he had vowed, no
one was going to come along and fuck it up.
  This time, everyone was armed. And well trained in the
handling of the guns. And Emil and his enforcers comthe ones
who knew it was all pre-planned bullshit-saw
to it that the farms were productive, the robe
factories worked well, and everybody stayed in
line.
  All in all, Emil thought, it was working out fine.
  If that fuckin' Ben Raines would just
stay away.
  Buddy stayed in deep cover, close to his
Jeep, listening to the radio and thinking.
  Now that he was away from his mother and could think without
interruption, he was more than ever convinced the woman was
stark, raving mad. And he was well aware of, and had
been for some time, that the Old Man had
deliberately let his mother think him dead for many
years.
  But why, only a couple of years ago, had the
Old Man taken him to his mother? That puzzled
Buddy.
  And it just may be he'd never know.
  The radio began crackling, and Buddy stopped his
thinking to concentrate on the radio messages.
  "Topeka One to Chanute. Come on,
Chanute."
  "Chanute here."
  "Are you under attack, yet, Chanute?"
  "Under
attack,
did you say?"
  "Ten-four, Chanute."
  "Hell, no. We're not under attack. What's
going on, Topeka?"
  "Stay alert, Chanute. Ben Raines and his people
are about to pull something."
  "Hell, they've been out there threestfour days.
They-was
  A new voice took over the mike. A strong
voice, with a heavy southern accent. "Do not question
orders, Chanute. Just do as you are told. Is that
understood?"
  "Yes, sir!"
  Ben knew that accented voice. He was sitting in
his vehicle, Denise by his side, listening. And
said aloud that the voice was familiar to him.
  "An old friend?" she asked.
  "I don't think so."
  "An old enemy, then?"
  "That would be more like it, I'm thinking. But from where, is
the thing that puzzles me."
  "It will come to you, general."
  "Oh? You sound very sure of that, Denise. Are you
all omniscient?"
  "Possessing infinite knowledge, general? Oh, no.
Are you surprised that I know the meaning of that large
word?"
  "Yes," Ben said truthfully, as was his way.
"Most your age didn't have the time for much
formal education."
  "I had to teach myself after the bombs came. But
then, I have always enjoying reading ... even your rough,
tough men's adventure books."
  Ben had to smile. "Where did you find copies of
those?"
  "Oh, here and there."
  "Uh-huh. Getting back to the mysterious voice
we just heard? ..."
  "And why I think it will come to you? ..." She
trailed it off as he had done.
  "Yes."
  "Why ... You're a god, aren't you?"
  Ben glared at her, and then started laughing. He
had a strong suspicion they were going to get along very
well.
  Ike approached the vehicle and said, "I'm
pullin' out, Ben. I should be in position by late this
afternoon, if all goes well."
  Ben got out and stretched. Denise got out and
stood a few feet away from the men, watching as
Col. Dan Gray and Capt. Tina Raines
joined the men.
  "All teams ready?" Ben asked.
  Sitting on G.
  "Not a whole hell of a lot left to say then,"
Ben told them.
  Dan pulled a map out of his case and spread it
on the hood of the vehicle.
  Ike said, "Me and my gang will spread from right
here at Marysville east to Sparks and work south from
there."
  "My teams will be spread from Elgin east
to Baxter Springs," Tina said. "Our territory
will be everything between the state line up to Highway
Fifty-four."
  "I'm taking everything from Fifty-four up
to Interstate Thirty-five," Dan said.
  "And I'm taking everything between Thirty-five and
Seventy," Ben said. "And that included Topeka."
  "You are taking the lion's share, general," Dan
said, just as Dr. Chase joined the group.
  "Of course, he is," Lamar said. "The old
bastard still thinks he's a young buck."
  Ike cleared his throat. "He's about the same
age I am, Doc."
  "Well, that makes you a middle-aged fart,
too, McGowan," Lamar popped right back. "You
want me to maintain my field hospital right where
we are, Ben?"
  "For the time being, Lamar, I think that would be best.
The LZ is secure and set up ..." Ben
paused, thoughtful. "But if Cec moves the big
hospital? ..."
  "And he's probably doing that right now," Ike
said. "Your emergency orders were to head for
Alabama, Ben."
  Ben looked at Lamar and raised one eyebrow in
question.
  Interesting gesture, Denise thought. From a very
interesting man. Of course, even in the short time
she'd been in camp, she had heard a lot of camp
gossip about General Raines. About how he did
love the ladies. Often.
  Wouldn't hurt my feelings a bit, she
silently mused.
  "We can handle anything that comes our way, Ben,"
Lamar assured him. "But you know that we're
practicing medicine on probably a World War
Two level out here in the field. There might be a
problem with whole blood; but we'll just have to wait and
see about that."
  "There is really a great hospital in
Topeka," Denise said. "It's well staffed and
well equipped, so I'm told."
  All eyes swung toward her.
  "I'm sorry. I did not mean to interrupt."
  "You didn't," Ben said quickly. "That is very
valuable intelligence. Anything you can think of, tell
us."
  She nodded her head. "I probably don't know
that much."
  "And you probably know more than you think you do,"
Dan said. "That is usually the case. What is the
name of this facility?"
  "The medical center."
  "Location?"
  She told him.
  Ben smiled. "We'll try to keep it intact and
take whatever medical supplies they might have
stored, Lamar."
  "I'm sure that will be an effort for you, Raines,"
Lamar said with a smile. "Not blowing things up."
  "There was a man who stayed on the Potawatomi
Reservation for a time," Denise said. "A very old
man. In robes. He carried a great stick with
him. A staff, I suppose you'd call it."
  Ben felt a chill spread over him. Looking
at the others, he knew they were experiencing the same
sensation.
  The Prophet.
  That old figure that occasionally popped up-
seemingly at the same time in many different places.
Ben remembered the first time he had seen the man who
called himself the Prophet.
  Little Rock, a couple of years back, when
Rosita had been by his side.
  Looking at the others, Ben knew that they, too,
were momentarily lost in memories.
  "Heads up, general!" a Rebel called.
  Ben and Rosita turned. Ben heard her sharp
intake of breath.
"Dios mio!"
she hissed.
  A man was approaching them, angling across the
street, stepping around the litter. It was the man in the
dreams Rosita had been having. Bearded and
  robed and carrying a long staff.
  The man stopped in the street, and Ben looked
into the wildest eyes he had ever seen.
  And the oldest, he thought.
  "My God!" someone said in a whisper. "It's
Moses."
  A small team of Rebels started toward the
man. He held up a warning hand. "Stay
away, ye soldiers of a false god."
  "It is Moses," a woman said, only half
in jest.
  Ben continued to stare at the man. And be stared at in
return. Burning eyes, savage, but yet sad.
Eyes filled with knowledge.
  "I hope not," Ben said, and
his
statement was given only half in jest. The robed
man was disturbing to Ben. "Are you all right?" Ben
called. "We have food we'll share with you."
  The robed man replied, "I want nothing from
you." He stabbed his long staff against the broken
concrete of the street. He swung his dark, piercing
eyes to the Rebels gathered protectively around
Ben, weapons at the ready. "Your worshipping of a
false god is offensive." He turned and walked
away.
  Gunfire spun them around. Then the radio
crackled with the news that a patrol had found a
family unit of mutants and the great beasts had
attacked them. The Rebels had been forced to kill
them all. Ben and his patrol went to the building that
had housed the mutants and were wondering what to do with the
only survivor, a small mutant
baby, savage and hideous looking.
  "Here comes Nutsy!" a Rebel called into the
basement.
  "Who?" Ben asked, then realized the Rebel was
referring to the old man in the robes.
  The old man appeared at the shattered basement
  door. "I am called the Prophet," he
announced.
  Ben said, "My name is-was
  The Prophet waved him silent. "I know who you
are." He pointed his staff at Ben. "Your life
will be long and strife filled. You will sire many children,
and in the end, none of your dreams will become reality.
I have spoken with God, and He has sent me
to tell you these things. You are as He to your people, and
soon comin your measurement of time -- many more will come
to believe it. But recall His words: No false
gods before Me." The old man's eyes seemed
to burn into Ben's head. "It will not be your fault.
But it will lie on your head."
  The old man turned and walked back into the
street.
  The Rebels were silent for a moment until another
Rebel stuck his head into the doorway.
  "Sure is quiet in here," he said.
  "What did you make of Nutsy?" someone asked
him.
  "Who?"
  "The old guy with the beard and sandals and the robe and
big stick."
  The Rebel had seen no one answering to that
description.
  "Well, where the hell have you been?"
  "I been sittin' right outside this door, in a
Jeep! And there ain't been nobody wearin' robes
or sandals and carryin' a big stick come out of this
building. What the hell have you guys been
doing-smokin' some old left-handed cigarettes?"
  Later, Ben spoke with a Rebel sergeant,
Buck Osgood, who had just pulled in from
Arizona. Buck told Ben he had seen an old
man who called himself the Prophet.
  "When did you see him, Buck?"
  "Ah, last week."
  "In Arizona?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "The date?"
  "Ah, the ninth, sir."
  "Time, approximately?"
  was "Bout noon, I reckon."
  "That's the same time and date I saw him," Ben
told the young sergeant.
  "I didn't know you were in Arizona then, sir."
  "I wasn't, Buck," Ben said. "I was in
Little Rock."
Chapter 11
  Ben brought Denise up to date on the old man
called the Prophet. The others listened in silence.
  The woman took the telling without any apparent
disbelief or shock. "My people are not as skeptical
or as frightened of spirits as your people, general," she told
him. "Those from the other side often walk this earth
years after their passing. Perhaps the old man is a
messenger from God. Who can tell?"
  "Is the old man still at the reservation?" Ben
asked.
  "Oh, no. One day he just vanished. No one
has seen him since. Or if they have, they are
keeping silent about it."
  Ben nodded and put the old man called the
Prophet out of his mind. "Let's roll, gang."
  "We'll crush Ben Raines like a bug!" Big
Louie said. "This time he's met his Waterloo."
  "Uh-huh," Ashley drawled.
  "Ashley, my good fellow," Big
Louie said, leaning forward. "Don't you realize
what this means?"
  "I know that we've got one hell of a fight
lookin" smack at us."
  "Oh, pish-posh! You simply don't understand these
military types, Ashley. They have no imagination.
None at all. They go right by the book. They're
totally predictable. I tell you, we are going
to defeat Raines quite handily. And then, my good man,
with that overblown legend rotting in the ground, the nation,
the entire
nation,
will be ours for the plucking." He giggled. "And all
those lovely young girls for the fucking!"
  Ashley nodded his head. Might as well agree
with the silly perverted bastard, he thought. Grown
women intimidated Louie. So he used little
girls. So he could intimidate them. Or young
boys. It really didn't make that much difference
to Louie. But this time, Louie was flat out wrong about
the upcoming fight. The legend of Ben Raines
might well be a bit overblown, but the man damn
sure wasn't.
  "So you think it's going to be a cakewalk, huh.
Louie?"
  "You forgot to say Your Majesty," Big Louie
said.
  The look in Ashley's eyes wiped the grin right
off Louie's face. "I'm only joking,
Ashley," Louie whined. "You know I don't demand
that from you."
  "You silly bastard!" Ashley hissed at him.
"Do you have any idea how fuckin' ridiculous you
look?" Before Big Louie could reply, Ashley
said, "Sittin' up there on that goddamned throne;
makin' people bow and scrape to you. You bear one thing in
mind, you goofy fag: I put you up there, and I can
jerk you down any damned time I please."
  Big Louie pursed his lips, looking very much like
a fat fish, and stamped his slipper-clad foot.
"And you're forgetting that I saved your life, you
ungrateful oaf!"
  "Yes, Louie," Ashley replied wearily.
"How can I ever forget? You keep constantly
remindin' me."
  "You'd have died if it hadn't of been for me,
Ashley!" Louie screamed, slapping his hands against
the arms of his great chair. "And this is the way you
repay my bravery and kindness!"
  Ashley at first looked irritated, then
began laughing. "Bravery? You? Brave? You
tossed a rubber inner tube to me when that damned
boat sank in the Mississippi. Let's don't
make any more of it than it really was."
  "I nursed you back to health. Remember?"
Louie asked coyly.
  "Don't bat your eyes at me. I'm not one of
your playmates, Louie."
  "I would certainly be amenable to that, Ashley,"
Louie simpered.
  "I can't think of anything more disgusting than that.
Don't push your luck, Louie."
  "Oh, Ashley. Don't let's quarrel."
  "Stop simpering!" Louie was all twisted
sexually, no one in their right mind would ever question that; but
to take Louie lightly would be a fatal mistake.
He might not be the bravest man in the world, but he was
both dangerous and devious. He had killed many,
many times; often for very little reason-that any sane
person could see.
  "You think I'm wrong about this Raines cretin,
don't you, Ashley?"
  "No." And Louie's face brightened. "I
know
you're wrong, Louie."
  Louie looked crestfallen.
  "And here is something else, Louie: You run your
little kingdom. That's fine. But the military is under
my command. They take orders from
me."
He watched Big Louie's face mottle with
anger. "Go ahead and sull up, Louie. Won't
do you a bit of good. Besides, Louie, you don't like
combat. You
  might get your pecker shot off in combat."
Louie grimaced and crossed his legs. Daintily.
  Just as the first teams were getting into position in
Kansas, Gen. Cecil Jefferys was watching the
first trucks begin rolling out of Base Camp One
in North Georgia. Luck was on the Rebels'
side on this night, for the moon was fat and full, and
no other lights were necessary for the drivers to see their
way.
  Cecil stood by the side of the road, giving each
vehicle a salute as they passed his position.
These were the noncombatants pulling out: the old, the
very young, the untrained, the wounded. And with their leaving,
Cecil felt a weight slip from his shoulders.
  "Give "em hell, general!" a wounded
Rebel called from the back of a truck.
  "Will do," Cecil returned the call.
  "See y'all in Alabama, general," another
Rebel called.
  Cecil waved.
  The long, snakelike column rolled and rumbled
its way west.
  There would be a dozen convoys leaving that night, each
one at least a mile long, leaving a half hour
apart.
  And so we do it again, Cecil thought, standing by the
road, feeling the cool night wind from the passing
trucks, cars, and Jeeps fan him, the breeze
touched with the odor of gasoline and diesel, the smell
of oil and rubber.
  We tear it all down, all the refineries, the
hospitals, the factories-and bug out. God, when
will it end? he silently questioned. Are You up there,
God? Are You listening? What are we doing wrong
with our
  society? Why can't we just settle down in one
spot and live in peace?
  Cecil took off his beret and bowed his head. The
moonlight touched the salt and pepper of his hair.
There had been no gray in his hair when he and Ben
and Ike had come together, to build the
Tri-States. All of them young men not that many years
back. Young men, of all races, creeds,
nationalities, coming together to form a government, a
country, a society.
  And it had worked. A society free of bigotry
and prejudice. A society with full employment;
where no one went hungry; no one was denied medical
care; where one could go to sleep at night with the doors
unlocked and not be afraid; where the elderly were cared
forwith love and compassion.
  It was almost perfect, Cecil thought, standing by the
road with his beret in one hand and an M-16 in the
other. Not perfect in the minds of those who lived
outside our borders; but perfect for us who lived
inside
those borders. And isn't that the way it should be?
  Cecil did not expect the heavens to open up and
give him a reply. He had asked these questions many
times before.
  But he did long for an explanation as to why a
decent society, which meets the satisfaction of
all who live within its borders, can't exist free
from outside pressures.
  He had been waiting many years for that answer. And
he was no closer to an explanation now than
fifteen years ago.
  He raised his head at the sound of boots on the
gravel. Putting his beret back on his head,
Cecil looked at Col. Joe Williams.
  "Sons of bitches want a fight, huh,
Joe?"
  "Looks that way, general."
  "Well, then ... let's just give them that,
Joe. A dirty, stinking, no-holds-barred run
for the money."
  Joe grinned in the night, waiting for Cecil
to continue.
  "No quarter, no mercy, no prisoners.
Travel light, hit hard, then run like hell and
circle around behind the cock-suckers!"
  Joe and Cecil had been together for a long time. And
Joe knew Cec never used profanity unless he
was very angry. And the big ex-Green Beret was very
angry.
  Cecil motioned Joe to follow him, and the two men
went into a building. There, Cecil spread a map
of Georgia on a table. "They're coming at us from the
south and the east, Joe. We're going to take
casualties. But we've got to buy some time for those
leaving for Alabama. So, in order to do that,
we've got to create confusion, panic, and doubt.
What's the latest intel on Khamsin's
troops?"
  "They aren't rushing toward us. They came across the
river in a hurry, then for some reason, they slowed
to a crawl. Many units even stopped their advance.
I don't know why they did that. They sure as hell
weren't meeting much resistance. From the east, they're
about thirty-five miles inside Georgia. From the
south, they've advanced just about that distance north of
Interstate Twenty."
  "Get on the horn. Tell Mark and Alvaro
to start raising hell with the invaders. Hard, fast,
deadly, and then run like hell."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Start mining the roads and blowing the bridges,
Joe. Wherever our people can lay booby traps, do it.
Make them very enticing. We've got tons of
explosives. So let's don't skimp a bit.
Start jamming their
  communications. We've got a few people who speak
Arabic; not well, but enough to do the job. Get them
to start issuing false orders to the troops in the
field. See if we can't get some of The Hot
Wind's people running around in circles."
  "Yes, sir."
  "We've got supplies cached all over the
northern part of the state, Joe. So our people can take
off traveling light, except for ammo and
grenades. Load 'em up, but don't overload
them."
  "Yes, sir."
  "All right, Joe. You're in charge of the eastern
section, I'll take the southern section. Let's
start moving them out."
  Cecil held out his hand and Joe shook it.
"Watch your ass, old friend," Cecil said.
  Joe squeezed Cecil's strong and thick upper
arm. "Same to you, old friend."
  Buddy gathered up his gear and packed the Jeep.
He wanted to be ready when General McGowan and
his people started forming up in this area. And from the radio
transmissions he'd been monitoring, the forward
recon teams were very close.
  Buddy cleaned and oiled his weapons and checked his
ammo pouches. That done, he fixed a cold supper
and squatted by the dark outline of the Jeep, eating
slowly as the sound of approaching vehicles grew
louder. He remained very still in the night. He had
chosen his position well, and knew that unless
someone literally walked into the Jeep, the odds of his
being discovered were slim. But, he cautioned himself, these
were Raines's Rebels, and they were all
professional soldiers, the recon teams picked and
trained by the former SAS man, Col. Dan
Gray.
  They were the best in the world; even his mother would agree,
reluctantly, with that.
  Moving as silently as a cat, Buddy slipped
full length on the ground, looking under the Jeep.
He watched as the lead vehicle stopped and several
people got out. In the moonlight, he could see
tiger-stripe and lizard battle dress.
  "It looks clean." The voice drifted to him.
  "Yeah, but I don't like it," came the reply.
"Down!"
  The shapes vanished, hitting the ground.
  They sensed my presence, Buddy thought. True
warriors all. No wonder my father's Rebels
are so feared and respected. I must be very careful;
I must not be shot out of carelessness.
  Buddy sensed more than heard movement to his right and
to his left. And knew that he had been silently and
effectively surrounded.
  "If you're Raines's Rebels," he
called softly. "I am your friend. If you are
warlords" troops, not many will walk away from this
place."
  "And that includes you, too, partner." The voice
came out of the darkness.
  "But of course," Buddy said.
  "You're pretty good, whoever you are. But you made
one mistake."
  "And that is?"
  "You just ate. We smelled the food."
  "Then that makes you even better than I first
thought. I have some papers I took from some of Big
Louie's men. After I killed them. Troop
placements and so forth."
  "That's nice."
  The voice was much closer. Damn! Buddy thought.
I didn't even hear or sense his coming nearer.
  "What's your name?" another voice called.
  "Buddy. And I have traveled far to reach
Raines's Rebels. I wish to join you."
  Buddy stiffened only slightly as he felt the
cold muzzle of a rifle touch his neck. They
move like ghosts, he thought. The Old Man warned
me. He told me that while I was very good, I was not
yet in the league of many of Ben Raines's
Rebels.
  "My name is Ben Raines Blackman,"
Buddy said.
  A harsh burst of light flooded Buddy's
face, blinding him to all but the beam.
  "Jesus God!" a Rebel said. "He ain't
lyin' about that, gang."
  Sons of the Dark and Bloody ground.
  O'Hara
Chapter 1
  "Forgive me for starin', boy," Ike said. "But
the resemblance is kinda unnervy."
  "That is perfectly all right, sir," Buddy
said. "I understand."
  "Well, you got manners. Give your momma
credit for that, at least."
  Buddy's smile was thin. "Not my mother, general.
Thank my grandfather for that. And he convinced me to leave
my mother's Order."
  "What if that crackpo-ah, your mother, finds out
what he did?"
  Buddy sighed. "She knows. I would imagine she
had ordered him burned at the stake."
  "Son," Ike said, leaning forward, "I know Ben
would love to see you; love to welcome you
into the Rebels ..." He shook his head. "You
mean, she would burn her own father at the stake?"
  "Yes. She's quite insane. She is my mother, but
I think the kindest thing anyone could do would be to put
her out of her misery." Just please don't ask me
to do it, he thought.
  Again, Ike shook his head in disbelief at
Sister
  Voleta. But the boy seems genuine, he thought.
"Well, son, as I was gonna say ... puttin'
your mother out of her misery is exactly what Ben
plans on doin'. The very first chance he gets."
  "Yes, I know," the young man said softly. "And
so does my mother."
  Ike nodded his head, then looked at the team
leader who had brought the young man to him. "Not one word
about who he is. Not a word. Get him outfitted and
bring him back to me. He'll stay close to me.
I want to see what he can do."
  "General ... if something were to happen to him? ..."
  "I plan on talkin' with the general in about a
minute. Don't worry about it; the final word is
up to Ben. Boy," he said, looking back at
Buddy. "You go with Sergeant Rogers. You're now
a buck-assed private in your daddy's
Rebel army."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ike walked to his communications truck, telling
the operator, "Go get a cup of coffee. Come
back in about five minutes." He grinned.
"Don't you dare leave me alone with all this mess
for more than that. I'm liable to be talkin' with Mars."
  When the operator was out of earshot, Ike lifted
the mike and said, "This is the Shark. Get me the
Eagle and put it all on scramble."
  Ben put down the mike and stepped outside,
motioning the radio operator to once more enter and take
over.
  Not much shook Ben Raines. Not much at all.
But this shook him; shook him right down to his boots
and toenails. So the rumors were not rumors at
all, but fact. Ike had just told him that the young
man
  looked so much like Ben it was frightening. In Ike's
words, "Man, it like to have scared the shit out of me!"
  And Ike also said that he was going to test the boy in
combat. No-not boy. Young man. He'd be in his
early twenties by now.
  Ben smiled. His son. Blood son. A
buck-assed private, soldiering under one
of the toughest men Ben had ever known.
  Ike McGowan.
  Well, Ben thought, Buddy had damn well
better be tough, "cause if there was any rabbit in
him, Ike would sure discover it.
  And, the thought once more came to Ben, the young man just
might have been sent in here to kill me. His mother's
hatred was so intense, that was something she would do-even if
it meant her own son would die trying to accomplish
it.
  That was something Ben did not like to even think of. But
he knew it was something that had to be weighed, and weighed
very carefully. He had told Ike the same thing.
  Ben was conscious of Denise coming up to him and
stopping a few feet away. He glanced at her.
  "Yes?"
  "This word, sir. All the troops are in
position. They're settling down to get a few
hours" sleep."
  Ben nodded his head, then realized she could not see
the gesture. "Very well. Wake me at four in the
morning, please."
  "Yes, sir. Sir? Would you like something to drink
before going to bed? Some hot tea, perhaps?"
  Ben again looked at her. Lovely in the
moonlight. "Will you join me, Denise?"
  "Why ... yes, of course. That would be very
nice."
  "Fine." Ben smiled. "I'd like that very much."
  Ike carefully went over the papers Buddy had
given him. They were a godsend. If they were
accurate, they would make the job much easier, for they
showed the positions of every unit in Louie's army- or
Ashley's army-whatever. And they showed where the units
would fall back to in case of heavy enemy
attack.
  The person who had drawn them up was very, very good;
almost brilliant. But it showed his, or her, lack
of understanding when it came to guerrilla warfare.
  The plan hinged on massive frontal attacks
or rear assaults; classic battle plans.
And that crap had all gone out the window during
Southeast Asia.
  Ike rang up Ben's CP and advised the
officer in charge of the plans, telling him he was
sending them over by runner immediately; just as soon as he
had them copied.
  "Would the general like to speak with General Raines?"
  "Naw. He's probably asleep by now."
  "Oh, no, sir. He's having tea with
Miss Denise Vista."
  Ike said his good nights, laughing. Same ol'
Ben.
  Tina and her teams had taken Highway 77 down
to Arkansas City, on the border with Oklahoma,
and then cut east on Highway 166. At the
small and deserted town of Sedan, they began
splitting up. One team would stay at Sedan
until jump-off time; that team would head straight up
Highway 99, clearing everything up to Highway
54, which was the beginning of Colonel Gray's
territory.
  There were two small towns between Sedan and
Caney. Perhaps a half-dozen families were
scratching out an existence in the two towns. They
didn't know what to make of the Rebels.
  "You folks don't look like none of Big
Louie's people," a spokesman said.
  "We're not," Tina informed him. "We're part of
Raines's Rebels."
  The crowd solemnly nodded their heads. They
knew what that meant: All hell was about to break
loose.
  "Are you people armed?" Tina asked.
  "No, ma'am. Louie's soldiers
took our guns. Said we didn't need them. Said
they'd protect us if it come to that."
  "And you just handed them over?"
  The man's smile was very sad. "When you're
lookin' down the barrels of a hundred rifles,
ma'am, you start figurin' real fast what's the best
way to go. You know what I mean?"
  "Yes," Tina said. "Yes, I do. You people just
sit tight. We're going to clear this area of Big
Louie and his crap. Then we'll return. My
dad is going to put this country back on its feet.
You want to be a part of that?"
  The ragged group of men, women, and kids all
began to grin. A woman said, "You just give us a
chance, miss."
  "You'll get your chance," Tina promised.
  One team was left at Caney. At jump-off
time, if all went as planned, they would travel up
Highway 75, clearing the way of all Big
Louie's people. They would stop at Altoona.
  The teams traveled on eastward. Several
hundred people were at Coffeyville, and not all of them
were happy to see the Rebels. Those were the
civilians who
  had joined forces with Big Louie. They
liked the idea of having slaves and being able
to torture and rape at their pleasure.
  Just as Ben would have done, Tina turned that group of
people over to the townspeople. The team that she left there
did not interfere as the newly freed townspeople
set about hanging those who had aligned themselves with Big
Louie.
  The Rebels moved eastward, stopping at the
small towns near the border: Valeda, Edna,
Bartlett-all deserted. Tina's team stayed at
Chetopa while the remainder pushed on toward the
junction of Highways 166 and 69.
  The most easterly team would head north, stopping
only when they reached Fort Scott. Tina's team
would head north on Highway 59, securing the area
and stopping about ten miles east of Chanute. Then
three teams of Rebels would converge on Chanute,
where a large force of Big Louie's people were dug in.
  "Get a few hours' rest," Tina told her
people. "We roll at four o'clock."
  Col. Dan Gray and his teams barreled through the
night, blasting the night air as they pushed eastward
on Highway 54. They secured the towns of
Rosalia, Reece, Eureka, Tonovay, and
Neal. They hit some resistance at the town
of Batesville and took a few minutes to clear
that little town of Big Louie's crap, then rested for a
short time.
  Dan had left a team of Rebels at
Tonovay. At jump-off time, that team would head
straight north up Highway 57/99, securing
everything up to Emporia.
  At Yates Center, Dan dropped off another
team; they had the task of clearing the thirty-eight
miles up to Interstate 35.
  Dan and his Rebels shoved on eastward, hitting
a small pocket of resistance at Iola. The
Rebels put them down hard, brutally, taking no
prisoners. They returned the town to the survivors
and armed them with the captured weapons. Dan told the
survivors that this time they should hang on to their
freedom.
  Dan's people moved out east toward Fort Scott,
seizing and securing all the little towns in their path.
  At each major crossroads, Dan left a
team. One would charge north up 169 from Iola,
another up 59 from Moran, the last one up 69 from
Fort Scott, breaking it off and cutting west just south
of Kansas City.
  Dan would lead the team that jumped off from
Moran, to link up first with Ben at Ottawa.
  Ike had left small teams of Rebels along
the way as his people pushed north out of Manhattan, before
his main force turned east at Marysville. The
ex-navy Seal pushed his troops hard that night,
making the crossing over to Sparks long before the
pre-set jump-off mark. He had left teams at
Beattie, Seneca, Fairview, Hiawatha, and
finally, at Sparks. Ike would lead the team that would
drive south out of Hiawatha, pushing all the way
down to Lawrence.
  It was only then, when Ike had the time to carefully
mull over Ben's plan, that he realized what Ben
was really doing. He sat in his Jeep and smiled
grudgingly at the justice of it all.
  Ben had said he was leaving lots of holes for
Louie's people to run out of. Ben's commanders had
accepted that. But now Ike knew that Ben had
  deliberately withheld the final truth: There would
be only one hole for Louie's slave-masters
to run for.
  Ike grinned at the truth. Ben was using
classic guerrilla tactics; he was
effectively spider-webbing the entire eastern
sector of the state, closing off all
holes except one. No matter where Big
Louie's army ran, they would succeed only in
running into teams of Rebels. If those troops of
Big Louie ran from Tina, they would hit Dan's
Rebels. If Louie's troops ran from Dan,
they would run into Tina's people to the south, and Ben or
Ike's troops to the north and west. If Louie's
people tried to run from Ike's teams, they would hit
Ben's teams to the south. If any of Louie's
troops tried to run to the east, they would strike
Rebels stretching from the Oklahoma border all the
way up to Interstate 35, and from the Nebraska
line all the way down to Leavenworth.
  Ike leaned back and closed his gritty-feeling
eyes. "That son of a gun!" he said. "He's
givin' them one hell of an option." He laughed
softly in the darkness.
  "What do you mean, sir?" a platoon leader
asked him.
  "Ben Raines's type of justice," Ike said.
"He's givin' Big Louie and his people between
Interstates Seventy and Thirty-five a hole
to run into." Again Ike laughed at the poetic
justice of it all.
  "I still don't understand, sir."
  "They can either stand and fight us, or run to the only
hole Ben's left them: Kansas City. Where
they'll die from radiation or be killed by the human
animals that live there. What a hell of an option
Ben's left them."
  "You think General Rains did that on purpose,
sir?"
  "Hell, yes, he did! Ben Raines is a
mean bastard when you make him mad."
  Denise lay in Ben's arms, her breasts pushing
against Ben's bare chest. The cot was narrow, but neither
one of them had expressed any misgiving about the
slight discomfort.
  As a matter of fact, they hadn't paid any
attention to it at all. They'd been too busy.
  Denise noticed, in the dim light, that Ben was
smiling.
  "Is sex amusing to you, general?"
  "You will have to admit that the pleasure is fleeting
and the position ridiculous," Ben said.
  She laughed softly, her breath hot against Ben's
neck. "But that is not what you were smiling about." It was
not a question.
  Then he told her what he had done.
  She lay for a time, silent in his arms.
Silent for so long Ben thought she must have fallen
asleep.
  Finally, she said, "It's a good punishment for what
they have done."
  And if anyone could be allowed to say that, Ben
thought, this woman should have the right.
Chapter 2
  "We have met the enemy," the CO of Rebel
patrol radioed back to Base Camp One.
"Unfortunately, they ain't ours yet!"
  Despite the situation, Cecil had to grin. The
platoon leader, an ex-schoolteacher, could still find
some humor.
  "Ask him what he plans to do about it," Cecil
told the radio operator.
  The radio operator asked, then listened for a
moment, a grin on his face. Looking up at
Cecil, he said, "Jimmy says to tell you,
sir, with all due respect, that he plans on
haulin' his ass outta there."
  Cecil laughed, then suddenly sobered, his brow
wrinkling in thought. "Yes," he said aloud. "Yes,
that might work." He began pacing the floor. "Ask
Jimmy his location, please."
  "Highway Seventeen, sir. "Bout
halfway between Royston and Vanna."
  "Get in touch with Colonel Williams, or
some of his patrols. Make damn sure it's all
scrambled."
  Joe's voice came out of the speaker after the first
try. "I'm on One forty-five, general. Coming
up on Royston. 'Bout eight miles out."
  "Damn, but he's been hot-rodding it," Cecil
muttered.
  He took the mike and said, "Joe, what do your
forward recon people report?"
  "Hundreds of troops, sir. They punched right
through our people just south of Hartwell Lake and are pouring
across."
  "Hold your position, Joe," Cecil ordered.
"Do not advance. Repeat: Do not advance at this time.
Do you acknowledge?"
  "But, sir. Jimmy and his people? ..."
  "Do you acknowledge my orders!"
  "Yes, sir! Holding right here."
  Cecil looked at the radio operator. "We
had a full platoon just west of the river on
Seventy-two, across from Calhoun Falls. Make
contact with them, please."
  Contact made, Cecil took the
mike. "Is the bridge mined yet?"
  "Yes, sir. The sixth vehicle that rolls
over the switcher blows it. And it's all coming down,
sir."
  "Good. I want you to take your platoon and let
the hammer down getting to the town of Bowman, or
what's left of it. Set up an ambush site.
Contact me when you're in position. I want you there
fifteen minutes ago. Push it."
  "Rolling, sir!"
  "You listening to this, Joe?" Cecil asked.
  "Ten-four, general. I'm reading your mind. If
we time this just right, we can kick some ass."
  "Right. Hang tight, Joe. Jimmy?"
  "I'm listening, sir. Make it quick, general.
I can damn near reach out and touch the bastards."
  "Run, Jimmy!" Cecil ordered. "Run as
if you're terrified. Run in panic. Grab some
old weapons if you can find them and throw them away as
you're running. Make the bastards think you're so
afraid of them you're running in blind, panicked
fear. Head
  straight for Bowman. You copy this?"
  "Pulling out now, sir."
  "Joe? Let Khamsin's people cut south
before you head after them. Then put them in a box and
close the goddamned lid!"
  "Yes, sir!"
  "Bastards want to meet Allah," Cecil
muttered, his face tight with anger. "Then I'll
certainly give them a dandy chance."
  The Ashley that now stood beside his Jeep did not
at all resemble the man who had spoken to Big
Louie the day before. His chin strap was buckled tight,
the steel pot secure outside his helmet liner.
He wore bloused jodhpurs and highly polished
riding boots. Two pearl-handled and nickeled
.45's rested in leather, one on each side. He
wore a World War Two Ike jacket.
  Patton had always been a favorite of
Ashley's. He saw the movie about Patton
dozens of times. Wore one cassette out. Ashley
thought of himself as the reincarnation of Patton. Now he
was going to prove that theory.
  Ashley had always regretted that he'd never served
in the military. But his daddy had told him he was
needed at home, so he spread some money around and
got his boy out of the draft. His daddy had said it would
be unsightly for a man of Ashley's position
to serve with rabble.
  Ashley glanced at his watch. Four o'clock. And
where was the much-legended and highly touted Ben
Raines?
  A man in full battle dress approached
him. "Sir?"
  Ashley turned. "What is it?"
  "We can't make contact with any of our people along
the border, sir."
  "How about Chanute?"
  "Everything is quiet there, sir."
  "Those two men north of here, and the couple who were
killed ... any idea who might have done that?"
  "Not a clue, sir."
  "Damn! How about any of our recon patrols?
What do they report?"
  "Nothing, sir."
  "You mean they haven't seen anything?"
  "No, sir. They just don't report. And we
can't raise them by radio."
  "Is everyone at their assigned positions?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Very well. Stand by. You can't predict when or
where Ben Raines is going to strike. The son of a
bitch is unpredictable. I can't believe that none
of our outposts are not reporting."
  "Not a peep, sir."
  One could say that Big Louie's men, who once
manned the far outposts, enforcing Big Louie's harsh
rule, were now just sort of-hanging around, so to speak;
those whose throats hadn't been cut by various teams of
Rebels.
  As far as no outposts reporting to Ashley's
CP in Topeka-they were unable to report. Those
manning the outposts now sat in silence, wondering
what in the hell was going on.
  The Rebels had discovered their frequency early
on and simply jammed it, preventing any radio
contact at all.
  Ben stepped out of his tent and looked up at the
  starry skies. "Hey, Buck!" he called.
"You ready to kick ass and take names?"
  "Let's go give them hell, general!" the
sergeant said.
  "James?" Ben called.
  "Here, Ben," James said.
  "Let's do it."
