Trapped in the ashes

  

 Ashes 10

  

 William W. Johnstone

  

  

  

  

 Love, like Death,

 Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's

 crook

 Beside the scepter.

 Bulwer-Lytton

 The logic of the heart is absurd. De

 Lespinasse

  

  

  

 The Rebels dug in deep and tight and waited.

 They were facing impossible odds and all knew it. But

 the alternative was unacceptable; all preferred

 death to surrender.

 They had fought hard and well over the past weeks,

 locked inside the concrete-and-steel canyons of

 New York City. And their bulldog tenacity and

 stand-or-die tactics had cost the Night People

 hundreds of dead and wounded.*

 Now they were cut off from the outside, locked inside

 New York Cityin the harsh dead of winter, with

 thousands of the cannibalistic Night People under the city,

 ready to pour out of the subways and tunnels, erupting

 like an ugly festering boil. Khamsin, the Libyan

 terrorist, was knocking on the door with a full

 division of troops.

 Sister Voleta, the mother of Buddy Raines, and her

 Ninth Order had joined the fight against Ben Raines

 and her son-such was her hate for Ben Raines.

 The Rebels were surrounded. To a person, they had

 adopted the French Foreign Legion's motto:

 Stand or die.

 Just a few hours before Ben would order tear gas

 pumped into the bowels of the city, he made one more

 check of his people. Taking a contingent of Rebels, with

 * Valor in the Ashes

 -Zebra Books

 Cooper his driver,Jersey his bodyguard, and

 Beth with the radio, Ben headed south to the tip of

 ManhattanIsland, leaving the Russian,

 Georgi Striganov, in command. The war had made

 allies of old enemies.

 "I thought they'd hit us today, Ben," Ike said,

 shaking Ben's hand.

 Ben, tall and rangy, looked at Ike, built

 like a fireplug. The ex-Seal, although pushing

 middle age, was still a very powerful man. "That means

 Khamsin is not yet in position. As soon as I

 complete this tour, we start pumping in the gas."

 "We're ready, Ben."

 "Ready, General," Danjou, the French

 Canadian, said.

 Ben nodded and climbed back into his Blazer. They

 headed to the east side ofManhattanIsland

 to meet with Cecil and Rebet, the Russian

 colonel.

 "We're not going to have much breathing room for the next

 few days," Ben told him.

 Both men nodded. They knew the hard bind they were

 all in. All the Rebels and their allies knew

 there was no turning back.

 Ben shook hands with the men. "Good luck, gentlemen."

 No one among them had any illusions from the start that

 the assault onNew York City would be easy.

 But none had thought that Khamsin would ever leave South

 Carolinaand join forces with the Night P. The

 Rebels had fought their way across the shattered nation

 to the great city. They had takenStaten Island and

 prepared to launch their assault on the Big

 Apple.

 They had thought they were facing perhaps a few thousand

 Night P. They soon found they were up against thousands

 and thousands of the black-robed, unbathed, and stinking

 cannibals.

 But the numbers of the known enemy had not rattled Ben

 Raines so much as once more coming face-to-face with the

 only woman he had ever truly loved.

 Jerre Hunter.

 He had not seen her in years.

 Seeing her had shaken the man right down to his

 boots. He had put her out of his mind-almost. Far

 enough back in the dark reaches that she did not daily

 haunt him.

 Now he looked at her every day. And she was still as

 beautiful as that day he had first met her, so many

 years ago. She had been a sophomore in

 college when the germ and nuclear bombs had hit

 America. Ben had foundeaher wandering around in

 Virginia, and they had traveled together for a few

 weeks. And Ben, twenty years her senior, had

 realized only after she had left him that he was in

 love.

 "Life is certainly full of bumps and

 surprises," Ben muttered, looking out the

 window of the Blazer at the cold vastness of New

 YorkCity, with sudden death lurking under the

 streets.

 "Beg pardon, sir?" his driver, Cooper,

 asked.

 Ben smiled at the young man. "Just talking to myself,

 Coop."

 They were onThird Avenue , just passing 116th

 Street, whenJersey yelled, "Stomp on it,

 Coop! They're all around us!"

 The sidewalks had suddenly filled with creepies.

 "Order the attack, Beth," Ben instructed.

 "All personnel into gas masks and start the

 pumps. Floorboard it, Coop. Run over

 them."

 Slugs hit the armor plate and the bulletproof

 glass of the Blazer. It was a very uncomfortable

 sensation.

 Cooper rammed the Blazer into a mob of

 black-robed creepies, crushing half a dozen

 under the big knobby tires. The sounds of screaming

 filled the interior of the Blazer, and the breaking of

 bones was felt more than heard by those inside.

 "Turn west on One Twenty-fifth, Coop,"

 Ben told him, consulting a map. "Then

 north on St. Nicholas."

 "And Merry Christmas to you, too, sir," Cooper

 said with a grin.

 Ben laughed aloud. One thing about his Rebels:

 fighting while badly outnumbered, a sense of

 humor would help keep them going.

 They cleared the few blocks full of creepies,

 and Ben rolled his window down. Already the smell of

 tear gas was sharp as it drifted down from the north.

 "Masks, people," he ordered, slipping hisgas

 mask over his head and adjusting the straps and

 earpieces. "Never wore one in my life that was

 comfortable," he muttered, forgetting that these were

 mike-equipped, thanks to Katzman and his

 communications people.

 "Me, neither, General!" Cooper and Beth and

 Jerseyall said.

 They roared into Rebel-controlled territory and up

 to the block where Ben's CP was located just in time

 to see a mob of choking, coughing Night People come

 staggering out of a building, nearly blind from the strong

 gas.

 "The crud had hidey-holes right across the friggin'

 street from my office!"" Ben said.

 "Damn!"" He bailed out of the Blazer,

 Thompson at the ready.

 He knelt on the sidewalk and leveled die

 SMG, holding the trigger back, fighting the rise

 of the powerful old weapon.

 Ben sent a dozen of the cannibals into that long

 sleep before he had to let off; another second more and

 he'd be shooting out windows on the third floor.

 The street was filled with black-robed crud, as far

 as one could look in any direction. Coughing and

 staggering, they walked and ran into death from the guns of the

 Rebels. The air was thick with tear gas and

 gunsmoke and the stinking, almost overpowering odor of the

 unwashed bodies of the Night P.

 One jumped on Ben's back, knocking him

 sprawling, making him lose his grip on the

 Thompson. Ben kicked the creature in the balls,

 doubling him over, a silent shriek cut off in his

 throat as vomit filled his mouth. Ben clawed out his

 .45 and shot the offensive subhuman in the face,

 the slug striking the man between his eyes, knocking him

 backward.

 Ben grabbed up his SMG with his left hand and went

 racing up the street, Coop,Jersey , and Beth

 right behind him.

 "We sure flushed them, all right," Ben

 panted.

 "Flushed them all over usea8cameJersey 's

 voice through the tiny speakers in the mask.

 Ben ran up the steps to his command post and dirough the

 door, running up the steps to the second floor and

 into his office. Jerre was crouched behind a window.

 She had shattered the window with the butt of her M16

 and was firing into the mob of creepies. Ben stepped

 to a window down the line from her and knelt down to insert

 a full drum into the belly of his Thompson.

 He lined up a row of black-robes and pulled the

 trigger, letting the old "Chicago Piano" roar

 its Wagnerian death chant. The line of choking,

 nearly blinded black-robes went down like fallen

 dominoes.

 Jerre was picking her shots carefully, using

 select fire, and each time she pulled the trigger a

 black-robe hit the concrete.

 Nothing like one's life being put on the line to turn

 a peaceful poet into a Valkyrie, Ben thought.

 Then he turned his attention back to the bloody

 street.

 The fighting had subsided in this sector, the street

 littered with the fallen bodies of creepies. "We

 can't let up," Ben said, and Beth nodded

 her head, telling him she was receiving the transmission.

 "Order search and destroy to begin immediately. Hunt

 them down and hit them while they're still half blind."

 Beth relayed the orders to unit commanders, and the

 Rebels left their secured positions to enter the

 buildings.

 "Patch me through to Ike," Ben said.

 "On the line, General."

 "Ike. What's it look like in your sector?"

 "Got "em layin" in the streets like pins in a

 bowlin'alley, Ben. But they've taken to the

 buildings, just like we knew they would. S and D?"

 "Ten-four, Ike. We can't let up now.

 Eagle out." To

 Beth: "Get me Cecil."

 "General Jefferys on the line."

 "Gee. Search and destroy. Hit them hard now.

 Eagle out. Beth, radio all units to enter the

 buildings in their sector and destroy the

 creepies."

 "Yes, sir. Engineers want to know if they are

 to keep up the pumping?"

 "Reduce it by half but keep pumping in the gas

 until I give the orders to stop. We've got

 to push it down as far underground as we can."

 "Yes, sir."

 "General?" Jerre's voice entered his ear. He

 looked at her, irritated that she used his rank

 instead of his name. Another of the ways she had of

 annoying the hell out of him. "Have you considered the

 possibility that you may have to destroy this city in

 order to win?"

 "I have. But to do it now would only mean our deaths.

 In case you've forgotten, we're trapped in here."

 "I assure you I have not forgotten,

 General!"

 she popped back at him.

 Jersey, Cooper, Beth, and all the other

 Rebels in range of the battery-powered mask

 mikes could do nothing except try to ignore the

 exchange.

 "Fine," Ben told her shortly. "I was wondering

 if you should be hospitalized to check out that memory

 loss."

 "My memory is just fine!"

 They exchanged heated looks through the visors.

 "Unfortunately," Ben said, "so is mine."

 Jerre narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

 The voice of Ben's son came through the speakers.

 "If you two don't cease this childish

 quarreling, your visors are going to fog over and

 someone is going to have to be assigned to lead you around."

 Very few people would have dared speak to Ben in that manner.

 Buddy was one of the few.

 "Thank you, Buddy," Jerre said sweetly. "Your

 capacity for reason must have come from far back in the

 Raines genes."