  "We have a large contingent of Rebels on the
run!" a field commander radioed back
to Khamsin's CP. "They are fleeing in blind
panic, hurling their weapons to one side in
their fearful retreat from the troops of The Hot
Wind!"
  Khamsin acknowledged the message and told the
runner to wait. He poured them all coffee. They
toasted, in what none of them realized was a most
premature victory toast.
  Khamsin's XO, Hamid, was smiling as
broadly as Khamsin and the messenger.
  "Tell our gallant troops to take as many
prisoners as possible," Khamsin told the
runner. "I am feeling most generous this day.
Besides, I want to parade the so-called invincible
Rebels in front of the civilians, to show them that
nothing can stand when The Hot Wind blows!"
  Col. Joe Williams lifted a leg and
farted. His driver grinned and said, "I sure am
glad we're movin", sir."
  "That's what I think of that goddamned Hot
Wind. Slow, now, slow. Let them stay well
ahead of us."
  The driver slowed the Jeep. Joe picked up the
mike and said, "This is the Plug. Is the Bottle
in place?"
  "Bottle here, sir. In place. I can hear the
Chicken headin' for the hen house now, sir.
The Big Bad Wolf is hot on Chicken's
heels."
  "How far out, Bottle?"
  "Maybe a mile and a half, Plug."
  "Ten-four." He turned to his driver, at the
same time raising his right arm high in the air, the fist
closed. He pumped it up and down, signaling those
behind him to come on. "Hammer down, Matt!"
  In a very short time, Joe signaled his column
to halt and dismount. The sounds of gunfire, hard and
stuttering, drifted to them. Explosions ripped the
early morning coolness. Screaming of the wounded
shattered the dark as heavy machine gun fire
staccatoed.
  Joe positioned his people. "Stand or die!" he
ordered. "No prisoners, no quarter, and no
mercy."
  His troops dug in, their faces grim, as they
set the plug firmly into the neck of the bottle.
  As the brigade of Khamsin's Islamic People's
Army ran headlong into the dark ambush in the deserted
town, one entire company was massacred before the others
even realized what was going on. The screaming of the
wounded and the frightened yelling of those caught in the
hideous and heavy cross-fires ripped the
dark pre-dawn.
  They had no place to run.
  The small force of Rebels that had suckered them
into the ambush had cut left and right upon entering the
ruined town, falling into ambush positions. The
killing fields of fire came at the IPA from
three sides.
  The commander ordered his troops to fall back,
retreat, head north.
  They did just that.
  And ran headlong into the guns of Col. Joe
Williams's Rebels. The Rebels raked the
  panicked troops of The Hot Wind with
automatic weapons' fire, sending them jerking and
screaming and death-dancing into that long sleep. Soon
the littered streets of the old town were running thick
and red with blood.
  Close to a thousand men of The Hot Wind lay
twisted in death on the dirty and littered street.
The near-deafening cacophony of gunfire
abruptly ceased. To the uninitiated, the silence would
have seemed far too loud.
  A few of The Hot Wind's troops begged for
mercy from the Rebels.
  But the Rebels were in no mood to offer
mercy toward those who had started this little dance.
Colonel Williams settled that point with one
blunt statement.
  "Finish them!"
  Single shots rang out in the night.
  "Strip the bodies of weapons, ammo,
grenades, and boots," came the orders from down the
line.
  The Rebels never left nothing behind that might be of
some use to someone later on. The orders of Ben
Raines.
  "Booby-trap some of the bodies," Joe
ordered. "We can send a few more of the bastards
to hell when they come snooping around to inspect the
awesome forces of The Hot Shit!"
  Joe's smile was grim, but filled with a
soldier's satisfaction. "We stung them, people. But
they'll be a lot more cautious after this." He motioned
for his radio operator to come over. "Get General
Jefferys on the horn. Tell him I'm blowing
all bridges from Augusta north to the mountains."
  He hesitated for only a second. "Yes,
sir."
  That had not been an easy decision for anyone
to make, and the radio operator, as well as
all the other
  Rebels listening, knew it. Considering the times,
once those vital links were gone, they would, in all
probability, be gone forever. Millions of
dollars of state-to-state links destroyed.
  Joe was very conscious of Rebel eyes on him in
the gunsmoke-filled and bloody pre-dawn. And as
was the Rebel way, he said, "I'm open for
suggestions, people."
  To a person, the Rebels shook their heads. They
might not like the idea of destroying those bridges, but
the decision was necessary. Anything to buy them a little more
time. It had to be.
  Without the bridges, Khamsin's IPA would have
to detour a hundred miles or more to get
into Rebel-controlled territory. And the Rebels were
just aching for the IPA to meet them in the mountains comsomething
all knew that Khamsin would not allow, for his recon
teams who had been sent into the mountains never
returned. They had disappeared into the foggy mountains
and misty hollows without a trace.
  And without the bridges, the IPA would be forced
to use the remaining bridges far south of
Rebel-held country. Time. Precious time for the
Rebels.
  "General Jefferys says to blow the bridges,
colonel," a runner informed Joe. "And may
future generations forgive us."
  "They're all over the damn place, sir!"
Ashley was informed by a breathless aide. Breathless and
pale, Ashley noted.
  "Who is all over the damn place, man? And
get "hold of yourself."
  "Rebels, sir! They seized towns from the
Oklahoma line clear up to Nebraska. We just
got a message in from Chanute. Had to be
transmitted by
  CB radio, using relay points. We got
another message in, same way, from just east of
Emporia. Them guys there is lookin" smack
at Ben Raines and his people. Like to have scared the shit
outta them ol' boys when dawn come and there they
was."
  "You mean no one heard them settin' up or
comin' in?" Ashley yelled.
  "No, sir. Ain't nobody heared nothin'."
Ashley thought hard for a moment. "All right. Listen
to me. Carefully. These are my orders: Everybody
between Interstate Seventy and Highway
Fifty-four, pull back. Set up
defense lines along Highway Seventy-five.
We'll form a line so solid that no one can break
through. Raines wants a head-to-head fight, all
right, by God, let's give it to him. Order everyone
out of the southern sectors of the state. Have them pull
back to Yates Center and then spread east to Fort
Scott. Order everyone in the northern section of the
state to drop south to Interstate Seventy and stretch
from Topeka to the hot zone edge. We've got just as
many troops as Ben Raines has Rebels. So
let's give them a fight. Tell the men to take as
many women and kids and old fuckers prisoners as
they can. If Raines wants us, he'll have to fire
into lines of civilians. That'll stop the son of a
bitch! He won't hurt them. Go, man, go."
  "They're pulling back, sir," Denise said,
reading the message just delivered from communications.
"Big Louie's troops appear to be forting up behind
Highways Fifty-four to the south, Seventy-five
to the west, and Seventy to the north. Field commanders
awaiting your orders. There's more."
  "The silly shit," Ben muttered. "He
didn't have enough sense to see that we were spread so thin
he
  could have bunched his people up and punched right through
us at damn near any point." He looked at
Denise. "Tell all teams to push hard toward their
objectives, but to halt just outside of those
boundaries you just named. No one goes in or comes out.
I've got a hunch what he's planning; I've
seen it before, and it isn't very pretty."
  But she was right in step with him. "He's used women
and kids and the elderly before, general," she said. "As
shields for his troops."
  "Yes. That's what I'm afraid of."
  "And? ..."
  Ben shook his head. "I don't know, Denise.
We'll just have to wait and see. What else was in that
message?"
  "General McGowan captured some of Louie's
people. They told him that Ashley's hatred for you goes
all the way back to Louisiana. Back before the
Great War."
  "Strange," Ben said. "But I still cannot place this
Ashley person. Should be a very interesting encounter.
When we do meet."
Chapter 3
  Mark and Alvaro sent sappers from their contingent in
the Oconee Forest racing eastward across Interstate
20 to Augusta. They carried enough
explosives to destroy twenty bridges. They had
four bridges to blow: the I-20 bridge, the
Highway 25 bridge, the I-78 bridge, and the
bridge that ran Highway 28 into Augusta. At
the junction of I-20 and State 232, the teams
shook hands and split up. They would regroup that
night at the deserted town of Wrens, just south of the
old Fort Gordon Military Reservation. If
all groups were not there by 2000 hours, those not
present were on their own. Guerrilla warfare is not
for the faint at heart.
  Col. Joe Williams had sent teams of his
Rebels north and south, loaded down with high
explosives. After they blew their assigned
bridges, they were to set up observation posts on the
Georgia side of the river.
  Cecil Jefferys had ordered his teams to destroy
the northernmost bridges linking South Carolina and
Georgia. The only bridge that was to be spared-
Cecil just could not bring himself to destroy it-was the
I-85 bridge. But it was to be heavily mined and
guarded from the Georgia side.
  Cecil knew, without any doubts, thanks to many
intercepted messages from the IPA, that Khamsin
did not want to mix it up with the Rebels in
the mountains; Khamsin did not want to stick his
nose anywhere near the mountains-and that was not just because of the
Rebels.
  The mountains were filled with tough, single-minded
folks, people whose basic nature, even in the best of
times, was to shoot first and ask questions later. Their names
were synonymous with legended feuds. The Rebels
had made an easy truce with the mountain people, simply
because, in many ways, their own philosophy of living was
much the same: You mind your own business and I'll
mind mine; but if you come fucking around, with intentions
to harm me or mine, I'll kill you!
  Khamsin sat in his office and stared at the radio
message that lay on his wide and polished desk.
The copied message had succeeded in souring
Khamsin's stomach and ruining his entire morning.
Second brigade wiped out in ambush with
Rebels. No survivors. Do we pursue?
  How? Khamsin silently pondered the awful question.
How could such a tiny force of Rebels wipe out an
entire brigade?
  He sighed heavily. He looked at his coffee
cup. The thought of drinking more of the bitter brew was
  totally repugnant to him. He turned in his
leather chair and gazed out the window, his thoughts
revengeful and savage. The commander of the Second
Brigade had been with Khamsin for many years. He
had been such a fine terrorist -- and also a deeply
religious man. Khamsin had spread his rug and
prayed with the man many times.
  Such a fine and honorable man. Now he was dead
at the hands of savages.
  "You'll pay for this, Ben Raines," Khamsin
swore, his voice low. "I swear that you will. You will
never be rid of me. I will follow you to the smoking
gates of hell and beyond to have my revenge."
  Khamsin buzzed for an aide. "Contact all
troops in Georgia and order them to stop their
advance. Do not pursue the Rebels."
  Khamsin's XO, Hamid, entered the room and
took a seat.
  Khamsin said, "We have a foothold in
Georgia. And that is good. We know that the black
general, Jefferys, has ordered his troops north
of Interstate Eighty-five ... that may or may
not be accurate information. But I would wager that the
black man has ordered recon and sappers into the
area between Interstates Eighty-five and Twenty;
probably to engage in guerrilla warfare with our people.
And I would expect him to start destroying
all bridges linking the two states -- his
  An aide knocked softly on the door.
  "Come!" Khamsin said.
  "General, the bridge at Calhoun Falls is
gone. We lost several hundred men and many
trucks. The Rebels on the other side shot those
who tried to swim to safety."
  Khamsin slammed a hand down on the desk.
"Savages!" he hissed. "They are savages.
There is not
  one ounce of honor in the entire filthy lot of
them."
  But a lot of dedicated and highly professional
soldiers, the XO thought. He kept that thought
to himself, however.
  Khamsin nodded at the young aide and the man left,
closing the door behind him.
  Hamid said, "We have three places left to us
to cross, general. And the first bridge south of
Augusta is said to be mined."
  Khamsin waved him silent. "I know. I know
all that. And I also know that if I were General
Jefferys, I would have teams of Rebels on the
western side of those bridges. Just a small team
could block the bridges for a very long time.
We could quite easily get men across the river in
boats, but heavy equipment is yet another
matter. Jefferys would like us to try an approach through
the mountains. I have no doubt that, in time, we could
cut through. But at what cost of lives?"
  Hamid said nothing. He had personally led a
patrol into the mountains. The dark and foggy roads and
misty, forbidding, green dripping terrain had filled
him with uneasiness. He could feel eyes on him at
all times; hostile eyes, watching, waiting. And it
would take but a single stick of dynamite to bring
down part of any mountain on his force. Hamid had
turned back after only a few hours into the
mountains.
  "All right," Khamsin said with a sigh. "For the
present, we hold what we have taken. Order our
people to dig in hard and deep. Make no further
advances. I'll leave at dawn tomorrow to begin an
inspection of the southern bridges. We can't move
effectively, but then, nether can the Rebels. But
time is on our side. We can afford to wait,
Hamid. We can only grow stronger, while the
Rebels can only grow weaker."
  Hamid nodded his head. But he was thinking, I
wonder about that. I really wonder.
  Cecil had taken five hundred troops and
moved to the south. Colonel Williams had taken
five hundred troops and spread out along the
eastern border.
  "What a thin brave line," Cecil said aloud.
"If Khamsin ever discovers just how thin ..."
  He trailed that off into silence.
  "Beg pardon, sir?" Cecil's driver
asked.
  "Just talking to myself," Cecil said. He noticed
a rusted, battered, and shot-up road sign. "Is
that trash still in Athens, Harrison?"
  "Yes, sir. A bunch of losers, they seem
to me, sir. They've turned the place into kind of a
trash-can fort. Field reports say the bunch
seemed to have no direction, no goals, no nothing.
I agree with that assessment."
  "You've seen these people?"
  "Yes, sir. When I was working recon. Before I
got hit."
  Cecil knew the young man had very nearly lost his
life due to a mine. The mine had broken his legs.
He walked with a limp and always would. He had been
taken off of field duty and assigned as
Cecil's driver.
  "Bring me up to date, Harrison. How many people
in Athens?"
  "Oh, five or six hundred. But they're a
sorry lot, sir."
  "Maybe they just haven't had the right person
to point out a few facts of life to them."
  "What do you mean, sir?"
  "Get on the horn, Harrison. Tell the
point to take us into Athens. I have an idea. It
might go sour, but if it works, we'll be a bit
stronger."
  "What the hell is that nigger doin' out there?"
Jake asked.
  Jake-no last name-was the unofficial leader
of the ragged and dirty bunch of drifters and misfits
who now inhabited the ruins of Athens, Georgia.
Jake was big and rough and mean and ran his little kingdom
by brute force, crippling or killing anyone who
dared defy him. Some of the residents stayed on
willingly; others stayed because they felt they had no
other place to go, and the closed city did afford some
degree of safety. Others stayed because they were scared
of Jake and his enforcers.
  "General Jefferys," someone told Jake.
"Ben Raines second in command. I'd go
easy with this one, Jake."
  "Oh, yeah! Well, that's a pretty fancy
title for a coon," Jake said, eyeballing
Cecil over the barricaded end of the street. "I
thank I'll jist snatch that funny-lookin' hat
offen his head and then I'll be a general." Jake
laughed, exposing yellowed and rotten teeth.
  His breath would have stopped a blowfly in midair.
  "Jake ..." his buddy tried to warn him off.
  "Jist cool it," Jake said. I've done a
good job of runnin' thangs so far, ain't I?"
  His friend nodded his head.
  "So's how about you just shet up and let me handle this
nigger."
  His friend again nodded his head, eyeballing the
Rebels who lined the street. It's been pretty
good while it lasted, he thought. But now it's time
to haul ass.
  He walked slowly away. He knew that when
Ben Raines's people come to town, they ain't totin'
Christmas presents.
  Cecil stood a few yards in front of the
barricade that blocked entrance to the small city.
Jake had not blocked the bypass loop running
around the city, only the exits leading into the
city proper.
  The sight of Jake was nothing new to Cecil or
to his Rebels. They had all seen little two-bit
dictators many times in their travels across the
devastated land that was once called the United
States of America.
  The Jakes of the world were all the same. Only the
names and physical descriptions varied from place
to place. The Jakes of the world had been losers when
the world was whole, rebelling against all authority,
bulling their way through life, intimidating those who would
allow it, sucking up to those who were stronger, more
powerful, richer, possessing some degree of
influence. One could, unfortunately, find them in
any two-bit redneck honky-tonk in any
state-when there were states, that is. And
honky-tonks. Only the rednecks remained.
Unfortunately.
  The Jakes of the world were easy to spot when the nation
was whole, Cecil thought, looking at Jake. Just as
easy to spot now.
  Cecil walked up to the barricades and stopped.
Jake stepped forward, shoving his face about six
inches from Cecil's. Cecil grimaced at the
man's body odor and foul breath.
  Rebels with weapons at the ready stood left and
right of the barricade. And Cecil had to smile as the
Rebel behind the Jeep-mounted .50 caliber machine
gun jacked a round into the weapon and swung the
muzzle toward the crowd of unshaven and stinking men and
women on Jake's side of the barricade.
  The crowd backed up. Jake almost swallowed his
chaw.
  "Whut the hale do you want, boy?" Jake
mush-mouthed.
  "Perhaps actions will speak much louder than words,"
Cecil said.
  "Haw?"
  Cecil reached over the barricade and slapped
Jake across the mouth.
  Jake did swallow his chaw.
  Jake coughed and hacked and spat and choked and
finally managed to find his voice. "You gawddamn
nigger! You cain't do "at to me! Why, I'll-was
  Cecil backhanded him, then took a half step
closer and hit Jake in the mouth with a hard straight
right. Jake sat down in the street, blood and
tobacco juice leaking from his busted mouth.
  Some of Jake's enforcers looked as though they would
very much like to do something. But they weren't all that
certain just exactly what they could do. Considering the
reputation of the Rebels.
  "Remove the barricades," Cecil ordered.
  Rebels ripped down the makeshift
barricades.
  Cecil stepped forward and j kicked Jake in the
mouth with a jump boot. Big Jake lay on the
street, unconscious, his mouth leaking blood. His
people stood with their mouths open, staring in disbelief. They
were, to a person, armed, but not one among them made
a move to lift a weapon.
  Oh, they wanted to. They wanted to shoot this
big black bastard so badly they had to grit their
teeth hard to fight back the feeling.
  But they stood as one, looking down the barrels of
automatic weapons. They knew, to a person, that
if any one of them made just one funny little move,
there would be a bloodbath; and the blood would be theirs.
Even though they outnumbered the Rebels, the
Rebels looked so hard, so professional, so lean
and mean.
  Cecil said, "Now that I have your attention, I'm
going to tell you all a story. A southern cop
told it to me, about fifteen years ago. Just before the
Great War. And you will listen to me. In
silence."
  The sullen crowd looked at Cecil. In
silence.
  "This cop was a very fair man, an educated man,
and I like to think that he was representative of a good
many southern cops in that. But some of his views were
controversial back then, and they made me angry
for a time ... until I had the time to think them through,
calmly and rationally.
  "This cop told me that he believed with all his
heart that there were, always had been, and always would be,
classes of people. Yes, and he used the term nigger
at the bottom of the black scale. And in the same
breath, he said redneck and white trash.
  "That balanced it out some, but it still made me very
angry comat the time.
  "This cop told me that niggers and white trash were
exactly the same; the only difference being the
pigmentation of skin. He said the two groups were
ignorant, and proud of it. They wore their
ignorance as a badge of honor. And that they were
dangerous. Dangerous because even when given the
opportunity to improve themselves, most would reject
it, scoffing at it.
  "He told me there was only one way
to handle those groups of people, and that was by and with brute force.
Because that's all they understood. They did not, and could
not, comprehend compassion; they took it as a sign of
weakness and held compassionate people in contempt.
  "Just about the same kind of contempt I hold for
most of you losers."
  The crowd stood in silence and glared at him. Then
about half of the crowd dropped their eyes, not meeting
Cecil's hard gaze.
  "This cop went on to say that he had found a very
practical method of handling white trash and
niggers. Practical, but brutal. Every time they
screwed up, he'd just beat the shit out of them. He
said on his beat, that averaged about once a month. And
it took anywhere from six months to a year for the light
of understanding to start shining in that murky cesspool they
called a brain. He said that when those particular
types of people get tired of wiping the blood out of their
eyes and going to first the hospital and then to the jail,
ninety-five percent of them will then begin to realize that
there are social and moral codes, and rules and
regulations and laws that they have to follow and obey just like
other folks.
  "Well," Cecil said, "I was a lot younger
then, and a lot more idealistic. And I thought
that police officer's philosophy was just awful!
Then I began to ride with him on his patrol. He
was a deputy sheriff. He'd point out people to me.
'See that punk over there, Cec?"' he'd say.
Then he'd tell me what that particular person had
done. Horrible, terrible things. But there he was,
walking the streets, a free man, thanks to our
judicial system. He pointed out people and told me
what they had done. And pointed out that they showed no
signs of remorse. Ever. Some of the things he told
me made me sick at my stomach.
  "How many of you people fall into the category I just
named?"
  The crowd was dead silent.
  "Uh-huh," Cecil said. "More than a few of
you, I'd imagine. Well, then. I guess I'm
just going to have to put that cop's philosophy to work here,
with you people. Anyone have anything to say about that?"
  "Yeah," a man called. "I think you're
nuts!"
  The Rebels began smiling; a few in the crowd,
not
  really understanding what was about to go down, smiled
nervously.
  "I don't think I'm going to like this very
much," said a man from out of the crowd.
  "I think," Cecil said, his voice carrying
firm to them all, "that you are right."
Chapter 4
  "What will my father do if this Big Louie or
Ashley person decides to use old people and women and
children for shields?" Buddy asked.
  "I don't know," Ike said. "I'd hate to have
to make that decision."
  "What would you do?" the young man persisted.
  Ike was silent for a time. Then he looked at
Buddy. "Freedom sometimes comes with a high price
tag, boy."
  Then Ike walked away, leaving Buddy to sit
by himself in the shade of a truck. Buddy had noticed,
since joining the Rebels, that unless Ike was with him,
he was usually alone.
  It wasn't that the other men and women were unfriendly-for
that was not the case at all. The others would answer his
questions, greet him, all the small social
amenities; but they did not include him in their
small groups, sitting and chatting of little things.
And for a short time, that bothered Buddy. Then he began
to understand it.
  The others did not know where Buddy stood
in the
  scheme of things. Only that he was, without a
doubt, and without begin told, Gen. Ben Raines's
son. And that alone made him someone special. And
until they found out a bit more about him, Buddy was
going to have to settle for his own company.
  Buddy looked around him and spotted that very pretty
young woman who was part of Ike's personal team.
Rising, Buddy walked over to her.
  She smiled up at him. "Buddy. Getting a
little jumpy about the upcoming fight?"
  "No," he replied honestly. "I've been in
firefights before. This one shouldn't be different from the
others. May I sit down?"
  "Sure."
  He sat on the ground beside her. "You know my name,
but I don't know yours."
  "Judy." She inspected the young man with her
blue eyes. No doubt about it, she thought. He's
just about the best-looking guy in camp.
  Buddy was aware that he was being given the
once-over. He endured it silently.
  Judy took in the muscular arms and shoulders.
The thick wrists. The big chest and trim waist.
She let her eyes linger on his face. A
strong, square-jawed face. Eyes that gave away
very little of his inner feelings. Looking into those eyes,
Judy felt a mixture of strange emotions. The
stronger emotion was that she was looking into the eyes of
General Raines. And the face. This was what General
Raines would have looked like as a young man.
  Buddy had been given tiger-stripe battle
clothes, but he chose not to wear the black beret of the
Rebels. He wore only a dark red bandana
tied around his forehead, over the mass of dark curly
hair.
  He isn't just good-looking, Judy thought. He's
sensational-looking.
  "You haven't seen your father yet?" she asked.
There were other emotions she was experiencing as she
looked at Buddy. She tried to ignore them. She
failed miserably.
  "Not yet. I would imagine he's allowing
General McGowan to test me; to see if I'm
worthy of being a Rebel. I can't fault him for
that."
  Judy wasn't about to comment on any of the general's
decisions; if, indeed, that was what Ben Raines was
doing. "I guess you've wondered why people are kind of
ignoring you?"
  "Yes. I have given that some thought."
  "And? ..."
  "They're unsure of me. And a bit leery of
me. I don't blame them. Then, too, I am the
son of Ben Raines." He smiled. "The
general's bastard son."
  "That doesn't bother you? That ... last
statement?"
  Buddy shook his head. "No. A child cannot chose
its father. I had nothing to do with it. He will either accept
me, or order me to leave."
  "You talk like an educated person. I wish I
had more education. I was entering my first year of
college in the Tri-States when the government
declared war on us. Hasn't been much time for studying
since then. Except the study of war, that is."
  "That is probably a good thing to study, considering
the times. But the Old Man, my grandfather, saw to it
that I was educated, and educated well. He shielded
me from my mother and her insanity for years. He was the
one who convinced me to leave, and to seek out my father."
  Judy touched his strong arm. "I think there has
been enough of this standing away from you, Buddy. Come on."
She tugged at him. "Let's go meet the others."
  And for the first time, Buddy felt he was being
accepted.
  "Guy's nuts!" a man said.
  Cecil laughed at the voice. "Nuts? Oh,
I might well be slightly mad. I think that
anyone who pursues the dreams of putting this nation
back together again might be suffering from a
humpty-dumpty syndrome. But it's certainly
better than what you people are doing-which is absolutely
nothing."
  "Our right," a woman called. "Ain't it?"
  "No," Cecil said. "I don't believe it
is. I don't think anyone has the right to just sit
back and watch a once-productive country sink
further into a terrible morass."
  "A whut?" a man called.
  "A morass, you ignorant bastard!" Cecil
replied, a definite edge to his voice. Cecil
had never had much patience with people who voluntarily
chose to wallow in ignorance. "All right!" he
shouted. "Enough talk. The draft has now
officially been reinstated."
  "The whut?" the same voice asked.
  "The draft! Surely you know what that means?"
  "You mean, lak bein' forced to join up with some army
and play soldier boy?"
  "And girl," a woman Rebel called, smiling
as she spoke.
  "That's your ass, honey!" a woman shouted from out
of the crowd.
  "Who said that?" the woman officer said, stepping
forward to stand beside Cecil.
  The civilian woman suddenly decided to play
the army game: stay low and don't call any
attention yourself. The crowd became silent and sullen.
  "Lieutenant Mackey," Cecil said to the
woman by his side.
  "Yes, sir."
  "You're in charge of this ... new contingent of
Rebels. See to it that they are given quick
physicals, long soapy baths, haircuts, and
issued field clothing."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Now, you wait just a goddamn minute!" a man
said, stepping from the crowd. He carried a rifle and
very quickly placed the weapon on the ground as the .50
caliber machine gun was swung in his direction.
"Don't get no itchy finger, man," he pleaded.
"I ain't hostile none a-tal." He looked at
Cecil. "General, you cain't just come in here and
draft us! That ain't right none a bit. You
ain't got the authority to do that!"
  "Big black sucker shore looks like to me
he's a-gonna do "er though," said a voice from out
of the crowd.
  Cecil's eyes found the man who had just spoken.
He waggled a finger at the man and his mouth. "Come
over here."
  His eyes downcast, the man reluctantly
walked out of the crowd and up to Cecil.
  "What's your name?" Cecil asked.
  "Billy Bob Manning."
  "Well, Mr. Billy Bob. Let me
assure you that I am not a 'big black sucker."
his
  "No, sir. I reckon you shore ain't."
  "My name is Gen. Cecil Jefferys."
  "Okay."
  "Yes, sir!"
  "Yes, sir!"
  "How old are you, Billy Bob?"
  "Forty-two ... sir."
  "You've seen service time?"
  "Shore ... Yes, sir!"
  "What branch?"
  "Marine Corps, sir."
  "Then you certainly should understand military discipline
and bearing and courtesy."
  "I'm afraid I shore do, sir," Billy
Bob answered mournfully.
  "Billy Bob?"
  "Yes, sir?"
  "You are back in the military," Cecil informed
him.
  "Lord have mercy," Billy Bob said, adding,
"sir!"
  "Be-bop-a-lula and shake rattle and roll
to you, too," Emil Hite said, concluding the
religious services for that day. He managed
to walk to the front of the church without tripping over the
hem of his robe. He smiled at each of his
followers as they trooped out.
  Late summer, and hotter than the hinges of hell
in North Louisiana.
  One of Emil's "deacons" motioned for him
to walk around to the side of the church.
  "God, what is it?" Emil bitched, wiping
away the sweat. "This robe is burning me slap
up."
  "Some of your, ah, flock is getting antsy,
Brother Emil. They would like some sort of
miracle to prove that you haven not lost contact, again,
with the Great God Blomm."
  Emil stared at him. "Brother Matthew, have you
lost your fucking mind? The only miracle I've
performed lately is getting a hard-on last night.
I thought we went all over this crap before.
I-don't- do-miracles!"
  "Can't be helped, Emil baby. There's a new
kid on the block."
  "Now what does that mean?"
  "Francis Freneau and his Joyful Followers of
Life are camped just across the Boeuf River."
  "Who?"
  "Francis Freneau and-was
  Emil waved him silent. "I heard you
awready! What kind of scam is he running?"
  was "Bout the same kind you are," Brother
Matthew said drily. "Only difference is, his is
a lot more sophisticated."
  "I resent the hell out of that!"
  "It's true. Francis wears a white robe
... all the time. And it's clean ... all the time.
He had about a half-dozen real cute chicks
running ahead of him, wherever he goes, sprinkling
flowers and grass and that stuff in his path.
It's really neat. And Francis has this little bell
with him."
  "So I'll get a cowbell. Big deal! And
some of these broads we got around here need to run
some. Lose some lard. In case you haven't
noticed, some of them are really draggin" a lot of
ass."
  "No, no, no, Emil. This Francis
Freneau really speaks from the Bible. The folks dig
it."
  "Well, what the hell do you think I'm speaking
from ... most of the time?
Gone With The Wind?"
  "You gonna be gone with the wind if you don't
spruce up your act, Emil. I'm tellin' you.
You're losing converts. Didn't you notice a few
people missing this morning?"
  "Hell, I never pay any attention to that crap.
I just figured they were drunk or something. Listen!"
He held up a finger. "What in the hell is that
god-awful sound?"
  Matthew listened. "Sounds like a lost calf
bellowing for its mother, don't it?"
  "I know what that is," Emil said.
"Bagpipes.
  Bagpipes and ... tambourines. Last time I
heard bagpipes I was at this broad's house in
Knoxville. We stayed drunk for a week.
Woke up, I thought I was havin' the d.t.8s.
Turned out to be some old movie on TV.
Gunga Din,
or something like that."
  A fat man in a robe rushed up to Emil and
clapped his hands while he did a little jig. "Oh,
Brother Emil comcome quickly! Francis Freneau
and his Joyful Followers of Life have come to visit.
Isn't that just
grand!"
  "Yeah," Emil said sourly. "Just friggin"
wonderful."
  The happy messenger went tripping off, clapping
his hands and singing, stopping occasionally to do a little jig,
his sandals kicking up dust as he danced.
  Then Brother Emil got a glimpse of
Francis Freneau and felt a little sick at his
stomach.
  "Guy looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger in
drag. I'm in trouble, Matthew."
  "I tried to tell you, Emil. You know who he
is, don't you?"
  "Well ... he does look sort of
familiar." Emil shrugged. "Another con artist,
like me, I guess. What else?"
  "Yeah. But this one used to be a magician."
  Emil looked harder. Damn! but he looked
familiar. Emil felt weak kneed. He could just
see this handsome guy taking
all
his flock with him. Emil knew that most of his
followers were on the unstable side anyway. So if
this muscular son of a bitch started pulling
cucumbers out of his ears and proclaiming himself to be
King Tut, most of Emil's flock would split.
  "A miracle," Emil said. "I gotta come
up with a miracle. Either I do that, or I'm back
hoein' the weeds outta greens and butter beans for
something to
  eat." Francis sure did look familiar,
though.
  "Yeah," Matthew said. "And don't forget us,
Emil. If you go down, we go with you."
  "Then come up with something, Brother Matthew.
Don't just stand there with your face hanging out
...
think!"
  Ben was sitting in the shade of a truck, deep in
thought. His recon teams had reported Louie's
thugs were rounding up many women and kids and elderly
people. The recon teams had managed to intercede in some
of the gatherings-up, but were spread too thin to save many.
Ben just did not know what to do.
  "Uneasy is the head that wears the crown, Ben?"
Dr. Chase said, walking up.
  Ben looked up and tried a smile. "I guess
so, Lamar. I'm damned if I do and damned if
I don't, no matter which way I turn this time."
  "Well, you want a sounding board to bounce some
thoughts off of, Ben?"
  "It might help. Pull up a piece of ground
and make yourself comfortable."
  The doctor sat down beside Ben, plucked a
blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth. Finally,
he said, "Can we just bypass this fight, Ben?"
  "I gave that some serious thought. But what comes after
that, Lamar?"
  Chase knew what Ben meant; but he knew that
Ben wanted to say it. "What do you mean, Ben?"
  "We back away from this fight, Lamar, because of the
taking and using of women and kids and elderly for
hostages, where does it end? The news will
surely spread all over this shattered nation.
We'll be putting every woman, every child, and every elderly
person still alive in jeopardy."
  Lamar nodded his head. "I agree, Ben. But
I don't have to like it."
  "Neither do I, buddy."
  "So? And?"
  "I try to arrange a meeting with this Big Louie
and Ashley. Whoever the hell Ashley is."
  "Good luck," the doctor said.
  Big Louie waved a sheet of paper under the
nose of Ashley and giggled. "Gen. Ben Raines
wishes a meeting with me." He did not mention that
Ben wanted to see Ashley as well. "A
messenger delivered this only moments ago." He
looked at Ashley's battle dress and giggled.
"And you say that I look funny? George C.
Scott, you ain't."
  Ashley ignored that. "This meeting comwhere is he
suggesting it take place?"
  "On neutral ground. He will be on one side
of Interstate Thirty-five comthe west side. And
I, and my entourage, shall be on the other side. We
shall meet in the median. I've ordered my purple
robe cleaned and ironed. I wonder,
though, should I wear my white pumps or my black
ones?"
  Ashley stared at Big Louie, disbelief in his
eyes. Here was a chance to kill Ben Raines,
by ambush, and this fool was concerned only about his
goddamned shoes.
  "Now listen to me, Louie. We've just been handed
a fantastic opportunity."
  "Oh, I know!" Louie gushed. "At last I
get to meet Ben Raines. Do you know that some consider
the man to be a god?"
  "Louie, goddammit, stop simpering for a moment and
listen to me. We can kill Ben Raines, and it'll
be easy."
  "Kill Ben Raines!" Louie shrieked,
horrified. "Why, I have no intention of killing
Ben Raines. I'm gong to offer him a chance to join
us. What do you think about that?"
  Ashley stared hard at Big Louie. There was a
very strange, odd light in the man's eyes; a
glint that had not been there a couple of days ago. A
bit of spittle oozed out of one corner of
Louie's mouth. Louie started humming a little
ditty.
  Then it came to Ashley.
  Big Louie had gone off the deep end.
  Never too stable-at least in the years that Ashley
had known him -Big Louie had finally tiptoed over
into yo-yo land.
  And a plan, springing like a large dangerous panther
in the night, leaped into Ashley's brain. The plan
cat-footed about in the man's head.
  Why not? he thought. It'll work. Kill two
birds with one stone, as the saying goes.
  "Why, Louie, Your Majesty," Ashley said
with a smile. "I think it would be grand for you to meet with
Ben Raines and offer him a chance to join with us.
Yes, indeed, Louie. A lovely idea. I'm
sorry that I didn't think of it."
  Big Louie leaned forward and touched Ashley's
shoulder with a soft and perfumed hand.
  Ashley fought to suppress a shudder.
  "My dear boy," Louie said. "I thought of it
because it is my duty to do so. It is my obligation
to the masses inferior to me. After all, I am the
king, you know."
  "Yes, Your Majesty," Ashley said, bowing.
"Of course. May I take my leave now?"
  "Yes, yes, yes!" Louie waved a hand.
"Run along and play soldier boy. I
have royal arrangements to mull over. I'll call
you when I have them completed."
  Ashley backed out, bowing as he went. In the
hall, he looked at one of his bodyguards.
"He's flipped out." He jerked a thumb toward the
Royal Room, as Louie called it. "Come on.
We've got a lot of work to do."
Chapter 5
  "He agreed to it," Ben said. Colonel
Gray, Ike, and Tina had been called back
to Ben's CP. Dr. Chase was busy with his
doctors, tending to the needs of those civilians the
Rebel teams had managed to wrest from the hands of
Big Louie's men.
  "Bet on one thing, Ben," Ike said. "It's a
trap of some sort."
  "No doubt. But probably from the mind of this
Ashley person. Not from Big Louie."
  "Why do you say that, Dad!?" Tina asked.
  No one had yet brought up the subject of
Buddy. Ben had not mentioned it, and until he did,
no one else was going to say anything about it.
  "Listen to this," Ben said, lifting the letter, which had
been handed to a forward recon team, by a bearer under a
white flag.
  Tina sniffed at the paper. "Smells like
expensive perfume."
  "Chanel," Dan said. "From a
man?"
  "Quiet," Ben said. "Listen:
To his Majesty, the supreme general of forces,
Ben Raines
..."
  Ike swallowed a bit of chewing tobacco and
began coughing.
  "Serves you right for sticking that dreadful mess in
your mouth," Dan said, smiling. "Do continue,
general. Pardon this oafs interruption." He
whacked Ike on the back a couple of times.
  When the laughter had subsided, Ben read on:
I
,
King Louie The First, do hereby accept your kind
offer of a meeting. I am so looking forward to it. Being
men of like mind ...
Ben rolled his eyes at that.
I
am certain we can reach some understanding which shall enable us to work
out this small difficulty without the use of force. Do
give some serious thought to joining me and together,
we can sit side by side on the throne of greatness and
certainly rule the world.
  "That fellow," Dan said, pointing to the letter, "is
certainly bonkers!"
  "At least," Ben agreed.
  "When is the meeting?" Tina asked.
  Ben looked at the letter. "Tomorrow, at noon. At
the Osage City exit, just off the Kansas
Turnpike."
  "Just up the road," Ike said. "Still no clue as
to who this Ashley person is, Ben?"
  Ben shook his head. "No." He cut his eyes
to Tina. "Met your half-brother yet?"
  The question caught her off balance. "Ah, why, no,
Dad, I haven't."
  Ben smiled. "There are no secrets in any
army, Ike. That much has not changed."
  "Sure hasn't," Ike said. "But hell,
Ben. He looks just like you."
  Ben nodded his head. "Go see him, Tina. I
want him at the meeting tomorrow at noon."
  "Dad? ..."
  "Do I have to make that an order, girl?" Ben
asked, cutting his hawk-like eyes at her.
  "No, sir!"
  Ben smiled and the young woman returned the smile.
"Report to me at least two hours before the meeting.
I want your opinion of him."
  A mischievous look passed over the woman's
pretty face. She stepped forward and kissed Ben
on his tanned cheek, tweaking him under the chin.
"Yes, Daddy," she cooed, then ran out of the CP
before Ben could catch her.
  After the laughter had died down, Ben cleared his
throat and, red faced, said, "Now you both see why
nepotism is such a lousy idea."
"Yes, Daddy!"
Ike and Dan shouted in unison.
  Together, they ran out of the CP, with Ben throwing his
spare boots at them. One of the boots just missed
Denise, who was bringing Ben a message from one of the
recon units.
  "Be careful in there, love!" Dan called over
his shoulder. "Big Daddy is a bit testy today."
  Giggling like a pair of kids, the ex-Sas man
and ex-Seal ran out of sight, straight to the
hospital, to tell Dr. Chase what had just gone
down.
  Shaking her head, Denise entered the CP, after
picking up Ben's boots from the ground.
Ben glared at her.
  "You could hire that face out to frighten little children,
general," she told him.
  Ben growled at her.
  "Shall I call Dr. Chase to have you checked for
rabies?" she asked innocently.
  Ben glared for a moment more, then smiled. He
walked to the door and told his guards, "I do not
wish to be disturbed."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben closed the door and picked the woman up in
  his arms and carried her to the bedroom, laying her
gently on the bed.
  "Do all generals behave like this?" she asked.
  Grinning as he unbuttoned his shirt, Ben said,
"If they get the chance."
  "Give me your left, left, left, right,
left!" Lieutenant Mackey called out the
cadence.
  After the group had been bathed and inspected and
curried and given physicals, the force had been
culled down considerably. Out of the initial six
hundred men and women, three hundred had been
deemed physically fit to be a most unwilling
unit of the Rebels.
  And at this, the first full half day's training, the
entire new unit was playing alligator.
  Their ass was dragging out their tracks.
  "Company ... halt!" Lieutenant Mackey
shouted the welcome words.
  The men and women slumped to the ground, too tired
to even try to seek some shade from the merciless heat.
  "Piss-poor-looking bunch," Cecil said
to Lieutenant Mackey, a grin on his face.
  "I sure won't argue with that, general,"
Mackey said, also grinning.
  A medic approached them. "Jake wants to see
you, general."
  "Oh? I gather, then, his jaw is not broken?"
  "No, sir. Just bent a little." All laughed at
the old army joke. The medic said, "He did
lose a couple of teeth, though."
  "I imagine that Jake is a bit upset, is
he not, son?"
  The medic laughed aloud. "Yes, sir. He
says just
  any ol' time you feel lucky, he wants
to challenge you to a fight for leadership."
  Cecil smiled. He knew all about that. He
remembered those from his days as a Green
Beret. "Oh? Is that right?"
  "Yes, sir. And he demands the right to let his
followers know that."
  Cecil nodded his head. "Very well.
Harrison?" he called, looking around for his
driver.
  "Here, sir."
  "Will you please bring this Jake person to the parade
ground?"
  The parade ground was an old high school
football field.
  "Right away, sir."
  Jake was escorted to the parade ground, a
Rebel on both sides of him. He looked at
what were once his people, sprawled in near exhaustion
on the field. His eyes found the remainder of his
people-the culls- that Cecil had ordered placed in the
stands. Jake looked at Cecil. Jake's jaw
was slightly swollen, and one lip was cut, but when
he spoke, his words were clear.
  "I'm a-gonna whup your ass, spade!"
  "Really?"
  "Yeah. "At air's a purdee fact,
boy."
  "And what do you think that will accomplish
... should you be instrumental in succeeding in that highly
unlikely bit of braggadocio?"
  "Haw?"
  "What will it prove?" Cecil said with a sigh.
  "Hit'll prove whut ever'body else awready
know. That I'm the better man."
  Cecil smiled. "Surely, God must have had a
sense of humor."
  "Haw?"
  "Nothing, you cretin. Very well. How do you want
this fight?"
  A sly look crept into Jake's eyes. "You
really gonna fight me, boy?"
  "Oh, yes. Most assuredly."
  "You dumb ass! I never knowed a nigger in my
life that had no sense."
  "Surely a startling revelation is just around the
corner, Jake."
  "Whutever 'at means."
  Cecil started to tell him. He decided that
actions would speak louder than words.
  Cecil stepped back and removed his web belt,
laying it to one side. He looked at his Rebels,
now all gathered around. "No interference, people. If
Jake wins, we pull out. If Jake
loses, he joins the group and takes orders just like
any other buck-ass private." He cut his
eyes to Jake. "Is that amenable to you, Jake?"
  "Haw?"
  "Is 'at awrat with chew?" Cecil
mush-mouthed. He could not contain a small smile.
  Somewhere in the ranks of the newly drafted
members, a woman's laughter reached out, taunting.
"You should be able to understand that, Jake!" she called.
  Jake's face mottled and flushed with anger.
"Yeah, I understand hit, awrat. You ready
to fight, boy?" he asked Cecil.
  "Oh, quite!" Cecil responded cheerfully.
  Jake danced a bit, balled his big hands
into fists, and stepped forward, tossing out a quick testing
fist.
  Cecil stepped inside the punch and planted one
on Jake's chin, staggering the bigger and stronger and
younger man.
  Cecil stepped to one side, dodging another of
Jake's punches.
  Jake snapped a left, catching Cecil on the
shoulder. The punch stung, and Cec knew he would
never be able to stand up and slug it out, toe to toe, with the
man. At least, not yet. That point was
further emphasized when Jake popped Cecil on
the side of the head with a left hook. The blow brought
stars into Cec's vision, and little birdies chirped.
  Cecil sidestepped and brought his elbows in
close, his fists up, protecting his face and
belly and dancing a bit until his head cleared.
Then he heard Jake's breathing. He smiled.
If he could keep Jake moving and swinging, all the
while protecting himself, he could wear the bigger man
down and then beat the shit out of him.
  Although Jake was younger and stronger, he was very much out
of shape.
  "You stand still and fight, you black son of a bitch!"
Jake yelled, the frustration evident in his voice.
  Just to let him know that he hadn't forgotten him,
Cec popped Jake flush on the mouth with a short
left. Jake's head snapped back, and the blood
flew from newly busted lips.
  Cec danced back, his head clear of little
birdies, keeping Jake moving. "You know what they
say, Jake!" Cecil taunted him. "We got
rhythm!"
  "You nigger ape!" Jake hissed, panting for
breath. He stepped in, wanting to mix it up,
nose to nose.
  Knowing he was taking a terrible chance, Cec gave
the man his wish, for a couple of short, hard blows.
Cecil hit him with a right to the stomach and a hard left
to the jaw.
  Cec stepped in close and brought his right fist up
in a vicious uppercut. Jake's teeth slammed
together.
  Jake's knees buckled for just a couple of
seconds, and his eyes glazed over, blood pouring
from his busted mouth.
  That was all Cec was looking for. He stepped in and
began battering the man, smashing him with combinations of
lefts and rights. Cecil's big hard fists turned
the man's face into bloody pulp. Both of
Jake's eyes were swollen and closing, blood
dripping from his mouth; the big man was staggering.
  "Give it up, Jake," Cec panted.
"You're finished. Don't make me kill you."
  "Ain't no goddamn nigger gonna do 'at,"
Jake hissed at him, the words whistling through broken
teeth.
  Jake swung at Cec and Cec stepped to one
side, grabbed the man's wrist and forearm, and tossed
him over his hip. Jake landed hard on the ground,
on his butt, the breath whooshing out of him.
  Cec knew he should end it right there simply
by kicking the man in the head. But he didn't want
it like that. Even though he had been shown otherwise
hundreds of times down through the long years, he
wanted to prove that cop wrong. Just one time.
  Cecil waited until Jake had crawled
to his feet, standing there, swaying. Cec stood, his
fists raised, waiting.
  "You're not an animal, Jake. You're a
human being, with a brain that can think and reason and
learn. Come on, Jake. Help me prove that
cop wrong."
  "Whut cop?" Jake panted the words. "I
hate cops as much as I do niggers. Especially
coon cops. Whut'd you thank about that, black
boy?"
  "Actually," Cec said, "I've always thought that a
misnomer, since I am more cinnamon colored than
black."
  "You smart-assed coon!"
  "Oh, come on, Jake! Join us. Fight for the
side of reason and right and freedom."
  Jake's grin was bloody and savage and
unrepenting. "I'm rat. My daddy was rat. And
his daddy was rat."
  "Right about what, Jake?"
  Jake swung a feeble fist and Cec brushed it
away, shoving the man back down to the dirt. Jake
sat hard.
  "Ever'thang I know," Jake mumbled.
"Goddamn teachers tried to teach me otherwise, but
I knowed better. I knowed they was wrong and my daddy
was rat."
  Jake sat on the ground, unable, or so it
seemed, to get to his feet.
  Cec knew he was taking a terrible chance with
Jake; that he should end it. But unlike Ben,
Cecil still clung to the faint hope that there was good in
even the worst of men.
  Although at times that belief was sorely tested.
  "One thang for shore," Jake said. "The only
good nigger is a dead one!" He came off the ground
fast, and Cec knew the man had been faking it,
gathering his strength.
  Jake tried to grab Cec in a bear hug, his
arms around Cecil's waist. Cec twisted, breaking
the hold, at the same time hammering on the man's
neck and kidneys with his fists. Jake's hold
slipped away, and Cec slung him to the ground.
Jake slid on his face, his blood
marking his trail.
  Proved right again, Mr. Deputy Sheriff,
Cecil
  thought. Someday maybe I'll get it through my
head.
  Jake crawled to his feet, a very tough and very
pure redneck. White trash clear through, but he still
refused to give up. He raised his fists and
lumbered toward Cec.
  Cecil planted his booted feet and started his
punch chest high, twisting his body. He put
everything he had left in the punch: a solid
straight right, with no detours and no curves. The
fist caught Jake flush in the mouth. Jake's
feet flew out from under him; he was out cold before he
hit the ground.
  Cecil stood over the beaten and bloody man,
shaking his aching right hand. Ben was right, he thought. It's
in the home. There is living proof of it. But how in
the hell do we combat what is taught in the home?
Or is that a moot point now?"' Surrounded by the
devastation of war.
  Cec sighed. He had fought Jake with his fists
only because he had wanted to. Not because he had to.
Cec was well schooled in the art of
hand-to-hand combat. He could have ended it very quickly
by using any number of martial arts movements, and
he knew most of them. But he also knew that a
certain class of people would not have been impressed by that
victory. They would have accused him of "not fighting
fair."
  Or some such shit as that!
  Cecil walked to the front of the very quiet group
of men and women resting on the parade field. He
faced them, trying to make eye contact with as many of
them as possible. Many would not meet his stare.
"Get on your goddamned feet!"
Cecil roared.
  The crowd quickly rose from the ground.
  "You do not sit in my presence," Cecil informed
them. "Unless I give the orders to do so. Is that
understood?"
  The crowd collectively muttered its
response. Everybody but one. His voice rang out
loud and clear, in Marine Corps boot camp
remembrance. "Yes, sir!" the ex-Marine shouted.
  "I can't hear all of you!" Cecil shouted.
  "Yes, sir!" they said.
  "I still can't hear you!"
"Yes, sir,"
the crowd roared.
  "That's much better." Cecil smiled. "Now,
is there any doubt in anybody's mind as to just
exactly who is running this outfit?"
  "No,
sir!"
  "That's good." Cecil's eyes found the
ex-Marine. "Step out here."
  The man quick-timed to face Cecil. "Yes,
sir!"
  "What is your last name, Billy Bob?"
  "Manning, sir."
  "Well, Mr. Manning, you are now a Top
Kick in Ben Raines's Rebel army," he
informed the astonished man. "You will act accordingly. It's
going to be up to you to appoint platoon sergeants and
squad leaders. I shouldn't have to tell an
ex-Marine to make your choices wisely. It's
going to be a big company, Sergeant Manning. You
think you can handle it?"
  "Yes, sir. No sweat, general."
  "Fine. Tell me this: Why did you stay with
Jake?"
  "I ... don't know, general." Manning's
reply was softly given. "I left
twostthree times. But alone, out there ..." He
jerked his thumb. "It's tough. I think after you talk
to some of these people, you'll find that we were planning a
revolt against Jake and his men. It just got to be more
than a lot of us could take."
  Manning shook his head. "There isn't any
law
  anywhere. And people need law and order, don't they?"
  "Yes, they do, Sergeant Manning. They
certainly do. All right, Master Sergeant
Manning. The company is all yours. Run them through
a few minutes of PT; don't let them stiffen
up; and then march them down to that creek." He
pointed. "For a bath. Then get them back up here for
chow."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Billy? What would you suggest I do with
Jake?"
  "If I was you, sir?"
  "Yes."
  "I'd shoot him. He'll never forget or
forgive, sir. And he'll never be no part of this
outfit. He's gonna hate you for the rest of his
life. He'll be schemin' and plannin' on a way
to kill you. Don't never trust him,
general."
  Cecil nodded his head. "Thank you, Billy.
See to your command."
  "Yes, sir."
  Billy turned to leave, and then stopped, turning
around, looking at Cecil. "General? The near
three hundred you and your people culled out? They was the
bad ones."
  "Oh?"
  "Yes, sir. I've knowed most of them ol'
boys and gals for most of their lives. They never was
any good. Drunks, dishonorable discharges from the
service, thieves, back-stabbers, womanizers,
game poachers, outlaws, two-timers ... you name
it. What you've got here, in this bunch ..." He
jerked a thumb at the lines of men and women, standing
at ease. "Is not a bad bunch of people. Damn
near every one of them was a decent, hard-working man or
woman." A curious look crept into his eyes.
"What puzzles me is
  this: How'd you and your Rebels know which ones to cull
and which ones to keep?"
  Two faces came to Cecil's mind. That
deputy sheriff and the face of Ben Raines. Both
of them thought alike on one particular
subject. "We've had a lot of practice,
sergeant. Down through the years. And I had a good
teacher in the subject of human behavior."
  "Oh? Who was that, sir?"
  "Ben Raines."
Chapter 6
  He was pointed out to Tina, and as she drew nearer
to the young man, she had to smile. This, then, was what
her adopted father had looked like as a young man.
  Buddy glanced up as the officer approached him.
He stood up. New to this, he didn't know whether
to salute or not.
  "Relax," Tina told him. "I'm your sister,
Tina Raines."
  Buddy smiled and held out his hand. She shook it.
Brother and sister stood for a moment, looking at each
other.
  "The general adopted me, long years ago,"
Tina said, clearing up any doubts that might be
lingering in Buddy's mind. "When I was just a little
girl."
  "Where is the general?"
  "Getting ready for a meeting tomorrow. I ... don't
think he's quite ready, yet, to meet you. It was quite a
shock for him."
  Buddy smiled. "Yes, I bet it was. He
send you up to check on me?"
  "Yes. And to bring you to meet him tomorrow morning."
  "Well ... what do I call you? Captain?
What?"
  "Tina will do. Or sis," she added, smiling.
  The young man and young woman put their arms around
each other. Both of them began to softly weep.
  "Sounds good to me, Ashley," his men told him.
"It'll be an easy shot from this spot." He
punched a dirty finger at the map spread out on a
table.
  "With Ben Raines out of the picture," Ashley
said, "the Rebels will be completely demoralized and
frozen in their tracks. They won't know what to do.
I want all of our troops ready to go at my
command. The women and kids and old people in front of the
point teams. Just as soon as Ben and Big Louie
go down, move out and hit the bastards with everything
we've got. Remember this: The first strike is
going to be the most important one. And once we
start, we cannot, we must not, stop our momentum. All
right, men, move out and get your snipers in position.
Good luck to you all."
  The field commanders moved out quickly.
Night was fast approaching, and the men had to be
briefed and the gunmen in position before dawn. All the
field commanders of Big Louie's army were smiling,
one thought uppermost in their minds: It would be such a
relief to get that idiot Louie dead and in the
ground.
  Why Ashley had put up with the silly prick was
something that none could understand.
  If they could pull this off, the entire United
States could easily be theirs for the taking.
  And Ashley had promised them all the women they
could ever crave.
  When the command post had emptied, Ashley sat
down and propped his highly polished boots-shined by a
slave, certainly not by Ashley-up on a table.
He smiled, thinking that he really wished he could be the
one to line up Ben Raines in the cross hairs of the
scope and pull the trigger. He would like to see the
expression on Ben Raines's face as the bullet
struck him in the center of the chest, exploding his
heart.
  And forever stilling that bastard!
  "God, I hate you, Raines!" Ashley
muttered. "I despise you with all my heart."
  For a few hot moments, Ashley let the
hate wash over him, enjoying the venomous sensation.
The moment he had dreamed offor years was now only
hours away.
  And Ashley could hardly wait.
  What would be appropriate for the body? Strip it
naked and hang it up by meat hooks? That might be
nice. He'd have to give that some more thought.
  That would certainly draw some attention.
  Ashley sat with the hate bubbling within him. He
remembered, recalling with startling accuracy, each
detail of the humiliating beating he had received at the
hands of Ben Raines so many years in the past. But the
memory still burned as hotly in his brain, the
flames of reminiscence blazing just as intensely as
they did twenty years back.
  The days he'd spent in the hospital, thanks
to Ben Raines, the looks he'd received from the
nurses- trashy little bitches; half of them
niggers. Disgusting.
  And his reputation as quite a good fighter had
plummeted after that. Ben Raines had used all that
tricky stuff on him. Man didn't fight
fair. But what could one expect from a damned
Midwesterner?
  And for a time, Ashley let misty
memories take
  him winging back in time; back to when life had been
so good, and he and his mommy and daddy and sister had
lived the good life. No matter that there had been
poverty and hunger all around them. They had all
inherited the money; it was theirs, to spend it on whatever
one damn well pleased.
  Then the awfulness of the bombs that carried the deadly
germs spreading all over the land.
  And Ashley had lost everything. Everything.
  He had, for the first time, been on his own. He had
to learn survival. But he'd gone too far with it,
and became an outlaw. What the hell? No law
to speak of. Except the law of the fittest. And
Ashley became fit.
  It wasn't until about a year after the Great War
that Ashley learned what finally became of his sister.
But by then, he was well on his way toward becoming a
warlord, and his sis was doing quite well-no point in
upsetting any apple carts.
  So he had never seen her again.
  But he kept up with her. And when the government
finally moved against Ben Raines and his damnable
Tri-States, Ben Raines had sent out his Zero
Squads; something that no one thought he would
ever do.
  And his sister had been killed. By that goddamned
lowlife son of a bitch Ben Raines.
  And Ashley's hate had only intensified after
that.
  Sitting, thinking, Ashley wondered, since he'd
later found out that his sis had traveled with Ben
Raines for a time, if Ben had ever screwed his sis.
  Surely not. That thought was just too disgusting
to ponder. Besides, sis had been much too much the
lady to ever allow someone of Ben Raines's ilk
to get into her pants.
  A couple of years after his sis had been killed,
Ashley had teamed up with Big Louie, adding his
  own small army of thugs and outlaws to Big
Louie's troops. And for a time, they all had it
pretty damned easy. Ashley had all the pussy
he could stand; servants to wait on him, catering
to his every whim.
  Of course, he had to put up with Big Louie;
but that was not that difficult. Just let the fool simper
and have his perverted pleasures and Louie was happy,
thinking that he was running the show. That gave Ashley
ample time to subvert Louie's army, weeding out those
who were truly loyal to the fool.
  Then Ben Raines just had to come along, tilting at
windmills like the damned idealistic bastard that he
was.
  But maybe, Ashley thought, leaning back, his hands
behind his head, just maybe Ben had come along at a
most opportune time.
  Ashley smiled. He firmly believed that if
Ben Raines were to die, the Rebels would
disintegrate, falling apart without Raines's
leadership.
  Oh, sure. Ashley had heard all those silly
rumors about Ben Raines being some sort of god.
How ridiculous! He was a god, all right. A
goddamned meddling asshole. Ben Raines was
pure flesh and blood just like anyone else. But if
the Rebels even remotely believed that garbage,
the sight of their wonderful god being shot dead before their
eyes would be so demoralizing to them that their ranks would
crumble. And then Ashley would have had his revenge and be
rid of the do-gooder bastard Raines once and for all.
  Damn! but that thought was so good it was almost as good as
sex.
  He felt himself gaining an erection. He rubbed
his crotch and thought about all those cute little girlies
he had stashed away, willing to do anything
to serve him.
  And some of them just barely into their teen years. Hot
little bitches!
  He stood up, his hardness a throbbing painful
pleasure, and exited out the back door, heading for his
house. He'd think about killing Ben Raines while
getting a blow job from that cute little blonde. That
would make sex even better.
  "I've been frightened of a few things in my life,
Tina," Buddy admitted. "But I will freely
admit to you, that at this moment, I am scared half
to death."
  She laughed at him. "Why, Buddy?"
  Buddy turned and pointed. "Because of that."
  The tall figure of Ben Raines stood out,
leaning against the fender of a Jeep. Ben was having a
cup of tea and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.
  "He's just a man, Buddy. Your father. And there
is no doubt of that. You two look enough alike to be
scary."
  Tina did not tell Buddy that she had already met
with Ben a couple of hours before.
  Ben turned his head, looking at the pair.
  "Here it comes," Buddy muttered.
  Tina laughed at him. Together, they
walked toward Ben. And then the father and the son who had
never seen one another were only a couple of feet
apart.
  Father and son stared at one another. Tina stepped
to one side, to stand beside the man she called her
Uncle Ike. She felt the same affection for him
as she did for the man she called her Uncle Cec.
  "You want some hot tea, boy?" Ben asked, his
voice gruff.
  Buddy was afraid the man would hear his knees
knocking; and he was certain that they were. He opened
his mouth to speak. But nothing came out
  except an unintelligible squeak.
  Buddy felt like a fool.
  Ben smiled. "Early morning is when my voice
does that. That's why a long time ago, I started
using honey in my coffee instead of sugar. Honey
smooths out the throat."
  Buddy found his voice. "Yes, sir. I'll
remember that. If I ever find any coffee, that
is," he added.
  Ben laughed. "Save some for me when you do. About
that hot tea? ..."
  "Oh, yes, sir. That would be very nice. Sir,"
he added.
  Almost before the words were out of his mouth, a cup of
steaming tea was placed on the hood of the Jeep.
  Ben waited until the younger man had sugared and
stirred the tea before saying, "How did you leave your
mother?"
  "Quite insane, sir."
  "Her army?"
  "Numbers, sir?"
  Ben nodded.
  "Several thousand, sir. A very large group of
motorcyclists had just joined prior to my leaving.
I believe that they had been a part of Sam
Hartline's army before that."
  "Grizzy, Sonny Boy, Skinhead,
Popeye, and Piano among them?"
  "Yes, sir. That's the bunch."
  "Then your mother has taken up with scum," Ben said
flatly.
  "Yes, sir. I know. Most of the people who follow
her are nothing more than savages."
  Ben looked at Buddy's weapon. The old
Thompson looked to be in fine shape. "Interesting
weapon you carry, boy."
  The son met the father's steady gaze, "I find that
it does the job, sir."
  "Yes. I agree." Ben looked at his watch;
plenty of time. "Tell me about yourself, Buddy."
  And for five full minutes, Buddy told Ben of
his past-as far back as he could remember-and about his
grandfather raising him, shielding him, letting his mother
think him to be dead.
  He concluded by telling Ben of his belief that his mother
probably ordered the Old Man burned at the
stake.
  Ben stared at him, then shook his head. "Her own
father?"
  "Yes, sir. But he would go to his death singing
Christian songs. He was dying of the cancer."
  "Then he is a brave man."
  "Was, sir."
  "You know that someday I'm going to have to fight your mother
and her army?"
  "Yes, sir. I know. And so does she. The people
she has gathered about her might well be savages,
but they have professional soldiers, ex-mercenaries,
training them. She will be hard to handle. And I don't
mean to be disrespectful in saying that."
  "I'm glad to have that word, Buddy. What would you do
if I should order you to take part in the action against
her?"
  "I would go. I would not want to; but I would
follow your orders."
  "And if I ordered you to kill your mother?"
  "I don't believe I could kill my own mother,
sir. I know she is evil, and that she deserves
to die, but not by my hand. Not unless she was trying
to kill me. And even then ... I just don't know."
  Ben smiled. "You just saved your life, son."
  "Beg pardon, sir?"
  "If you'd said anything else, I would have had you
tossed out of my sight. I'd have known you were lying."
  "I spoke the truth, sir."
  "Yes, I believe you. I'm not a very emotional
man, Buddy. Never have been. Perhaps that is a
fault of mine. I don't know. What I'm trying
to say is ..." He blinked away a slight mist
in his eyes and cleared his throat.
  Buddy put a strong young hand on his father's
shoulder. The two men looked at each other just as the
sun broke through the overcast skies that had put a
pall on most of the morning. The sun bathed the
countryside in all of God's brilliance.
  "I'm glad to be with you, Father," Buddy said.
"I only hope that I never do anything to make you
feel ashamed of me."
  Ben nodded his head and smiled. He did not trust
his voice just yet. He put his right hand on his
son's shoulder and squeezed.
  Boy was as solid as a damned rock!
  "Come on, boy," the father said. "Let's get some
lunch."
  "Ah ... sir?"
  "Yes?"
  "Do you object if Tina and, ah, someone else
joins us?"
  "Of course not. Who is the someone else?"
  "A young lady from General McGowan's command.
She befriended me when the others were reluctant to do
so."
  "Handsome scoundrel takes after his father in more ways
than one," Tina said, smiling. "Half a day in
camp and he's got the best-looking woman
cornered."
  "Pay no attention to your sister, boy," Ben
told
  him. "She exaggerates at times."
  And the family, plus one, walked off to have lunch.
  Francis Freneau didn't pull any
cucumbers out of his ears, but what he did was just as
bad. He sang religious songs with such
a pure, sweet, fine tenor voice he damn
near had Emil weeping; most of the others were blubbering
and snorting with joy.
  And then Emil recognized him.
  "I knew it!" Emil said. "I knew I'd
seen that sucker somewheres before."
  He leaned over and whispered in Brother
Matthew's ear. "I know that son of a bitch! That's
Stanley Ledbetter. He had a finance company in
Chattanooga until the state put him out of
business; he was runnin' two sets of books.
Then he popped up in Atlanta, selling phony
stocks and bonds out of a boiler room. He just got
out the state with his ass intact, the cops right on his
tail. Then he got him a face lift out in
California and was working the schools with a two-bit
magic act. Among other things, he got busted for
screwin' the little chickies and was about to stand trial when
the bombs came."
  "Hush up," Matthew said, awe in his voice.
"Ain't his singin' beautiful?"
  Emil whacked Brother Matthew on the side of
his head with his fist. "Goddammit, Matthew, listen
to me!"
  "Ooww!" Brother Matthew said,
holding the side of his head. "Shit, Brother
Emil, that hurt!"
  "Then pay attention, you dumb ass! I
know
that guy calls himself Francis Freneau."
  "So what?"
  "He's a fraud!"
  The look Emil received from Brother Matthew was not
a pleasant one. "And you ain't?"
  "That's neither here nor there you dummy! You and a few
others got a pretty cushy job with me, working this
scam. You think Ledbetter is gonna keep you
on?"
  The two of them were joined by a few more of Emil's
Enforcers.
  "Ledbetter?" Brother Carl asked.
  "Yeah. Stanley Ledbetter."
  Brother Matthew thought about that for a moment. He
finally nodded his head in agreement. "We gotta come
up with a spectacular miracle, Brother Emil.
That's the only thing that's gonna save our asses."
  Emil's face brightened. "You got something in
mind?"
  "No."
  "Wonderful," Emil said. "I'm
surrounded by yoyos."
  "We can always shoot the son of a bitch," Brother
Carl suggested.
  "No, no!" Emil said. "I am opposed
to violence. Unless it just absolutely has to be.
It'd be so much better if I could best him at his
own game."
  "How?" Brother Roger asked.
  "If I knew that, you dummy, I wouldn't be
standing here listening to Stanley Ledbetter bellowing
songs!"
  "How come he's got all them good-lookin'
chickies and we get stuck with the dogs?" Brother
Carl asked, a wistful note in the question. His eyes
were on a shapely brunette standing beside Francis
Freneau, her eyes glazed over in reverence as
Francis crooned.
  Of course, the joint she'd just toked on might have
had a little bit to do with it.
  was "Cause he's got a dick like a
donkey," Emil said. "He was into porno flicks
for a couple of years. You could use that thing of his for a
flagpole; I'm telling you." Emil started
smiling and humming and snapping his fingers.
  The others waited in silence. They knew
that when Emil started behaving like this, an idea was forming
in his head.
  Either that, or he'd gotten off into the mushrooms
again.
  "I wonder if the other guys with him are all
hung like Stanley?" Emil asked.
  "According to Sister Linda they sure are," Brother
Carl said.
  "You mean, some of my flock have already begun
to betray me?" Emil said.
  "They been slippin" crost the Boeuf River
for more than a week, now," Brother Roger said.
"We was afraid to tell you, Brother Emil."
  "Echoes of Gethsemane!" Emil moaned.
"The Judas bitches have shown their true colors."
  "Naw," Brother Matthew said. "They're just
lookin' for a better screw, is all."
  "Cretin!" Emil glared at him. "Never mind.
I have a plan. I'll be gone for a few days.
I'll be in Monroe, looking for ... something. I
might have to go as far as Shreveport to find it. I
don't know. You'll come with me, Brother Carl."
  "What are we looking for, Brother Emil?"
  Emil smiled. "That will be my secret for a time."
  "Are you going to find a miracle,
Brother Emil?" Brother Roger asked.
  "I better," Emil said grimly.
  "Our people are being forced to fall back,"
  Khamsin was informed. "The Rebels have
booby-trapped nearly everything that can be wired
to explode. Our hospitals are rapidly filling
up with the wounded and maimed."
  "How are you getting them across the river?"
  "We're not. That would take too long. We're
setting up field hospitals south of Interstate
Twenty."
  "Have the Rebels tried to storm the hospitals?"
  "No, sir. They have not. They are not known for doing
that."
  "How noble of them," Khamsin said bitterly.
He turned in his chair to gaze out the window. The
bitterness in his soul had manifested itself in his mouth.
His tongue held the taste of copper.
  "Disgusting!" Khamsin said. "We have conquered
half the known world, and are halted in our tracks by a
band of rag-tag Americans. Disgusting!" he
repeated.
  Khamsin knew perfectly well that his forces
outnumbered the Rebels by at least twenty-five
to one; yet his forces, since the start of the
invasion, had known only defeat. It was humiliating
and appalling. Khamsin had conquered almost the whole of
South Carolina with ease. Then Ben Raines and his
Rebels had stepped into the picture, and that ease
had turned to agony.
  And what was worse, Khamsin did not know how
to stop the tide of defeat. Little two-bit units of
Rebels were stopping his superior and most elite
forces at every crossroads. Out-gunned and
out-manned, the Rebels were drawing blood at every
encounter, and then the shadowy bastards just seemed to melt
into the landscape. And woe be unto any who
attempted to follow the Rebels. For almost every time that
happened, those who followed were never seen again.
  Hamid wanted to say to Khamsin: We have the
state of South Carolina. Let's be content with it.
Live here and grow stronger before we try General
Raines.
  But Hamid did not say that. He kept his mouth
shut. The Hot Wind gave the final orders.
Hamid carried them out.
  Khamsin sighed heavily and turned in his chair.
"Reinforce my orders, Hamid. No advance. And
..." Once more he sighed, the unspoken words sour
on his tongue. "Order all units
to pull back south of Interstate Twenty. And
tell them to be careful in doing so. Touch nothing; it
might blow up. Do not,
do not
engage the enemy unless a confrontation is forced upon
them. We're going to have to rethink our plans."
  "Yes, sir." Hamid quietly left the
room, leaving Khamsin alone with his bitter thoughts.
  Hamid silently cursed the day the IPA landed
on these hostile shores.
  "Good jumpin' Christ!" Ike said, looking through
binoculars, eastward across the Kansas
Turnpike. "I don't believe what I'm
seein'. But there it is. Whatever the hell "x"'
is."
  He lowered his binoculars and laughed.
  Ben lifted his binoculars, looked, blinked,
lowered the field glasses and rubbed his eyes. He
lifted the glasses to his eyes and looked again.
"That's got to be Big Louie."
  Tina lifted her field glasses and took a
look. She quickly lowered the binoculars and turned
away, giggling.
  Dan peered through his lenses and said, "My word! It
looks like a purple blob. General, do
you see anyone that you recognize?"
  "Not a soul. If this Ashley person is there,
I sure don't know him, or remember him."
  "You don't suppose they are one and the same?"
Ike questioned. "Big Louie and Ashley?"
  "I certainly would never forget a sight like
that"
Ben said.
  "One wouldn't think so," Dan muttered, then he
too turned away to hide his laughter.
  "Oh, yoo-hoo!" Louie called, standing across the
four lanes of concrete. He was resplendent in his
purple robe and white patent-leather pumps.
  "I want to hear Dad say, "Yoo-hoo,""
Tina said.
  The entire line of Rebels closest to Ben all
began laughing.
  Buddy turned away so the general would not see him
laughing.
  "Very funny," Ben said, eyeballing his kids and
his field commanders, all of whom were either laughing or
red faced trying to suppress laughter.
  "I say, general," Dan said. "I have this
lovely pink sash I was saving to give to a lady
back at Base Camp One. But
considering the gravity of this momentous meeting, I could
loan it to you. You'd look perfectly precious with
it tied about your waist."
  That did it. Everyone started laughing.
  Ben took the ribbing with a smile on his face.
When the laughter had subsided, he asked, "What
do you hear from the Scouts, Ike?"
  "Nothing, Ben. They've been searching the other
side through long lenses since dawn. If anyone's
over there, they're well hidden."
  "I say!" Big Louie called, waving a hand.
"Are you there, Supreme Commander Raines?"
  "Yes!" Ben shouted. "Right here ... Louie."
  "Is the terrain firm?" Louie called. "If
not, I'll have some of my bearers carry me across for the
meeting."
  Ben sighed. "Just think," he said. "All I ever
wanted was to write books."
  "Do you want me to have some Rebels tote you
across, Ben?" Ike asked.
  "Ike!"
  "Just a suggestion, supreme commander."
  "Jesus," Ben muttered. "I don't believe
you'll have to utilize bearers, Louie!" Ben shouted.
"The sun has dried the ground fairly
well."
  "Oh, good!" Louie shrieked. "Shall we begin our
trek toward an everlasting place in history,
general?"
  "By all means, Louie. Here I come."
  "What for me! Wait for me! One, two,
three,
go!"
Louie stepped out on the concrete.
  One man was with him, his entourage left behind.
  "Come on, boy," Ben said to Buddy. "Let's
assure your place in history, too."
  "Yes, sir."
  Father and son began the walk across the lanes of
hot concrete. Big Louie was carefully mincing his
way toward them.