 Ben's sigh was very audible. "What is your location,

 Captain

 Raines?"

 Buddy laughed. "Standing behind you, Father."

 Ben turned his head. His ruggedly handsome son was

 standing in the doorway, leaning up against the jamb. The

 boy could move like a damn ghost.

 "I was under the impression that I assigned you

 to Dan's team, boy."

 "Oh, you did, Father. And I have completed my

 assignment for the morning. Colonel Gray sent me

 back here to remain with you. He felt I would be more

 useful with you."

 "Is that right?"

 "Yes, sir."

 Ben stood up. "Fine. Up, people. We're going

 to clear a building."

 "Precisely why Colonel Gray sent

 me back here,"" Buddy muttered.

 "I heard that, boy," Ben growled, heading for the

 door. He paused at his son's side, looking

 into Buddy's eyes. It was like looking into a mirror.

 While Ben was tall and rangy, Buddy was a few

 inches shorter and stocky. But in the face, their

 resemblance was startling. "Let's go."

 On the sidewalk, crouched behind a rusted and

 long-abandoned pickup truck, Ben said, "Now the

 fun begins, people. We flushed them up from their holes,

 now we get to search the buildings."

 The sound of gunfire was much more muted now, as the

 Rebels found the Night People in the buildings and shot

 them.

 "Everybody hook several CS grenades on your

 harness," Ben ordered. "Make sure you have your

 asssigned fire-frags. We'll take that

 building on the south corner of this block. Let's

 do it."

 They couldn't tell what type of business it had

 been, but Ben guessed a clothing store. It had

 been looted. Ben assigned several Rebels

 to stay on the ground floor, and found the door leading

 to the lower level. He held up a CS

 grenade, signaling Jerre andJersey

 to follow suit. They pulled the pins and tossed the

 tear gas into the darkness.

 Cursing and coughing drifted up as the gas teared

 eyes and tore at lungs.

 Shapes came lunging up, trying to escape the

 choking gas. The black-robed figures ran into a

 hail of gunfire. The coughing and cursing ceased.

 Bodies lay in heaps on the stairwell. Ben

 closed the door and pointed a finger at Buddy, men

 pointed upward. The young man nodded and took the

 point.

 The door which opened onto the second level of the

 building had been kicked open. Buddy took two

 CS grenades from his battle harness and tossed them

 in, one left and one right. He rolled in, staying

 belly-down on the floor, another Rebel

 following him, covering Buddy's blind side.

 Footsteps echoed in the dusty and gas-filled

 hall. A door slammed. "Heading for the next

 level," Buddy said.

 "Why?" Ben pondered his own question before ordering people

 to follow the fleeing creepies. No man

 voluntarily runs to his deadh unless he feels

 he can take some of his enemies with him.

 "Buddy?" Ben spoke. "Direct some

 fire at the door leading up."

 Buddy's Thompson spat lead in the hallway.

 An explosion followed, knocking out windows and

 bringing plaster and paneling down in the hall.

 "Booby-trapped," Ben said. "Now go."

 Buddy was back in a moment. "Hallway is

 blocked, Father. The explosion tore down the

 stairs. There's no way up."

 "We can't leave them up there," Ben said. "Beth,

 as soon as we're clear, order a tank up here and

 destroy this building."

 "Yes, sir."

 Back on the sidewalk, a platoon leader

 walked up to Ben. "This block is clear, sir."

 "Except for this building," Ben told him. "And it

 will

 be shortly." He looked up as an Abrams

 clanked up and wheeled around in the street, elevating

 its 105mm cannon. The Rebels moved across the

 street and Ben signaled for the tank commander to start

 pounding the building at street level, destroying the

 foundation and bringing the building down.

 Ben and his group walked away from the booming of the

 cannon.

 "Sir," Beth said. "The friendlies living

 underground are up and have grouped on Broadway and

 One Sixty-third. About five hundred of them.

 Men women, and kids."

 "I guess the gas did penetrate throughout the

 system. Are they finally going to join this fight?"

 "Scouts report they said they would hold that area where

 they surfaced."

 Ben nodded. "Advise our artillery to mark that area

 as friendly. What's the word on Khamsin?"

 "Getting in position to start shelling us. Spotters

 report they're working on boats,New Jersey

 side."

 "That will be a night attack. They'll eventually be

 able to punch through the tunnels, unless we destroy

 them, and I really don't want to do that. We may be

 forced to use them."

 "General Ike on the line," Beth told him.

 "Go, Ike."

 "We creamed the hell out of them, Ben. I'd

 guess that in this area, we cut them down by a full

 twenty-five to thirty percent."

 "About that here," Ben acknowledged. The Abrams had

 ceased firing. "Tell your people to get ready for shelling

 from theNew Jersey side."

 "Ten-four, Eagle. Shark out."

 "General Jefferys on the horn, sir."

 "Go, Hawk."

 "I copied that transmission between you and Shark,"

 Cecil said. "I figure about the same number of

 dead crud here. We've hurt them, no doubt about

 that."

 After he had spoken with the mercenary, West, and with

 several other unit commanders, Ben turned to Buddy.

 "I can't help but wonder what happened to the

 prisoners being held underground."

 Buddy glanced up. "I try not to think about that,

 Father."

 West, the mercenary, when the battle for survival was

 imminent, had said, "Now it's all up to God and

 guns."

 Ben was reminded of those words after a Scout had touched

 his arm and said, "We found one of the creepy

 hidey-holes, General." Ben noticed the man's

 face was pale behind the visor of his gas mask.

 "It's pretty grim, sir."

 Ben followed the Scout to the basement of a building.

 Behind where packing crates had been stacked, a

 black hole yawned, chipped out of the concrete

 wall. With a strong flashlight, the Scout led the

 way. Down they went, into the bowels of the

 city, following deep tunnels that had been widened

 over the years. How many years was anyone's guess.

 Ben would guess well over a hundred years.

 "I think we've found a cult stronghold," he

 said. "These people have been under the city for a long, long

 time. Many many years before the great war. I think

 we've flushed something much more hideous than we first

 realized."

 They entered a large, cavelike room, and Ben

 pulled up short. Naked bodies of men and women

 were piled in one corner. They had been shot and then

 great hunks of meat cut from them-at least Ben hoped

 it had taken place in that order. He had no way

 of knowing.

 He sighed heavily. "Well, perhaps God put them

 out of

 their misery. Now it's up to us, behind the guns."

 "What do we do with them, sir?"

 "If we leave them here the rats will get them,

 General,"Jersey said.

 "Thank you,Jersey . I really needed that."

 "You're certainly welcome, sir."

 "Get some body bags down here. Carry them out for a

 proper burial." He glanced at the grotesque

 sprawl of death. "At least there aren't any

 kids among them."

 "Is that a blessing?" Jerre asked. "Considering where

 they might be."

 "You're right, Jerre," Ben conceded.

 She gave him a look of amazement. It seemed

 to say: What? You're admitting I was actually right

 about something? Will wonders never ceasel

 "Let's get out of here," Ben said.

 Back on ground level, Ben waved Buddy over

 to him. "We can't keep pumping tear gas into the

 ground indefinitely. So I want you to take your

 team underground with all the explosives you can stagger

 with. Those tunnels all connect. Follow them and

 start sealing them off down to . . ." He spread a

 map out on the sidewalk. "dis . . One Hundred

 and Fifty-fifth Street. I'll have Ike and

 Cecil send teams in from their sectors and they'll be

 working north. It's not going to be pleasant, son.

 And I won't make it an order. If you

 refuse, I certainly won't blame you."

 "Piece of cake, Father. No sweat."

 "You be careful down there, boy."

 Buddy smiled. "As careful as you are up here,

 Father."

 Ben grimaced. "Git out of here!"

 Buddy ran to get his team together and outfitted.

 "He acts like he's actually looking forward to going

 down there," Jerre said, pointing to the sidewalk.

 "He probably is," Ben told her. "One thing

 for certain: it'll be a hell of a lot warmer down

 there than up here."

 Jerre shook her head at the pure cold nerve of the

 Rebels. They faced battle like thinking Viking

 Berserkers. They could make jokes when in the most

 ungodly situations.

 Like now, she silently added.

 She glanced up at Ben, looking down at her through

 eyes of love. He abruptly turned away.

 "Let's go hunt some trouble."

 It wasn't hard to find.

 Even though the Rebels had cut into the numbers of

 creepies, the Night Crawlers still outnumbered them

 badly. Ben and his little team almost walked right into an

 ambush. Ben had spotted dark movement across the

 street and shouted his people down just as

 automatic-weapons fire cut the cold,

 gas-sharp air. He had grabbed Jerre by the seat of

 her field pants and brought her down with him.

 "Relax, kid," he told her, as the bullets

 zinged and popped over their heads and slammed

 into the body of the rusted old limo they lay behind.

 "I'm not getting amorous."

 The pounding of combat drowned out her reply; but Ben was

 a fair lip-reader.

 He laughed at her.

 Beth radioed for help, and within a couple of

 minutes a Duster rounded the corner and began

 unleashing its deadly 40mm rounds through twin

 cannons. The alleyway was turned into a tiny

 corner of Hell.

 Dan Gray came running up to admonish the

 general, a very exasperated expression on his face.

 "General Raines!" the Englishman, ex-Sas

 member, commander of Gray's Scouts, and mother hen

 to Ben said. "Will you please return to your CP where

 you may be properly guarded?"

 Ben got up and grinned at Dan. "Dan, if you

 didn't have me to fuss over, what would you do?"

 "Relax!" Dan popped back. He shook himself

 like a big dog. "General, I have been going over

 some blueprints found by some of my scouts. Are you

 aware that there are more than sixty-two hundred

 miles of sewer tunnels under this city?"

 "Sixty-two

 hundred

 miles?"

 "Yes, sir. And many of them large enough for a man

 to walk in."

 "More problems," Ben said glumly.

 "Yes, sir. There is no way Buddy and the others

 are going to be able to effectively seal off escape

 routes. They'll be wasting their time and risking their

 lives unnecessarily."

 "We can't let up on the pressure against the

 creepies, Dan. I think the only reason

 Khamsin hasn't shelled us is because the Night People

 have been forced above ground. But we can't go on pumping

 tear gas underground indefinitely." Ben was thoughtful

 for a moment. He turned to Beth. "Have the crews

 stop pumping, Beth. Let's get out of these damn

 masks for a time." To Dan: "Let's work out a

 plan to pump tear gas in a couple of times a day,

 at staggered intervals. Double the pump stations for more

 effective coverage. As long as we can keep the

 creepies guessing, they won't reenter the

 tunnels. And move the pumps around to different

 locations every day."

 "Good idea, sir. I'll get on it immediately."

 Dan wheeled about and took off at a run.

 "You still want teams under the city, General?"

 Beth asked.

 "Yes. Make certain all teams have plans showing

 which manhole covers have not been welded closed."

 Ben took off his mask for a moment. The air was still

 bitter, but not unbearable.

 "Katzman, sir," Beth touched Ben's arm.

 Ben took the handset. "G."

 "My people have broken the Libyan's code, General.

 We can relax some; there won't be any shelling from

 Khamsin."

 "That's good news. I never did like artillery coming in

 on me." He grinned.

 "Butthatdoesn'tmeanwecan'tshell them, does

 it?"

 Katzman laughed. "Damn sure doesn't,

 General. You want me to give the orders?"

 "Yes. Shell for a few minutes, then have the tanks

 shift positions. We can make things damned

 uncomfortable for the Hot Wind and his mini-farts."

 "Done, sir." Katzman broke off.

 "Get the boys and girls on scramble, Beth."

 She took off her backpack and changed

 frequencies. She would broadcast to Katzman,

 who would bounce the signal out to all locations. Beth

 handed the mike to Ben.

 "All tank commanders on the west side with range

 capabilities commence shelling when ready. Let's

 make it unpleasant for the Hot Fart. All other

 units continue search and destroy. Let's kill as

 many crud as we can before the Libyan invades us.

 Tunnel Rats move out as quickly as possible.

 Good luck."

 Ben checked his Thompson. "Let's go to work, people."

 Buddy and his team entered a strange and eerie and almost

 totally silent world under the city. They entered through the

 hole found by Dan's Scouts. They passed the

 spot where the prisoners had been found, dead, and

 moved on into the dark unknown.

 They found an elaborate system of lights throughout,

 leading one Rebel to comment, "They bled off the city's

 power. These people have been down here for no telling how many

 years."

 "The filth is unbelievable," Buddy said,

 scratching at a flea bite. "I am certainly

 glad Chase gave us booster shots. God alone

 knows what kind of diseases are leaping all around us."

 "Why didn't it kill the creepies?"

 "Probably grew immune to it after two or three

 generations."

 The teams placed charges as they went, some

 to be electronically detonated when they were once more

 above ground, but most of them booby traps. The

 charges were large enough to effectively seal off the

 tunnels, but not large enough to do any structural

 damage above ground.

 They hoped.

 They found communal living quarters, and the stench and

 filth was appalling; the stink rising above the sharp

 odor of tear gas.

 And they found more bodies of naked and mutilated

 innocents.

 "What do we do with them, Buddy?"

 Buddy shook his head. "We're too deep to carry

 them out. Let's stack them close to the explosion

 points. The debris will cover them. I think that is

 about the best we can do."

 The team moved fardier and deeper under the city, finding

 a makeshift hospital where the creepies had

 treated their wounded-and then eaten those that died.

 "Nice people," Buddy said, disgust in his voice.

 They moved on through the stinking dankness, seeing no

 creepies and planting their charges at what they

 felt would be stress points.

 They followed a dozen or more tunnels leading away

 from the main tunnel; they all led to a rabbit

 hole up to the city, usually coming out in some deserted

 building or basement. At each tunnel offshoot

 they laid a charge.

 Some of the offshoots led to gratings and ventilation

 openings on subway tubes; others led into sewer

 systems. It was very plain to Buddy and the others that the

 Night People had been around a long, long time.

 The team lost all track of time in the gloom,

 broken only by the beams from their flashlights;

 batteries had to be replaced often. Finally, with

 only a few batteries left, Buddy started

 looking for a way out. They pushed open a manhole

 cover and were startled to find it was almost night, and they were

 at172nd Street .

 Buddy lifted his mike. "Tunnel Rat One

 to Eagle."

 "Eagle. Where the hell have you been, boy?"

 "Exploring. Scramble, Eagle."

 On the scramble frequency, Buddy asked, "Do

 we have any supplies cached around One

 Seventy-second Street?"

 "Ten-four, Rat.Amsterdam and One

 Seventy-third. It's an oudoor swimming pool.

 Look around, you'll find something to eat. Have you

 planted your charges?"

 "Yes, sir. I believe they'll be effective in

 closing off everything north of our location."

 "Other teams report good progress, but they're

 on the

 far end of the island. We're going to start pumping in

 gas now, so clear out."

 "I'll bump you when we've settled in for the

 night."

 "Ten-four, Rat. Job well done."

 Above ground, Buddy and his team could hear the booming

 of 155's and 105's as they pounded Khamsin's

 position inNew Jersey .

 "When they hit us," Buddy said, jerking his thumb

 towardNew Jersey , "the fun is really going

 to begin."

 "Spookies," a team member said softly.

 "Downl"

 The Rebels hit the sidewalk and belly-crawled

 behind a line of abandoned cars, many of them parked

 haphazardly on the sidewalk.

 "I make it about twenty of them," Buddy whispered.

 "Question is, do we give away our position or let

 them pass?"

 That question was answered for him as the creepies began

 angling across the street, heading straight for the

 Rebels' position.

 "Spread out and let them get closer," Buddy

 ordered.

 The five-person team of Rebels lay on the

 cold and still-patchy snow-covered sidewalk and

 waited. Diane lifted her Ml6 after receiving a

 minute nod from Buddy. She knew without being told

 she was to take the first four or five spookies to her

 left. Harold lifted his M14, set on full

 rock and roll; he would neutralize those

 creepies to his right.

 "Now!" Buddy whispered, and pulled the trigger

 back, holding it.

 The near-empty street hammered with the sounds of

 gunfire. The Night People, caught by surprise, for

 no Rebels were supposed to be in this area, went

 down like shattered bowling pins.

 The Rebels were up and running toward the bloody

 scene before the sounds of gunfire had died away.

 They swiftly and brutally finished the wounded and took

 their weapons and ammo belts, then were running toward

 the cache of supplies, slipping away into the night

 just as other creepies began popping out of their hiding

 places,

 surprised looks on their hood-shrouded

 faces.

 It was obvious that their kind had been ambushed; but where

 were the hated Rebels?

 The bloody street lay silent before them. The

 Night People did not approach their dead comrades, not

 being in any hurry to join them in that long sleep.

 Those few moments of hesitation and indecision gave

 Buddy and his team the time to reach their cache of

 supplies and settle in quietly.

 Pete dug in the food packages and began handing out

 sealed packets of food.

 "What is this stuff?" Judy asked, smelling the

 contents.

 "Be thankful that it's dark and we can't see it,"

 Buddy said, spooning some into his mouth and grimacing.

 "Now if Chase and his people could only come up with a

 pill to momentarily kill the taste buds!"

 The tanks spat out their lethal messages all through

 the cold night, sending out a few rounds and then

 shifting positions, confusing the gunners of the Hot

 Wind, preventing them from getting any accurate

 fix.

 And through the night, Ben's Rebels dug in deeper

 amid the buildings of the great city, cold in winter's

 harsh grip. It gave them more time to fortify

 their positions; snipers moved up several stories

 and set up their silent, lethal positions, waiting.

 And the Night People found many of their hidey-holes and

 escape tunnels. But they only used them once.

 The first to enter were splattered all over the tunnel

 walls as the booby traps blew, not only killing

 those creepies who triggered them, but blocking the

 entrances and exits under tons of rubble. This was something

 the crawlers did not expect and were not prepared for.

 It sent many of them screaming and running for the surface

 of the city. For generation after generation, the Night People had

 had almost complete control of the underground; it was their

 kingdom. Now, all that was changing. They were being forced

 upward.

 And their food supply was running short.

 They turned to eating their own dead and any Rebel

 dead they might find. But those were very few.

 For the first time in anyone's memory, the Night People

 began to sense that they might be defeated.

 "Tell the tank crews to cease firing and to stand

 down," Ben ordered.

 All along theHudson River , the thunder ceased and the

 cannon smoke faded.

 The first gray fingers of dawn had been replaced with

 bright sunlight, slowly spreading over the

 great city, and bringing with it an unexpected but very

 welcome warming. The snow began to melt, and the

 Rebels could peel out of some of their layers of

 clothing.

 "Spotters stay alert," Ben told Beth. "And

 give me initial reports of damage

 to Khamsin's positions."

 "Spotters report several enemy tanks burning

 and several hundred dead along the waterfront."

 Beth relayed the reports as they came in.

 "Khamsin can spare them," Ben said grimly. "We

 can't."

 "You want spotter planes up, sir?"

 "No. We want to keep them as our ace in the

 hole for as long as possible. When they start across the

 river, we'll bring in the Puffs. But only then."

 "General Ike on the horn, sir."

 "Go, Shark."

 "We sustained no hits during the night, Eagle.

 Hawk reports the same. West has not been in

 contact as yet."

 "West here," the mercenary's voice crackled.

 "All quiet in midtown. Too quiet for me.

 Something's in the works, I'm thinking."

 "I'm thinking the same thing. Khamsin's

 too good a soldier to try to cross the river in

 daylight. So he's probably leaving any strikes

 to the creepies. Our underground sensors have reported

 a lot of big booms down there. The creepies have

 found their tunnels and holes have been

 booby-trapped. It's probably put mem in a

 state of panic. I'm hoping we'll have a few

 hours' respite before they can rally their people for any

 type of strike. This night is

 probably going to be a real lulu, though.

 Advise your people."