  "Has it occurred to you, Father, that this might be some
sort of setup?"
  "It has occurred to me, boy."
  "We're certainly going to be wide open out
here."
  "That we are. Any suggestions?"
  "If shooting starts, head for the low place in the
area between the lanes."
  "The median."
  "Sir?"
  Ben thought hard for a few seconds. Buddy was
probably about six or seven when the Great War
came. He had probably never heard the term
"median" before. "It's called the median."
  "Oh. I knew that, of course, from reading
highway
  signs. But why is it called that?"
  "Because median means middle."
  "I see. Well, if shooting starts, we head
for the median. That will give us the best protection from
gunfire coming from the east."
  "Good thinking." Ben smiled.
  "Thank you, sir. Although I would imagine that had
already occurred to you."
  Buddy noted Ben's smile.
  Louie had stopped on the shoulder of the northbound
lane.
  "Why is he stopping there?" Buddy whispered.
  "So he can command the higher ground," his father told
him. "That way, he can look down at us."
  "Ah! He really believes himself to be a king,
doesn't he?"
  "It would appear that way. But that's good, Buddy.
Let him have the high ground. He presents
the better target. If it is a setup, he just
might take lead intended for us."
  "Unless we are all the intended targets,"
Buddy said.
  And that was something that Ben had not thought of. He
glanced at his son. "Why would you say that, boy? And
slow down; give us a few more seconds to reach
him."
  "Well, the man is obviously a fool. Perhaps
the real power behind the throne is weary of him. And this
way he, or she, we really don't know, do we,
could not only get rid of Louie, but the immediate enemy
as well. And that's you, Father."
  "Very good, Buddy. Excellent. Head's up,
son."
  "Yes, sir."
  "My dear General Raines!" Louie gushed.
"At last, two of the world's great leaders come together
to forge our places in the still-to-be-written history
of
  this devastated land."
  "Louie," Ben said.
  "And who is this handsome lad with you, General
Raines?"
  "My son, Buddy."
  "Oh my, you are a magnificent specimen,
aren't you?" Louie eyeballed Buddy.
  "A good enough specimen to have killed four of your
followers north of here," Buddy said.
  "Oh?" Louie's voice softened. "Don't you
feel that was a bit overly dramatic ... putting
two of their heads up on poles?"
  Ben looked at his son. Buddy hadn't told
him about this.
  "It got your attention, didn't it?"
  "Yes, it did, Master Buddy. Oh, my,
yes, indeed."
  "I thought it might. But you came to speak to my
father, not to me."
  "Yes. Thank you for reminding me, young man."
  "What's on your mind, Louie?" Ben opened the
dance.
  "A man of few words, eh, general? Very well.
You and I joining forces. That's it as succinctly as
I can put it."
  "I don't think our philosophies will work
well together, Louie. I don't believe in
slavery-among other things."
  Louie waved his hand. "Very minor details that can
be worked out at a later date, my dear
General Raines. The important thing is that we
cease this little war between us, before it gets completely out
of hand. Don't you agree, sir?"
  "That's easily accomplished, Louie. You just
disband your army and turn loose the slaves and the women
and kids and old people you've taken for hostages, and then
we'll talk."
  "Oh, my! Has Ashley been a naughty boy
again? I wish he would consult me before he goes off
on these little tears of his."
  Ben's eyes caught the glint of sunlight off of
metal or glass. In the tall grass on the
side of that overpass. Might be a sniper up there,
he thought.
  "So you didn't know that Ashley did that,
Louie?"
  Ben shifted as he spoke, with Buddy following his
motion. Now Louie was almost directly between Ben and
Buddy and the overpass.
  Louie sniffed daintily. "I never become
involved in such mundane matters."
  "Oh, I see," Ben replied. "You're that
sure of Ashley, are you?"
  "I'm sure of this: Ashley hates you and has for
years. Why, would you believe that he wanted
you killed during this meeting?"
  "What a naughty, naughty boy!" Ben said.
  Buddy looked at him, oddly.
  "What does he hate me, Louie?"
  "Oh ... I don't
know!
Some silly little schoolboy matter of eons ago."
He waved his hand. "Forget about Ashley. You're
talking to
me."
  "Sorry, Louie. But I like to be liked
by everybody."
  This time, Buddy's look was not just odd as he
glanced at his father. It was downright astonished!
  Ben looked at him and winked.
  "Well, what about it, Louie?" Ben said.
  Louie's lips grew pouty. "Ultimatums,
general? That's not a very nice way to begin a
relationship."
  "Sorry, but that's the way it is. Take it or
leave it."
  Louie stamped his pump-clad foot. "You're just
not being a very nice man!"
  "That's the breaks, king."
  Louie began jumping up and down in the
middle of the highway, waving his arms and shrieking to
  high heaven. His actions startled the man with him.
  The sound of the rifle booming reached them just as the
slug tore through Louie, exploding the heart.
  The man with Louie turned in panic, stepping
to one side, that movement putting him directly in
front of Ben.
  The rifle cracked again. The slug hit the
man's battle harness. More rifles boomed and
spat just as Ben and Buddy hit the earth of the median.
  "Smoke!" Ike shouted, his voice reaching Ben
and Buddy. "Give them cover smoke."
  An explosion momentarily deafened Ben and
Buddy, just as the man who had been with Louie seemed
to disintegrate before their eyes.
  Then something smacked Ben on the back of his head,
dropping him into darkness.
Chapter 7
  The IPA has stopped all forward movement,"
Colonel Williams radioed to Cecil. "At
least from this side."
  "That's what my scouts have reported, too,"
Cecil radioed back. "What do you make of it?"
  In Khamsin's communications complex, his radio
people were struggling to understand the messages, but they
were unable to unscramble the transmissions.
  Finally, one of them threw his headset to the table.
"It's no use," he said. "We can't unscramble
it."
  "General," Joe radioed. "My guess is that
we're fighting the type of war this Hot Wind can't
fathom. And that's surprising to me, since he was a
noted terrorist back in the '80's. I just don't
know what to make of it."
  He's unsure of himself, Joe. He thought that he
could come in here and just walk all over us. But that
uncertainty won't last long. Khamsin may
well be the world's biggest asshole, but he's no
dummy. So we've got to keep him off balance."
  "How, sir?"
  "By doing what is not expected of us and by keeping
up those tactics. Joe, start sending out false
  transmissions by walkie-talkie between your units
about us planning a major invasion into South
Carolina. His listening posts on the other side of the
river will pick up those walkie-talkies. We're
going to start infiltrating troops into South Carolina
between Augusta and Savannah, and also through the mountain
passes of the Sumter National Forest. Got it?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "I'll radio back to Base Camp One and have
all the spotter planes we can put up into the air
flying all over the place. We'll start sending
ground troops into the areas by day, and moving them back
out at night. Lots of rattling and banging tanks
and APC'S and trucks during the move-in. No
noise coming back out at night. Got it?"
  Joe laughed. "I got it, general. If we can
pull this off, we'll have that son of a bitch running
up and down the state until his tongue hangs out."
  "That's the idea, Joe. Good luck to you."
  "Luck to you, sir."
  Cecil turned to the operator. "Any word from
General Raines?"
  "Nothing, sir. I think we're being jammed from the
west. What do you reckon is going on out there?"
  "I wish I knew. I really wish I knew."
  Ben opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times.
His vision cleared and he could see a group of people
gathered around him.
  Ike grinned down at him. "Good thing your head
is so hard, Ben."
  Groaning, Ben tried to sit up. Hands pushed
him back down. "You just keep your ass right where it
is, Raines," Dr. Chase told him.
"You took a pretty good lick on the noggin; so just
lie still for a time."
  "What happened?" Ben asked. Jesus! but his
head hurt.
  "Near as we can figure," Ike said, "that guy
wearing the battle harness took a slug into his
ammo belt. Slug must have hit a grenade. It
exploded his ammo and all the grenades around him.
Literally blew him apart. Piece of shrapnel
conked you on the noggin."
  "Big Louie?"
  "Dead. Must have been a setup all the way."
  "That poor sad foolish man," Ben said. "He
was crazy."
  "Yeah. Well, his troubles are over now," Dr.
Chase said.
  Ike said, "I ordered our people in and to hit them
hard."
  "The civilian hostages?" Ben asked.
  Ike's eyes clouded briefly. "They're
gonna take some hard hits, Ben."
  "One of us had to make that decision. Where's
Buddy?"
  "He's all right, Dad," Tina said. "He
took some shrapnel in his back, but his
wounds are minor. Judy is taking care of him."
  "Yeah," Ben said, smiling. "I just bet she
is. We have any word from Cecil as yet?"
  "Not a peep, Ben," Ike told him. "I
think Khamsin's western people have found our
frequencies and are blocking them. Not much we can do
about that."
  "Let's clean it up here and then get the hell
moving east. That goddamned Ashley wanted a
fight. All right. Give it to him."
  "Yes, sir!" Ike said.
  Lines of profanity rolled through Ashley's
brain, coming so hard and fast his tongue would not have
  handled them had he attempted to verbalize the
filth.
  And it was all directed at Ben Raines.
  Ashley's field commanders, all of them, even the
top soldier, Colonel West, reported that the
squeeze was on from Raines's Rebels. And they were
squeezing hard.
  Ashley could not understand how the Rebels seemed
to know the exact location of everyone of his companies.
  Was that goddamn Ben Raines some sort of
mystic?
  Ashley sighed in frustration. How could that
damned fool with the rifle have missed Ben Raines?
An easy shot like that. Incredible.
  The only good thing to have come out of the whole affair was
that Big Louie was dead. At least that much to the good
had been accomplished.
  But had it been worth it?
  Ashley still hadn't made up his mind about that.
  He wasn't even certain that to continue fighting was
worth the effort. For Ashley knew, deep in his
heart, that eventually Ben Raines was going to win.
  The only bright spot in the whole ugly mess was
that Ashley's troops were holding the Rebels
outside of the areas claimed when Ashley ordered the
pull-back. Of course, that wasn't necessarily
due to their bravery. One of his listening posts had
intercepted a transmission that brought it all home
to Ashley and his men: Ben Raines was going to push them
back into Kansas City.
  That was Raines's plan. And that bit of news had
been quite enough to drive some steel into the backbone of his
men. Nothing like a little directed fear to turn cowards
into fighting heroes.
  Again, Ashley sighed, wishing there was some way he
could get out of all of this and still save face. But
  he couldn't come up with anything.
  He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.
No one really knew exactly what Kansas
City was like. Or really, what it was like from Fort
Smith all the way up to Kansas City. That
narrow corridor had taken both germ and so-called
clean nuclear hits during the Great War. And that
zone had been declared hot by the government.
  Back when there was a government, that is. Back
before the rats and fleas and deadly germs had threatened
to wipe out civilization entirely.
  For a time, Little Rock had been ruled unsafe;
but that had proved to be false information. And a dozen
areas between Fort Smith and Kansas City had also
proved out to be safe.
  But Kansas City proper, and for about thirty
to forty miles in any direction extending out from it,
and the dozens of tiny towns along a two hundred and
fifty miles strip running north to south -No one
really know. And damn few had the courage to even
venture into those areas. And fewer still ever came out.
  But reports that had filtered back from those areas
all held one bit of like information: There were some
strange creatures roaming about, both animal and
human. Or sub-animal and subhuman would be more
like it, probably. Ashley didn't know for
sure; he'd never been into those areas.
  But he had seen some of the creatures that had been
shot and carried back out. They were not pleasant
to look at.
  Those writers, directors, actors, and
makeup people who had put together the science fiction
movies had pretty well pegged it right with their
descriptions of what might follow after a nuclear
war. God-awful-looking men and women and young
  people, some with no hair, others with chalk-white
eyes; some with hideous bums on their bodies,
others grotesquely misshapen. But they all shared
this in common, for whatever reason: They hid from the
light and came out only at night, to scavenge for
food.
  All in all, those areas contained some hideous forms
of life, and if Ben Raines thought he was going
to drive Ashley and his troops into those areas-the man
had best rethink his plan. For to a person, male
or female, Ashley's people had said, loudly and
clearly, that they would rather die than be driven or
pushed back into those unknown fear-producing areas.
  Even though no one among them actually knew much
about the people who lived there.
  But they did know that Ben Raines's
Rebels were not in the habit of taking prisoners.
  So what choice did that leave any of Ashley's
people?
  None. None at all. Stand or die. That's
all that Raines had left any of them.
  All right, then. So be it.
  With a sigh of resignation, Ashley stood up,
put on his helmet, picked up his M-16, and
walked outside. He motioned for an aide to come
to him.
  "Yes, sir?"
  "Where is the force of Rebels commanded directly
by Ben Raines?"
  "At the junction of Highway Seventy-five and
Interstate Thirty-five, sir. Colonel
West's troops are looking them square in the
face. And I'm glad it's West and not me," he
added.
  Ashley's smile was thin. But he knew what the
man meant: Colonel West and his men were the best
Ashley had. His own people were not even in the same
ballpark.
  And he also know that Colonel West did not
particularly care for him. What the hell was the
matter with these professional soldiers,
anyway?
  Damn high and mighty bunch of moralistic
assholes.
  But he knew, with a sinking feeling, that if West and
his bunch could not contain Raines, it would all be over
very quickly, for his own people would fold up like a house of
cards.
  Ashley said, "The dividing line is Highway
Seventy-five?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "And in the other areas, our people are holding?"
  "Yes, sir," the man said, smiling grimly.
"They don't have much choice in the matter, do they,
sir?"
  The look Ashley gave the man was sharp, but he
did not chastise him. For after all, the aide was
correct. They had absolutely no choice in the
matter. None at all.
  "You ever been in or close to the Hot Zone?"
Ashley asked him.
  "Close to it, sir. I sure as hell wouldn't
want to go in there."
  Ashley nodded his head. "It's that bad, is it?"
  The aide was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed,
remembering.
  When he spoke, his voice was soft. "It's
awful, sir. Them so-called clean bombs that the
Russians used did save the cities; I mean,
the buildings and all that, but they sure screwed up
any survivors. Really fouled up their minds and
bodies. I've seen some of them. I don't never
want to see no more of them. Not ever. I guess no
one really knew what them bombs was gonna do,
huh, sir?"
  "I suppose so. But those ... people, for want of a
  better word, they can still produce? I've heard
they can have offspring?"
  "Oh, yes, sir. I've seen some of the kids.
Some of them kids is teenagers, now. They're some
better lookin' than their parents, some of them, and some
of them is worser lookin'. Them real ugly ones have
a ... well, culture that's set apart from the
others."
  "A culture? What exactly do you mean?"
  "It's kinda hard to explain, sir. Since I
ain't really never been that up-close to none of them.
And what I know is just secondhand information."
  "Do try," Ashley urged.
  "Well, they get along, sort of, so I'm
told. But they don't live together, none of
them, like no family should. As soon as the kids is
old enough to get by on their own, the parents drive them
off. Kinda like animals, you know?"
  "Ummm. How many of these people would you guess live
in the Hot Zone?"
  "God, sir. I don't have no idea.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands of them. It's that
way in all the pockets of the country that was declared
hot by the government. Ain't nobody been in them
areas in ... well, since the bombs came.
Near'bouts fifteen years ago."
  "I see," Ashley said. At least this conversation
was taking his mind off the immediate and clear danger known as
Ben Raines. "Yes. But Kansas City,
unlike a few other cites on the continent, is not
still dangerous, right?"
  The aide thought for a moment. "You mean, sir, like in
hot from radiation from the bombs that was fired?"
  "Precisely."
  "No, sir. Only a couple of cities here in
America took hits from regular atomic bombs.
And them
  areas is gonna be hot forever, I reckon. But
these ... people, I don't know what to call them. I
think they're called the Night P. Yes,
sir. That's it. The Night People, they don't bother
no one, unless you wander into the areas they've claimed for
their own. Then they'll kill you, or use you for
slaves, or something a hell of a lot worser than
that."
  Ashley thought he knew what was meant by that last
bit. He sat down on the steps and motioned the man
to sit with him. "I've heard rumors about this for
years; I always dismissed it as claptrap. But,
then, it's
true!"
  "Oh, yes, sir. It's sure enough true, all
right."
  "Then the rumors, facts, now, I suppose,
that used to come out of those areas, that talk about these Night
People having some sort of program to breed out the
sickness ... that's true? And that's the "worser"
that you mentioned?"
  "Yes, sir. As far as I know, sir. But there
again, no one knows for sure. I doubt if Ben
Raines even knows."
  The look the man received from Ashley told him it
was time to shut his mouth.
  That was further emphasized when Ashley
abruptly stood up and walked away without
even a second glance.
  But Ashley was not angry with the man for throwing Ben
Raines's name at him. He hardly even noticed
that. Ashley's mind was working fast and furious on a
plan to keep from being pushed back into the ugly
embrace of the Night P.
  "They're holding us, Ben," Ike radioed
to Ben. "And you're facing the top soldier of the
bunch. A Colonel West. I know about him.
He's a good soldier."
  "I just spoke with Dan and Tina; they're
reporting the same thing. Fear seems to be the great
motivator, Ike. Ashley's men must have heard
some radio chatter about us driving them back into the
hot areas."
  "Orders, Ben?"
  "What do you think, Ike?"
  "Well, Ben, Big Louie is dead. All the
Indian reservations have been returned to the tribes.
If we push on, we'll win, no doubt about that, but
a lot of innocent people are going to get killed in the
process before we get to Ashley. You wanna try
to talk with him, Ben?"
  "I can try. Dan? Tina? Are you monitoring
this?"
  They were.
  "Suggestions?" Ben asked.
  "I think we need to get to Base Camp One,
general," Dan said. "We're going to be confronted
with two-bit warlords like Ashley forever, it seems, but
Khamsin needs to be dealt with right now."
  "All right," Ben said to his field commanders.
"We've seized enough weapons from Ashley's people
to rearm the citizens. All we can do is hope that
they'll keep their freedom this time. Hold your
positions and cease all actions immediately. I'll
try to make contact with Ashley."
  Ben didn't tell any of them of the plan he'd
been mulling over.
  He wasn't sure Ashley would go for it.
  "Misfits," Billy Bob said, disgust in his
voice as he spoke to his company of Rebels.
"That's what Jake called us just before he pulled out.
You people feel like misfits?"
  "Misfits!" a woman yelled. "Hell, no.
Jake took all
  the misfits with him."
  The company growled their displeasure at being called
misfits.
  "I know that I'm sure as hell no
misfit," Billy Bob said. "I feel better
than I have in years. I feel like I finally got
some purpose, some direction in my life. But I
tell y'all what. Let's just keep the name of
misfit. By God, we'll wear it proudly.
Let's be the best damn bunch of fighters in all
of Ben Raines's Rebel army. How about it?"
  "Ben Raines's Misfits!" a man called.
"That sounds damn good to me. That's us, then. The
Misfits!"
  The company roared their approval over their new
name.
  Billy Bob stood back and laughed with them.
  The Misfits had been formed.
  Billy Bob looked over at Cecil and
Lieutenant Mackey and winked.
  "It's working, sir," Lieutenant Mackey said
to Cecil. "They're beginning to take some pride in
themselves. You give me two months and I'll have the
best damn unit in the Rebels."
  "I'll give you a week," Cecil replied.
"And that is going to be stretching it, lieutenant."
  Mackey looked at the general as if he'd lost
his mind. "A
week!"
  "Five working days, lieutenant. Then you and your
company go on the line. Khamsin is not going to fall
for our ruse much longer. He'll put it all together.
Believe it. Think you can do it, lieutenant?"
  She sighed and shook her head. She caught
Billy Bob's eye and motioned him over.
  "Yes, ma'am?"
  She informed him of Cecil's orders.
  Billy Bob almost swallowed his chew of
tobacco.
  Cecil smiled at the man's antics.
  "Good God Almighty!" Billy Bob
blurted.
  "What can we accomplish in five days,
Sergeant Manning?" Mackey asked.
  Billy moved his chaw over to another spot in his
mouth and said, "Well, we ain't gonna have no
spit and polish parade ground types by then. But I
figure they'll be pretty much of a unit. Y'all
are forgettin' this: They all got combat experience of
one sort or another. It's just that they ain't never
had it in no regular outfit. But we can work it out.
Can I make a suggestion, general?"
  "Certainly, sergeant."
  "Them that take to the M-16 let "em
have it. But them that would rather have their .3030 or .308
or what-have-you, let 'em be. That's the weapon
they're familiar withand that's the one they'll perform best
with. We got good reloading equipment here, and
we've been doing it for a long time. How about it,
general?"
  Cecil thought about that for a moment. It would certainly
be a strangely armed unit, but what the hell, it was
a strange bunch to begin with.
  No doubt about that. None at all.
  "I like it," Mackey said.
  "All right, Sergeant Manning," Cecil said.
"We can provide .223 and .308 ammo. A
lot oi our people prefer the M-14. But the .33 and
.243 and .270 ammo is another story. That's
going to be up to you people. And it's going to take a lot
of ammunition; I don't want anyone to be
caught short and endanger the life of someone else.
What do you say ... can you do it?"
  Billy Bob grinned. "We can do it, sir. You
just watch us go."
  "Well, get going then, sergeant. Time's
a-wasting!"
  Jake had taken his rejects and culls and left
the area. But not under his own power. The man
had been so thoroughly beaten by Cecil that he was
unable to walk. His followers had placed the big
man in the bed of a pickup truck after lining the bed with
old mattresses for his comfort. And the fleas.
  Cecil had seen him off amid threats and much
profanity from Jake.
  Cecil's Rebels and the new Misfits had
stood by, listening to Jake.
  "You ain't done with me yet, coon," Jake
told Cecil. "You gonna regret the day you come
into my territory and started shootin" off your big
fat mouth. It ain't over. I promise you that."
  Cecil stood a few feet from the truck and let
Jake vent his rage.
  "You can have all them pussies and candy-asses you
picked, nigger," Jake verbally boiled. "I'm
glad to be rid of them. And I'll tell you this: The
next time we meet, you bush-ape, I'm gonna
spit on your grave."
  "Yes, I saw that movie a long time ago,
Jake."
  "Haw?"
  "Never mind. Are you all through, Jake? Running
that ignorant mouth?"
  "If I wasn't all busted up
inside, you burr-head," Jake blustered, "I'd
git up outta this truck and kick your ass!"
  "You just won't learn, will you, Jake?" Cecil
said.
  "I got learnin'! And you ain't got no right
to call me ignorant."
  "Whatever "learnin" you have, Jake, it was wasted
on you."
  "Haw?"
  "You're a fool, Jake. Ben Raines is right
and that deputy sheriff was right. People of your ilk will never
change. You're ignorant and you're proud of it.
I've offered you a chance to do something decent for once
in your life. You refused it. To hell with you,
Jake."
  Jake lay on the mattresses and glowered at
Cecil through eyes that were swollen almost shut. The
man's mouth was puffy and his jaw swollen. "Why should
I change, nigger? I've done pretty well the
way I is."
  "And you really believe that, Jake?"
  "Hale, yes, I do!"
  Shaking his head in disgust, Cecil stepped away
from the truck and faced the company of men and women who
had chosen the name of Misfits. "Any of
you people want to go with Jake?" he questioned.
  No one moved from the ranks. Not one person even
changed expression. Only Billy Bob Manning
smiled.
  Jake painfully raised himself up on one elbow
to glare at the rows of men and women. "You're be
sorry," he said. "And that's what you is ...
Sorry! Cowards and trash. I'm plumb ashamed
I ever called any of you friend. But they'll come a day
when ever' one of you will regret what you've done. No
one turns his ass to Big Jake lak y'all done
and gits away with it. You'll see. I promise you
that."
  Cecil again faced Jake. "Hear me now,
Jake. And pay close attention to me. Against the
judgement of a lot of people, I'm letting you leave.
But I have this bit of advice for you: Find you a little
piece of ground and plant a garden. Live very
quietly and peacefully. Maintain a very low
profile. Give up your plans of ever setting up
another warlord state.
  And do everything that I've told you many many miles
from here. For I warn you now: If I ever see you
again, I'll kill you, Jake."
  Under the bruises of his face, Jake
flushed. "Big talk, coon. But I don't think
you got the balls to kill me."
  Cecil laughed at him. "That makes you a bigger
fool than I first thought, Jake. You think I'm
joking. Believe me, I am not. I don't have much
of a sense of humor when it comes to rednecks and white
trash, or people of my own color who think like you do.
I have offered you a chance to join us. To fight with us, and
not against us. You've all chosen to turn down my
offer. All right. So be it. Now get out!"
  There was something in Cecil's voice that caused
Jake to remain silent. Cecil's eyes were flat
and cold, hard looking. But Jake's eyes burned
with a wild hate that would never fade.
  And Cecil knew in his heart that someday, perhaps very
soon, he would have to kill Jake.
  Jake waved his hand, and the driver tried to crank
the pickup. It would not start. The driver ground the
battery down to nothing. Jake lay in the back and
cussed.
  "Get a mule," Cecil ordered. "Get it in
harness and pull this wreck out of here."
  No one could find a mule. Cecil looked at
the sullen men and women who chose to follow Jake.
"Push it out of here," he ordered.
  Pushing and sweating and cussing, a group of men got
the pickup rolling while Jake lay in the back,
shouting orders and profanity.
  "You made an enemy, general," Billy Bob
said to Cecil.
  "Yes, I know, sergeant. And I'm ashamed
to say that I believe I did it deliberately."
  "Yes, sir."
  Cecil glanced at the sergeant. He couldn't
tell if the man was merely extending military
courtesy or agreeing with him.
  "You should have shot him, general," Billy Bob
said. "But I reckon you know that you're gonna have
to kill him someday."
  "Yes. I know that, too, sergeant."
  Just as Jake's pickup truck rounded a
corner, Cecil watched as the man lifted his right
fist and extended his middle finger to him.
  Quite unlike Cecil, he smiled and returned the
gesture.
Chapter 8
  Denise stepped into Ben's CP. "Ashley is
on the radio, general. Says he wants to talk
to you."
  "That was quick," Ben said, looking up.
"Must not take Ashley very long to look at a
horseshoe."
  "Beg pardon, sir?"
  Ben smiled and shook his head. "Old joke,
Denise." He stood up and motioned her out ahead of
him. Together, they walked to the radio shack.
  The young woman behind the maze of equipment handed
Ben the mike. "He's on the horn, sir."
  Ben pressed the key. "Ashley. What can I do
for you?"
  "You wanted to talk to me, Raines?" said the
voice from out of the speaker. "Not the other way around.
What's on your mind?"
  Ben listened to the voice. It was just vaguely
familiar to him. But still he could not place it. "I'd
like to put an end to the fighting, Ashley. How about
you?"
  "I'm listening, Raines."
  Was that a note of relief in Ashley's voice?
Ben thought so.
  "Are you familiar with a Libyan named
Khamsin?"
  "I've heard the name. What about him?"
  Ben took a deep breath, then keyed the mike.
"We're both in trouble if he gets a
firmer toehold in American. Are you in
agreement with that?"
  Silence on the other end. Then Ashley said,
"Yeah. I'll agree with that." What the hell was
Raines getting at?
  "I've got a proposition for you, Ashley.
Give it some thought, if you will."
  "Lay it on me, Raines."
  "I'll level with you, Ashley. I've got about
three thousand troops with me. You've got just a bit
less than that. So listen to me. How about us putting
hostilities aside and head east, link up to fight
this Libyan. How about it, Ashley?"
  The offer was so totally unexpected, it caught
Ashley completely off balance. He sat in
stunned silence for a long moment. He was almost giddy
from relief, but didn't want to appear too
anxious. Finally, he said, "You're fucking
serious!"
  "Yes, I am, Ashley."
  "But I just tried to kill you, Raines! What
kind of crap are you pulling?"
  "No crap, Ashley. I'm on the level.
Are you familiar with the old saying about politics
making for strange bedfellows?"
  "Yeah," Ashley said slowly. "And the same could
be said for war, right, Raines?"
  "That's about it."
  "And if I take you up on this offer? And we
kick this Libyan's ass. What then?"
  "Ashley, I honestly don't know. We're
going to have to talk about that."
  In his own radio room, the mike off, Ashley
grunted, thinking: The son of a bitch is honest, if
nothing else. He leaned back in his chair, his mind
working hard. He knew Raines was totally correct
  about the Libyan. Crazy ex-terrorist had
kicked ass all over the world before coming to the shattered
land that was once called the United States of
America.
  And another thought came to Ashley's mind:
United we stand.
  "Well," he muttered, "it's a way out of this
box I'm in. I can always split the scene once
out of here."
  He keyed the mike. "Raines? How do you know
I won't turn on you? Maybe join up with the
Libyan?"
  "I don't."
  Ashley sighed, recalling his daddy's
words: A man who has no honor has nothing,
son. Of course, Ashley remembered, his daddy
underpd the help and was a fucking crook. "Well,
Raines," he said, the mike open, "I wouldn't do
that. For the simple reason that I don't trust that
rag-head any more than I do you."
  "I understand."
  "And something else, Raines: You have to know that I
hate your goddamned guts!"
  "I think you've made that abundantly clear,
Ashley." His reply was very dry.
  "And if I take you up on this deal, Raines,
I don't want to see your goddamned ugly
face. Ever! I might just decide to hell with it and
shoot you on the spot. Is that understood?"
  "Perfectly clear, Ashley. But would you
object to clearing up one little matter?"
  Ashley laughed, knowing what was coming. "What is
it, Raines?"
"Why
do you hate me?"
  Ashley chuckled. The son of a bitch really
didn't remember him. Good. "Don't you just love
a mystery, Raines. Let's just say this: You
whipped my ass once. But you'll never do
it again. Enough about that. We've got a problem with
logistics."
  "We can work that out. You want me to take care of
it?"
  "Suits me."
  "How about your men, Ashley?"
  "What about them?"
  "Will they fight?"
  Ashley paused for a moment. "All right,
Raines. You seem to be leveling with me, so I'll
give it to you straight. First Battalion is commanded
by Colonel West. They're solid
professional-all the way. That's what he and his men
do for a living. Fight other folk's wars. Second
Battalion is average. Third Battalion
is the pits. That answer your question?"
  "I appreciate your honesty, Ashley."
  "Fine. Just don't put any of them into a
position of having to take orders from some damned
nigger."
  "I'll certainly keep that in mind. I'll be
back in touch with you first thing in the morning. That all
right with you?"
  Another pause from Ashley. "Yeah. Fine.
If I'm gone, Colonel West will be in
charge."
  Ashley signed off.
  Ben laid the mike aside and looked up at
Denise.
  "You're a man of many surprises, general."
  "Not really," Ben said with a smile. "There is
always the chance that Khamsin's men will kill Ashley.
If that's the case, then I won't have to do it."
  She laughed aloud. "How about a devious man,
general?"
  "I've sure as hell been called worse."
  "It was a good move, Ben," Ike said. "I
didn't even thing of doing anything like that." Ben
smiled. Tina looked at him curiously. "Why
are you smiling, Dad?"
  "He had no choice in the matter, people. He
knew damn well he didn't have a snowball's
chance in hell of winning this fight. All I did was
give him an out."
  "And a chance to save face," Dan added. "A
fine move, general."
  "Don't compliment him too much," Dr. Chase
said. "It'll go to his head."
  When the laughter had died down, Ben said, "But
I still don't know who the man is. The
voice is somewhat familiar. But I just can't put
a face to it."
  "You think this might all be a game to him,
general?" Dan asked.
  Ben shrugged. "I hope not. But hell damn
sure find out when his troops face Khamsin that
it's not a very funny joke. If this Ashley
actually leads his troops."
  Ike nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah.
I've thought along those same lines, Ben."
  Dan said, "I've seen some of Ashley's
troops who were solid professional. Others that were
good for no more than cannon fodder."
  "Does anybody have any additional information on
this Ashley person?" Ben asked.
  "About your height, Dad," Tina said. "A bit
heavier. Just about the same age."
  "Comes from the Deep South," Chase said. "What
kind of accent did you detect while speaking with him,
Ben?"
  "Louisiana or Mississippi, I'd
guess."
  "Great fan of Patton," Ike said. "But
unlike Pat-ton, not a very good solider. From what
we're able to learn from questioning both
civilians and captured troops, Ashley is
pretty much of a showboat. Pearl-handled
forty-fives, shiny helmet, riding britches ...
the whole nine yards. A very cruel man, from what
I can gather."
  "Have to be cruel, or crazy, or both, to hook
up with Big Louie and then plot to kill him.
Right?" Ben stood up. "Have all hostilities
ceased?"
  "Not a shot being fired, Ben," Ike said.
  "Good." Ben held up a piece of paper.
"According to this communiqu@eI was just handed, a few
minutes ago, Ashley has put Colonel West
in charge. Now whether that means Ashley has pulled
out, I don't know. I'm to meet with Colonel
West in Topeka in a few hours." He glanced
at Ike. "How did Buddy perform?"
  "Top soldier, Ben. Very smart. Cautious,
but not too. His grandfather must have been quite a soldier.
He sure taught the boy some good moves."
  "How are the troops accepting him?"
  "Fine and dandy, Ben. They all seem to like him and
most look to him for orders." Ike smiled and
braced himself. He had a strong hunch what might be
coming at him from Ben.
  He was right.
  Ben glanced sharply at his friend. "You give him
any rank?"
  "Nope. But he's your son, Ben. You know
damn well that a lot of Rebels-hell, most of
them-are going to look at Buddy in a different
light."
  Ben nodded his head. "Yeah. Okay. Sure,
you're right." To Dan: "Have you observed him,
Dan?"
  "Yes, sir. He's a natural leader and
natural soldier. No matter what group he
joins, they all seem to instinctively defer to him.
He doesn't ask for that; it just happens. You've
got the same quality about you. He is quite fortunate
that he inherited it. And from what I've been able
to hear and observe, he conducts himself admirably."
  "Quite a glowing recommendation, Dan," Ben
  said, his tone very, very dry.
  "Thank you, sir," the transplanted
Englishman said with a straight face. "I thought it
read well myself."
  Ben glared at him. It bounced right off of Dan.
  "Buddy will damn well earn any rank," Ben
said. "Just like anybody else."
  "Oh, quite right, general," Dan said.
  "Pip, pip, and all that," Ike said.
  Ben took a step toward Ike, and Tina stepped
between them. "Dad, the Rebels are putting the
leadership role on Buddy. He isn't asking for
it. It's like Dan said; he is a natural. And a
lot of Rebels want to follow him."
  "And? So?" Ben demanded, considerable heat in his
voice.
  "Aw,
shit,
Ben!" Ike flared. "The kid deserves a team.
He's that good. Buddy is as good as any soldier
I've ever seen. Even as good as a lot of
Seals," he added, a wicked glint in his eyes.
  Dr. Chase laughed and rubbed his hands together. "This
is going to get good here any minute."
  Ben ignored the doctor. "If I decide
to give Buddy any rank, Ike, that will be solely
my decision to make."
  Dan backed up, pulling Tina back with him,
getting them both out of the way.
  "American special troops can be quite
boorish," he said to her. "Don't you know?"
  "Oh, quite," she said, grinning. She
knew that Ben and Ike occasionally had to clear the air
between them. But they both knew the other's
capabilities when it came to gutter fighting, and
no blows had ever been landed.
  Yet.
  "That's your ass, Ben." Ike stood his ground.
"That would be solely
my
decision to make."
  "What the hell do you mean?" Ben roared.
  "You assigned Buddy to me, oh great supreme
commander, General Poo-bah! And if I decide
to give him a team, that is my decision to make. And
it's already done been decided. I gave him a
recon team this morning and told him to have at it."
  "Without consulting me!" Ben yelled.
  "I don't need to consult you!" Ike returned
the yell. "I give folks grade all the
goddamn time."
  "Well, Buddy is not just anybody! Or have you
forgotten that?"
  "No, I ain't forgot jack-shit! I don't
give a good goddamn if he's your son or the
great-great grandson of Cochise. If he can do the
job, that's all that counts."
  Dan, Tina, and Dr. Chase stood smiling.
They'd seen this little drama unfold many times in the
past. Denise sat on a camp stool and remained
very still, not knowing what to make of all this shouting between the
generals.
  "I'm surprised you didn't give the kid a
fucking division,
General
McGowan!"
  "Well, by God,
General
Raines, I just might do that someday. Thanks for the
suggestion. But for the time being, I gave him a
platoon to ramrod, and he's doin' a damn fine
job of it, too. Now if you don't like it, shove it
up your tush!"
  Chase burst out laughing.
  Both Ike and Ben gave the doctor hard
looks.
  Dr. Chase said, "Both of you are behaving like
children."
  "Who the hell asked you!" Ike yelled, beating
Ben to the words.
  "I think a cup of tea would be nice right about
now," Dan suggested.
  "You know what you can do with your tea?" Ike told
him.
  "Drink it, preferably," Dan replied.
  "That ain't exactly what I had in mind,"
Ike told him.