 "Hawk, here, Eagle."

 "Go, Cec."

 "Everything is too quiet. But I think I know

 why. I think the creepies are scared, now. For the

 first time. We've invaded their underground world and they

 don't know what to do. We've cut off their rabbit

 holes and destroyed a lot of tunnels. They're

 not geared to fighting above ground. But that doesn't mean

 they won't pull themselves together damn quick."

 "You're probably right. We'll use this time to dig

 in deeper. Hang tough, brother."

 "You, too, Ben."

 Ben turned to Beth. "Have you been in contact with

 Buddy?"

 "Yes, sir. He and his team are back in the

 tunnels. Went back in at dawn. They know when

 we're going to start pumping in gas and to get out at

 noon."

 Ben walked outside to squat down on the

 sidewalk. His personal escort and several of

 Dan's Scouts went with him. This time, Dan was

 making sure the general did not slip off by himself.

 Jerre was with the group, but she hung back, staying

 away from Ben. She felt his eyes on her and

 turned her head, meeting the steady gaze.

 "What are you thinking, General?"

 Ben's jaws clenched, but that was the only sign of his

 temper. He had told her a hundred times since

 she walked back into his life to call him Ben.

 But she would do that only when they were alone-something that

 Ben tried to avoid whenever possible.

 "I'm thinking about destroying this city," Ben said

 flatly.

 All eyes turned toward him.

 They stared at each other. Neither Ben nor Jerre

 would blink. "I thought you were opposed to that?" she finally

 said.

 "I am. It would be only as a last resort, and

 only when

 Khamsin and his men get on the island."

 "How would we get off?"

 "I don't know."

 She blinked. "Do keep me informed."

 Ben stood up. "You'll know no earlier than when the

 rest of the troops are informed." He walked away.

 "One for the general,"Jersey muttered, and hurried

 to join him.

 "The soap operas must have been fun," Beth said,

 picking up and slinging her backpack radio. "I just

 remember them. But they couldn't have been any more fun

 than this."

 "I never cared for them," Jerre said tightly.

 "How much time do we have?" Judy asked, her voice

 metallic through the built-in gas-mask speaker.

 "What happened to your watch?" Buddy asked. "You

 had it last night."

 "I don't know. When I woke up this morning, I

 couldn't find it. But I'd swear I didn't take

 it off my wrist."

 Buddy held up the patrol. The last time he'd

 checked they were at164th Street , and that had not been

 long ago. "Those small footprints we saw this

 morning. The ones we dismissed as not being human but

 nature-made. Do you think . . . ?"

 "They'd have to be very small kids, Buddy," Pete

 said. "And where would they come from?"

 "Runaways from the breeding farms, probably,"

 Diane answered.

 "How would they survive?" Harold asked. "The

 canned foods here in the city have lost any

 nutritional value. And there are no cats or

 dogs in this city."

 "Trapping rats," Buddy replied. "Stealing from the

 gardens of those around theCentral Park area."

 "Eating

 rats!"

 Diane was horrified.

 "Very high in protein, so I'm told," Buddy

 said.

 "Gross!" Judy said.

 "Let's plant our charges and get the hell out of

 here,"

 Buddy said, after thinking for a moment. "I want to go

 back and more closely inspect those tracks we found

 this morning."

 "And then?" Pete asked.

 "We notify the general."

 They stayed in the tunnels, working their way back

 north beneath the city, in this strange, silent,

 extremely odious world that was once the kingdom of the

 Night P. They surfaced just as the pumps once more

 began pouring in the gas, seeing daylight at 169th

 Street, coming out through a hole in the lower part of a

 building.

 They made their way cautiously up to 173rd, and

 entered into the area where they had slept the night before.

 The tracks were still there, and looking around, they found more.

 At first glance, they did not look like tracks, rather more

 like smudges on the concrete and floors.

 Buddy got down on his hands and knees and slowly and

 carefully inspected the trails, finally finding what

 he'd been seeking: tiny pieces of cloth and

 thread.

 He stood up. "Many of them have no shoes," he

 announced. "They're wrapping their feet in rags

 against the cold."

 "Dear God!" Diane muttered.

 "Yes. Assuming that they have several layers on their

 feet, this one," he pointed to a small track,

 "would be no more than three or four years old."

 He held out his hand to Pete. "Give me your

 radio." He changed frequencies and lifted the

 handset. "Tunnel Rat to Eagle on scramble."

 "Give me a second to round him up,

 Rat. He's out on the street. I'll patch you

 through."

 "Go, Rat," Ben said.

 Buddy brought him up to date. He could hear Ben's

 sigh very clearly. "You're going to need some help

 searching that area for the kids."

 "Send the hippie, Father."

 " 'Thermopolis?"

 "Yes."

 "May I ask why?"

 "Because I think the children might come to someone

 like him before they'd come to us. Ask him if he'd

 dress as he did when he first joined us."

 "Ten-four, boy. They'll be on their way in a

 few minutes."

 Emil Hite, the con artist who had become almost

 a fixture in Ben's life over the years, had

 leftLouisiana with his flock of followers to aid

 Ben in hisNew York fight. Along the way, they

 had run into a commune of hippies, headed by a man

 called Thermopolis. The hippies had agreed that

 it was better to join Ben and the Rebels than spend the

 rest of their lives running from the cannibalistic

 Night P. Slowly, and reluctantly,

 Thermopolis had found himself liking Ben

 Raines, personally, if not entirely what he

 stood for.

 "Of course, we'll go," Thermopolis told

 Ben. "And Buddy is right: the kids will probably

 come to us much quicker if we're not dressed in uniforms.

 I'll take a few of my own people with me to aid in the

 search."

 "Take as many as you need."

 Dan walked to Ben's side. "If there are children

 running wild in this city, General, that casts a very

 different light on the matter."

 "Doesn't it, though?"

 The city was strangely silent as the small convoy

 made its way to Buddy's location. "They'll hit

 us hard tonight," the Rebel driver said. "We've

 got just about four and a half hours of daylight left.

 We've got to be back in position by nightfall.

 General's orders, people."

 Thermopolis muttered under his breath and grimaced.

 His wife, Rosebud, caught the look and laughed

 at him. Her husband managed a very thin smile.

 Sort of like a razor blade's edge.

 "They lead off in that direction," Buddy told him,

 pointing. "We have not tried to follow them."

 Thermopolis hesitated for a moment, then

 laid his M16 aside. Rosebud, Santo,

 Wenceslaus, and the others in his group did the same.

 "We'll carry sidearms only," he told them.

 "We won't appear so menacing to the children. Let's

 go."

 They moved out cautiously, leaving the swimming-pool

 area and following the hard-to-spot footprints of the

 kids in the fast-disappearing spots of snow.

 Thermopolis led the group, moving swiftly but

 warily. The footprints appeared again in an alley

 opening up on Audubon. Thermopolis waved the

 group down at the mouth of the alley and with them crouched

 behind him, studied the seemingly empty buildings across

 the street.

 "The footprints lead straight into that building,"

 Rosebud pointed out.

 "Yes. But crossing that street is going to be

 dangerous. We might be watched by creepies right this

 minute."

 Rosebud gave him a look guaranteed to curl his

 toenails, which it came very close to doing.

 Thermopolis knew it very well. "And those children over

 there are cold and hungry and frightened. Either you lead us

 over there, or I will."

 "Now, Rosebud."

 "Get out of the damn way!"

 Thermopolis stood up. "Shall we go find the children,

 dear?"

 "That's the general idea . . . dear."

 Muttering under his breath, Thermopolis darted across the

 street, the others close behind him, and entered a

 building, noticing that the front door had been used

 recently. The imprint of a very small and very dirty

 hand was on the lock stile.

 "My heart goes out to these children," Swallow said,

 looking at her husband.

 "My heart is thumping so hard I can hear it!"

 Santo told her.

 "Be quiet," Thermopolis told them. "We have

 nothing to fear from small children." I hope, he

 silently added. He moved toward a closed door

 and slowly pushed it open and stepped inside, noticing

 the cold ashes of a dead fire in one corner of the

 barren room.

 Thermopolis paused as his eyes picked up on the

 skeleton of a rat. It had been picked clean.

 After being cooked he hoped. He pointed it out to the

 others.

 Rosebud shook her head in disgust and sorrow.

 "We'll take the children to raise as our own,

 of course."

 "Oh, of course," Thermopolis said dryly.

 "That's what I had in mind, too."

 His wife's eyes spoke silent volumes,

 directed at him.

 Overheard, on the second level, a small

 scurrying sound was heard.

 "Too big for rats," Wenceslaus said, looking

 at his old lady.

 "You hope," Zelotes told him.

 Thermopolis led the way up the old stairs. Now

 the footprints were very clear in the dust. He pushed

 open the first door he came to.

 A small girl, no more than six or seven, sat

 on the floor, looking at him. She also had a very

 large pistol pointing at him, the hammer cocked

 back. She held the pistol in both hands.

 "Hello, dear." Thermopolis smiled at her.

 "I'll blow your fuckin" head off!" she told

 him.

 Buddy heard the approaching vehicles pull up and

 stop and was only mildly surprised to see his father

 stroll nonchalantly up to his position.

 "You just will not stay in a secure zone, will you, Father?"

 "Of course not. The troops would be

 disappointed if I did. Thermopolis?"

 "The last I saw of them they were entering that alley."

 Buddy pointed.

 Ben squatted down and rolled a cigarette while

 his son looked on, a very disapproving look in his

 eyes. "I read a very good pamphlet about smoking,

 Father. Written by a man called Koop. Whoever

 he is, or was. You should cease the use of those

 things."

 "Right." Ben licked the tube closed and fired up.

 "Humor me. You can't teach an old dog new

 tricks."

 "That, too, is a misnomer. I once read a

 report on dog training. It stated that. .."

 "Boy . . . to was Ben warned.

 Buddy shut up and watched his father smoke his

 cigarette.

 Ben scratched at the uncomfortable body armor under

 his shirt and waited.