  "All right!" Chase put an end to the bickering.
He glared first at Ben, then at Ike. "I've a
good mind to exercise my authority as chief medical
officer and relieve both of you of command and put your
asses in the hospital for observation. And you both,
by God, know that I can and will do just that."
  "That might not be a bad idea, doctor," Tina
said, smiling. "They are showing signs of stress,
wouldn't you agree?"
  "What the hell do I have going here?" Ben said.
"A revolt?"
  Denise stood up. "May I please say
something?"
  Everybody looked at her. She had sat so
quietly, they had forgotten she was among them.
  "A voice of reason would certainly be welcome
here," Dr. Chase said.
  "Of course, you may say something, my dear,"
Dan told her. "But don't be too alarmed.
They've been doing this for years."
  "Well," Denise said. "It seems to me that you,
General Raines, are concerned more with saving face
than you are the welfare of your son. It might
reflect badly on you if Buddy should fail in his
leadership role. And you, General McGowan, should
have informed General Raines of what you planned to do.
As for Buddy, I thought that field promotions went
on all the time, in any army. That's all I have
to say. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make
some preparations for the trip to Topeka. Thank you for
allowing me to speak." She turned and walked
outside.
  Chase jerked a thumb toward the departing
  Denise. "I like her. Nothing like a bit of
reason amid chaos." He turned and followed
Denise outside.
  "Come, my dear." Dan took Tina's arm.
He looked at Ben and Ike. "Ta-ta, all!"
he said cheerfully.
  Ben rode in an open Jeep up the Kansas
Turnpike toward Topeka, Denise driving. Out
of pure spite, Ike had assigned Buddy and his
team as point for Ben.
  Ben pointed at the Jeep a few hundred yards
ahead of them on the cracked old
turnpike. "Doesn't that boy know how to wear a
beret?" he bitched, referring to Buddy's headgear:
a dark red bandana. He looked at Denise.
"What's so damn funny?" he asked, noting her
smile.
  "Y. You act like a big ol' bear with a sore
paw. You're so proud of Buddy you're about to bust.
But the only way you can show it is to sull up and act
ticky."
  "Ticky? I am behaving
ticky?"
  "Uh-huh."
  Ben grunted.
  She laughed aloud.
  Ben smiled, his mood lifting. "Ike and I have
to clear the air every now and then, Denise. Don't
worry about us. I just don't want Buddy to fall
flat on his face, that's all."
  "I think, Ben, that if Buddy gets in over his
head, he's the type who will admit it and call for
help."
  "Yeah, I think so, too. He is a
good-looking kid, isn't he?"
  Her laughter rang out in the open air of late
summer. "Yes, Daddy."
  "General Raines," the man said, holding out his
  hand. "I'm Colonel West."
  Ben shook the offered hand. He inspected the man.
In his late forties, Ben guessed. Stocky and
appearing in good physical shape. Very competent
looking. "Might as well get right to the point,
colonel. Clear the air."
  The legendary Ben Raines, West thought. Big
mean-looking bastard. Be interesting serving under him.
"Yes, sir. I expect there will be some changes
made."
  "A few, for sure. But nothing you can't work with.
Where is Ashley?"
  "Pulled out, sir. Left last night. Took
his personal company with him." He did not say he
was glad to see the pompous bastard leave.
  Ben smiled. "Ashley appears to be a very
elusive type."
  "And he hates your guts, general," West
told him bluntly.
  "For reasons I have yet to fully understand. How
about you, colonel?"
  "How do I feel about you?"
  "Yes. Let's be perfectly honest with each
other. Our lives might well depend on
it."
  "All right. Let's put it this way, General
Raines. I don't like niggers, I don't like
spies, I don't like Jews, I don't like
Indians. I think white people are the superior
race; all others are inferior. But I'm smart enough
to know that there are exceptions to every rule. And I have
respect for those exceptions."
  "Gen. Cecil Jefferys?"
  "One of those exceptions I mentioned. I have the
utmost respect for him. I would certainly take his
orders."
  "That's good to know. You probably will be taking
orders from him. Go on, colonel."
  "I don't believe that inferiors should be
mistreated."
  "But you endorsed the slavery that went on here."
  West shrugged. "I took no part in that. Although
I certainly knew it was going on."
  Ben smiled. "Just following orders, Colonel
West?"
  "That's one way of putting it, General
Raines."
  "Go on."
  "I didn't like everything that Ashley
did; and I sure as hell didn't like
anything
that fag Louie did. But for me and my men, it was the
best game in town. So to speak. General, I'll
come right up front and say that I don't believe that
I could ever live under your rules; the way you and your
Rebels believe. But for this operation, I'll take
orders and carry them through to the best of my ability."
  "Thank you, colonel. That is certainly clearing
the air, all right. But let's get it all said.
Anything else?"
  "Yes, sir. I am a professional soldier.
I've been a soldier since I was seventeen.
Thirty years, sir. I think we're about the same
age. Give or take a few years. Ashley
might well be a borderline nut case, but he's
a good organizer. He needed an army, I needed
a job. That's all there is to that."
  "I appreciate your candor, colonel. I
didn't believe Louie or Ashley were calling
all the shots."
  West smiled. "Louie was a poor, pitiful
fool, general. Ashley is a piss-poor
soldier. But like I said, he's a good organizer;
a good manager. I let Ashley think he
was calling the shots-and to his credit, he did call
a few-but First Battalion is all mine. They
are the top soldiers. Solid professionals.
Second and Third Battalions are, well
..." He moved his right hand, palm down, from side
to side.
  Iffy.
  "I get the picture, colonel. All right.
Of the Second and Third, which is the best?"
  "Second," he answered quickly. "The Third
is a bunch of losers."
  Ashley had been honest, Ben thought. "Go on,
colonel."
  "The only reason Second and Third fought as
well as they did was out of pure fear, general. They
didn't want to get pushed back into Kansas
City." He smiled. "Neither did I."
  "The Hot Zone?"
  "It's called that, general. But that's a
misnomer. The area is not hot. And my compliments
on a damned fine field plan, general.
Eventually, you would have broken through my lines and the
Second and Third would have folded up."
  Ben nodded his head. "That's all behind us,
colonel. You say Kansas City is not
hot?"
  "Not as far as radiation goes, general. I
guess those so-called "clean bombs" the
Russkies came up with really worked." He smiled
a smile that only another soldier would have understood.
"Real shame that none of them got to see it."
  Ben returned the rough smile. Despite what
the man represented, he found himself liking this
Colonel West. He made no excuses for what
he was.
  "The reason I might be staring, colonel, is
this: You don't speak or conduct yourself like a man who
could condone the burning alive of another human being.
Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong in that
assessment, Colonel West."
  West grimaced and shook his head. "Barbaric,
general. Good God, don't put me in that
category. Neither I nor my men had anything to do
with that. Oh, we
knew
about it; we can't be excused for that. Or forgiven, if
there is a God. I am a soldier, general.
  A mercenary, if you wish, but still a soldier.
Certainly the universal soldier. I'm not ashamed
of it. Ashley and Louie offered good food
and gear, comfortable surroundings for me and my men. And
since the collapse of the government, money is
useless. So it's the small amenities that now
count." West grinned. "And, General Raines,
speaking of that, I believe you did a bit of mere
work yourself, did you not, before becoming a writer?"
  Ben threw back his head and laughed aloud at that.
"I sure did, colonel. I sure did. Come
on, Colonel West. I want to meet your men.
As philosophies go, we might be far apart. But
as soldiers, we think alike. You'd better watch
me, colonel. I'm awfully persuasive. I just
might have you coming over to my way of thinking,
voluntarily, if you're not careful."
  Colonel West grinned. "Don't count on it,
general. Personally, I find myself liking you as a
man, as a leader of troops. But I do not believe
in the mixing of races."
  "Oh, we're going to have a good time, colonel!"
Ben said. "I can just see it. I do love a spirited
debate."
Chapter 9
  The Misfits had been issued Rebel
uniforms, brought in from the North. And much
to Cecil's and Lieutenant Mackey's
delight and surprise, the Misfits were beginning
to look and act like a military unit. They had a
long way to go, of course, but they were getting there.
  "It's a miracle," Lieutenant Mackey
said.
  "They just needed some direction in their lives,"
Cecil said. Maybe that deputy sheriff was only
half right, Cecil thought, clinging to part of his dream.
  He said as much aloud.
  Mackey looked at him. "You're forgetting about
Big Jake, aren't you, sir?"
  "Thanks for bringing me back to reality,
lieutenant. No, I haven't forgotten about that
cretin. But we salvaged this much, didn't we?"
He pointed at the Misfits.
  "They weren't human filth to start with, sir."
  Cecil sighed. "I suppose not."
  Since no one in the Rebel Army, from command
to private, gave a flying flip for any type of
close-order drill, that was not stressed. What was
being taught,
  in the hot, exhausting days, stretching fourteen
to sixteen hours at a time, was teamwork, the care of
weapons, stealth, guerrilla tactics-as much as could
be taught in five days-and pride.
  And Billy Bob and Lieutenant Mackey
drove themselves just as hard as they drove the
Misfits.
  And they found themselves getting a bit closer than
sergeant and lieutenant should. But since that was not against
the rules in the Rebel army, they just let nature
take its course.
  And May, Lieutenant Mackey's
nickname-she refused to tell anyone her real name-as
Cecil said to her once, "Had a real nice shine
to her, now."
  Since Lieutenant Mackey never really knew
how to take General Jefferys, she kept her mouth
shut. The general had sort of a weird sense of
humor.
  But he cleared that up on the fourth day of training.
"Hadn't you better tell Billy Bob that your mother
was half black, May?"
  Now May knew what Cecil had meant when he
chose the word "shine."
  "He knows," she said.
  Cecil smiled and needled her. "And you mean
to tell me that Georgia Cracker doesn't
care?"
  "Said he didn't. He said there
wasn't a Georgia anymore. No
Mason-Dixon line. No American flag.
No nothing, except for people. He said it was way past
time to bury the hate, and anyone who still carried it."
  "Well," Cecil said. "That Cracker is quite a
philosopher, isn't he?" Putting the needle
to her.
  "General," May said, standing up straight and
looking Cecil smack in the eyes.
  "Yes, lieutenant?"
  "Don't you ever call Billy a Cracker
again!"
  Cecil smiled. "All right, May. I
surely won't." Cecil walked off, whistling
"Love Is A Many Splendored Thing."
  Billy Bob had slipped easily back
into his former role as a Marine Corps sergeant.
And the man was proving to be invaluable. And not just with
May. The Misfits, to a person, all liked him
and, so far, at least, he had experienced no
discipline problems.
  Jake, so it seemed, had taken his pack of
losers and dropped out of sight. But Cecil had a
gut feeling that Jake had not gone far and they would
meet again.
  Khamsin's men were being kept busy running up and
down the South Carolina side of the river, reinforcing
units here, pulling people out of position there, all due
to the seemingly never-ending talk of Cecil's
upcoming "invasion."
  The Rebels had intercepted several radio
messages between Khamsin and his field commanders, and
Khamsin, to put it mildly, was highly
pissed-off. "Son of a bitch!" Khamsin shouted,
although the use of profanity was forbidden in the teachings of
his religion. Terrorism was all right, but
profanity was not. "I'm beginning to believe,
Hamid," he said, calming himself, "that there never was
any invasion planned."
  "What do you mean, sir?"
  "It's a trick on the Rebels' part. They're
buying time and that's all they're doing. There is no
impending invasion." He spun around to face the window
of his office. He could scarcely conceal his rage.
"The black general has made fools of us,
Hamid. And I won't soon forget or forgive
that." He turned slowly
  to look at Hamid. "But why did he want a
little more time?"
  "Waiting for reinforcements, perhaps?"
  "Perhaps. But if that is the case, why is he
shifting the location of his base camp? And we know from
recent fly-bys, what was called Base Camp
One is now nearly deserted; everything is being moved
west."
  "Then he has something else in mind," Hamid
said. Hamid's speculations posed no threat
to Mohammed the Prophet.
  "What?" Khamsin asked.
  "I don't know, sir."
  Khamsin cursed again, silently.
  "But our recon teams reported that he is
training a group of people in the city of Athens."
  "They saw this with their own eyes?"
  "No, sir. They captured a civilian
woman and tortured the information out of her, then killed
her." Torture was all right, too. Sort of like
bombing abortion clinics for God and fucking for
virginity. "A warlord named Jake
something-or-the-other had lived there for a year or so. This
General Jefferys came in, whipped the warlord
..."
  Khamsin waved the man silent. He was thoughtful
for a moment. "Wait, wait!" he said. "I don't
understand something here. What do you mean,
Hamid ... he
whipped
the warlord? Whipped him how?"
  "With his fists, sir."
  "A
general
fought a person with his fists!"
  "Yes, sir."
  "How crude. Go on, Hamid."
  "The woman told our recon team that Jake
challenged General Jefferys to a fight, some sort
of winner-take-all affair. One would have to assume
that
  type of thing is quite common in this primitive land,
even before the Great War. Then, with several hundred people
watching, the general beat this Jake person
unconscious with his fists. Then General Jefferys
threw out about half of the inhabitants; they left with
this Jake. These people have such strange names. The others
were formed into a new unit of the Rebel army."
  "To be used as what?"
  Hamid lifted his shoulders. "That, I do not know,
sir."
  Khamsin smiled. "Conditions are becoming
desperate for General Jefferys,
Hamid. That is surely the reason for his taking on
of green troops." He walked to a large wall
map and stared at it for a long moment. "What do our
teams report about Atlanta?"
  "A place to avoid at all costs, sir. It
is inhabited by what are called the Night P."
  Khamsin nodded his head. He knew about those people.
"The survivors and the offspring of the bombings. The
same in Europe and South America as here. Then
it's true; they're moving into the cities across the
land?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Very well. Advise our field patrols
to stay away from the larger cities. Those people are
surely unclean. We'll have to deal with them, of
course, but not now. One step at a time for us.
Hamid, start moving our people into Georgia, using the
southern route. Bring them up and form them along
Interstate Twenty, east to west."
  "How many troops, sir?"
  Khamsin stared at the map for so long Hamid
thought he had forgotten his being there. Khamsin
  turned and announced dramatically, "All of
them, Hamid. We are going to take Georgia!"
  "Found it!" Emil yelled, holding up
a small box.
  "What is it, Brother Emil?" Brother Carl
cried happily. Whatever pleased Emil surely
pleased the Great God Blomm. So everything was just
hunky-dory.
  "A miracle, Brother Carl." They were standing in
the rubble and litter of what had once been a fine
hospital in Monroe, Louisiana. In what
used to be the nut wing.
  Brother Carl looked at the box.
"That's
a miracle, Brother Emil. You could have fooled
me. It looks like a box!"
  Emil looked at Brother Carl. The guy was as
loyal as a cocker spaniel and a damn good
bodyguard, but a little bit short when it came
to brains. "Our great and magnificent Blomm
instructed me to come to this place. I am acting on
Blomm's orders, Carl. And this package and its
contents are to be our secret. When it's time for me
to inform the others, Brother Matthew and Brother
Roger, Blomm will let me know. Is that
understood?"
  "Oh, yes, sir, Brother Emil. I
gotcha."
  Emil glanced out a broken window. Still about an
hour before full dark. He didn't want to get
caught inside the city limits at night. For even
in the small cities, that group of misshapen and
deformed and totally weird bunch known as the Night
People had gathered. Why they chose the cities was still a
mystery to Emil; but he knew firsthand, having almost
been captured by them, that you damn sure didn't
want to get trapped inside the cities after dark.
  For that's when the Night People came out to prowl.
  Emil bounced the package from hand to hand and
smiled. Stanley Ledbetter aka Francis
Freneau, was about to discover that when it came to running
scams, he was up against a master of the trade.
  Emil chuckled softly.
  "What's in the box, Brother Emil?" Brother
Carl said, hopping up and down. "Huh? Huh?
Come on, tell me,
please!
You know I get the hives when I get nervous."
  "It's a drug, Carl. The Great God
Blomm told me where to find it."
  "A miracle drug, huh?"
  "Sort of, Carl."
  "Does it make you feel good?"
  "It ain't gonna make Francis Freneau
feel worth a shit."
  "I don't understand, Brother Emil. Does it
cure the hives?"
  "No, Carl. It's a drug that doctors used
to give ... certain people. It reduces the sex
drive."
  "Huh?"
  "It means," Emil said with a sigh, "that if you was
to take some of this stuff, you wouldn't be able to get a
hard-on."
  "Ohh!" Brother Carl said, grabbing at his
crotch. "Why would anybody want to take something like
that?"
  "I don't think anybody ever took any of this
stuff voluntarily," Emil patiently
explained. He looked at the expiration date on
the box. Out of date, naturally, but that was no big
deal. He'd just triple the dosage. And then he'd
see what Francis could do with a limber fire
hose.
  Nothing, he thought, smiling. He could just sit there
and look at that donkey dick.
  "You're so smart, Brother Emil," Brother
Carl said. "I don't know what I'd do
without you to guide me."
  Emil smiled. "Carl, stick with me, kid, and
we'll soon have all the ..." Nuts and
fruitcakes and cult followers and banana cream
pies "... world at our feet. When word of this
miracle gets around, we'll have it made, Brother
Carl."
  "Oohhh!" Brother Carl gushed all over
Emil.
  Emil patiently brushed the spittle off the
sleeve of his robe.
  Carl tugged at the robe after taking a look
outside, "let's get out of here, Brother Emil.
We don't wanna get caught here after dark."
  Emil nodded. He knew that a large hospital
complex would be an ideal spot for the Night People
to hole up in during the daylight hours. They were
probably the ones who trashed the place, looking for
medicines. Poor misshapen and twisted bastards would
take anything in hopes of relieving their condition.
But Emil knew the only thing that would help them was
death.
  Emil put the package into his knapsack and
slipped it over his shoulders, adjusting the straps.
He picked up his rifle.
  "Let's split, Brother Emil."
  Both of them breathed a sigh of relief as they
walked out of the hospital and into the sunlight of late
summer. Both of them held their weapons at the
ready, fingers just off the trigger. They walked
to Emil's car, a twenty-five-year-old black
limousine. They got in and locked all the doors.
Emil cranked it up and checked the gas gauge.
  "Crap, Brother Carl. We're almost out of
gas."
  Carl looked out the dusty window and shuddered.
Dusk was no more than fifteen or twenty minutes
away. "And we used all the gas we had in the can,
Brother Emil."
  "We'll try that old station up there," Emil
said, pointing.
  But the storage tanks were dry.
  "What are we gonna do, Brother Emil?"
Carl asked.
  "Don't panic," Emil said. "There are lots
of stations in this burg."
  "But we ain't got much time "fore dark!"
  There was panic in Brother Carl's voice. And for
good reason. He knew what happened to people who were
taken by the Night P.
  "Steady, Brother Carl." Emil tried to calm
the man's fear. "Blomm is with us."
  Emil believed that about as much as he did in
sweet potatoes lining up and doing the can-can.
  They pulled into another station, the limo just about
running on fumes. The storage tanks were empty.
  The fuel needle indicated they were slap out of
gas.
  And the shadows were creeping around them, andwiththe shadows,
hooded figures could be seen.
  "They're out there, Brother Emil!" Carl
whispered.
  "I see them, Carl," Emil replied. His
heart was beating so fast and so hard he thought it might
burst.
  "Get us a miracle, Brother Emil," Carl
urged. "You can do it. Call on Blomm."
  Poor simple bastard, Emil thought. Well,
Carl's saved my ass more than once. Now it's
time for me to save his.
  "Stand by me, Carl," Emil heard himself saying.
  "I'll get us out of this mess."
  Carl was too frightened to even reply.
  Emil and Carl sat in the limo and watched as the
hooded figures drew closer.
  Emil pissed in his underwear.
  Emil lowered his window and stuck the muzzle of his
automatic rifle outside. "You come any closer
and I'll blow your asses off!" he shouted.
  The line of hooded figures stopped their advance.
Several of them huddled together, their voices low in the
dusk; too low for Emil to hear what they were
whispering about.
  "Back off, I say!" Emil shouted. What the
hell? he thought. Might as well give it a try.
"I am the earthbound spiritual messenger of the Great
God Bloom. I command you all in his name to carry
your asses on outta here!"
  "That's tellin" "em, Brother Emil,"
Carl whispered. "Blomm'll strike 'em down."
  For the umpteenth time since he started his present
scam, Emil wished to hell he had thought of something
else. Blomm was getting a bit wearing. Not
to mention hard in keeping up a good front.
  "We come with peace and love in our hearts," said
a female voice out of the gathering purple shadows.
"We mean no harm to anyone."
  "Yeah?" Emil shouted. "That's what Kong said
to what's-her-name, too. Drop them hoods so I can
see your faces!"
  The line of robed and hooded people pushed back their
hoods. Emil lowered the muzzle of his rifle and
clicked it to safety. The men and women were
unblemished. The men handsome, the women beautiful.
  They were not the Night P. Those creeps
  could haunt graveyards. And probably did.
  "What's your problem?" Emil asked. "Don't
you have no better sense than to prowl around cities in
the night?"
  "Our bus broke down," a woman said. "The
old engine finally gave up the good fight. There are
but six of us."
  Emil counted. There were six of them. He could have
sworn there were sixty. Fear in the night can play
tricks on a person.
  "If you are going east, would you be so kind as
to give us a lift?" the spokeswoman requested.
"We are not going far."
  "You got any gas?"
  "Plenty of fuel, neighbor. We'll give you
gas for a ride."
  "I'm only goin" about forty-five miles,"
Emil said.
  "That would be wonderful," the woman said. "That would
put us precisely at our destination.
You're so kind. The night can be fearful, can it not?"
  "Bet your ass," Emil muttered. He looked
at the woman. And speaking of ass-
  "Okay," Emil said. "Let's get you all
loaded up and this buggy gassed up."
  They worked quickly, for full night was upon them.
Emil noticed that all the newcomers, despite
their talk of peace and love, were heavily armed. But
in this day and time, only a fool wasn't.
  With the softness of the chickie pushing against him, Emil
cranked the limo, now with a full tank of gas, the
luggage on the rack on top. It headed out into the
night.
  "See the Night People, over there!" Carl said,
pointing.
  "Screw "em," Emil said, driving past the
dark
  outline of what had once been a shopping mall.
He was soon on the highway.
  Everyone breathed a long, collective sigh of
relief.
  "It could have become very ugly back there," a man
spoke from the back seat. 'The Night People are
organizing, all over the land. They have a system of
radio hookups that stretch all over the
lower forty-eight. They will soon be a force to reckon
with, I am afraid."
  "They hate and despise everyone who is not like
them," the chickie beside Emil said. "And where once
they were to be pitied, now they have turned savage and
hateful. They are becoming increasingly dangerous."
  "Blomm will protect us, won't he, Brother
Emil?" Carl asked.
  "The Good Book says the Lord helps those who
help themselves," Emil stated. Or something like that.
Pretty profound, anyways.
  "Blomm?" the chickie by Emil said. "I
don't think I've ever heard of Blomm."
  "Nor I, Sister Susie," a man spoke from
the back seat. "We worshipped with Brother
Fladstool out in California for a time; but then the
Russian and his troops came along and we had
to flee for our lives. Remember, Sister
Susie?"
  "Oh, yes, Brother William. It was after that
we went to Arizona and for a time worshipped with the
Reverend Mugwan, and his Sun, Moon, and Stars
Church. But we became dissatisfied with East
Indian mystics and are now looking for something more
gentle."
  "Wonderful!" Emil cried, almost losing control
of the limo as Sister Susie's softness pressed
against him. He had a hard-on that was throbbing like a
bass
  drum. "I know just the place for you to settle."
  "Oh, wonderful, Emil!" Sister Susie
cried, clapping her soft little hands together. "I'm so
glad we'll all be together."
  "Oh, well be close, all right," Emil
promised. Bet your ass on that, chickie.
  She put her hand on Emil's thigh. "Tell
me, Emil, how long have you been with Francis
Freneau and his Joyful Followers of Life?"
  A back tire on the limo blew out with a bang!
Chapter 10
  Colonel West and his three battalions of
troops took the northern route. They cut up
to Highway 36 at St. Joseph, Missouri and
then followed that due east. Ben and his troops cut
south of Kansas City, then gradually began working
their way east, taking the southernmost route of the two
armies.
  Before they left, Colonel West told Ben,
"Louie is rumored to have some old ICBM'S
fully functional, general."
  Ben almost choked on his tea. "Nukes?"
  "That's what Ashley thought. That's why he was always
so secure. He was even going to use them against you."
  Colonel West was smiling.
  "Why are you smiling, colonel?"
  "You know anything about guided missiles,
general?"
  "No."
  "Well, on these, sir, you don't just push a
button and the birds fly. It takes a sequence of
events to launch. Here's the way it might work: Your
PAR, the
  Perimeter Acquisition Radar, would gather
initial trajectory data on targets and then
transmit that to the Fire Coordination Center. The
FCC would then select the most appropriate
missile site to respond, and then transmit the
collected data to the MDC, the Missile
Direction Center located at that site."
  "Good God!" Ben said.
  "Oh, there's more, sir. Believe me. It is not
and cannot be a one-man show. Besides, I looked at one
of the missiles. They aren't ICBM'S. They're
Spartan."
  "Shorter range."
  "Yes, sir. And this particular Spartan was
designed to explode in the exo-atmosphere."
  "Outside the atmosphere."
  "Hopefully."
  "What do you mean, colonel?"
  "Well, sir, these birds haven't been checked
in years. And Louie was a genius. I've heard that
he monkeyed with the guidance system on some of them.
Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. I just
don't know."
  Ben thought for a moment. "Is it possible,
colonel, for Louie to have ... hell, rewired the
system?"
  "To make it a one-man show?"
  "Yes."
  West sighed. "It's possible, general. I
think. And that screwball just might have done it."
  "Any idea which direction they were programmed
to fly?"
  "No, sir."
  "But you don't believe they're nuclear, right?"
  "No, sir. I do not believe they are."
  "Would they blow up by themselves?"
  "It's possible, sir. You see, general, the
firing sequence is almost entirely
automated through the Data Processing System.
But,
Louie could have found a way to hook into or bypass
that, because they're all capable of having manual
intervention at any point deemed necessary."
  "Deemed necessary by ... whom?"
  "Maybe by Louie."
  "God help us all!"
  "That's it, people!" Cecil shouted at Mackey and
Billy. "Both of you, over here."
  Leaving the Misfits to grab five on the
field, Mackey and Billy trotted to Cecil's
side. "What's up, general?" Lt. Mackey
asked.
  "We're moving out. Khamsin's people are crossing
the river, using the bridges just north of
Savannah. His first teams are racing toward
Interstate Twenty, to beef up those already there."
  "Where do you want us, sir?" Mackey asked.
  "Right here," Cecil said, punching a spot on the
map laid on the hood of a pickup. "You'll be
about fifteen miles east of Atlanta."
  "Why there, sir?" Mackey asked.
  "Because it is close to Atlanta, May. And
Khamsin's people, so our reports
indicate, are avoiding Atlanta. The chances of
your Misfits mixing it up with a stronger force are
lessened there."
  "The Night People?" May asked.
  Cecil nodded his head in silent agreement.
  "What's that, sir?" Billy asked. "What's
the Night People?"
  "You haven't heard of them?" Cecil asked.
  "No, sir. But then, that's easy to explain.
None of us have left this immediate area in more than a year
and a half."
  May explained about the Night P.
  Billy listened and chewed his chaw slowly. "That
might account for the strange radio transmissions we
intercepted ever" now and then. Wild, crazy
talk."
  "Frequency, sergeant?" Cecil asked.
  "High band, sir. Just about off the scale."
  "I'll order a listening team to start monitoring
the high band," Cecil said, as much to himself as
to Billy and May. He looked at May.
"We're getting reports from all over the country
about these Night People banding together, always in the cities.
They could be a problem in the future."
  A runner came panting up. "Sir!
A forward recon team from General Raines just
radioed in. They must be east of Khamsin's
jamming team. General Raines is on the way,
sir. And he's linked up with a Colonel West;
that's that mercenary. West has three battalions with
him. Contact says to look for a man named Ashley;
he'll have about a company of men with him. He's friendly
and will be working with us to fight Khamsin."
  "What's Ben's location?" Cecil asked.
  "Still a couple of hundred miles west of the Big
Muddy, sir."
  Cecil thanked the runner and dismissed him.
"It'll take Ben a good five or six days
to get here, the roads being what they are. We're
going to have a tough go of it until Ben gets here."
  "And spread pretty thin," Mackey said.
  "Razor thin," Cecil agreed. "So let's be
damn sure we're razor sharp." Cecil shook
hands with May and
  Billy Bob. "Move out, people. And good luck."
  Cecil walked to his communications vehicle.
"Get me Colonel Williams," he ordered.
  Joe on the horn, Cecil said, "How's it
looking, Joe?"
  "Quiet here, general. Too damn
quiet. My scouts report a lot of troop
movement across the river. All heading south. Is the
big push on?"
  "Looks that way, Joe. You're certain there is
no movement north?"
  "Not unless the IPA is goin' way inland and then
cuttin' north."
  "I don't think they want to try the mountain
route, Joe. All reports indicate they're
coming across at Savannah." Cecil thought for a
moment, then made his decision, and silently prayed
it was the right one.
  "Joe, leave a team guarding the
I-Eighty-five bridge and start the rest of your people
heading south. Link up with me in Athens."
  "Moving out now, sir."
  Cecil walked back to his vehicle and began
studying his map. He felt, for several reasons, that
Khamsin would not put many troops west of
Atlanta. For one, the area between Atlanta and the
Alabama line had turned wild, filled with thugs
and outlaws and warlords. Khamsin would not want to mix
it up with them; not just yet. Another reason was that he
would surely know that Ben was on the move, and he would
not want his people to get caught in a box, with
Cecil's Rebels to the east, and Ben's people coming
hard from the west.
  Smiling, he closed the map case and once more
walked to communications. "Get me Mark and
Alvaro."
  "Mark? Scramble this. The push is on from
Khamsin. Get your people up and moving. Move them
south of Interstate Twenty, slip into the woods just
east of Sinclair Lake. Slide in there and stay
low and quiet. I'm going to pull my people into the area
you're leaving. Got all that?"
  "Yes, sir. What's the drill on this move?"
  "Khamsin's people will want to punch a hole in the
center of our lines. Fine. We'll let them think
they're doing that. I'll fall back and let them
think the line is broken. As soon as they pour across
the highway, you and your bunch plug the hole. I'll
keep falling back and split my bunch, putting
those troops of the IPA who have crossed the line in a
squeeze, if we have any kind of luck at all,
we can destroy a battalion."
  "Yes, sir!"
  "Ben is on the way, Mark. We've got
to hold until he gets here." Cecil brought the
man up to date on Ben and Colonel
West.
  "Move out, Mark."
  Cecil looked at the woman behind the maze of
electronic equipment. "Pull everybody north
of Interstate Twenty. Everybody. I can't risk
losing a single person in guerrilla action."
  "Yes, sir." She reached for the mike and began
transmitting in code.
  Cecil looked toward the west. "It's gonna be
close, Ben. Real close."
  "I'm being forced to detour, general," Colonel
West radioed to Ben's column. "We've got
some bridges out on Thirty-six. I'm cutting
south to Interstate Seventy."
  "Try to avoid St. Louis, colonel. Some very
strange people are now inhabiting the nation's cities."
  "Ten-four to that, general. I'm looking at a
map now. I can't figure out where to cross the
Muddy."
  Ben checked his map. "Try either the northern or
southern loop, colonel. You might have to cross at
Alton."
  "Ten-four, general. I'll get back to you."
  Ben looked at Buddy. "As many bridges as
possible have to be saved, Buddy. Roads
can be patched up and maintained. But once the big
bridges are gone, they will not be rebuilt; not in our
lifetimes."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Haven't seen you since we pulled out of
Kansas, boy. Everything going all right?"
  "Fine, sir. General McGowan reassigned
me to your column."
  "How considerate of him," Ben said drily.
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben looked the young man over for any sign of
rank. He could find none. "Exactly, boy,
what is your position in this army?"
  "Sort of a roaming recon team, sir. I
don't have any rank."
  "Is that your idea, or Ike's?"
  "Sort of a mutual agreement, sir."
  "I see. Doesn't that present some
difficulty in your giving orders?"
  "No, sir. I have experienced no problems as
yet."
  Ben was conscious of Tina and Dan standing close,
smiling. Denise was sitting behind the wheel of the
Jeep, looking straight ahead, but smiling.
  "Big goddamn joke," Ben groused.
He glared at Buddy. "Well ... go roam and
recon, boy."
  "My team is doing that, sir," Buddy
responded. "Sergeant Major Riverson
assigned me as your bodyguard."
  "I am just delighted that everyone is so concerned with
my welfare."
  "Yes," Buddy agreed, straight-faced. "It
must be quite an honor to be so well-thought-of."
  Ben stared at the young man. But he couldn't tell
if Buddy was putting him on, or not.
  "Let's roll!" Ben ordered. He looked at
Buddy. "You take the lead, boy," he said to a very
startled Buddy. "I'll ride with Dan for an hour
or so."
  "Sir! ..." Buddy opened his mouth to protest.
Then closed it as Ben cut him off.
  "I'm putting you in charge of the column, boy.
What's the matter. Don't you think you can handle
it?"
  Buddy's face tightened. "I can handle it,
sir."
  "Then get to it," Ben said gruffly. "If you
hit a snag, holler. I'll be a couple of
miles back with Colonel Gray."
  Buddy turned away.
  "Boy!" Ben said.
  Buddy slowly turned around. "Yes, sir?"
  "I got something I might as well get said.
Now is as good a time as any, I suppose."
  Buddy braced himself. He knew it had really
irritated his father when General Ike had given him
a team. Now he felt sure his father was going to make
a fool of him by taking that team away from him, or
something worse.
  But he had come here to be withand to serve his father. So
whatever his father decided, he would accept it.
  Suddenly, Ben smiled and extended his hand.
"Welcome home ... Captain Raines."
Chapter 11
  "I can drive my own vehicle," Buddy
bitched to Denise. She had insisted upon driving him.
  "No, sir," she said. "General Raines
signaled for me to drive you."
  Buddy nodded his head. He wasn't about to argue
that. "You're leaving behind any family, Denise?"
  "A few cousins. My immediate family was killed
fighting Ashley and Big Louie."
  Before he could reply, the radio in the Jeep
crackled. "Recon One to Eagle."
  Buddy looked at the radio. "That's your call,
Buddy," Denise said. "You're in charge, now."
  "I'm not the
Eagle!"
Buddy protested.
  "Recon One to Eagle. Come in, Eagle."
  "Take the call." Ben's voice popped out of the
speaker. "Little Eagle."
  Denise laughed aloud.
  Buddy reddened and then laughed. "All right,
Father," he said. "I can play games, too."
  He picked up the mike and said, "This is Little
Eagle, go ahead."
  There were a few seconds' pause before the recon
team responded. "Little Eagle, the highway is
blocked your side of Norwood. Outlaws.
They're
  demanding a tariff to pass. Orders?"
  "Stand by," Buddy said, then consulted his map.
Or rather, his father's map. The point of the column was
about five miles from Norwood. He picked up the
mike. "This is ... Captain Raines. My team
up front. On the double."
  In the center of the column, Ben sat with Dan,
both men listening. Ike had walked up
to join them.
  "You just gonna sit there, Ben?" Ike asked.
  "Yep. It's Buddy's show."
  "You're a hard bastard, you know that, Ben?"
  "What would you do, Ike, if that were your son up
front?"
  Ike mumbled something under his breath.
  "What was that, Ike?" Ben asking, smiling. "I
couldn't quite catch it."
  "I said I'd probably let him handle it!"
  "Just wanted to be sure, Ike."
  Buddy had ordered Denise out of the Jeep. She
refused. "I'm your driver, captain."
  Buddy thought he might know just a tad how his father
felt at times. "Fine, Denise. Let's go."
  They stopped a few hundred yards from the blocked
highway. Buddy had sent two squads left and
right, out of sight of the men behind the barricade.
  "There is a bullhorn on the floorboards,
back seat," Denise told him.
  "Thank you." Buddy got the bullhorn and
stepped out of the Jeep.
  Lifting the bullhorn to his lips, Buddy
pulled the trigger and said, "You men behind the
blockade. What do you want?"
  "This here's a toll road, boy," a man shouted
back. "You don't pay, you don't pass."
  "We can always backtrack, captain," Denise
said.
  "Nobody owns the highway system," Buddy
told
  her. Lifting the horn to his lips, Buddy said,
"I have three thousand troops behind me."
  "You a goddamn lie!" the man shouted.
  "And there are troops all around you," Buddy
informed the man.
  "Another goddamn lie, boy!"
  "You do not own this road!" Buddy shouted through the
bullhorn.
  "I took it from them goddamn McCoys, and now
I own it. So fuck you, soldier boy, or whatever
the hell you is!"
  "Troops left and right!" Buddy shouted.
"Clear the road!"
  The quiet morning stillness was shattered by the
violent sounds of gunfire. The men standing behind the
blockade were knocked backward to the roadbed, their
blood soaking into the highway as two dozen
M-16's and M-14's rattled and spat death.
  When the gunfire ceased, Buddy said,
"Mop up and post guards on both sides of the
road." He walked back to the Jeep and lifted the
mike to his lips. "This is Little Eagle. C
Company, first and second platoons, up to my
position, pronto."
  Ike looked at Ben. "Ain't you gonna get
on that horn and ask him what went down, Ben?"
  "Nope."
  "Ain't you the least bit curious about what
happened?"
  "Yep."
  "Ben Raines, you are a plumb exasperatin'
asshole! Anybody ever tell you that?"
  "Yep."
  When the first and second platoons from Charlie
Company arrived at Buddy's position, he told
them to range east, up the highway, securing the way
east for the column.
  "How secure, captain?" a platoon sergeant
asked.
  Buddy looked at the man. "Whoever you encounter will
either be our friends, or they will be dead. Is that
understood, sergeant?"
  The Rebel grinned. "Yes,
sir!"
  He was not quite out of Buddy's hearing range when the
sergeant said, "We don't have to worry none about
him, people. That's Ben Raines all over again.
Let's roll!"
  Buddy walked back to his Jeep and picked up
the mike. "This is Little Eagle to Old Eagle,"
he said with a smile. "You may advance now, Father.
I have secured the area."
  Dan was laughing so hard he fell out of the Jeep.
Ike and Tina were roaring, tears running down their
faces.
  Ben sat quietly, shaking his head and smiling.
When the laughter died away, he said, "I sure
set myself up for that one, didn't I?"
  And a few miles outside of Topeka, the
clock that Big Louie had set before his fateful
meeting with Ben Raines started clicking.
  Louie might well have been crazy, but he was not
stupid. He had known for some time of Ashley's
deceit and subversion. Louie wanted to leave something
for the masses to remember him by in case this meeting with
Ben Raines turned out to be a trap and he did not
survive.
  He had entered the silo and worked for more than an
hour, resetting and reprogramming the firing
and guidance systems. But Louie was going to be just a
bit short and south of his goal of dropping one in on
Khamsin in South Carolina. Besides, while Louie
had been brilliant in some areas, he was quite stupid
  in others. This type of missile was not built
to explode on land contact.
  But no matter. It would certainly help a
fellow that Louie would have loved.
  Far away. In Louisiana. When the clock
finally reached its firing point.
  Don't look back. Somebody might be gaining
on you.
  Satchel Paige
Chapter 1
  We still have radio contact with Cecil?" Ben
asked his radio operator.
  "Yes, sir. He's diggin' in for a fight. The
last word I got was that Khamsin's people are really
pourin' into Georgia."
  "Setting up a line along Interstate
Twenty?"
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben nodded and turned to Buddy. "Assemble your
teams and get ready to move out. You'll be driving
them hard, Buddy. Clear the way for us
all the way to Sikeston, Missouri. We'll
pick up Interstate Fifty-five there. We'll
take that down to Jackson, Mississippi. From
there, the column will cut straight east. I want us
to come up under Khamsin's troops. We'll hit
them from the south. Move out, boy, and good luck."
  "Yes, sir." Buddy trotted off, shouting for his
teams.
  "Ike," Ben said. "Get in touch with Colonel
West. Tell him to push hard. I want him to link
up with Cecil in Georgia."
  "Right now, Ben."
  Ben stood and watched as Buddy and his teams
pulled out, heavily armed, carrying as much ammo
  and food as they could. Buddy was in the lead Jeep,
the ties of his dark red bandana tailing in the wind.
  "Damn boy just won't wear regulation
headgear," Ben said, smiling.
  Ben saluted his son, and Buddy returned the
gesture.
  Then the teams were out of sight, pushing as hard as
road conditions would allow.
  "Godspeed, boy," Ben murmured.
  "You sure this is going to work, Brother Emil?"
Brother Matthew asked.
  "I'm positive," Emil assured him. "You
just make damn sure this gets in the men's water
supply, and then leave the rest to Blomm."
  Brother Matthew looked rather dubious about the whole
thing, but finally he nodded his head. "Just the men's
water supply?"
  "Just the men's."
  "Look, Emil. Don't hand me none of that
Blomm shit. The Great God Blomm has about as
much power as a pickle."
  Emil looked frantically about him. "Shush!
Don't say that too loud, you idiot. Somebody
might hear you that isn't supposed to."
  "This scam better work, Emil. "Cause if
it don't, I'm splittin"."
  "It'll work. It's gonna take four or five
days, maybe even a week, but it'll work."
  "I hope you're right, Emil. For the sake of
all of us, I hope you're right."
  No more than I do, Emil thought.
  After Brother Matthew had walked away, Emil
looked heavenward; actually, he was looking more west
than up. A bit north by west to be exact. Which
  was all right, as it would later turn out.
  "Blomm, Zeus, Aphrodite ...
somebody,
give me a little bitty miracle. "Cause
holy shit, I don't wanna have to go back
to hoein" butter beans! I got it made here.
Come on. Just a little teeny weeny miracle.
Please?"
  There is someone on the radio who is requesting
to speak to you, general," Khamsin was informed.
  "Who is it? Can't you see I'm busy?"
  "My apologies, sir. But the person is very
insistent."
  "Name?"
  "He says his name is Ashley, and he has
news of Ben Raines."
  Khamsin glanced at Hamid. "It could be a
trick," Hamid said.
  "And it could be worth hearing," Khamsin countered.
"All right," he spoke to the messenger. "Tell this
Ashley I'll be along presently."
  "Yes, sir."
  But impatience and curiosity got the better of
Khamsin, and he was less than a minute behind the
messenger in entering the radio room at his HQ.
  "I'm having trouble holding the frequency,
sir," Khamsin was told. "The distance is
not that great, only a few hundred miles. But
he's on very low band and keeps slipping away."
  "Get him for me," Khamsin ordered.
  "I'll keep this short, general," Ashley said.
"I don't want the Rebels accidentally stumbling
onto this transmission. You ten-four that?"
  "I understand," Khamsin replied. "Can you switch
to a scramble?"
  "If they'll mesh, sure."
  "We'll let the radio people on each end work on
it. I'll talk to you momentarily."
  The radio operators finally settled on a
higher band, one that could be scrambled to both party's
equipment.
  "Now then," Khamsin said, taking the mike. "You
may speak freely."
  "Don't be too sure of that, general," Ashley
told him. "Raines has the finest radio
equipment in the world. They'll find us, and lock
onto us and unscramble. Believe me, I know. So
everything we have to say, we'd best say this go-around and
save the rest for a face-to-face. Ten-four?"
  "Perfectly."
  "Raines is headin' your way with about
thirty-five hundred combat-ready
Rebels. Three of my battalions are with him;
but only one is going to fight with Raines. You understand
that?"
  Khamsin looked at Hamid and both men
smiled. "I understand," Khamsin said. "But why the
generosity?"
  "Simple. I hate Raines more than I
distrust you."
  "How do I know this is not a trick?"
  "You don't. Yet. But hear me out. I just
intercepted a radio message from Raines
to Colonel West. Raines is going to take the
southern route and come up behind your men, south of
Interstate Twenty. The nigger, Jefferys, will link
up with Colonel West and my people north of the
interstate. To put your people in a box. Ten-four?"
  "Yes," Khamsin said. "Ten-four. Your
plan?"
  "My men will wait until they've linked up with the
nigger and then revolt. They have their orders. That
agreeable with you?"
  "Yes. But what do you want from me for all of
this?"
  "Not a goddamn thing, other than Raines being
dead."
  "Oh, come now! Surely you want something."
  "All right. You stay east of the Mississippi
River and I'll stay west. How about that?"
  "How do you know you can trust me?" Khamsin
asked.
  "I don't, partner. But I've always heard that you
were a man of honor. Is my information wrong?"
  Khamsin drew himself up and bristled at the
slur. "I am, of course, a man of honor."
  "Then we have a gentleman's agreement,
general."
  "We have an agreement, Mr. Ashley."
  "We'll both monitor this frequency at noon
each day for messages. "Ten-four?"
  "Agreed."
  Both men signed off.
  "I have discovered something, Hamid," Khamsin
said. "With Ben Raines, there is no middle ground.
People either love the man, or totally despise him."
  "Or totally fear him," Hamid dared to say.
  But Khamsin did not take umbrage. Instead
he smiled. "Yes. You are correct, Hamid.
Or totally fear him."
  Ben pushed his people hard, driving first east, then due
south on Interstate 55. Buddy and his
teams were driving just as hard, clearing the way of
obstacles, both human and accidental. A
six-person engineer team was traveling with Buddy, in
case the obstacles needed to be blown free, or a
temporary bridge built.
  The long stretch of interstate between Memphis,
Tennessee and Jackson, Mississippi yawned
before the Rebels, seemingly deserted, void of
human life. But cook fires could be seen on either
side of the
  concrete lanes as the Rebels drove south. But
they rarely spotted any human life.
  "I wonder about people like that," Buddy said to Judy as
he pointed toward a slim finger of smoke, edging
upward from a home in the distance. "I wonder what
they're doing and how they are getting along."
  "Warlords control much of this area," Judy said.
"But the Rebels have crisscrossed this route several
times before. They'll keep their heads down. They
won't mess with us."
  "How can people just allow themselves to be ruled like that? I
mean, by outlaws and other human trash?"
  "Roadblock up ahead," Buddy's radio
crackled.
  "This may answer your question," Judy said.
  Buddy picked up the mike. "Location?"
  "Five miles north of the Grenada Dam
exit," the point team replied. "It's no small
force, captain. We'll have a fight on our hands."
  "Have they spotted you?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Fall back and hold position. We're ten
minutes away."
  The column topped the hill and slowed, spotting
the point team. Signaling his people to halt, Buddy
walked to the Rebel squad leader. "Did you make
verbal contact with them?"
  "Yes, sir. They say this is a closed area.
They'll allow us to pass if we give them ammo and
women."
  Buddy smiled. "In that order?"
  The squad leader grinned. "Yes, sir."
  Buddy was silent for a moment. "They may have just
told us that they're short of ammunition. We'll
lay back about five hundred meters and let the
snipers have some fun."
  Buddy waved several Rebels forward. They were
all armed with heavy sniper rifles.
  "Make things a little hot for the people down there,"
Buddy told them. "Let's see how
heavy they return the fire."
  The first volley from the long range shooters
knocked three outlaws sprawling, all three with
massive chest wounds from the rifles more than fifteen
hundred feet away.
  The returning fire was sparse.
  "Low on ammo," Buddy said. "We can't just
knock out this blockade and go on. They'll have it
rebuilt in a day and then Dad will be held up.
We've got to take the whole bunch out. Mortar
teams up!"
  Two mortars, each with a range of up
to thirty-three hundred yards. "Blow it out of
there," Buddy ordered.
  The barricades were reduced to smoking ruins in
less than two minutes.
  "Clear it out and bring any still living up to me,"
Buddy ordered.
  Three men and one woman were brought before Buddy.
All were slightly wounded and dazed.
  "The four of you are standing closer to death than you have
ever stood before," Buddy told them. "And don't
doubt that for an instant."
  He could tell by their frightened eyes that they did not.
  "What was the purpose of the blockade?"
  The question seemed to confuse them all.
  "You do not own the nation's highways." Buddy
tried another tact.
  "Neely Green claims this area for his own," the
woman spoke. "We have formed our own nation here."
  "Very admirable of Mr. Green," Buddy said,
then
  thought he'd give them all a mild jolt. "My
father did the same."
  "Your daddy?" a man asked. "Who's "at?"
  "Ben Raines," Buddy said softly.
  The man peed in his dirty jeans. "Oh,
Lard!" he said.
  The other three began trembling.
  "Where is this Neely Green?" Buddy asked.
  "Grenada," the woman said quickly. "You want
me to go git him for you?"
  "How kind of you to volunteer. But would I ever
see you again?"
  The woman regained some composure. "Yes. Because
you don't have enough people to whip Neely."
  "I am in radio contact with half a dozen
battalions," Buddy informed her. "General
Raines commanding. Do you think that would be enough to contain your
Mr. Neely?"
  When she again found her voice, she thought that was
probably enough troops to do the job.
  "Why are you doing this to us?" one of the men with her
asked. "We ain't done nothin" to you."
  Indeed, Buddy thought. A fair question. He
wondered how his father would reply to that. And Buddy was
conscious of many Rebel eyes on him. "If you
wish to set up small communities, to band together for
safety and productivity, free of slavery and
forced labor upon others, that, certainly, is your right.
But you do not have the right to block highways and demand some
sort of toll for others to pass."
  "You're wrong," the woman told him. "The
roads belong to them strong enough to take and hold them."
  "And that is the feeling among all who follow this
Neely person?"
  "Yeah."
  "You hold slaves?"
  "Inferiors."
  Buddy sighed. Would it never end? It seemed to be
getting worse. He looked at the woman. "I
don't expect you to tell me the truth, but I have
to ask. How many men hold this area?"
  "Fuck you!" she told him.
  "Thank you, but no." He turned
to Judy. "We'll need to know some estimate of how
many we are facing. Send in a recon team?"
  She nodded and left.
  "Remove the prisoners, tie them up, and guard
them."
  He turned to the squad leader. "Set up
perimeters. They may try to hit us. As much as I
hate to say it, we're going to have to wait for
reinforcements."
  "There's no crime in that, captain," the squad
leader said. "That's just good sense."
  "But it's going to slow up my father's column."
  "We're used to that, captain," the squad leader
said. "We might not like it, but we're used to it."
  Less than an hour passed before the first of the
recon teams returned and reported to Buddy.
"I'd say three to four hundred, captain. At
the minimum. They're pretty well armed too. And
not a ragtag-looking bunch, either."
  Buddy went to his radio truck and called in.
"Father, we are now approximately eight miles
north of Grenada. We have cleared the southbound
lanes of a roadblock, but are facing possibly
four hundred armed men. However, I feel they are
low on ammo. We are too small
to launch any attack, but could hold until
reinforcements arrive. Orders?"
  "We don't have time to fuck around with some
  two-bit warlord, Buddy. Hold your position and
stand ready to repel any attack. Colonel
Gray will be on his way within five minutes to beef
you up until the main column arrives."
  "Yes, sir. The colonel's approximate
ETA?"
  "Three to four hours."
  "Ten-four, sir."
  He turned to find Judy looking at him.
  "My apologies, Buddy," she said.
  "I don't understand. Why are you apologizing?"
  "Because I said that no warlord would mess around with us."
  "I think warlords come and go, Judy. This Neely
person was probably pushed out of his last territory
and came here; probably killed the outlaw leader
who was here at the time. You had no way of knowing.
Forget it. Get the people secured tight. We've
got about a four-hour wait until Colonel
Gray arrives."
  Only an hour had passed before Buddy got the
word handed down the line to him.
  "We're completely surrounded, sir.
Both sides of the highway and north and south on the
interstate."
  "Kind of like the old cowboys and Indians,
hey?" Buddy said, his smile tight.
  "Yes, sir," the young Rebel, no more than
seventeen or eighteen, said.
  But Buddy knew he was already a combat-hardened
vet.
  "Frightened?" Buddy asked.
  The young man grinned. "No, sir. This is a
piece of cake. I been doin' this since I was
fourteen years old. I been in so many firefights
I can't remember them all."
  "What's your name?"
  "Harris, sir."
  "You've been a Rebel since you were fourteen?"
  "Yes, sir. Me and four-five others come up
out of East Texas to join the general."
  "Where are the others who came with you?"
  "All dead, sir. Fightin' the Russian,
Striganov. Another got killed when the revolt
went down. Another got his ticket punched out in
California."
  "A hard price to pay, Harris."
  "Freedom don't never come easy,
captain. I wasn't but two or three when the
Great War came. I don't remember nothing
"cept hard times and fightin" to stay alive."
He grinned, and his boyishness showed through. "But with all
the fightin', General Raines made us all go
to school for learning."
  "You think a lot of General Raines, hey?"
  "I think he's the greatest man that's walkin' the
face of the earth today."
  Before Buddy could agree with him, a voice
sprang out of the woods on the west side of the
interstate. An evil voice, filled with hate and
ugliness.
  "Mighty fine-lookin' bunch of cunts you got
wearin' them fancy uniforms. We gonna do our
beside' to take you gals alive. Then we'll all have
fun."
  No one from the thin and spread-out ranks of
Rebels elected to reply vocally to that. Out of the
corner of his eyes, Buddy saw Judy spit on
the ground in disgust.
  "Yes, sir," the voice spoke. "That old
boy that come down here from Ohio and took over the area
just east of here pays good for women. "Course, me
and other boys here will sample that pussy some
'fore we trade y'all off."
  "Can you locate him, Harris?" Buddy
whispered.
  "I got him spotted close enough, captain."
  "Judy?"
  "Two more to his right. But I want them."
  From the east side of the interstate, another voice
was added. "How you reckon these fancy soldier
boys will stand up to torture, Perry?"
  "I reckon they'll do some hollerin". Might
be a right good show."
  Buddy lifted his walkie-talkie. "East
side. You have that voice located?"
  "Ten-four."
  "Ready, here?" he asked.
  "Let's do it," Harris said.
  "Now!" Buddy spoke into the cup.
  The mid-morning quiet blew apart with the sounds of
gunfire. One man on the west side of the
interstate was lifted off his knees and onto his feet
as his stomach and chest were stitched with M-14 rounds.
He stood up on tiptoes and lifted both arms.
Branches caught him under the armpits and stopped
him. He hung there as the blood slowed its dripping
as his heart stopped pumping.
  Buddy heard the
thunk
of a rocket being dropped down a mortar tube, the
slam and flutter as it took to the air. Screaming
followed the explosion; more howling followed that. The
mortar crew was dropping white phosphorus in on
the enemy.
  Buddy lifted his Thompson as a man darted
into view across the median. The Thompson sang its
.45 caliber song as the big slow-moving slugs
took the man in the legs. Screaming, the outlaw
pitched face forward in the weeds and lay howling
until the pain dropped him into unconsciousness.
  The
chug-a-chug
of the big .50 caliber machine guns joined in the
smoky noise. The huge slugs knocked down
small saplings and destroyed any living thing they
came in contact with.
  The returning fire was very light.
  "Fall back! Fall back!" a man shouted.
"We'll wait for Neely to get here. Fall
back, goddammit!"
  Then the Rebel snipers went to work. Any flash
of color from either side of the interstate meant
either pain or death as the outlaws raced to get away
from the barrage of gunfire from the outnumbered
Rebels. Firing beefed-up .308's and
.30-jf's, the snipers calmly and coldly did
what they were trained to do.
  Kill dispassionately.
  "Cease fire!" Buddy yelled.
  The firing stopped.
  Moaning and yelling and weeping drifted to the
Rebels from both sides of the highway.
  Harris looked at Buddy and grinned. "I think
those ol' boys are gonna be a tad more cautious
next time around, captain."
  Buddy returned the smile. "I couldn't have said
it better, Harris."
Chapter 2
  There were no more attacks on Buddy's Rebels
that hot afternoon. The day dragged on under the hot
stickiness of late summer in Mississippi. There
were no more taunting and threatening voices heard from the
woods on either side of the interstate.
  Buddy watched as Harris slipped from his position
and knelt down on the shoulder, putting his ear on the
concrete. He looked up, grinning. "I thought I
heard something. Lots of vehicles comin',
captain."
  The Rebels opened the north side of their
perimeter for Colonel Gray.
  Smiling, Dan Gray stepped out of his Jeep and
walked to Buddy. "A problem, captain?"
  Briefly, Buddy explained.
  Dan nodded his head. "Secure the area for a
mile," he ordered his troops. "In all
directions." He turned to Buddy. "General
Raines can't take the time to knock out this warlord,
Buddy. We'll just secure the area until the main
columns pass. This Neely Green will just have
to keep for a time."
  "Yes, sir."
  Dan waved to his batman. "Some tea would be
nice," he said. To Buddy: "Your father is a few
hours behind us. We've experienced some problems with the
larger trucks. Let's go have a chat with the
prisoners you took."
  The three men and one woman looked up at the
tall Englishman. "I say," Dan said to them.
"You people are really in a frightful dilemma. And have
placed me in quite an awkward position."
  Buddy stood silent, not knowing what Dan had up
his sleeve.
  The men were badly frightened and showed their fear. The
woman glared at Dan.
  "What the hell are you?" she snarled at him.
  Dan smiled. "Col. Dan Gray, madam.
Formally of Her Majesty's Special Air
Service, now a battalion commander with General
Raines's Rebels."
  "Well, kiss my ass!" the woman spat.
"Ain't he just too sweet?"
  Dan's eyes narrowed. Buddy had been told
he did not like coarse women. "You are a rather crude
person, madam. I might suggest, if you wish
to continue breathing, you try to keep a civil tongue
in your head."
  She laughed at him and then proceeded to hang together
every cuss word she knew-which would have filled a
dictionary-all directed at Dan and his ancestry.
  When she paused for breath, Dan said, "Are you
quite
through, madam?"
  "Yeah, mother-fucker!" she hissed at him.
  Dan's batman handed him a cup of tea and
several crackers. He gave Buddy the same.
Dan sipped his tea and munched on a cracker,
all the while staring at the female with the foul
mouth.
  "They are your prisoners, captain," Dan said.
  "What you do with them is your business. Personally,
I'd shoot the woman."
  He turned on his heel and walked away.
  "You're stupid," Buddy told the woman.
"Dan was probably going to cut you loose. Now
I don't know what to do with you."
  "Neely'll kill you, pretty boy," she said,
grinning at him. "I'm one of his women."
  "There is no accounting for some people's taste," Buddy
told her, then turned and walked away.
  The woman's screaming profanity followed him.
  "Awesome," Joe Williams said to his
driver. "Matt, we must be looking at three-four
thousand troops down there."
  "Yes, sir," the driver said, lowering his own
binoculars. "Only good part about this is that we got
the high ground."
  "Yes," Joe said. "If only we can hold it
until General Raines gets here."
  Joe's troops were positioned just north of the
interstate, running from Augusta west to Cadley.
  A very thin line.
  Cecil's Rebels were spread from
Cadley over to Greensboro. The area between
Greensboro and Conyers was patched together by Rebels
who normally did not hold combat positions. The
Misfits were lined up around Conyers.
  An outnumbered line of Freedom Fighters.
  Colonel West was driving his battalions as
hard as he dared. He was now pushing across Central
Tennessee, on his way toward Chattanooga; there,
he would cut south on Interstate 75, then angle
east and south
  midway between Chattanooga and Atlanta.
  During one of their fuel stops, West called in
company commanders and platoon leaders from his First
Battalion.
  "Second and Third battalions are up
to something," he said, vocalizing a hunch. "I think
Ashley hates General Raines so much he'd do
anything to get him. Including sacrificing us to meet
that goal."
  "The commanders of Second and Third are sure
buddy-buddy," a platoon leader said. "I'm with
you, colonel. I think we're up to our ass in
shit."
  "So what do we do, colonel?" a mercenary
asked.
  "I'm going to split up Second and Third.
Just as soon as we hit Chattanooga, I'm going
to send the Third straight east, through the mountains, and
order them to deploy north to south from Dillard
to Tallulah Falls. I'll order the Second
to stand back in reserve. If they bow up at those
orders, we'll know they're up to something."
  "And us?"
  "That's what I'm going to find out right now."
  West went to his communications van and told the
operator to get General Jefferys on the horn.
  "General Jefferys? Colonel West here. I
think I've got a problem, sir." He laid out
his suspicions to Cecil.
  "What do you base this on, colonel?" Cecil
asked.
  "A soldier's hunch, sir. Ashley hates
Ben Raines so deeply I think he'd do anything
to see him dead. And there is this: I think we're
better off without the Second and Third, even if
my suspicions are wrong."
  "They're that bad in the field?"
  "The Third is the pits, sir. Useless. And the
Second is not much better. And they are solidly
Ashley's men. I don't trust them,
general."
  "If you split them, colonel, and your
suspicions
  prove out, you'll have them at your back."
  West's sigh was audible over the miles. "Yes,
sir, I am aware of that."
  "I trust your hunches, colonel. You know these
men in question; I don't."
  "Thank you, sir. Where do you want me and my
troops?"
  "I'm very weak between Greensboro and Conyers. I
need that area beefed up badly."
  "I'll push them hard, general. With any kind of
luck, I'll be there and in position by dawn."
  "Thank you, colonel. It's good to have you with us."
  "Yes, sir."
  Emil hiked his robe up around his knees and
began chanting, speaking in tongues as he did a
combination of the jitterbug and the twist in the dust.
Occasionally, he would stop and point in the direction
of the camp of Francis Freneau and his Joyful
Followers of Life.
  Brother Carl began racing around the village.
"Come quickly, come quickly. Brother Emil is in the
spirit of Blomm, and the great god is speaking
to him. Come quickly, come quickly."
  Emil's followers gathered around, staring in awe and
wonder as Emil began to get down and boogie right.
  "Ughum, bugum, and doo waa ditty titty!"
Emil shouted, working up a sweat under the summer
sun.
  He suddenly stopped his gyrations and flung his
arms wide, his face to the sky. Fuckin' sun is
tough, he thought.
  "Blomm is angry," he shouted. "Blomm
has told me there is an imposter in our area. A
man who
  speaks with forked tongue." Come on, Emil, he
berated himself. You can do better than that. "This man
is subverting our worship of Blomm, and Blomm
is raining down curses on this man's head."
  Emil flung himself on the ground and began hunching
and twisting and screaming.
  Sucker is good when he wants to be, Brother
Matthew thought. He just might actually pull this shit
off.
  The men and women, more than a hundred strong,
oohed and aahed as Emil thrashed about on the ground,
the dust flying, his mouth shouting words in a tongue known
only to Emil and to Blomm. Suddenly,
Emil stopped his frantic movements and stiffened.
  Slowly he rose to his knees and pointed west
with a trembling finger. "The great lie is
there!"
he thundered.
  "Least he got the direction right," Brother
Roger said. "Little sucker can get lost goin' to the
crapper."
  Emil heard him and shifted his eyes, whispering,
"Shut your fuckin' face, ninny! I could win an
academy award for this performance."
  "Blomm is calling to me!" Emil shouted.
"Yes, Great Blomm? Yes, yes, I hear and
repeat your words."
  Emil strung together some words from some 1970 rock
songs, which made about as much sense now as they did
then. Emil jumped to his feet, mouthed some
1980's rap, and ended with a chorus of Bo
Jangles.
  Minus the dog.
  "Oh, Blomm!" Emil said, placing one hand
over his heart. "Oh, no, not Francis
Freneau!"
  Emil lowered his head and slowly shook it from side
to side. "Poor Francis," he said.
"Thinking he
  could fool the gods."
  "What about dear Francis?" a woman called
shrilly. "What is happening, Brother Emil?"
  "He is being punished for placing himself in a
godlike position. His behavior will become most
erratic, and his followers will be unhappy."
"Oh no!"
the ladies all shouted.
  "And the men with him, too," Emil added.
"Oh no!"
  "Fuckin' horny broads," Emil whispered.
"He will be stricken with some terrible physical
affliction. From his waist down!" Emil shouted.
"Oh no!"
  Emil lowered his head. "And there will be nothing that
anyone can do to save the poor misguided fool."
  The ladies all began weeping and wailing.
  "I am exhausted," Emil said. "I must
rest." He looked at the crowd, a sly glint in
his eyes. "It is very wearing on me to speak with the
gods. But of course, you've never seen Francis
Freneau do that, have you?"
  "No," the crowd whispered.
  "Come." Emil held out his arms.
"Escort me to my quarters and bathe and rub my
poor aching feet."
  Soberly, as if they were handling the Mona Lisa,
the crowd gently carried Emil to his quarters.
  Ben stood with Buddy and Dan on the shoulder of the
interstate, watching his columns roll past; a
seemingly endless parade of the machines and people of war.
  "What do you want to do with the prisoners, son?"
Ben asked.
  "Turn them loose. Let them wallow in their
ignorance with their ignorant friends."
  Ben looked toward Denise. "Cut them loose
and have them guarded until the last vehicle is
past."
  "Yes, sir."
  "You did a good job here, Buddy," Ben told
him.
  "Thank you, sir."
  "Get your teams together and move out. Catch up and
pass the columns. I want you at least fifty
miles ahead of us."
  "Yes, sir." He grinned. "I'll see you in
Georgia, general."
  As Buddy was yelling for his teams to gather and move
out, Ike walked up.
  "I'll be going on ahead, Ben. Joe
Williams has got the easternmost section;
I'll come up under him and be in position."
  "All right, Ike. Good luck." He turned
to Dan. "Dan, follow Ike. Spread your people from
east to west. Ill take this section between these national
forests here." He punched the map. "Just south of
Greensboro. Tina? Your teams will be the last in
position. Stay out of Atlanta. Spread out along
this line from Conyers to, say, Covington. Let's
roll!"
  Khamsin's troops struck just at dusk, using
mortars and light artillery. And had they not been so
confident of victory, they might have punched through the
thin lines in a spot not of Cecil's choosing. But
the troops of the IPA had never full force tasted the
fury of Ben Raines's Rebels. But on this
bloody dusk, the last rays of the sun gone, the
troops of the IPA were about to find out why Raines's
Rebels had such an awesome reputation.
  Khamsin's troops came across the interstate
charging Joe Williams's position. The troops
of The Hot Wind died in bloody heaps before even
reaching the median.
  Joe had armed every fourth Rebel with an
M-60 machine gun. Every squad had a .50
caliber machine gun. And the Rebels had mined the
median.
  Joe, as had every commander, brought all the firepower
his people could possibly use. And it was deadly awesome.
  Then, for no apparent reason, Joe's troops
pulled back and shifted positions, deserting the
interstate, moving as silently and swiftly as
ghosts.
  "Where in the hell are they going?" Khamsin
screamed the question as soon as he got the message.
  "They are retreating, sir! We have broken through
their lines."
  But Khamsin recalled, bitterly, the last time
his troops thought they had the Rebels on the run.
  That little ruse had cost him a thousand men. He
sat in his new command post in Augusta and worried
thoughts around in his mind.
  "Two companies," he ordered. "Send two
companies after them. And do it cautiously."
  The IPA who struck Joe Williams moved
through the night, pursuing the retreating Rebels. They
encountered no mines, no snipers, no nothing. But
they did find tracks left by the Rebels as they
ran away.
  They reported this back to Khamsin.
  "Fourth Brigade across the line and pursue the
Rebels," he ordered. "Cautiously,
cautiously, now."
  Joe had pulled his people back, way back, all
the way back to Highway 43, north of the
interstate, leaving Rebel sappers in deep cover
behind him, stretched out along a twenty-five-mile
strip of interstate.
  As the troops of the IPA moved across the
interstate, into what had just been Rebel-held
territory, the Rebel sappers came out of deep
cover and moved
  across the interstate, carrying their deadly cargo of
mines and explosives.
  The sappers then formed up into small guerrilla
groups and waited for the action to start.
  Joe's troops were now in position, lying in
wait, north to south, along Highways 43 and
78. That left the troops of the IPA with the river
at their backs, the western fingers of Clarks Hill
Lake to their north, and the deadly mined interstate to their
south.
  And a half a dozen guerrilla groups waiting in
ambush in the darkness.
  Cecil's thinly placed troops stood their
positions and slugged it out with the IPA across the
interstate. The odds were impossibly against the
Rebels, but that was something they were, to a person,
used to. They held their ground and fought savagely.
  And Mark and Alvaro waited with their troops just
south of Cecil's battle lines.
  The hot late summer's night exploded in
hate and rage along the interstate. Several
companies of Khamsin's IPA, expecting little or
no resistance, moved confidently across the interstate
just east of Conyers. They died in bloody piles in
the eastbound lanes. Lieutenant Mackey's
Misfits were determined to prove themselves in the eyes
of the other Rebels. The company of quick-trained
Rebels fought with a ferocity that surprised even them.
  The lines of Rebels, stretching thinly along the
interstate, bent and buckled, but did not break as the
night attack continued to ram its assault against the
Freedom Fighters.
  "Circle now." Joe Williams gave the
orders, speaking into the cup of his walkie-talkie.
"Quickly and quietly."
  Rebels sealed off the few miles between the last
south-pointing finger of Clarks Hill
Lake and Interstate 20, just west of Highway
78. Other Rebels moved just east of Highway
47, putting the troops of the IPA into a box.
  "Now!" Joe gave the orders. "Hit them
hard. No prisoners."
  The Fourth Brigade of Khamsin's invincible
Islamic People's Army found themselves fighting shadowy
ghosts in the night; they found themselves in a deadly
no-man's-land, some of them facing men and women in
vicious hand-to-hand combat, facing Rebels with
knives honed to razor sharpness.
  Some of Khamsin's IPA ran toward the north,
toward the fingers of the lake, and became hopelessly
lost in the maze of brush and timber and marsh, the
country not tended by human hands in years. Others
walked into ambushes. Entire squads were wiped out
by two and three-person Rebels' teams lying in
wait in the night.
  Others of Khamsin's so-called superior forces
ran south, toward the interstate. They ran
into Claymores and Bouncing Bettys and
trip-wired, electronically detonated
C-4's. Brush fires sprang up into the
night, set by Rebels to block escape routes.
The fires grabbed greedily at the clothing
of the IPA, creating running, screaming human
torches in the darkness.
  The night skies along the interstate became
brightly lighted by the dry brush and wood.
  "Get your people
out
of there!" Khamsin screamed the orders from his CP.
  But it was too late for most of the ill-fated
Fourth Brigade.
  The summer night, normally filled with the scent of
flowers, became filled with the odor of burning human
flesh, excrement from death-relaxed bowels,
  and the sickly-sweet odor of death.
  And once more, the taste in Khamsin's mouth was the
copper-like taste of defeat.
  "Scouts just radioed in, colonel," West was
informed. "The Second and Third have linked up and are
spreading out west to east. Looks like they're trying
to box us in."
  "Looks like I was right," West said. But he
took no satisfaction in being correct.
  Colonel West looked at his map. His
troops had angled south and east in order to avoid
the trashy and dangerous mess that was now Atlanta.
  But they still had miles to go, over roads
that were unfamiliar and, for the most part, badly in need
of repair.
  "I figure three-four more hours," West said.
"We're ahead of schedule, but those assholes in
Second and Third worry me some."
  "That goddamn Ashley!" a company commander said.
"He must really have the red-ass toward General
Raines."
  "If I ever get that son of a bitch in
gunsights," West said, "I'll put an end
to his quarrel. And you can tattoo that on your arm.
Let's roll, boys."
  Buddy's teams had barreled past Ike's
slower-moving columns and were inside Georgia long
before dawn.
  At La Grange, Buddy brought his teams to a
halt.
  "Let's find out where everybody is," Buddy
said. "String an antenna over there," he said,
pointing, "and let's get set up."
  "This is Captain Raines to any Rebel unit
within
  the sound of my voice. Come in, please."
  At Conyers, Georgia, Lieutenant
Mackey was darting from position to position
during a lull in the fighting. She was approached by a
runner.
  "Lieutenant, there's a Captain Raines on
the horn."
  "A
Captain
Raines?" Mackey questioned.
  "Yes, ma'am. Says he's Ben Raines's
son; he's the lead recon commander. Has about
seventy-five Rebels with him and wants to know where
he and his people are most needed."
  "This I gotta see," she muttered. "All
right. Ask him if he can come up south of us and take
some of the strain off us."
  The request was made. The runner returned.
"Says he can do, lieutenant. He'll be here before
dawn."
  Both sides facing each other across the interstate
took the time to ease back and lick their wounds and
review their situation.
  And for the Rebels, it was grim.
  "Order our people closest to Atlanta to break
through." Khamsin radioed his orders. "And do it,
without fail."
  Cecil's CP heard the orders from
Khamsin and informed Cec.
  "Start falling back," Cec ordered.
"Advise Mark and Alvaro we are doing so and
to move out toward us. We've got to split up and
send some people toward Conyers to beef up Mackey's
Misfits."
  "There is a Captain Raines heading that way
now, sir. He's got a platoon with him. Who
is Captain Raines, sir?"
  "Ben Raines's son," Cecil told the
startled Rebel. Cecil smiled. "That means that
Ben and Ike and Dan aren't far behind. Any word on
Colonel West's position?"
  "Last report was Loganville. They should be
getting into battle position any minute, now."
  "How about Colonel Williams?"
  "He creamed them, sir," the Rebel said with a
grin. "From listening to radio reports, the IPA
doesn't want any more of Joe Williams."