 The girl had lowered the hammer, but kept the muzzle

 pointed dead at Thermopolis.

 "My name is Thermopolis."

 "That's a stupid name," the child told him.

 Rosebud had counted a dozen kids in the room,

 none of them older than seven or eight, and

 all of them dressed in rags. None of them wore

 shoes; only dirty strips of cloth wrapped around

 their feet.

 "Well, I suppose so ... if you're not used

 to hearing it," Thermopolis conceded. "What's your

 name?"

 "Kate. Are you with the army that is fighting the

 human-eaters?"

 "Yes."

 "Is the god, Ben Raines, really here in the

 city?"

 Thermopolis started to tell the child that Ben Raines was

 not a god. He bit back the words.

 "Did you send all that pukey-smelling stuff into the

 air?"

 "I helped, yes." He slowly squatted down

 on the dirty floor, facing the child. "You can put the

 gun away. I won't harm you."

 "You say. But you might lie."

 "That's true. But there comes a time when you have to trust

 somebody. I tell you what. . dis8And it hurt him

 to say it, but he knew that just the name carried a lot of

 weight. "dis . . I'll take you to meet Ben

 Raines."

 "You lie!"

 "No, child," Thermopolis said gently. "I speak

 the truth."

 Santo's walkie-talkie crackled. He

 lifted the radio and spoke briefly, then looked

 at Thermopolis. "General Raines is coming over

 here."

 The kids stirred uneasily.

 "Just take it easy," Thermopolis told them.

 "Pretty soon you'll all have clean clothes and

 hot food and shoes for your feet. And you'll be

 safe."

 "We'll believe that when Ben Raines says it,"

 Kate told him.

 Boots sounded on the ground-level floor, then

 slowly climbed the steps. The kids drew back,

 huddling together in fear.

 Ben stood in the doorway, tall, his face

 hawklike, his

 eyes unreadable. He watched as Kate laid the

 big pistol on the floor. Ben held out his hand.

 "Come, children. Let's go where it's safe and warm and

 get you something to eat." He smiled and his whole

 face changed. The kids went to him, crowding around.

 "You children ride with Thermopolis and Rosebud.

 I'll meet with you later on today and you can

 tell me your stories."

 "You won't be far away, will you?" Kate asked.

 "No. I won't be far away," Ben assured

 her.

 After the children had gone, Thermopolis paused in the

 room; only he and Ben remained. "Is it always that

 way with you and kids?"

 "Usually."

 "Why? You're armed to the teeth and half the time you

 look like you could bite the heads off nails."

 "Perhaps it's because I represent something they have never

 known but always wanted. Or knew some of it and yearn

 for more."

 "Safety?"

 "That's part of it."

 "And so you and your people will take them to raise, and they'll

 grow up with the Rebel dogma burned into their brains

 and be good little soldiers?"

 "Most of them, yes. Is that so wrong?"

 Thermopolis sighed. "I don't know. I

 suppose not. What is it with you, Ben Raines?

 What is this compulsion with law and order and rules and

 regulations?"

 "I didn't ask for this job, Thermopolis. I

 think destiny forced it on me."

 "Disgusting!" Chase came out of the examining room,

 ripping off his rubber gloves and dropping them into a

 waste can. He walked up to Ben, leaning against a

 wall. "Those children have all been sexually molested.

 Most of them by the men under the command of this Monte

 person."

 Ben waited, knowing the doctor was not yet through.

 Chase ranted and waved his arms and cussed and kicked

 the waste can before he wound down.

 Ben began rolling a cigarette.

 "No smoking in my damn hospital, Raines!"

 Ben tossed the makings into the waste can. "Venereal

 diseases?"

 "Some of them. But they're the treatable kind."

 "AIDS?"

 "We're testing them. But I don't think so. If

 this . . . catastrophe did any good at all, it

 seems to be the halt of AIDS. I've seen very

 few cases of it over the past ten years."

 "Why?"

 "Why did it stop? Hell, I don't know! I

 don't even know why it began. The kids are in a

 surprisingly good mental state, however-considering

 what they've been through. And what they're going to have to go

 through before, or if, we get out of this mess."

 "We'll get out." Once again the plan he had

 discussed with no one entered Ben's head. He did not

 want to even think about it, much less put it

 into play, but it might be the only way out for them.

 Ben became conscious of Chase talking to him.

 "... the hell is wrong with you, Ben? You have Jerre

 on the brain again?"

 Ben smiled. "No. For once, no. Can I see

 the kids?"

 "Some of them. Sure. In case you wondered, and

 I'm sure you did, why, in a city with several

 million pairs of shoes for the taking, the kids

 chose to wrap their feet in rags, they seldom got

 out of that two- or three-block area. They said the

 Night People never seemed to come in there."

 "I wonder why?"

 "I don't know, and neither did the kids. They did

 say it was a place where they had to be very careful with

 fire."

 "Now that is interesting," Ben said softly. "That is

 very interesting."

 Ben met with the kids, joked with them, and managed

 to coax some smiles from them. By the time he left the

 hospital, he had gained some valuable knowledge about

 certain areas of the city. He checked the sky.

 Dark in about

 two hours. He told Beth to get his commanders up

 to his CP'-RIGHT now. At his CP, the meeting with

 his commanders was closed, the doors shut and the men and

 Tina alone. And that was not something that General Ben

 Raines did very often.

 "We've got to hold the Libyan in New

 Jersey, people. I want everything that can toss shells

 the distance on the waterfront, doing so. Dan, of us

 all, you have the finest tastes in art, music, so form

 ..."

 "Thank you, General." The Englishman smiled.

 "It's good to know that my talents in the finer things are

 appreciated."

 Ike groaned and stuck the needle to his friend.

 "Big bore is what you are."

 Dan ignored him.

 "West, you run a close second to Dan." He

 smiled at the mercenary. "As surprising as that might

 seem to some people." He cut his eyes to Thermopolis,

 and the big rough-looking hippie smiled.

 "Colonel West, you will take everything from Central

 Park west to the river. Dan, you'll take it from the

 park east to the waterfront. Both of you all the way

 down to Battery Park. I'll take it from

 a Hundred Twenty-fifth Street north. Our

 main objective is to kill creepies. Our

 secondary mission to gather up everything that might be

 remotely construed as art-paintings, sculpture,

 whatever comand master tapes or discs of music.

 Strip the libraries of books. Gather it all and

 bring it up here for storage."

 "Does that include rock-and-roll and hillbilly

 music, General?" Dan asked, a twinkle in his

 eyes, knowing he was stepping on Ike's toes. And,

 out of the corner of his eye, he watched Thermopolis

 stir and frown. Dan hid his smile.

 "That includes everything, Dan," Ben said with a

 straight face, picking up on the Englishman's

 joke. "Whether you like it or not, it's still somebody's

 idea of expression."

 Ike stuck his tongue out at Dan, and the room

 exploded in laughter. And again, Thermopolis

 marveled at the

 seemingly undefeatable morale of the Rebels.

 Facing thousands of the enemy, and they could still joke. And

 Ben Raines . . . damn the man! He was a

 study in contradiction. He could talk of killing with

 one breath and in the other speak of saving and preserving

 art and literature. Even rock-and-roll

 music, and Thermopolis knew the man hated that

 type of expression.

 Talk about a walking contradiction, Kris

 -

 you should see this man.

 "What's the drill, Ben?" Cecil asked.

 "What are you up to this time?"

 Ben cut his eyes to the black general. He

 hesitated, then shook his head. This decision would be

 his alone to make. And if he chose to carry it out,

 history-if indeed it was ever to be written-would either

 applaud him or condemn him. But it would be on his

 shoulders, and his shoulders alone.

 "Get started at dawn tomorrow," Ben told them.

 "I'm going to make an early run downtown.

 I've been delaying it, but it's time. Get back

 to your positions and prepare to get hit hard tonight.

 That's it, people."

 "What is the bastard doing?" a commander questioned

 Khamsin, as the shells exploded around them in New

 Jersey.

 "Keeping us out of the city," Khamsin told the man.

 "Damn the savages in the city!" another commander

 spoke his mind. "Let's shell the city and have done

 with it."

 Khamsin shook his head. "We do that, and those

 abominations would strike a deal with Raines and turn

 on us." He cut his eyes to the woman, Sister

 Voleta. "Tell me one weakness of Ben

 Raines. Anything we could use against him."

 "He has none," the woman replied. "He has

 ice in his veins."

 "He has one," Ashley spoke. "And I would not

 know of that had it not been for Big Louie's obsession

 with the man."

 Khamsin looked at the man. "Speak."

 "A woman. Jerre Hunter."

 "She is in the city with him?"

 "Yes, I believe so."

 "And if we took the woman . . . ?" Khamsin

 questioned.

 "I really don't know, General. I don't know

 what he would do. I know what he wouldn't do: he would

 not jeopardize a mission to save her life. But he

 would track the man who harmed her through Hell. And that

 man would spend days begging to die."

 Monte shuddered. He was beginning to wish he had never

 heard of Ben Raines. Wished he had stayed the

 hell up in Canada, far, far away from Ben

 Raines. The bastard just wasn't human.

 Or so it seemed to Monte.

 Khamsin was looking at him. "Monte. You will

 take some people into the city, cross over this night in

 boats, and seize this woman. And that is not a

 request."

 "Right," Monte managed to say.

 "Leave now, and make ready."

 A shell crashed close to the Libyan's CP.

 Khamsin clenched his fists and silently rained

 curses down on Ben's head. He had the man

 trapped, and because of an unholy alliance with

 cannibals could not move.

 But maybe if the woman could be taken .. . his

 Maybe.

 Ben sat behind his desk, his boots propped up,

 deep in thought. If he were in the Libyan's shoes,

 what would he do?

 Find a weak spot and strike, of course.

 And what was Ben's weak spot? He couldn't think of

 any.

 Then he thought of one.

 He yelled for Beth. She stuck her head in the

 doorway. "Sir?"

 "Get Jerre in here right now, Beth."

 "Yes, sir."

 "You want me to do what?" Jerre asked, her eyes

 cold.