  A panting runner slid to a stop. "Breakthrough,
sir! The IPA just punched through at Barnett.
They're trying to put Colonel Williams's
Rebels in a box."
  "Goddammit!" Cec cursed. "And I don't
have a soul to send there. Any word on
Ike's people?"
  "Just crossing into Georgia, sir. They'll
take Highway Sixteen and set up battle
lines at Thomson."
  "If there is anything left there to save," Cec
said grimly. "Hang on, Joe," he said. "Just
hang on, buddy."
Chapter 3
  Khamsin's IPA did, indeed, punch a hole
into Rebel-held territory; but if they had thoughts
of putting Joe Williams and his people in a box, they
didn't know Col. Joe Williams.
  But they were about to know him-far better than they
wanted to, as it would turn out.
  "Mother-fuckers!" Joe swore, and he was not
normally a profane man.
  His driver and aide, Matt, glanced at him in
the darkness. "They about to get you pissed-off, sir?"
  "No, Matt," Joe said, his voice calm.
"They have
got
me pissed-off."
  Joe signaled for his radio operator to come
over. Taking the mike from the backpack radio, he
said, "This is Colonel Williams.
All units form up north and south of my location.
Take everything you can stagger with, and leave the rest.
When you're all in position, bump me."
  "What are we gonna do, colonel?" Matt
asked.
  "We're gonna charge, son!"
  Matt grinned. "Yes,
sir!"
  Lieutenant Mackey almost jumped out of her
  boots when someone touched her on the shoulder. She
wheeled around, M-16 coming up.
  Colonel West grinned at her. "Sorry,
lieutenant. I walk rather softly."
  "Softly's ass!" Mackey said. "You move like
a friggin' ghost! Who the hell are you?"
  "Colonel West, lieutenant. My
battalion is in position just north of the interstate
at Oxford. General Jefferys moved me to the east
a bit. I'll explain his plan to you. Has Ben
Raines's kid reported in position yet?"
  "No, sir."
  "He's a good troop. Not as savvy as his
daddy, of course. But he's damn good." His eyes
swept over what he could see of the Misfits. He
grunted. "Strange-looking bunch."
  Mackey grinned just as Billy Bob strolled
up. "They're doing well for only five days'
training, colonel." She introduced Billy
Bob.
  The men shook hands and West said,
"Five
days' training?"
  "It's a long story, colonel," Billy said.
  "I'm not even sure I want to hear it!" West
said, softening that with a grin. "But if they're fighting and
standing, that's all that matters."
  He told them both of Cecil's plan.
  "I ain't gonna second-guess no general,"
Billy said. "But if it don't work ... we're
all gonna be in one hell of a mess."
  "That we are, sergeant," West replied
cheerfully. "That we are. All right, lieutenant,
I brought a platoon with me on this visit.
Looks like you could use a few more people. Where do you
want them?"
  Before Mackey could reply, a shout rang out.
"Here they come! Jesus Christ, there must be
two-three thousand of them!"
  "How about right where we are, colonel?" Mackey
suggested.
  "Considering the situation," West said, grinning a
soldier's grin, "do I have a choice?"
  Dan and his teams were just minutes behind Ike, and
Ben and Tina only minutes behind Dan. All were
pushing harder than road conditions would allow, and the
trucks were showing it. But any vehicle that broke
down was left, the gear and personnel transferred,
and only a few minutes were lost.
  Ike would travel on clear across Georgia,
following 16 all the way. Ben would break off at
Highway Forty-four, at Eatonton, coming up under
Mark and Alvaro as they plugged the hole left as
Cecil pulled back. Dan would roll about
twenty-five miles past Ben's break-off point,
and move north at Sparta, splitting his people, one
group going up 22, the other heading up 15.
Tina's teams had already broken off from the main
columns and were racing toward Conyers. Those troops
of the IPA who were pushing hard at the Misfits and
at West's lone platoon. They were about to find
themselves in a box with no way out.
  Except death.
  "Kill "em all but six, people!" Williams
roared into his mike. "And save them for
pallbearers. Charge!"
  Screaming their fury, the Rebels lunged out of the
timber, the brush, the ditches; over the hills and
across the old highway, cracked and worn from years of
neglect.
  The Rebels literally scared the living shit out of
many of the IPA.
  The Rebels had camouflaged themselves with touch-up
paint, leaves, twigs, and mud. They looked and
sounded like something straight out of hell.
  And fought with the fury of ten times their number.
  Teams of Rebels broke through the western lines
of the IPA, then turned around and put Khamsin's people
in the same box Khamsin had designed for them.
  The Rebels took no prisoners.
  The western edge of Khamsin's box had been
broken, punched through at a dozen locations. Now there
were no clearly defined battle lines; all along
a twenty-mile stretch of highway, it was bloody
confusion and death.
  Selected teams of Rebels began stripping the
uniforms off of the dead IPA troops and pulling them
on over their tiger-stripe or lizard-battle
dress, then slipping into the confused ranks of
Khamsin's people.
  To cut a throat or two.
  Joe had given the orders for all his people, after doing
as much damage as they could, to work east and form up between
Highways 80 and 47. If they could just hold out
until dawn, Ike and his people would be in position just
south of Thomson. If they could just hold out.
  If.
  "Little Eagle, this is Big Sister," Tina
radioed. "Are you in position?"
  "Ten-four, Big Sister," Buddy answered.
"I'm just south and west of Conyers. What is your
position?"
  "South and east of same. I've got Highway
One thirty-eight to my back."
  "Ready to go?"
  "Sittin" on ready."
  "Let's do it, Big Sister."
  Buddy and Tina sealed off the south end of Conyers
and began working their teams house to house, building
to building; slow, dangerous work.
  The first silver rays of sun were just beginning to slip
through the darkness, giving the sky a tinted look.
  Khamsin's people, now realizing they were caught in a
box, dug in and began fighting from locked positions.
And that action served only to spell out their doom.
  "Lieutenant Mackey," Tina
radioed.
  "Mackey."
  "You have mortar capability?"
  "Negative."
  "I do." West cut in on the transmission.
  "Is this Colonel West?"
  "Affirmative."
  "We have a large force of IPA dug in hard.
Downtown Conyers." She checked her grid map and
gave him the coordinates. "Can you drop some
surprises in there, colonel?"
  "Ten-four. Are you in position to act as forward
observer?"
  "Ten-four."
  "Keep your heads down. Mail incoming."
  "Ten-four, colonel."
  Downtown Conyers began exploding in showers of
bricks and stone and dust as West's mortar men hit
their targets. Bodies and bits and pieces of
bodies soon littered the already littered streets
of the Georgia town.
  Tina lay behind the rusted ruins of a pickup
truck and called the shots in.
  As the troops of Khamsin tried to run from the
deadly hail of rockets, Tina and
Buddy's troops knocked them sprawling amid the
litter with well-placed rifle shots.
  To their credit, none of the IPA attempted
to surrender.
  They had been briefed beforehand that the Rebels did
not take prisoners.
  Tina called for a halt in the barrage.
  The downtown area of Conyers was destroyed.
Small fires were caused when WP was mixed with
HE mortar.
  "Northside friendlies," Tina radioed.
"Please hold fire. We're commencing mopping
up."
  "Ten-four, southside friendlies."
  Buddy and Tina soon linked up, standing and watching
as their troops ended the dreams of world conquest for any
IPA troop still left alive. Single shots
sprang out of the smoky early morning mist. Rebel
snipers lay in position, waiting to drop any
IPA troop that might have escaped the deadly rain
of mortars.
  The morning dropped from a noisy, screaming
battleground into a hush, broken only by the crunch
of boots walking about the rubble.
  South-side Rebels met north-side
Rebels and Colonel West's mercenaries in the
center of Conyers.
  "Orders, colonel?" Tina asked West.
  "General Jefferys has pulled back, opening a
hole for the IPA to push through. The troops of someone
named Mark and Alvaro are moving to plug that hole,
trapping the IPA. I have my battalion waiting
just east of here. But, there are two battalions of
Ashley's troops moving in on us from the north.
Let's do this: I'll take the north side of the
interstate, you and Buddy and Lieutenant Mackey
take the south
  side; we'll all work gradually east.
Okay?"
  "Sounds good," Tina said. "Let's roll."
  Jake and his band of rednecks and white trash and
miscreants had not gone far from Athens. Just about ten
miles down the road to a little town called
Watkinsville. There, Jake had licked his wounds
and nurtured his hate, all the while gathering more
human trash about him.
  And Cecil had pulled his troops back and had
set up his CP about four miles away, in what
remained of a tiny town named Bishop.
  As an undcld cease-fire was occurring
for a time, Ike and Dan and Ben were rolling
into position.
  The troops of Khamsin, who had pursued
Cecil as he pulled back, were now positioned at
the northernmost edge of the Oconee National Forest.
The troops of Mark and Alvaro were only a few
miles behind the IPA, filtering quietly through the
forest.
  A hush fell for a time on the
one-hundred-and-twenty-five-mile stretch of
battleground.
  "We have lost contact with our troops near
Conyers," Khamsin was informed.
  "How long?" Khamsin asked, rubbing gritty
eyes.
  "More than a hour, sir."
  "Our people in the northern Oconee?"
  "Resting. They are only a few miles from the
black general's position."
  Khamsin lifted his eyes, meeting the gaze of
Hamid. "I know," Khamsin said softly. "It
is not necessary to speak the words; I can read them in your
eyes."
  We should have been content with what we had!
  Hamid's eyes said. "I do not understand
these people, Khamsin. We have conquered half the existing
world, fighting forces that outnumbered us ten to one. Yet
this little band of Rebels defeats us at every turn. I
do not understand it."
  "Could it be true, Hamid," Khamsin said, after
dismissing his aides. "The rumor, the talk of Ben
Raines being some sort of
god?"
  "Only Allah could answer that question, Khamsin.
I certainly cannot."
  "Issue the orders, Hamid. All troops
fall back south. Retreat." But Khamsin was
smiling. "But do not scramble this transmission. Not this
one. After you have given those orders, instruct our
radio people to go to the alternate frequency for one
short message."
  For the first time that day, Hamid smiled. "Yes,
sir!"
Chapter 4
  "You no-good, lousy, son of a bitch!"
Francis Frenau cursed Emil.
  Emil grinned at him. "Why, Francis!
What an unchristian-like thing to say. I'm ashamed
of you, my boy."
  "You asshole!"
  Emil giggled. "Are you having some sort of
difficulty, Francis?"
  They were meeting alone, just outside a small
town-or what was left of it-called Delhi.
"Difficulty!"
Francis roared, towering above Emil. "You sorry
bastard. Hite, I don't know exactly what you
did to me. But I know that
you
did it. And I think I'm gonna kill you for that."
  Francis was about two and a half times the size of
Emil-in more ways than one; the porn makers
didn't call him Long Dong as a come-on. In the
porn-flick business one has to put up or shut
up. Or perhaps rise up might be more apropos. But
the big man stopped flat in his size thirteen
sandals when Emil reached up his robe and hauled out
a single action .45 about a foot and a half long and
jacked back the hammer.
  "Whoa, donkey-dick!" Emil told him.
"Now you listen to me. You come swishing and yodeling your
big ass into my territory, trying to screw up my
scam. I'm the one oughta be killing mad, and I'm
gettin" there, Bong Dong."
  "That's Long Dong," Francis
automatically corrected.
  "Whatever, you freak. You know the rules of the
game: no con artist moves in on another's
territory. You blew it, dinosaur-dick!"
  "What'd you do to me, Hite?" Francis
demanded.
  "Blomm put a curse on you."
  "Blomm's ass! Save that crap for the stupids.
Look, you shrimp. Whatever you done, undo it.
My chickies are all upset."
  "Good. Serves you right. Tell you what,
Stanley, I might be persuaded to put in a good
word for you, with Blomm ..."
  Francis/stanley rolled his eyes.
  "... if you'll give me your word you'll get your
ass, and your other attachments, outta my
territory."
  "Screw you, Hite!" Francis snarled.
"I'll figure out what you did; gimme a little
time. And when I do, I'll be back gunnin' for your
skinny ass."
  Out of the corner of his eye, Emil caught a
glimpse of Sister Susie; the chick was even more
beautiful in the daylight. He stowed the Buntline
special and waved his arms. "Begone, you
spawn of evil!" he shouted at Francis.
"Begone from the sight of righteousness. Namely, me!"
  "Friggin' nut!" Francis said. But he
left, glaring at Emil occasionally. Emil would
pat the butt of the .45 and grin at him.
  "You big softie!" Emil hissed at him.
  Sister Susie sauntered toward Emil.
"You're so
forceful,"
she told him. "I just love a man that's sure of
himself."
  "Have you come to your senses, Sister Susie?"
Emil said, frowning at the young woman.
  "I'm sorry I was rude to you the other night.
Will you forgive me?"
  "Blomm would allow that, I suppose. Come,
girl, let us sit by the creek and be comfortable."
  Sitting on the bayou bank, Sister Susie's
robe hiked up to mid-thigh. Emil reached up under
what was left of her robe and squeezed.
  "Oohhh," Sister Susie said. "Tell me more
about yourself, Brother Emil. Are you firm?"
  "Damn right. Plumb rigid at the moment."
  "OO-HHH," she said, as Emil gave her
another squeeze. "That's good. All the
men across the river have suddenly become so ... so,
flexible."
  "Yeah. I bet they have."
  She reached under his robe and grabbed his woody.
  After that, neither one of them even noticed the old
mossy-back "gator on the other side of the
bayou, watching them through unblinking eyes.
  "I hate to say this, general," Colonel West
told Ben. "But this has turned rather
anticlimactic."
  "It isn't over," Ben said softly.
"Khamsin's got too much pride to let it end like
this."
  "What do you mean, Dad?" Tina asked.
  Ben, Dan, West, Tina, and Buddy were sitting
in Ben's temporary CP, just outside of
Madison.
  Ike had set up his CP at Thomson.
Cecil had pulled back the northern Oconee
Forest.
  And Khamsin's troops had vanished.
  "He's up to something, I believe. I think
he's going
  to show us that we're not the only ones who can play
tricks and make them work."
  "I am a bit curious as to what happened to those
IPA troops who had followed Cecil," Dan
said.
  Ben walked to a map and pointed to an unpaved
road leading east out of the Oconee. "I think they
slipped out this way and then cut north. I think
they're doing an end-around. Maybe a double
end-around."
  Colonel West walked to the map. He studied
it for a moment, then nodded his head. "Sure. You're
right, General Raines. They're going to link up with
Ashley's two battalions north of our lines.
And if they're pulling a double end-around, Ike is
in for a bad time of it."
  "If we could just be sure that's what he's got
up his sleeve," Ben muttered.
  "It's tough to have one's own game played against you,
isn't it, general?" West said with that strange
smile of his.
  Ben faced him. "And you, colonel? Where do you
stand in all this? You don't owe me a thing."
  West shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I am a
soldier, general. For hire. Since money, as we
knew it, is useless, then I've hired out to you for the
fight alone. I like your Rebels, Ben
Raines. They're ... unique. And to a person,
by God, they'll stand. I think I'll stick around,
general."
  "Glad to have you, colonel."
  "So you want me and my boys to link up with you
guys, huh?" Jake told the CO of Ashley's
Second Battalion. "Why the hell should I?"
  "I, ah, understand that you had a small argument
  with the nigger general, did you not?" Jake flushed.
"Maybe. So what if I did?"
  "That's who we are going to fight."
  "No shit! And just where might he be, fancy
pants?"
  "About twenty-five miles away from where we're
standing. And if you'll join up with us, we'll have him
outnumbered about eight to one. So how about it?"
  "I want him alive," Jake said. "I got
plans for that coon."
  "If we take him alive, he's all yours,
Jake. And that's a promise."
  "Let's do it."
  "Quiet," Cecil muttered. "We opened the
door to the trap, but they didn't like the bait. I
wonder why."
  "Sir?" a Rebel said. "General
Raines is on the horn."
  "Cec! Good to know you're still alive."
  "Something's up, Ben. I can feel it in my old
bones."
  "Yeah, I know." Briefly and quickly, Ben
told Cecil of his hunch.
  "Okay, I agree with you. But I'm sitting
pretty good here. I've got Mark and Alvaro just
south of me, and we're dug in deep; good cover.
I don't think those renegade battalions want
to try us in the woods."
  "Yes, I agree. But Khamsin still has no
telling how many thousands of troops. And they've got
to be gearing up for something."
  "Ike," Cecil said flatly.
  "That's what Colonel West and I think. But
goddammit, we don't know for sure."
  "What's Ike say about it?"
  "He's out of pocket for about an hour." Ben
sighed. "How Colonel Williams?"
  "Fat and sassy. That's why I'm not worried
about my position. Joe's people are sitting just to my
east."
  "Cec, I've sent out a dozen recon teams,
north and south of the interstate. What do you
know about a two-bit warlord named Jake?"
  "I whipped his ass about eight or ten days ago.
Up in Athens."
  "He's linked up with Ashley's renegade
battalions. And they're not far from your position.
That man carries a lot of hate for you, Cec."
  "I should have killed him."
  "Next time you meet, please do. Cec, recon
teams are reporting that all signs, including
civilian sight verification, indicate that
Khamsin's people have moved east. I'm going to play out
my hunch and bet that Ike's in for a bad time of it."
  "All right, Ben. What are your orders?"
  "I'm going to leave Ashley's battalions and
this Jake person for you and your people to neutralize.
I'll take Joe's bunch and what I've got with
me and head east. Pray we're right, Cec."
  "Will do, Ben. Luck to you."
  Ben signed off and turned to Dan. "Dan, we
know that Khamsin's people bugged out to the south. Indications
are that they then cut northeast. They're after Ike.
That's the only thing I can figure. I've got
Buddy and Tina and their teams out working deep recon,
gradually moving toward Ike's position. So here
is what we'll do." Ben's eyes touched
the eyes of Colonel West. "We'll all work
east. All of us working south of the interstate. Work
slowly and miss nothing,
  for we don't know what in the hell we're walking
into this time around."
  Dan and West nodded in agreement.
  "I'll leave Lieutenant Mackey and her
... Misfits," he said and smiled, "where they are.
We've got to have somebody keeping watch on the
backyard while we're gone. Order your people to get
some rest, some food, and to check equipment. We'll
be moving out at dawn tomorrow."
  The mercenary and the Englishman exited the CP.
Ben, Denise walking beside him, walked to his
communications truck.
  "Bump Ike again, please," he told the
operator.
  "Howdy, Ben." Ike's voice popped out of the
speaker.
  "Where in the hell have you been?" Ben asked.
  "Oh, out lookin" around," Ike said, knowing
Ben's sharpness was from concern, not anger. "Sure is
quiet for all the rush it took to get here."
  Ben told him of his hunches.
  "Sounds right to me, Ben. But I'm
sittin' pretty good where I am. Khamsin, so
I'm told, has reached our status when it comes
to heavy guns. He just ain't got "em. He, like
us, has got mortars running out the yin-yang, but
no long range and heavy shooters."
  "But he's gonna have you outgunned with those
mortars, Ike. He can lay back and do a hell
of a lot of damage."
  "True."
  "I've half a mind to order you out of there,
Ike."
  "Naw! Hell, we gotta face this dude
sometime, Ben. Way I figure it, might as well
do it now and get it over with."
  "All right, Ike. Head's up, now."
  "Five by five, Ben."
  "I'll be pulling out before dawn." "See you
soon, partner."
  West found Ben sitting alone, on the steps of a
long-deserted house. He appeared to be deep in
thought.
  "Rather a pensive look on your face, general,"
West remarked.
  Ben smiled. "Pensive? An interesting word for a
mercenary to use."
  West sat down and laughed. "What makes a
mercenary, general? You were one yourself."
  "I always preferred soldier of fortune."
  West chuckled. "Semantics, Ben Raines.
If you dip a rose in shit, you've still got a
rose, haven't you?"
  Denise was sitting a few yards away, listening.
  "I guess I was pensive, colonel. I've
just got this thought that Khamsin is pulling one on us.
Some little ... elusive feeling deep inside me.
But I can't seem to pin it down."
  "Some classic military move, general?"
  "Could well be."
  "Well, let's hope that in this case, history
doesn't repeat itself and this turns out to be another
Little Big Horn."
  "That depends entirely on which side we elect
to be on, doesn't it?"
  Both men were silent for a few moments, listening to the
sounds and smells of late summer. The thick
smell of wildflowers and honeysuckle; the happy
calling of the birds.
  "Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull suckered
Custer, didn't they?" West asked.
  "Yes." Ben looked at him. "I
think you've hit on it, colonel."
  "Maybe. It was just a thought."
  "Colonel, if Khamsin's men run, don't
follow them. Not even if it appears,
especially
if it appears, a victory is certain."
  "I'll pass the word. Ike?"
  Ben shook his head. "I don't know if Ike
is in any danger, or not. I have this little feeling that
Khamsin has decided to revert back to his
roots."
  "He was quite a terrorist."
  "Yes. And that may be what he's heading back
to being. I'm thinking that Khamsin's been shown he
can't beat us by sheer numbers. He's taken some
awfully heavy losses butting heads with us. I'd
guess he's lost a full third of his forces."
  "Yes. And that's got to be telling on the rest of
his people."
  "Maybe. But bear in mind that these people are
fanatics. To die in battle means instant entry
to heaven."
  West glanced at Ben. "Oh,
shit!"
he whispered.
  "Yeah."
  West rose abruptly and walked off. Ben sat
on the steps and watched him leave.
  The mercenary was back in fifteen minutes, Dan
with him.
  And with Dan, a full platoon of Rebels.
  "Now, wait just a goddamned minute!" Ben
said, rising.
  "Sorry, general," Dan said. "This is the way
it's going to be. The colonel explained what you
both feel is going down. Get used to the idea of
being surrounded."
  "And you probably spoke with Ike, too,
didn't you?" Ben asked sourly.
  "But of course!" Dan smiled.
  "Wonderful," Ben muttered. He turned and
walked off.
  The platoon followed him. En masse.
  Ben stopped and turned around. "I'm going to the
bathroom!
I don't need an audience."
  "They'll turn their backs, general," Dan said
cheerfully.
  Ben walked off, muttering.
Chapter 5
  It took Emil a full half day to get over
the sight of that alligator, just about ready to chew off
his leg. Along with other parts of his anatomy.
  What had saved them both was the hot breath of the
gator on Emil's bare ass.
  "I'm telling you!" Emil said. "That friggin'
"gator was forty feet long if it was an inch."
  Emil's 'gator was closer to fifteen feet
than forty; but still a good-sized 'gator.
  "I wouldn't worry about that 'gator as much as
I'd worry about Francis Freneau," Brother
Matthew told him. "Francis has sworn to get
even. And we're running out of that stuff to put in the
water over there."
  "I ain't goin" back to Monroe no more,"
Brother Carl said. "That place gives me the
squirts just thinkin' "bout them Night P."
  "It's not just Monroe," Brother Roger said.
"It's every city in the country."
  "There isn't any more of it over there anyway,"
Emil said. "I thought sure he'd be gone by now.
Hell, nearly all his followers are over here with
us."
  "Listen!" Brother Matthew said, holding up a
finger. "Bagpipes!"
  "Here comes Francis!" Sister Susie
called.
  "Wonderful," Emil muttered. "What the
hell's he got up his sleeve now?"
  "Them bagpipes is givin" me a headache,"
Brother Carl said.
  Francis climbed up onto the hood of a rusting
old car parked by the side of the road and opened his big
arms. "Come gather around, my children," he called.
"I have something of great importance to tell you."
  "You reckon he's got a hard-on?" Brother
Roger said.
  Emil looked at Roger. "With him, believe
me, you'd know it."
  Emil and his immediate group hung back; the others
gathered around.
  "My heart is heavy, brothers and sisters,"
Francis said, placing one big hand on his chest.
"An old, old friend betrayed me. Cut me with an
invisible knife."
  "Aaahhh!" the crowd said in sympathy.
  "I trusted this man; loved him more like a brother
than a friend. But," he said and gave a mighty sigh,
"but as with Caesar, I must say to Brother Emil,
Et tu Brute?"
  "He et what?" Brother Carl asked.
  Everyone ignored him. Emil felt many eyes
on him. Hard, condemning eyes comcoming from his own
flock.
  "You're a liar, Francis!" Emil shouted.
"I ain't done nothin' to you."
  Francis smiled lovingly at Emil. "There
is no rancor in my heart for you, Emil. Your
feet simply slipped from the path of righteousness."
  "Say what's on your mind, Stanley," Emil
said. "And then begone with you, or I'll call down the
wrath of Blomm."
  "Oh, you will, will you?" Francis said. He
flung
  his arms wide. "Call down the wrath of this
Blomm, then. I challenge you to do that, Emil. For
you see, brothers and sisters, there is no such god as
Blomm!"
  The crowd oohed and aahed and drew back, fearful
of his blatant blasphemy.
  "You lie!" Emil squalled. "Blomm is
real. Don't push me, Ledbetter."
  "Then tell this figment of your overactive
imagination to strike me dead, Emil," Francis
said. "I'm waiting."
  "I wouldn't do that to you, Francis. You'd have to do
a mighty hurt to me before I'd do anything like that. You
see, Francis, unlike you, I am a gentle
person."
  Francis lost a little ground with that remark. He
narrowed his eyes and stared at Emil.
  "You poor fool," Francis said. "I
didn't want to have to do this. But? ..."
  Francis lifted his arms and white doves flew
out from his sleeves.
  The crowd did some oohing and aahing.
  The doves circled, dropping some shit on the
heads of the faithful.
  Francis did some of the colored handkerchief
tricks: pulled a half dollar out of both ears and
juggled a few balls.
  The crowd loved it.
  Francis said, "Let's all urge Brother
Emil up here ... I'll step down. Perhaps then
he can explain why he sent some of his men slipping
into my camp in the dead of night, like thieves,
to poison me and my brothers?"
  "I did no such thing!" Emil shouted.
  "You are not truthful, Brother Emil,"
Francis said. Reaching into the pocket of his
snow-white robe, Francis pulled out a small
vial and held it up for the crowd to see.
  Emil felt a little sick at his stomach.
  He felt a little sicker when Francis held out
his hand, and one of his men gave him the box the vials
had come out of.
  "Sister Susie," Francis said. "My dear
sweet lovely child. Does this box look familiar
to you?"
  Susie said it did.
  "When was the first time you saw it, dear?"
  "In Brother Emil's car. At night. In
Monroe. Near the hospital."
  "That don't prove nothing!" Emil hollered.
"There's boxes all over the damn place."
  "True," Francis said. "But one of the men who
has been poisoning me has a small cut on the
sole of his right sandal."
  "Well, shit!" Brother Matthew said.
  Emil took a deep breath. Drawing himself up
to his full height, which wasn't much, he pointed a
finger at Francis. "Now you hear me,
Ledbetter. And bear in mind this was your idea. I'm
going into meditation now. Seclusion. And I'll be
speaking with Blomm. At high noon, two
days from now. We'll meet again. Right here on this
spot. Then,
then
I shall show you the power of Blomm!"
  "Bull-dooky!" Francis said.
  "You'll pay for that, Ledbetter," Emil warned.
"Blomm is angry; I can feel his mighty
anger."
  "Horse-poo!" Francis scoffed.
  "Be here!" Emil told him. "All of you!"
he roared.
  "Emil," Brother Matthew said. "What are you
gonna do two days from now, at high noon?"
  Emil looked at him. "Hell, Matthew, I
don't know."
  Ben canceled all travel orders for his
Rebels. His new orders: Hold your positions.
Dig in. Keep your heads down. And be very wary of
tricks.
  The hours passed slowly and very quietly. The
Rebels rested, ate, took much-needed baths, and
cleaned equipment. Just like any army that was ever formed.
That much never changes.
  The Rebels constantly monitored any known
frequency of Khamsin. The bands remained
silent. If Khamsin was communicating with his
troops, it was on a frequency not known to the
Rebels.
  "He'll strike," Ben said. "He's a very
impatient man. That much I do know about him."
  "What's the word from any recon team?"
Colonel West asked.
  "A lot of troops about forty-five miles south
of us," Ben replied. "Stretching from Barnesville
all the way over to Waynesboro. I got that word
about two minutes ago. I was just about to call a
meeting of CO'S and platoon leaders. I've
ordered Buddy and Tina back in."
  West sat for a time in silence. He wondered what
emotions Ben Raines might be experiencing, knowing his
two kids were out in the field with small units.
  "I'll see that the word is passed, general,"
West said. "I'd like to see Kahmsin's new
lines. I'm curious about them."
  "Tina and Buddy both reported that Kahmsin
has forced the people living south of us into forced labor
camps. It looks like he's setting up a
permanent barrier."
  "Well, that's what I wanted to know," West said
with a sigh. "General, you are aware that east
of Atlanta, stretching south from Rome to Newnan,
  that area is controlled by outlaws and warlords?"
  "I've heard." He glanced at West,
accurately guessing what the man was getting at.
"Well, now," Ben said softly, "that would put us in
a box, wouldn't it?"
  "Both of us were wrong, general," West
admitted. "And those outlaws and thugs and warlords
over east have only to take one look at
Khamsin's superior forces and they'll join up with
him."
  Ben's laugh was short, holding no mirth. "That
son of a bitch! He suckered us, colonel. He
turned our own game against us."
  "I fail to see the humor in it, general. We
have gotten ourselves into a bind, my friend."
  Ben waved at Denise. "Bring me my map
case, would you please?"
  Ben spread the map on the ground, just as Dan
strolled up. Briefly, West told Dan about the
new development, saying finally, "Whether it's
fact or fiction, Dan, remains to be seen."
  "Let's take it from the east, boys," Ben said,
tracing a line on the map with a finger. "The bridges
are blown from Hartwell to Augusta. Every
one of them."
  West glanced at him, and Ben explained the why of
that.
  "You had no choice in the matter, general," the
mercenary said. "I would have done the same thing."
  "North of us," Ben said, "we've got two of
Ashley's battalions, the company that Ashley
brought east with him out of Kansas, and the group that this
Jake person has gathered around him."
  Ben paused for a moment, silent so long, Dan
said, "What's wrong, general?"
  "I see Ashley's fine hand in all of this,"
Ben explained. "I'll be willing to bet you all that
this stretch here, Interstate Seventy-five, running
north
  and south, is being closed down by Khamsin. And
he's probably swung those outlaws and warlords
north and south, leaving us one hole to run to."
  "Atlanta," West whispered. "The city of the
dead."
  "And what is our fine and noble Gen. Ben
Raines doing now?" Khamsin asked Hamid.
  "Nothing, general," the XO replied.
"Everything, along all fronts, is very quiet."
  Now it was Khamsin's turn to worry.
"What is that man up to, Hamid? It isn't like
him to sit and do nothing."
  "Perhaps he now realizes the box you have placed him
in?"
  "Perhaps. He certainly is not a stupid man.
Just idealistic. Those thugs east of Atlanta?"
  "Fell right into line, Khamsin. Our troops
did not have to fire a shot."
  "And they are being repositioned?"
  "Yes, sir. Just as you ordered. They are
surrounding the city from the north, south, and west."
  Khamsin smiled. "I will have to reassess my first
opinion of Ashley. His plan is a good one. But
there is one weak part of it, Hamid. Our lines are
not as strong as I would like them to be. Raines could
possibly punch through."
  "Begging your pardon, sir. But if that happens,
it will not be through our people to the south."
  "No, I don't think so, either. But I am not
sure of the troops to the north."
  "They are ... not first quality, to be sure,"
Hamid agreed. "Perhaps I, myself, might take a
battalion up to not only reinforce them, but to keep
an eye on them."
  Khamsin looked at the XO. The man
was no
  longer young. He sighed. "All right, Hamid.
Perhaps that would be best. May the blessing of Allah go
with you."
  "Thank you, General Khamsin. I'll take the
reorganized Second Battalion and leave at
once."
  Long after Hamid had gone, Khamsin called for
an aide. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me
if any news comes through. Any news. No matter
how unimportant it might seem."
  "Yes, sir."
  But sleep would not come to Khamsin. He tossed in
his bed and finally, with an oath, threw back the thin
cover and rose to sit on the side of the bed.
  Ben Raines was up to something. Khamsin was sure
of it. But what? He checked his watch. Time for
prayers.
  All good religious people need prayer. Even
terrorists.
  "I'm not going to order anyone to do this," Ben said.
"And when I make my request for volunteers, I
don't want a bunch of horseshit bravado
jumping to the fore. Is that understood?"
  It was.
  Ben was addressing senior sergeants, platoon
leaders, CO'S and XO'S, along with Ike,
Cecil, Dan, Tina, and Buddy. He had
called them to his CP.
  "What'd you have on your mind, Ben?" Ike
asked.
  "First I'll tell you how it's going to be done,
and then I'll inform you of what is going to be done.
  "First of all it's going to be done very quietly.
There is going to be one team. Just one. Thirty people.
Khamsin wants to push us into Atlanta. All
right. But first let's check it out." He grinned.
"If my idea works, all of a sudden Khamsin is
going to be
  facing an empty line, all filled with imaginary
soldiers."
  "Ever' time you start grinnin' like that, Ben," Ike
said, "I get a funny feelin' in the pit of my
stomach."
  "I, of course, will lead the team, general," said
Dan, who stepped forward.
  "No, I will!" Ike said.
  "That's nonsense," Cecil told them. "I shall
lead the team."
  Colonel West had joined the group
late. "Whatever is going down, I feel that I
should go in first."
  Ben let them squabble and then made up his mind.
  He winked at Buddy and said, "I've decided
who will be team leader, people."
  The hubbub ceased as they all looked at Ben.
Finally, Tina asked, "Who, Dad?"
  "Me!" Ben announced.
Chapter 6
  Ben pulled out at full dark, Buddy riding in
the Jeep with him. Behind them were several trucks and
Jeeps, filled with Rebels and supplies and
ammo enough for several days.
  As they rolled past Conyers, Lieutenant
Mackey and Billy Bob waved at them from the
shoulder of the interstate. Both Ben and Buddy
saluted the pair and then drove on, entering the
darkness.
  Just about a mile from the loop that circled the city,
Ben halted the short column. "We'll camp here
until dawn. Four guards out and in close,
two-hour shifts."
  Buddy climbed up on top of a rusted old
truck and stared at the outline of Atlanta. "I can
see fire in there, general."
  "Colonel West called it the city of the dead."
  "Have you ever seen one of these people?" Buddy asked.
  "No. Not that I know of. But from what I've
heard, they aren't pleasant to look upon."
  "Is it their fault? The way they are, I
mean."
  "No. It isn't."
  "That is what the Old Man told me. But he
also told me to avoid them at all costs."
  Buddy climbed down to stand by his father.
  Ben said, "Your grandfather had seen some of these ...
people?"
  "Many times. He said they are bitter about what
they'd become, and they hate everybody not like them. I
asked him once if there was not some good in them."
Buddy paused.
  "And?"
  "He said he had not yet found any."
  "I guess that about sums it all up then,
doesn't it, boy?"
  "And for that, we will destroy them?"
  "Only if they open the fight, son. We're not
here as a conquering army. Now go get some sleep. I
want us standing on the edge of the city before first light."
But Ben wondered about that first remark.
  "Eerie," Ben heard one of his Rebels
mutter.
  And Ben could not disagree with the one word summation. The
silent, windswept scene that lay before them was eerie.
And it contained yet another one-word description:
deadly.
  "They are moving around us, father," Buddy said
softly, walking to Ben's side.
  "I can hear them, but I can't see them."
  "I caught a glimpse of a few. They are
robed, their robes dark. They blend in well with the
night around them."
  Gentle fingers of silver-gray began pushing up
from the east, from the backs of the Rebels as they faced
the stark outline of what had once been called the
Hub of the South.
  "Down," Ben called, his voice soft.
  The Rebels crouched down, close to their
vehicles, presenting no targets to whatever lurked
in the darkness.
  And no one among them knew for sure exactly
what type of human being moved silently around them
in the ink of night.
  "The time is against us." All heard the voice
spring out of the murk.
  "Take them!" another voice called, a harshness
in the command.
  "The light! The light!" A third voice was
added.
  The dawning had intensified, the silver fingers
becoming hands of silver, with just a touch of gold and
white.
  The Rebels couched beside their vehicles, listening
as the scuff of sandals on concrete faded. The
mutely lighted night grew silent.
  Ben stood up, easing the slight pain in a bad
knee. The road they were on became more clearly
defined as the dawning continued to lighten the landscape.
  "I'd guess at least a hundred had surrounded
us," Ben said, looking around him. "But they're sure
scared of the light. Fortunately for us," he added.
  Ben glanced at his Rebels. They were calm,
standing ready. Buddy was probably the youngest of the
team. The rest were all in their late twenties or
early thirties, hardened and seasoned combat vets.
Men and women who had been with the Rebels for years.