 "From now on, you're my personal aide. You do not

 leave my side for any reason. Is that clear?"

 "I don't want to be your personal aide, and I

 am not going to be your personal aide!" she fired

 back at him.

 "Miss Hunter," Ben said, leaning back in his

 chair, "I have reached the point in my life where I

 don't give a good goddamn what you want." That

 was a lie, but Ben hoped he could pull it off and

 convince her it was truth. He watched her eyes

 turn even more icy. "I am giving you a direct

 order and you will, by God, obey it. Is that understood,

 Miss Hunter?"

 She straightened up and glared at him. "Yes,

 sir, General Raines!"

 "Thank you. That will be all. Have someone go to your

 quarters and bring your gear over here. You ..."

 "I am perfectly capable of packing my own gear,

 General."

 "Do not interrupt me when I am speaking, Miss

 Hunter!" Ben yelled at her. "I said: Have

 someone pack your gear and bring it over here. You will

 sleep in

 that

 room!" He pointed to the anteroom. "Dismissed!"

 She whirled around and marched from the office, pausing at

 the door. "Does the general wish the office door

 closed?"

 "No, the general does not."

 "I'll get your gear," Jersey told her.

 "Cooper will get you a cot. Welcome

 aboard-again."

 "Thanks." Jerre watched Jersey and Cooper

 leave the room, calmed down a bit and looked at

 Beth. "Question is: Why is he doing it?"

 Beth shrugged. "I don't question the general. He's

 got his reasons."

 Ben rose from his desk and closed the door to his

 office. Jerre glared at the door and mouthed a very

 ugly word.

 "He was a strange and mysterious man when I first

 met him," Jerre said. "Now he's changed to just

 plain damn weird!"

 "Don't bet on that," Beth told her. "There's

 a reason for everything he does. Whether or not you'll

 ever know the reason is up for grabs."

 Jerre sat down in a chair, close to Beth.

 "When this is over, Beth, what do you intend

 to do?"

 The question surprised her. She was thoughtful for a moment.

 "Probably go back to Illinois, to Lev.

 I've spoken with the general about it." She rose,

 poured them coffee, and returned to her chair.

 "Do you love him?"

 "I'm comfortable with him. I like him, and he loves

 me."

 "Is that enough?"

 "It is for me. There is an old proverb that

 reads: A man should always marry a woman he

 loves, and a woman should always marry a man she

 likes. If you think about it,

 it makes a lot of sense."

 "Is that a Jewish proverb?"

 The dark-haired beauty laughed. "No, I think

 it's Arabic!"

 The Night People did not launched a full-scale

 attack that night. They chose instead to limit themselves

 to a hit-and-run operation, citywide, and that tied up

 the Rebels and kept them to high alert until

 dawn, with neither side taking many casualties.

 At dawn, the creepies withdrew and the Rebels

 rested. Ben and the others began their search for

 treasure.

 And that was not as easy as it sounded, for none knew what

 awaited them inside the buildings of the city, or what

 might be booby-trapped. It was slow going.

 Jerre accompanied Ben, but neither of them spoke

 unless it was absolutely necessary, and that did not make

 for a very pleasant atmosphere for the other Rebels.

 It soon became apparent that the Rebels had

 exacted a much heavier toll on the Night People than

 any of them imagined. And it also brought to bear just how

 desperate the Night People had become: for they had

 turned to eating their own.

 By midmorning, very few of the Rebels had encountered

 any creepies, and the germ of worry in Ben's mind

 had changed into a full-grown blister. He radioed

 his commanders.

 "What's up, people? I'm open for suggestions."

 "The only thing I can figure out, Ben," Ike

 said, "is that they're trying to bug out. If they can

 get clear of Manhattan, Khamsin will pound us

 to pieces widi his artillery."

 "They can't get out," Ben said flatly. "We've

 got all avenues of escape blocked. So to my

 mind, that means they've shifted locations, en

 masse, and Khamsin will start hammering us one location

 at a time. If that's the case, it will have to be

 done on a systematic basis. Either south to north

 or north to south; it wouldn't work any other way.

 He can't work from the middle to split us up; we're

 already split up and he knows it."

 Ben studied a map of Manhattan. "Have all

 personnel in the south end of the island move up half

 a dozen blocks. All troops in the north move

 down a half dozen blocks. Move it, right now!"

 Khamsin started his barrage at noon, throwing

 everything he had at the island. And Ben had pegged it

 right on the money.

 The north and south ends of the island began to resemble

 Berlin at the close of the Second World War as

 heavy artillery knocked huge holes into buildings

 and started dozens of small fires.

 But the Rebels sustained no serious injuries from the

 shelling. It's extremely difficult to hit something

 that isn't there.

 "Message from the Night People, sir," an aide

 spoke to Khamsin. "They said Raines shifted his

 troops around. Our shelling is destroying the city but

 killing no Rebels."

 Khamsin lost his temper and began pounding his fists

 on a table, screaming and cursing Ben Raines. "The

 man is a

 devil!"

 he raged. "What manner of beast is this person?

 How can he read my mind?"

 "Sir," a field commander said. "If I may be

 permitted to speak my mind?"

 "Speak!"

 "Would it not be in our best interest to unite with

 General Raines against the common enemy?"

 "Never!" Khamsin screamed. He ordered the

 field commander shot, then as he calmed, rescinded the

 death sentence. He ordered the shelling stopped and

 gave the suggestion some thought. "Perhaps," he mused

 aloud, "that would be in our best interest. The Night

 People are surely a scourge upon the earth."

 "And," it was offered, "it would be a much easier way

 to get on the island. Once there, we could easily

 crush the Flesh-Eaters and then kill Ben

 Raines. Without Ben

 Raines, his army would fall apart." "Has Monte

 left yet?"

 "Of course not. He says he is going this night."

 "Cowardly fool! Tell him to stand down until I

 compose a message to Ben Raines and it is

 delivered. Now

 leave me alone. I want this message

 to be perfectly

 correct."

 "Send teams in to assess the damage," Ben

 ordered. "And continue the searching for art and

 literature and music."

 West had driven up to Ben's temporary position

 during the shelling. "Brilliant move, General.

 You have my compliments and my respect."

 "Thank you, West. But it was just a guess on my

 part, that's all."

 "Accurate guessing has won more battles than

 brilliant mental maneuvering." He smiled.

 "But I think you are more than aware of that."

 "How'd the treasure-hunting go this morning?" "Very

 well, I would say. I found a trove of

 priceless art. Renoir, Monet, Pissarro,

 Kiprensky, a few by Bower. I found a great deal

 of sculpture, most of them small bronzes from the

 Italian Renaissance period. Quite lovely."

 He glanced at Ben. "Did you get a chance

 to visit your old publishing house?"

 "How did you know I was going to do that?" "Just a

 guess. I would, if I had been a popular

 writer." Dan walked up. "Dan, while you and the

 rest of the people are out and about gathering up this and that,

 I would like for you to gather up something else, as well."

 "Certainly, General. And what would diat be?"

 Ben smiled. "Blow the bank vaults and gather up

 all the gold in this city."

 Jerre sat back in Ben's temporary CP, just

 off Mitchell Square, and looked at the man.

 She still could not figure

 out why he had been so adamant about her becoming his

 personal aide. Surely he knew by now that she

 did not love him.

 Or did she?

 That was a question she had asked herself many times over the

 years. And she always came up with the same answer:

 Yes, she did. Sort of. In a way. But she

 respected him more than loved him. She guessed she

 did, anyway. Sometimes she was sure that she hated

 him. But those feelings had always passed as quickly as

 they'd come.

 Was Ben trying to work his way into her heart?

 No. She knew him better than that. Even over the

 long years, he had never once told her that he

 loved her. But she knew he did. He'd never

 even told her that he liked her.

 And maybe he didn't. It was certainly possible

 to love someone and not like diem.

 Ben turned and looked at her, just as quickly averting

 his eyes.

 She shook her head. Strange man, Ben

 Raines.

 Ben walked out into Mitchell Square just as a

 runner approached him. "We're picking up

 signal flashers from New Jersey, General.

 General Ike read them. Khamsin wants to meet

 with you."

 Ben did not change expression. "Does he now?

 That's interesting. I wonder why he didn't

 radio. It would have been much easier." He smiled

 at the runner. "Unless, of course, he's got a

 double-cross planned against the creepies."

 "You trust him, General?"

 "Hell, no!"

 After the runner had left, Ben bumped Ike on

 scramble. "What do you make of it, Ike?"

 "No good, that's for sure."

 "You got your man standing by on ship?"

 "Ten-four."

 "Tell him I'll meet with him. But he's got

 to come to me."

 "I will relay the message."

 In less than five minutes, Ike was

 back on the horn.

 "Khamsin says you'll have to come to him, Ben."

 "Tell him to shove it up his ass."

 Ike laughed. "With pleasure!"

 Ike was back with the message in less time than before.

 "He says that's all right with him. Where do you want

 to meet?"

 "Tell him I'll get back with him at dawn

 tomorrow. Then you get up here. Let's meet."

 "He's too eager, people," Ben told the gathering.

 "I got a hunch he wants to talk peace while

 his army moves all over us. Or, perhaps he

 realizes that the Night People have to be destroyed before they

 can gain a firmer hold. Then when that's done he'll

 turn on us."

 "I'd opt for the latter," Cecil said.

 The others agreed.

 "So," Ben said with a smile, "I think I'll just

 tell the Hot Wind to come on over. We can sure

 use his help in this war."

 Nearly all of them were looking at Ben as if they were

 sure he had lost his mind. All except General

 Striganov. He was sitting with a faint smile on

 his face.

 "Are you serious, Dad?" Tina asked.

 "Why, of course. War, like politics, makes for

 strange bedfellows."

 Then he started laughing while the rest of his people looked

 at him as if he'd lost his mind.

 "I want Doctor Nate Lindgren and his PSE

 machine set up very close to us," Ben instructed.

 "Have the microphone well-concealed and have him draw

 up a list of questions he wants me to ask Khamsin.

 Of course, Khamsin will be lying when he says he

 wants to be our ally-that goes without saying-but I

 want to be as close to one hundred percent certain

 as I can get."

 Ben had still not explained his plan to any of his

 commanders, and they were all, with the exception of General

 Striganov, more than a bit irritated over

 Ben's sudden trust of the Libyan.

 Pulling Ben off to one side, Ike said, "What the

 hell is going on, Ben? You know as well as me that

 damned terrorist is about as trustworthy as a

 cottonmouth."

 "Relax, Ike," Ben assured him. "Just take

 it easy. I know what I'm doing."

 But Ike didn't relax, and wasn't all that

 convinced that Ben hadn't gone round the bend. He

 walked away, shaking his head and muttering.

 Ben's daughter came to him. "Dad. You can't

 make any deals with Khamsin. That man and his people have

 raped and tortured and murdered halfway around the

 world. He's pure filth."

 "All that is true," Ben conceded.

 "And you're still going to meet with him and talk about joining

 forces?"

 "I am."

 Tina whirled around and stalked away, her back

 stiff with anger.

 "Ben," Cecil said, "if you let that Libyan

 get his army on this island, we're finished. This

 isn't like you at all."

 But Ben would only pat his friend on the shoulder and

 smile. "Trust me, Cec. I know what I'm

 doing."

 The commanders, with the exception of General Striganov,

 went to see Doctor Chase.

 "He's suffering from strain," Ike told the

 doctor. "That's got to be the reason for all this.

 The way he laughed back yonder chilled me."

 "Take two aspirin, have some chicken soup and call

 me in the morning," the crusty old doctor told

 Ike. "Ben knows what he's doing, people."

 "Well, maybe you'd care to tell us

 exactly what he

 is

 doing?" Dan asked.

 "I don't know," the doctor admitted. "I

 don't concern myself with matters outside this

 hospital. Relax, people. You know how secretive

 Ben can be. Now get out of here. I have work to do."

 They got, but they were not happy. All they could do now

 was wait, with all of them wondering if General Ben

 Raines had slipped an oar.

 "The meeting is set for just after dark tonight," the

 signalman told Ben. "Khamsin will cross over

 by boat and meet you in Lafayette Plaza."

 Ben thanked him and turned to Georgi Striganov.

 "Have your people secure some rooms there, Georgi. You

 know the drill."

 "Consider it done," the Russian told him. He

 didn't know exactly what Ben had in mind, only

 that he trusted the general to do something completely off the

 wall and totally unexpected. Georgi knew that

 first-hand. During the years they had battled each

 other, Ben Raines had boxed him around every time they'd

 met on the field of battle.

 The Russian knew that whatever the Libyan

 terrorist was desirous of from Ben Raines,

 it would not be what he was expecting.

 Tina and Buddy stayed close to their father, in the

 hopes he would reveal his plan to them. But he did

 not.

 The Night People launched attacks during the night.

 But the Rebels were dug in so deeply, their

 positions so well-fortified, all the creepies

 managed to accomplish was the death of more of their people.

 Even though the Night People still outnumbered the

 Rebels, diey could not put them to rout.

 With low curses, the night crawlers melted away

 with a few bloody attacks.

 "Coming across," a Rebel with night glasses informed

 Ben. "They'll be ashore in a couple of

 minutes."

 "I'll be in the building," Ben told him.

 "Please escort the Hot Wind to me."

 "Yes, sir."

 Ben checked the mike. "Can you hear me, Nate?"

 "Loud and clear, General," the doctor manning the

 PSE equipment called from the room above them.

 Ben sat down at the table and waited. The Libyan

 terrorist came into the room all smiles and good

 cheer. He held out his hand as Ben stood up.

 "My dear General Raines! At last we

 meet. I am honored, sir."

 Ben forced a smile on his face and shook the man's

 hand, sizing him up. He was stocky and powerful, and

 Ben guessed his age in the mid-forty range.

 Twenty years back, Ben recalled, this man had

 been one of the most feared terrorists in all the world.

 Hundreds of men, women, and children had died because of the

 bombs he had masterminded and planted around the world.

 Marines had been brutally massacred in Lebanon

 because of this man. American hostages had been

 tortured and starved and killed at this man's orders.

 Ben resisted an impulse to tear the bastard's arm

 out of the socket and beat him to death with it.

 "How good to see you, General Khamsin. Please,

 sit

 down. I have tea."

 "Good, good!" The Libyan smiled, but the humor

 did not reach his dark eyes.

 The tea poured and sugared, the men stared at each other

 across the table. Ben's personal bodyguards stood

 behind him, facing the Hot Wind's bodyguards. There

 was no love lost in the exchange of glances between the

 two heavily armed groups.

 Ben watched as the Libyan's eyes flicked toward

 Jerre. Ben had guessed accurately:

 Jerre was to have been a target. Probably still was.

 Thanks, probably, to Ashley. That turncoat

 son of a bitch was becoming as hard to kill as Sam

 Hartline had been.

 Khamsin opened the dance. "I made a regrettable

 decision in agreeing to align my forces with the Night

 People, General Raines. I did not realize how

 dangerous they were."

 That lie probably sent the graph out of control on

 Nate's PSE equipment.

 "They must be stopped," Ben said.

 "Yes. For the good of the entire world."

 "And once that is done, we can make peace with each

 other and coexist?"

 "But of course, General Raines! I am so weary

 of fighting. I am, after all, nothing more than a

 farmer. It is my desire to till the rich soil of

 South Carolina and live in peace."

 "I can certainly relate to that," Ben said, trying

 hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I,

 too, want nothing more than a section of land to farm."

 Tina almost choked on that.

 Ben Raines wanted to farm about as much as a raccoon

 could fly a 747.

 She didn't know what her dad was up to,

 but she certainly knew both men were lying through their

 teeth.

 "It is agreed then, that we must join forces to defeat

 the Night People?" Khamsin said.

 "Yes. All we need to work out is where your people will land

 and what sections of the city you will occupy."

 Khamsin waved his hand. "Minor details, my

 dear general. We can work that out in five minutes."

 It was agreed that Khamsin's men would cross over the

 next night, by boat, landing at the docks between

 72nd and 86th streets. At dawn, they would

 strike at the Night People, with Khamsin's army

 controlling the middle of

 the

 city.

 And cutting my people in two, Ben noted. But he

 agreed with a smile and a handshake. Ben made a

 note to wash his hands with the strongest soap he could find

 once this odious meeting was concluded.

 "So we are in agreement, General Raines?"

 "Oh, yes, General Khamsin. Complete

 agreement." Ben lifted his teacup in a toast.

 Khamsin smiled and clinked cups.

 "To a great victory, General Raines!"

 "I'm counting on it, General Khamsin.

 You don't know how much."

 Ben forced himself to be cordial with the Libyan for a

 few minutes more. By that time, Ben noticed the

 Libyan had begun to sweat just a bit and his voice

 held a forced note, indicating that he, too, was

 wearying of the sham.

 Both men rose as one, shook hands, and the Libyan

 slipped back into the night. Ben sat for a time,

 drumming his fingers on the tabletop. When Doctor

 Lindgren came into the room, Ben stood up and

 waved him into another room and closed the door.

 "Now what the hell!" Tina muttered, looking at

 Dan.

 But the Englishman was just as baffled as she was. "I

 don't know. This is not like the General. Not at all.

 He's usually very open with all of us. Something is

 definitely up."

 "There wasn't a truthful note in any of that

 man's statements," Nate said. "Or yours either,"

 he added with a smile.

 "Well, you knew I'd be lying."

 "And I don't know what's going on, either."

 "Neither does anybody else. Deliberately so.

 Trust me and keep all of this under your hat.

 Thanks a lot, Nate."

 Ben turned and walked out of the room, motioning his people

 to follow him.

 "You ready to tell me what's up, Dad?" Tina

 asked.

 "Nope," Ben said with a smile.

 Tina ground her teeth together in frustration.

 Ben grinned, even with his back to her knowing what she was

 doing. "Careful, kid. It took me a couple of

 years back in the Tri-States to get your teeth

 fixed up. With you kicking and squalling and howling with every

 trip to the dentist."

 She screwed up her face and stuck out her tongue

 at his back.

 "And stop making ugly faces and sticking your tongue

 out at me," Ben said, without turning around. "What

 if your face froze like that?"

 She could not help but laugh. It was the same thing

 he'd told her as a little girl.

 The rest of the Rebels with Ben had to laugh, and to the

 newer members, it further heightened Ben's already

 overblown mystique. The man had to have powers beyond a

 mortal person's comprehension. How else could he

 know what was going on behind him without even turning around?

 Of course, those who had been adults before the Great

 War, and had some experience with kids, knew

 perfectly well how Ben did it. But they let the

 younger ones have their fantasies; it helped keep

 discipline problems to a minimum.

 "Heads up tonight, people," Ben said, just before turning in.

 "The creepy crawlies might decide to come out in

 force."

 "Damn the man!" Dan said, as Ben closed the

 door behind him. "What in the world is going on?"

 "I guess he'll let us in on it in the morning,"

 Tina said. "I can't believe he's actually going

 to link up with that terrorist."

 "I guess we'll know in the morning."

 But Ben was as silent on the subject the following

 morning as he had been the night before. He had

 breakfast with Georgi, Tina, Buddy, and Dan,

 and never brought the subject up. He excused himself

 from the table and walked back to his office, Jerre and

 Jersey, Beth and Cooper going with him.

 "General," Tina looked at the Russian.

 "What's going on?"

 "Your father has not taken me into his confidence,

 Captain. But I can assure you that he is doing

 what he thinks is best for all concerned ... on the

 side of freedom, that is."

 "You and my father were once bitter enemies,

 General Striganov. Now you are allies, fighting

 together. You don't think he believes Khamsin is

 ready to bury the hatchet, do you?"

 "Only in Ben's back, girl."

 "Then . . . ?" She spread her hands in a

 gesture of helplessness.