Ben knew them all on a first-name basis. And
knew, too, that there was no backup in any of them.
They would stand to the last person.
  "Three groups," Ben said, walking
to his Jeep and sitting down in the passenger seat.
"Well work a block apart, maintaining radio
contact at all times." He laid his Thompson
across his knees, the muzzle
  pointing away from the driver's seat. "Drive
boy," he said to Buddy.
  After only a half hour, Ben realized no one
had anything to fear from the Night People-not during the day.
For some reason, as yet unknown to Ben, those who
lived for the night were very fearful of the sun. Why that
was, he did not know. And wasn't particularly
interested in finding out. He felt some degree of
pity for the people; but it was not overwhelming within him.
  Physically scarred and mentally traumatized by the
bombings and aftermath of the Great War and the awful
sickness that came a decade later, yes, surely
they were. But instead of seeking out help from those able
to give it, the Night People had banded together, electing
instead to hate and despise those not like them. Instead of
holding out the hand of friendship, asking for understanding and
help, the Night People had decided to kidnap and
God only knew what else, in order to salve
their bodies and minds.
  "Piss on them," Ben muttered, his eyes working
from left to right. He was mapping out a route
through the city.
  "Beg pardon, sir?" Buddy asked.
  "Look over there." Ben pointed.
  The naked bodies of a man and woman were hanging
from a power pole.
  "Pull over there," Ben told him.
  Ben got out and walked closer to the bloated and
stinking bodies. They had been tortured, and
tortured expertly, making the agony last a long,
long time. And big meaty hunks of flesh were missing
from their bodies.
  "Why?" Buddy asked, not leaving the Jeep.
  "I suspect because they are normal; not affected
by the bombings or the sickness that followed. Now we
  know what kind of pricks we're up against."
  Ben got back into the Jeep. He lifted the
mike to his lips. "Eagle One to West on
tach."
  "Go, Eagle One."
  "I'm at Eastland Road and Twenty-three,"
Ben said. "Send two platoons with several days'
rations and plenty of ammo to my sector, please."
  "Ten-four."
  The platoons rolled in at nine o'clock, led
by Colonel West.
  "Just couldn't resist it, huh, colonel?" Ben
grinned at him.
  "Got to go where the action is, general. What's
up?"
  "I've ordered everyone to start working their way
west. Slow and easy, with no rush. They'll be working
inverted-east to west first. In other words,
Lieutenant Mackey and her Misfits will be the
last to come out."
  "I'm with you," West said.
  "When I give the word, in about thirty-six
hours, we're going to roll through Atlanta. At
night."
  West arched one eyebrow at that bit of news.
He said nothing.
  "When we start, colonel, nothing,
nothing
is going to stop us. Now we can't use Interstate
Twenty to get through the city; we can't use the loops
or the bypasses. The Night People have massive
road blocks up damn near everywhere you want
to look."
  "If you've advanced no further than this point,"
West said, "how do you know the loops are blocked?"
  "I don't know for sure about the northern
loops; Two eighty-five, Eighty-five, and
Seventy-five. But both Buddy and Tina tried the
southern route getting in here. They had to circle
around. I can only assume
  the same has been done to the north."
  "And you want me and my men to do exactly what,
general?"
  "Help us find the best route through the city. Right
down the heart of the city. And I don't have to tell you
why it must be that way."
  West nodded. "Khamsin will have spotters north and
south, covering those areas for any signs of movement.
But ..." West paused, thinking. "How do we clear
the route of the Night People without bringing attention to what
we're doing? Gunfire is going to carry a long
way."
  "The Night People will be sleeping during the day,
hiding from the light. We go house to house, building
to building. We use knives and twenty-twos;
use hollow-nosed shorts. If your people have sound
suppressors available, use them."
  "Going to be a distasteful and bloody son of a
bitch, general."
  "Yes. But if you have any doubts about what kind
of people we're dealing with, take your men one
block, that direction; take the first road west and have
a look."
  West and his men were back in half an hour. None
of them looked too pleased.
  "Find it?" Ben asked.
  West nodded his head. "The couple ... and more.
We found some ... normal-appearing children who had
been tortured and disemboweled. Took them a long
time to die. I have no more qualms, general."
  "Then let's get to work."
  It was bloody and awful and no one among them
liked it. But after they found more tortured and
mutilated bodies of "normal" people-men and
  women and little children-the job became less distasteful.
  The Rebels and the mercenaries found a breeding
center in the ruins of a college. It was there that the
Night People bred with normal people, mostly women, in the
hopes of straining out the sickness with new generations.
After the children were born, the women were usually killed,
or kept as slaves. None of the women rescued by the
Rebels knew where their babies had been taken.
Or what lay in store for the children.
  "Were the children free of the sickness?" Ben asked.
  The looks in the eyes of the women gave him his
silent answer.
  "Hideous!" Colonel West said.
  "Any idea how many of these ... communities there
might be scattered around the nation?" Ben asked.
  "Hundreds," he was told. "In every city of
any
  size."
  "It appears that our next foe has been lined out
for us, general," Colonel West said.
"Our
next foe, colonel?"
  West smiled. "It appears that action travels
with you, general. I like that. I get bored with
inactivity."
  "Thought you couldn't live under my rules,
colonel."
  "A woman is not the only creature on
God's earth with the right to change its mind."
  Standing amid the fresh gore, Ben grinned and
extended his hand. West shook it.
  "Father," Buddy said. "I hate to break into such
camaraderie." Both men looked at him. "But
night is going to catch us right in the middle of this
place."
  West smiled. "The boy is right."
  "There is something else, too, Father,"
Buddy said. "All these people are armed." He waved
at the dead who walked the night. "So that tells me
that occasional gunfire from within the city would not unduly
alarm any of Khamsin's men on the
outskirts.""
  "Smart, too," Ben said with a laugh.
  They had cleared and secured more than half the
route Ben had mapped out when one look at the sky
told them dusk was about an hour away.
  They pulled their vehicles into a covered parking
area and made ready for the night-and the people from the night who
were sure to come at them.
  "Get as much rest as you can right now," Ben urged
them. "I think we're going to be very busy later
on."
  They had seen areas where the Night People had, it
looked to them, held open-air meetings. Many
torches had been found; or pieces of torches.
And that gave Ben an idea.
  "Cocktails," Ben told his people. "Find as many
small bottles as you can and fill them up with
gasoline. They won't make as much noise as a
grenade, and can do a hell of a lot of damage,
physically and psychologically."
  They soon had enough Molotov
cocktails to withstand a siege. Which is exactly
what Ben felt would be coming at them.
  As dusk crawled into full night, robed and
hooded figures began moving out of the murk. They
darted from rusted old abandoned cars, slithered into and out
of doorways, and appeared, disappeared, and
reappeared in broken windows high above the closed
parking area where the Rebels and the mercenaries were forted
up.
  "They have to eat," Ben said, more to himself than
to Colonel West, who was standing beside him.
  The colonel looked at him as if Ben had
taken leave of his senses. "What?"
  "They have to eat," Ben repeated. "And if they
never leave the city ...
what
the hell do they eat?"
  "You pick the damnedest times to think about food,
Ben."
  "Where do they bury their dead?" Ben pondered
aloud. "We've not found anyplace. And if
they've killed as many people as those women over there told
us," Ben said, jerking a thumb toward the small,
frightened, huddled-together knot of rescued women, "it
would number into the hundreds, right?"
  "Yes, at least. What are you driving at?"
  "The hanged and tortured bodies we've found.
I think that might be some sort of ceremony; some
sort of paganistic rite."
  "I'll go along with that. But what does that have to do
with food?"
  Ben looked at him in the gathering gloom. "I
think the Night People are cannibals. I think they
eat any human they're ready to dispose of."
  West looked at the half-eaten sandwich in his
hand, grimaced, and wrapped it back up and stuck it
in his pocket. "Shit, Ben!"
Chapter 7
  "They're all around us," one of Colonel
West's men called softly. He was stationed on the
second level of the parking garage. "I think
they're tryin' to run a board across from the other
building."
  "Well, Jeff," West returned the call,
"I hope you know what to do about that."
  Jeff's laughter drifted down to Ben and West.
  There were several sharp pops from above them as Jeff
fired, using .22 caliber ammunition.
  A short scream cut the night, the yowling cut
short as a robed body hit the concrete,
falling out of the second floor of the building on one
side of the parking garage.
  More small caliber pistols cracked
spitefully. Choked-off screams ripped the warm
night. Colonel West's walkie-talkie
crackled.
  "They decided to try another plan," a
mercenary's voice informed him.
  "They're massing behind the building!" another
voice said from out of the walkie-talkie.
  "Fire-bomb them!" West ordered.
  The rear of the parking garage exploded in searing
light as the gas-filled cocktails were hurled at
the charging Night P. On the heels of the bouncing
fire, the screaming of men in pain cut at the nerves
of those inside.
  Human shapes, encased in fire as the flames
ate at clothing and flesh, ran helter-skelter
into the darkness. Some made it only as far as the
street, where they lay, kicking and howling in agony as
the flames burned life away.
  "Bastards!" Colonel West muttered.
  A robed and hooded figure suddenly leaped in
front of Ben; how he got inside was beside the
point. He was.
  Ben could smell the fetid, sour body odor of the
man as his fingers snaked their way around Ben's
neck. Ben butt-stroked the man with his Thompson,
hearing the jaw shatter as the wood slammed against the
man's face. The robed man fell to the dirty and
oil-stained floor of the garage, unconscious.
  "Tie him up," Ben ordered. "I want
to talk to him later. And someone find the hole this
bastard used to get in here and plug it up."
  "The third level is full of the bastards!" a
man shouted, his voice echoing around the curving
concrete driveways.
  "Guess that answers my question," Ben said. The
reverberating sounds of weapons on full
automatic hammered throughout the parking garage.
  "Buddy!" Ben shouted. "Three or four of you
get in Jeeps, put the lights on bright, and get
up there, blind the bastards. Let's see how they
react to harsh light."
  "Yes, sir!"
  Engines coughed into life, the Jeeps surging and
  roaring up the levels. Howls of fright tore the
garage as the Night People were blinded by the headlights.
  Buddy's Thompson chugged in rapid fire, the
big slugs knocking lines of stinking,
robed men spinning and sprawling.
  "Mop it up!" Buddy shouted, fast changing
clips.
  Ben lifted his walkie-talkie. "Bring me some
prisoners, son."
  "Yes, sir."
  "They're falling back, Ben," West said
calmly, as he lifted his M-16 and brought
several more of the running Night People down. One pulled
himself up to an elbow, his mouth screaming curses at
the mercenary. Without changing expression, West shot
him through the head.
  The curses were abruptly and forever stilled.
  "I never have liked for people to cuss me," West said,
changing clips.
  "Yes." Ben smiled. "I can see where it
makes you a bit testy."
  The two soldiers exchanged knowing glances.
  The night settled back into a smoky, burning
stillness, broken only by the moaning and crying of the
wounded, the pop of fading flames from the cocktails,
and the rattle of men and women changing clips of
ammo.
  "Report!" Ben shouted.
  No one in his command, Rebel or
mercenary, was dead; a few were suffering minor wounds.
Nothing serious.
  "Lucky," Ben said. "But you can bet those
outside aren't through with us."
  "Those at the windows and ramps stand back," West
ordered. "Reserve up. Get some rest." He
shifted his gaze. "Your son coming with several
prisoners, Ben."
  Ben ordered camp lanterns lit in what was
once an office of some sort, and the Night People were
brought in, a sullen bunch. Buddy and Colonel
West sat with Ben in the room.
  All three stared in shock as the hoods were jerked
back, exposing the face of the prisoners.
  Their faces were twisted and scarred; some were missing
lips and nose.
  One made the mistake of spitting at Ben.
  Ben rose to his boots and knocked him to the
floor. He reached down and jerked the man to his
sandals, shoving him hard against a wall.
  "Bring the others in," Ben ordered. He lined
them up against a wall. "You all have my sympathies
for what has happened to you. The Great War was not your
fault. What happened to you, initially, was certainly
not your fault. But that does not give you the
right to attack people without provocation, to torture and
rape, and to subsist on human flesh."
  The Night People exchanged glances at that remark,
and Ben knew he'd been right in his assumptions.
  "Fuck you!" a scar-faced man hissed at
Ben.
  "So you don't deny that you live on human
flesh?"
  "We deny or admit nothing," another man
told him. "Our way of life is none of your
business, Raines."
  "You know me?" Ben asked, surprise in his
voice.
  "We know of you," the man said. "Our leader has
said you are our greatest enemy, and you will, someday, be
destroyed."
  "A lot of people have tried to do that," Ben said,
sitting on the edge of a battered old desk. "I'm
still here."
  The stinking bunch glared at Ben. The one who
seemed to be the spokesman said, "Kill us and have
done with it, Raines. Our lives are scarcely
worth living, so it doesn't really matter."
  "In addition to all else that you may be, not much
of it worthwhile, you're also a liar. No
man wants to die. If you wanted to die so
badly, you wouldn't be trying to improve your lot."
  The sullen, smelly bunch glared at Ben.
  "Eaters of human flesh," Ben muttered. "I
don't know what to do with you."
  "Keep them here until dawn, good light, and then
throw them out in the street," West suggested. "It would
be fitting."
  "No!" one shouted. "Well burn forever if you do
that."
  "Who says you will?" Ben asked.
  The spokesman hesitated, then said, "The
Judges."
  "And who might they be?"
  "They who judge."
  "Are you being a smart-ass?" West asked.
  "The Judges are the men and women who sit on the
council," the Night Person told the mercenary.
"They rule all who follow the night."
  West shook his head and grimaced. "We had enough
kooks and whackos and crackpots and nuts before the
war. But what came after boggles the mind."
  Ben asked a dozen more questions, but received no reply
to any of them. It was obvious that the prisoners
believed they were going to die and had made
ready for it. "Buddy, take them to a secure room
and lock them in. We'll decide what to do with them
later on."
  When they were gone, West said, "What are you
  going to do with them, Ben?"
  "I don't know. Suggestions?"
  West shrugged. "Kill them now or kill them
later, I suppose. But I have never enjoyed
shooting unarmed men. What we did today and will be doing
tomorrow with the sleeping Night People was necessary, I guess.
It's all come down to a matter of survival for us
all. Was war ever fun for you, Ben?"
  "What an odd question at this time, colonel.
Fun? I don't know whether that noun fits, or not.
But maybe it does. For the sake of argument, I'll
say yes."
  West smiled. "War is what it's all come to,
Ben. This is it." He slapped the palm of his hand
down on the desk. "All computers and their banks of
knowledge; all the statesmen and intellectuals, and
writers and thinkers and doers. Well," he sighed,
"the machines are rusting and the trillions of words are
gathering dust. The statesmen and the thinkers and the teachers
... all gone. It's all come down to you and me and
Ike and Cecil and Buddy and Tina and
Dan. Modern day cavemen. With automatic
weapons instead of clubs."
  "West, you're a frustrated intellectual. You
know that?"
  The mercenary laughed, the sound echoing in the small
concrete room. "You're correct to a degree, you
know, but don't let it get out. That would ruin my
reputation."
  The Night People kept the Rebels and the mercenaries
awake that seemingly endless darkness before dawn, but no
more hard attacks were launched by them. They had learned
that while they might outnumber those in the parking
garage, their fighting
  skills were not nearly so honed to perfection.
  At dawn, Ben and his people once more began their
grisly hunt and kill mission, mapping out a clear
route of escape.
  Teams rescued a few more handfuls of women and
kids, and one of the groups gave truth to Ben's
awful theory. The Night People were cannibals.
  It made the hunt and kill mission a bit
easier to take.
  At noon, the Rebels moving west began
calling in.
  Ike and his bunch were on the outskirts of
Atlanta. They had traveled all through the night,
gathering people behind them as they came. They had seen no
sign of any of Khamsin's troops.
  "How far is the next column behind you?" Ben
radioed.
  "Sittin' right on my ass."
  "Get inside the city proper," Ben ordered.
"Get them all in. We're going to be busting out of
here at dark. Did you and the others set up the dummy
installations?"
  "Ten-four, Ben. From a distance, they look just like
the real thing."
  "Come on, Ike."
  "Rolling."
  The Rebels had left behind as many trucks and
other vehicles as they could spare. They had dragged
in others and placed them around their positions. They had
made straw dummies with real weapons before them.
They had left behind many tents and clothes hanging on
the line. From a distance, the camps appeared the same.
  It would appear to any spotters that some Rebels
were staying, others were moving out to beef up the long
battle line that was the interstate. Ben hoped, at
least.
  "So we're going down the big fat
middle of Atlanta, following this road, until
we intersect with Twenty at Carroll Road?"
Ike asked.
  "That's it," Ben told him.
  "It's worked so far, Ben. From all indications,
Khamsin thinks we're just spreadin' out a little."
  Buddy strolled up. "The bridge over the
Chattahoochee is intact," he told his father.
"I left a team there to see that it remains so."
  "Good," Ben said. To Ike: "Where the hell is
Cecil?"
  "Relax, Ben. He's about a half hour behind
me. And he's going to stay that way," Ike added.
  Ben's look was sharp. "What the hell do you
mean?"
  "Cecil's pulling rear guard duty, Ben.
Told me early this morning. Said you wasn't
gonna like it, but that's the way it was going to be."
  Ben opened his mouth to protest, then closed it.
There was no point in arguing. Once Cecil made
up his mind, that was that.
  Ike waved a Rebel to him. He outlined the
plan and said, "Take it back to General
Jefferys. And son ... tell him that I said
to watch his ass. He may be a
night-fighter, but he still bleeds red."
  The scout grinned. "Yes, sir."
  West had listened without comment. He said, "Cecil
Jefferys is a very brave man, Ben."
  Smiling, Ben said, "For a black person, you
mean," he said, needling the mercenary.
  "Like I said, Ben: There are exceptions to every
rule."
  Ben checked his Thompson. "West, if you ever
decide exactly where you stand, you are going to be a
  person to be reckoned with."
  "I am a soldier, Ben. Nothing more, nothing
less." But Ben wasn't so sure of that. He
wondered what the mercenary really was-and wondered if
he'd ever find out. And finally, he wondered if he
really wanted to know.
Chapter 8
  The western-most team, a squad of West's
mercenaries, radioed back that the route was clear.
The route had been cleared of all blockades,
living and stationary.
  It was late afternoon in the dead city of Atlanta.
  "All units in?" Ben asked.
  "Everybody here, Ben," Ike told him.
"Joe Williams's gang pulled in right
behind Mark and Alvaro's team. Cecil and his
battalion have bivouacked out at the old federal
prison farm, just south of Interstate Twenty."
  Big Louie's timer, back in Kansas, had
about twenty hours to go before the bird would fly.
  "It worked," Ben said. "I had my doubts, but it
really worked. But the next few hours are critical
for us."
  "I've ordered guards out and the rest to relax,"
Ike told him. "It's gonna be a wild ride
to the Chattahoochee tonight."
  "We bug out at full dark. Tell Cecil
I want his people to pull in closer. And that isn't a
request, that's an order."
  Ike nodded his head.
  Ben continued. "Ill be waiting at the bridge for
him. We'll blow it just as soon as his people are past."
  "It would be an honor if you would allow me to do
that, Ben," West spoke up.
  Both Ben and Ike glanced at the mercenary.
  "Do I have to ask if you know what you're letting
yourself in for?" Ben questioned.
  "I am fully cognizant of the consequences,
general."
  "Very well. Get your men in position."
  Ben held out his hand and the mercenary shook it.
  "See you all on the fair side of freedom,
general," West said, then turned on his heel and
walked away, shouting for his men to join him.
  "That's a strange fellow, Ben," Ike
observed. "Likable ol' boy; but strange."
  "I had my doubts for awhile, but he's on the
level. He's with us all the way."
  "But why?" Ike questioned.
  "That, old friend, is something we shall probably never
know."
  "Something is wrong," Ashley radioed
to Khamsin's CP.
  "Why do you say that?"
  "It's too damn quiet! Ben Raines is up
to something. And no, I don't know what it is. But
I've known the man for twenty years, and I'm
telling you, he's up to something."
  "The front?"
  "That's just it, Khamsin. My spotters report
that nothing is moving.
Nothing!"
  "No signs of life? Nothing!" Khamsin
felt his blood pressure soaring.
  "Nothing."
  "Move your spotters in closer. I'll do the
same from the south."
  Khamsin leaned back in his chair and let the
forbidden obscenities fly, startling those in the room
with him.
  Tomorrow is the big day, Emil," Brother Matthew
said. "What have you got up your sleeve?"
  Emil glared at him. "I'll come up with something.
Bet on it."
  "I've already packed my gear. Just in case."
  "Oh, ye of little faith!" Emil wailed. "I
am being deserted in my time of need."
  "Eighteen hours and counting, Emil," Brother
Matthew reminded him.
  "I wonder what that fuckin' Ledbetter is
doing?" Emil asked.
  "Havin' a party on the riverbank. All the
cute chickies have returned to his camp."
  "I hope he gets eaten by a goddamn
alligator!" Emil spat out the words.
  "Brother Emil's gonna come up with something,"
one of the faithful announced firmly. "The Great
God Blomm will not desert us."
  Emil sighed with great patience, wondering how in the
hell he ever got mixed up with all these
yo-yos!
  Jake had already figured it out. He put it together
when one of his rednecks told him, "Sumthang
queer goin' on down there, Jake, and I ain't
talkin' "bout no
  wienie-chewin", neither."
  "Whut you talkin' "bout, boy?"
  "There ain't no movement. Some washin" on a
line done been blown down more'un a hour, and
ain't nobody snatched it up. That ain't rat."
  "No movement? None a-tal?"
  "Nuttin'."
  Jake stood up. "Git the boys together. And
don't say nuttin' to nobody "bout it. We
gonna cut them fuckers off at the pass. I know
whure they's a-goin"."
  Two hours and counting," Ben muttered. "If we
pull this off it'll be a miracle."
  "I'm surprised they haven't discovered us
missing hours ago," Tina said.
  Ben put one arm around his daughter's shoulders.
"Just between us, kid, so am I."
  Already, long purple shadows were creeping about the
city, casting pockets of gloom amid the
sunlight. Ben could feel Tina shudder under
his hand.
  "Damn place spooks me, Dad."
  "Steady, girl. We'll be home free in a
few hours."
  Ben made no mention of Tina's husband. And she
had not brought up his name in a long time. He
suspected they had split the sheets. But he had
never interfered in her life, and wasn't about to start
now.
  Tina abruptly giggled, quite unlike her. "I
think Buddy's getting serious about Judy."
  Good cue, Ben thought. "And, you, girl? How's
your love life?"
  She was silent for a moment. "Static. I am
totally committed to the Rebel cause. He wanted
a stay-at-home person."
  "Sorry to hear it."
  "You don't see me weeping, do you, Dad?"
  "I seem to recall that you're not the hysterical
type."
  "I learned that from Salina. Did you love her,
Dad?"
  "I was ... content," Ben replied.
  "There is an old proverb that reads, "A
woman should always marry a man she likes,
and a man should always marry a women he loves."
  "How interesting." Ben's words were dry. "But where
is this leading?"
  "Just making chit-chat in the middle of ghosties and
ghouldies and things that go bump in the night, Pop."
  Ben laughed and shoved her away, slapping her on
the butt. "Get outta here!"
  "Oh, by the way," she called over her shoulder.
"Colonel West said he'd like to prepare dinner for
me some evening ... when we're free."
  "You could do worse," Ben told her. "And I
sure can't say a damned word about him robbing the
cradle, now, can I?"
  Tina walked away laughing.
  The shadows deepened across the land.
  "Come on!" Jake screamed into his radio.
"Push it, goddammit. We've still got sixty
miles to go."
  Khamsin intercepted the message. He was just
west of Thomson, in a rage after discovering the
Rebel camp was deserted, with straw soldiers and
junk vehicles.
  He lifted his mike. "Khamsin to base.
Order all units to converge on Atlanta. All
units push hard. Raines is in
Atlanta!
Cut them off. Order all units
  around the city to seal it off. Now!"
  "They know we're here, general!" came the shout that
reached Ben.
  Ben ran to his Jeep and turned up the volume
on his radio.
  "Coming under heavy attack, Ben." West's
voice was calm.
  "Can you hold, colonel?"
  "Ten-four, general. But it's going to take all
of us to punch a hole clear through."
  "Ten-four, colonel. On the way." Ben
stood up in the seat and shouted, "Bug out! Bug out!
Roll!"
  Dropping back in his seat, he got Cecil on
the horn. "Pull back, Cec. Block the
streets as you go. Use the junked vehicles;
they're all over the place. And fall back to my
position. That is not a request, Cec. That is an
order. Do you acknowledge?"
  "Ten-four, Ben. Bugging out." Cecil's
voice was calm and professional.
  "Buddy! Tina! Link your teams up with Dan.
Fall back to the river and beef up
Colonel West. Roll, kids!"
  He looked at Ike, standing by his side.
"Join the others, Ike."
  "Is that an order, Ben?"
  "That's an order, Ike."
  "See you at the river, Ben."
  Ben motioned for Lieutenant Mackey to come
to him.
  "Sir?"
  "You have any doubts at all about your Misfits,
lieutenant?"
  "Not a one, sir."
  "That's good. Join up with my people and get ready
to bug out."
  "Yes, sir."
  She saluted and ran over to where Billy Bob was
waiting with the Misfits. "General Raines just made
us a part of his outfit," she announced. "But before you
all start cheering, bear this in mind. General
Raines's troops usually lead the way."
  "I'd damn shore rather lead than follow," a
man spoke from the ranks.
  "Everybody's in," Ben said, walking up
to Cecil and shaking his hand. "You're the last ones."
  "They're right behind me, Ben," Cecil
told him. "In the thousands." He smiled. "With the
warlord, Jake, leading the parade."
  "You want him, Cec?"
  "That would be nice, I think."
  "This time, kill the son of a bitch."
  Cecil nodded his head and walked back to his
Jeep, taking out and holding up a Weatherby 300
mag, with scope. "That answer your statement?"
  was 'Deed it does." Ben smiled and stuck the
needle to his friend. "But you're getting so damned
old you probably won't be able to hit him."
  Cecil snorted. "I refuse to dignify that
remark with a reply. "Hang around, sport."
  "Oh, I shall. And judging from the sounds of all that
traffic heading our way, we won't have a long
wait."
  Jake's column, if it could be called that,
came roaring into view, Jake's vehicle leading the
way. The big 'neck was standing up, hollering and
waving to his people.
  Cecil waved at Jake.
  "There the black son of a bitch is!" Jake
hollered. "Git 'em, boys!"
  Cecil lifted the 300 mag and sighted Jake
in. He gently squeezed the trigger,
allowing the rifle to fire itself. The slug struck
Jake in the center of his chest, toppling the man over
into the back seat.
  Cecil dropped to one knee and sighted in again.
This time he took out the driver, the slug punching through
the windshield and striking the man in the center of the
face. Half the driver's face was blown away.
The vehicle slewed sideways, toppled over, and
began howling down the concrete, sparks flying.
  The vehicle immediately behind the downed Jeep swerved
to avoid it and rolled over, smashing into the
sideways-moving Jeep. Both vehicles burst
into flames as gasoline ignited. The other cars and
trucks behind the flames managed to come to a halt-with
about a half a dozen of them crashing into the one in
front of them. The entire street was blocked.
  "Let's go!" Ben yelled.
  Dark was only minutes away.
  Already, hooded shapes were moving, staying close
to the darkness that was forming in the city.
  Jake's outfit was now totally disorganized,
milling about, not knowing what to do. Jake wasn't there
to tell them.
  Shore wasn't.
  Rocks and stones and bottles and
pieces of concrete block and bits of iron were being
tossed down on the Rebels as they roared through the
city. But only a few of the more daring of the Night People
were risking the half light of that time between light and
dark, and only a few of the thrown objects managed
to inflict any damage, most of that dents in
  vehicles and not cuts on flesh.
  Those Jeeps and APC'S with mounted .50
caliber machine guns soon cleared the rooftops
of the Night P.
  With Denise driving, Ben sat in the passenger
seat, burning powder and tossing lead from his
Thompson.
  They were only halfway through the city when full
dark fell on them.
  "I thought darkness creeped." Denise shouted,
fighting the wheel.
  "Crept," Ben automatically corrected, the
writer in him surfacing. "Not this time of the year.
We're going to be in for a hell of a time of it,
baby!" he yelled.
  "Okay, baby!" Denise returned the shout.
  Ben laughed aloud and exchanged Thompsons. This
one was fitted with a drum instead of a clip. A
hooded, robed figure appeared, with a
AK in his hands. Ben stitched him, working from ankles
to waist, the slugs tossing the man, or woman-Ben
wasn't sure and didn't particularly give a
damn-off the sidewalk and into a store window.
  A half a dozen Night People began pushing an
old car into the street, attempting to block the
Rebels" way. Ben got a firm grip on the
Thompson, pulled the trigger back, and held it
back.
  The powerful old SMG chugged in rapid fire,
the .45 caliber slugs howling and splattering and
sparking and ricocheting off the street as the SMG
worked up, from left to right. The lead cleared the street
of Night P.
  The Rebels rolled under and over and through loops and
expressways and interstates, finally hitting
Gordon Road. They were about five miles from the
Chattahoochee River bridge.
  And Khamsin's troops of the IPA were just entering
downtown Atlanta as full night fell.
  Ben began laughing.
  Denise looked at him. "What in the hell do you
find so funny?"
  "Khamsin. The Night People won't know or care
that he's chasing us. To them, he'll be just
another person to hate. The terrorist is about to get
terrorized!"
Chapter 9
  "Pull back! Pull back I" Khamsin
screamed into his mike. "It's a trap. We
don't know the city and don't have any idea what's
facing us. Pull back!"
  But for several companies of the IPA, it was too
late. The Night People, during that time between Ben's
passing and the IPA'S approach, had blocked the
streets, trapping those first few pursuing Ben.
  The guns of the IPA knocked down the first wave
of Night People, then the mass of the robed and hooded
swarmed the vehicles.
  The soldiers were dragged screaming from their trucks
and Jeeps. They were stripped naked in the streets as
the blades of sharp knives flashed silver in the
glow of headlights, and then dripped with blood as the
choice cuts of human flesh were carved away from the
living, screaming, terrified, agonized men.
  No orders from anyone less than Allah could have
forced the remaining IPA into the dark streets of the
city, and Khamsin didn't even try. He ordered
his men back, back into the county, away from the city.
  "Do we swing around to help the outlaws and
our
  people west of the city?" Hamid asked Khamsin.
  "No," the terrorist replied. "By that time, it will
be all over."
  Knowing that Khamsin would be forced to break off his
pursuit, Ben ordered mortars set up and began
pounding the positions of the remaining IPA and the outlaws
to the north, south, and west of the river.
  The ending was rather dull, as Dan put it. The
Rebels knocked a hole through the thin lines of
outlaws and warlords, and the IPA and rolled west.
They were in Alabama several hours later.
  Ben halted the column. "Put out guards," he
ordered. "Everybody else get some rest. They
won't be coming after us."
  Two Rebels from Mark and Alvaro's team
walked up to Ben, a prisoner between them.
  "General, we got this man yesterday; he got
too close to our position. He has something to tell
you."
  Ben looked at the prisoner. "What outfit are
you from?"
  "Ashley. You don't know who he really is, do
you?"
  "And you do?"
  "Yes, sir. You turn me loose and I'll
tell you."
  Ben was feeling generous that night. "All right.
Speak."
  "Would you untie me first?"
  Ben signaled for the guard to cut the man free.
  Rubbing his wrists, the man said, "You don't
"member me, do you, Raines?"
  "No. Should I?"
  "I lived not too fur from you, outside of
Morriston."
  Ben stared at the man, then shook his head. "I
don't remember you. Sorry."
  "Don't make no difference. You always was
thinkin" yourself better than others. That damn fence
around your house and all that."
  Ben sighed. "The term is reserve; not believing
I'm better than you. Say what you have to say."
  "Ashley's his middle name. His first name is Lance
and his last name is Lantier."
  Ben chuckled, for a moment lost in memory
recall. "Well, I'll be damned! Fran
Lantier Piper's big brother, Lance. My
God. I whipped his ass more than twenty years
ago."
  "Yes, sir," the prisoner said. "And he's
hated you ever since."
  Ben nodded. "All right. You'll stay here tonight with
us. We'll turn you loose when we pull out in the
morning."
  Ben walked away, into the night, wondering how a
man could nurture such hate for such a long, long
time.
  He also had a hunch he'd be seeing more of Lance
Ashley Lantier in the very near future.
  He was still smiling as he lay down on the
blankets and went to sleep.
  There hadn't been much to Lance twenty years ago,
and not much to him now.
  Except his hatred.
Chapter 10
  The sounds of bagpipes and tambourines and singing
filled the hot air. Cute little white-robed
chickies danced ahead of Francis Freneau,
sprinkling petals from flowers before him.
  Emil stood alone and glared at the big con
artist.
  Back in Kansas, the hands of the clock and the
date on the calendar meshed. The concrete shields
rolled back, and the missile fired.
  It soared up, turned, and nosed southeast.
  Francis moved close to Emil and whispered,
"Your scam is all through, little buddy. In five
minutes, you won't have a single follower left."
  "Give it your best shot, Stanley."
  Francis stepped back and sang "Danny
Boy," bringing tears to the eyes of most present.
Gave Emil a case of heartburn.
  Francis preached a short sermon, proclaiming
himself as the new spiritual leader of North
Louisiana.
  "Blomm is going to give us all a sign,
Francis!" Emil shouted. "He'll ... he'll
make the heavens thunder, showing his disapproval. Fire
will spring
  from the sky!" I hope, Emil thought. Hell, just
a little-bitty thunderstorm might do it.
  But there was not a cloud in the blue skies.
  Francis laughed at him. "Blomm! There is
no Blomm. If the heavens thunder and fire springs
forth, I will acknowledge that you, Emil Hite, are the
spiritual leader of all the earth."
  "And you'll leave?" Emil asked, stalling for a
little more time.
  "I shall exit and nevermore return."
  Emil hiked his robes up around his bony
knees, took a deep breath, and began speaking in
tongues and dancing, his feet kicking up dust. He
did the bebop, the rebop, the jitterbug, the twist,
and even invented a few steps.
Dance Party
would have hired him on the spot.
  Almost ready to drop from exhaustion, Emil
flung his arms wide and shouted, "Blomm! Give
me a sign!"
  Big Louie's rocket ran out its string and
blew, directly over North Louisiana. The
sky erupted in flames and violence. A great
ball of fire glowed in the skies.
  Francis Freneau yelped once and then gathered
his robes up off the ground and, quite ungodlike,
hauled his ass out of there. The last anyone saw of
Francis was of him loping westward, on Highway
80.
  "Holy friggin' shit!" Emil breathed,
awestruck. "There really is a Blomm!"
  Emil rose to his feet (he had hit the ground
in fear when the rocket blew) and glared at the people
around him.
  "Are there any doubters among you?" he
screamed.
  The men and women shook their heads and bowed to the
Great Emil.
  "Pulled it off again," Brother Matthew
whispered. "Okay, Emil. You're the main man."
  "Bet your ass, I am!" Emil turned,
tripped over the hem of his robe, and fell flat
on his face in the dust.
Chapter 11
  "Hell of a bang," Ike said in his radio
message to Ben. "What the hell you reckon that
was?"
  "I think that was Big Louie's last surprise,
Ike," Ben radioed. "I'm just glad the damn
thing blew a couple of miles up and not on the
ground."
  "Where are we headin', Ben?" Ike asked.
  "Back to Louisiana, Ike. Once there,
we'll start gearing up for the building of outposts across
the nation."
  "Not far, now, Father," Buddy radioed. "I have
the Mississippi River bridge at
Vicksburg in sight."
  "Ten-four, son." Ben replaced the mike in
its hook.
  Denise looked at him, noting the expression on
his face. "Odd look on your face, Ben."
  "This is where it all began, Denise. I woke
up one morning, and the whole world had gone crazy."
  "Are you going to live in your old house? If
it's still standing, that is."
  "No. Too many memories there."
  "The mental faces of old girlfriends?" she
teased.
  He smiled. "Well, yes. That, too."
  "There will probably be Night People all around us."
  "Yes. We'll have to deal with them. And Khamsin
  isn't going to forget or forgive. He'll be
along, bet on that."
  "And Ashley."
  "Him, too. And more Jakes and warlords and
outlaws. We'll just take it as it comes."
  The long column rolled westward, through
Vicks-burg. Buddy was waiting in the center of the
big bridge.
  "Post guards on the bridge, boy," Ben
told him. "But we'll deny no person the right
to enter our territory to live free."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben looked at the handsome young man for a
long moment. Then he smiled. "When you get the
guards mounted, you and Judy come on in. I'll be
set up by then. We'll have supper ... my son."