 "You're far too young to remember the days of

 Qaddafi, Khomeini, Abu Nidal, and people of that

 ilk. Khamsin is one of them. Nothing will appease

 him except blood and more blood. And even if,

 God forbid, he is ever victorious, he still will not

 be satisfied until he has conquered what is

 left of this shattered world."

 Dan and Buddy were listening, sitting quietly.

 "I have an idea what your father is going to do. He and

 I think a great deal alike in many subjects. I

 say this with all the respect in the world for Ben

 Raines. I think he is the greatest soldier who

 ever lived."

 Ben took a contingent of Rebels and disappeared that

 morning, heading back to the area where the children had been

 found. He prowled the area, noticing the small

 cracks in the sidewalks and the street-cracks that

 had blackened burn marks. He found a board and

 wrapped a rag around one end of it, lit the

 rag and held it high over one crack. Fire

 seemed to materialize about five feet over the

 crack in the street. It flared briefly, then was

 gone. Ben smiled and extinguished the burning rag.

 "What is that, General?" Jersey asked.

 "Methane. It's often found in marshes and mines.

 It's caused by the decomposition of vegetable

 matter-among other things."

 "You think it's all over the underground tunnels?"

 "Probably. At least there'll be enough pockets

 to aid in what I might plan to do."

 "Which is?" he was asked.

 Ben chose not to reply.

 "How come the creepies haven't blown themselves up?"

 Jersey asked.

 "For one thing, many of them don't cook the . . .

 meat they eat. And since the temperature remains

 fairly constant in the tunnels, heating by fire is

 probably rare. And, I suspect, they've found

 the heavier concentrations and avoid them."

 "Just what do you plan on doing with this methane,

 General?" Jerre asked.

 Ben looked at her and smiled. "I might decide

 to have a pig roast, Jerre."

 "Of course," she said sarcastically. "I

 should have guessed that." She turned away, muttering

 about smart-assed generals.

 Ben chuckled and waved the group back to the

 vehicles. He always felt better after he got

 one over on Jerre. It was such a rare experience.

 He ordered the short convoy to Katzman's

 communications center and met in private with

 Katzman, sending out coded and scrambled

 messages.

 The messages sent, with only Katzman and Ben

 knowing the contents-and the people on the other end- Ben ordered

 the convoy down to publisher's row.

 "Ben,

 goddamn

 it!" Cecil's voice roared out of the speaker. "That

 area has never been cleared. It hasn't even been

 checked!"

 "So I'll check it out," Ben radioed back.

 "Relax, Cec. I've got a platoon with

 me." And Ben knew several companies would soon be

 on the way. He was counting on it.

 Ike monitored the conversation and ordered tanks into the

 area for backup.

 Dan monitored and ordered another platoon into the

 area.

 West sent a platoon of his people in to cover Ben.

 Georgi ordered Rebet to take a detail into the

 area.

 And Buddy and Tina led their people into the area.

 "Looks like a damn convention," Ben said with a grin.

 Khamsin sat in his CP across the river,

 monitoring the transmissions, and wondering what in the

 name of Allah was going on.

 He shook his head at the strange goings-on and

 asked, "How are the boat and ferry preparations coming

 along?"

 "Very well, sir," he was told. "We'll have enough

 to transport five thousand in the first wave."

 Khamsin nodded. Almost half his people landing during the

 first push. Good. The terrorist leaned back in his

 chair and smiled. He must remember to say some

 additional prayers for success.

 After all, he was a very religious man.

 Ben waited until his people had cleared the first few

 floors of the building that had housed the offices of his

 old publishing company, then began the climb up to the

 eighth floor.

 "A trip down memory lane, Ben?"' Jerre

 asked, climbing up behind him.

 "You might say that. I seem to recall that

 the bombs came before my royalty check did. I

 might find it lying about."

 "Sure, Ben. Sure. And you'll just take it right

 down to Chase Manhattan and cash it."

 He laughed. "I certainly intend to visit that

 bank later on."

 Rebet met Ben on the eighth floor and held up

 a hand. "My people are still clearing this floor, General.

 If you would wait just a few moments more."

 "Certainly, Colonel. I'd hate to enter my

 editor's office and find a creepy propped up

 behind the desk, reading one of my manuscripts."

 "Right, sir," Rebet said, straight-faced.

 Ben thought for a moment about his editor, and wondered what

 had happened to him. "Are there any bodies in there,

 Colonel?"

 "No, sir."

 When the offices had been cleared, Ben stood in the

 doorway for a moment, looking in. The place was

 surprisingly neat, although a thick layer of dust

 lay over everything. He stepped inside, Jerre right

 behind him. "The rest of you stay out here," he ordered.

 "Did you personally know these people, Ben?" she asked.

 "Many of them." He stopped by an open office

 door. "This is much more difficult than I

 thought."

 Jerre stepped in and picked up a manuscript,

 blowing the dust from it. She read die first paragraph

 and looked up at Ben. was 'It was a dark and

 stormy night?"

 "Snoopy must have sent that one in." Ben smiled.

 They moved on to the next office, and Ben prowled

 through the stacks of manuscripts. "I knew this

 guy," he said, holding up a manuscript. He

 dropped the unopened mailer to the floor. "Shit!"

 He lifted his walkie-talkie. "Colonel

 Rebet, send some people in here to box up all these

 manuscripts."

 "Yes, sir."

 "I may get around to reading them someday," he told

 Jerre.

 "I'll help you, if you like."

 "I might take you up on that."

 He prowled the offices, but without much enthusiasm;

 he felt as if he was looking at a piece of

 himself.

 "Were you ever with another publishing company, Ben?"

 "No. I signed with this one right after I hung up

 my mercenary boots and settled down."

 "I never knew you were a mercenary."

 "Soldier of fortune, really. I always fought on the

 side of democracy."

 "Where?"

 "Africa. South America. Actually, I was in

 the employ of the Company most of the time."

 "The CIA?"

 "Yes. They often had people on both sides."

 "That's stupid! Why?"

 "One side has to win."

 "Covering all bets, huh?"

 "That was the way of the world, Jerre. Looking back,

 I guess it was a pretty rotten world."

 "And you intend to change it?"

 "A small part of it. If I can." He looked

 at her and something invisible moved between them. But something

 was always moving between them. Problem was, Ben never

 knew the quality of it.

 Or he did and refused to admit it.

 She averted her eyes and walked away from him,

 moving down the hall, looking into the offices, each

 one with rat-chewed stacks of manuscripts piled

 all over the place. "How did they ever get

 anything done?"

 "Beats me. I think they were just about ready to stop

 accepting manuscripts over the transom."

 "Do what?"

 "Stop accepting unsolicited manuscripts. A

 majority of companies already had. Moot point

 now," he muttered, thinking,

 Just about everything has stopped, except for us on one

 side, and God alone knows how many on the opposing

 side.

 And nothing in between.

 "What are you thinking, Ben? Something very profound?"

 He looked at her. He never knew when she was

 kidding when she made remarks like that. But this time her

 face was serious.

 "I guess so, Jerre. But profound is to the ears

 as beauty is to the eyes."

 "And since you didn't speak your thoughts, we'll

 never know, will we?"

 "Something like that. Let's get out of here. This place

 is depressing me."

 "I have all your books, Ben. I've picked them

 upover the years."

 "Have you read them?"

 "No. I don't like individual violence."

 Ben was still laughing and shaking his head as he left the

 offices. He gently closed the door behind him, and

 let a lot of memories fade away.

 His, and those of untold numbers of others.

 He stood on the sidewalk in front of the

 building, looking around him, and making a lot of

 Rebels very nervous by his conspicuousness.

 He looked down the street and smiled. "Let's go

 have some fun, gang." Then he set out walking.

 "General!" Rebet called. "Where are you going?"

 "To that bank. I have to make a withdrawal." Ben

 caught the flash of sunlight off a rifle barrel

 sticking out of a window and grabbed Jerre, both of them

 hitting the sidewalk, rolling under a truck. Ben

 yelled for his people to take cover.

 Lead began spraying die sidewalks, bouncing and

 whining off as the Rebels took cover. Suddenly

 black-robed creepies were all around them, with their

 hands filled with automatic weapons.

 Ben squirmed around as he sensed more than heard

 movement behind him. He gave several night

 crawlers a bellyful of lead at a distance of not more

 than six feet, holding the trigger back on the

 Thompson and sending black-robes spinning and

 squalling into death.

 The concrete front of the building was splattered with the

 blood of night crawlers.

 Ben pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed

 it through the shattered window of the building. The explosion

 blew out the rest of the windows and sent one creepy

 tumbling out onto the sidewalk, wounded but not down.

 Ben finished him with a short burst and then used up the

 drum spraying the dark interior of the ground floor

 of the building.

 Before he could reload, a creepy had hurled himself

 from the adjacent building and was on top of Ben,

 hatred and fury turning his ugly face into a mask

 of hideousness.

 Ben slugged him on the jaw, rocking his head back.

 Ben hit him again, this time in the mouth, and felt teeth

 break under his gloved knuckles. He clawed his

 .45 out of leather and thumbed the hammer back,

 shooting the flesh-eater in the belly, the big

 hollow-nosed slug ripping out the creature's

 back, severing the backbone. The night crawler

 fell to one side, as limp as a deflated inner

 tube.

 Ben holstered the .45 and picked up his Thompson,

 fitting a full drum into the belly and jacking in a

 round. On one knee, he turned and blew several

 black-robes into that dark and endless sleep, the

 .45-caliber slugs stopping them in their tracks and

 spinning them around, dancing and jerking as death

 touched them with a cold hand.

 The tanks had begun lashing at the buildings with

 cannon, .50-caliber and 7.62 machine-gun

 fire. Flames were already shooting out of a floor of

 one building, and another building was sending up

 billows of smoke.

 Below ihe fire and smoke, the street battle

 raged on, unchecked.

 Night People were still pouring out of buildings like soldier

 ants on a rampage, and the Rebels were knocking

 them down almost as fast as they were charging.

 Several managed to charge through the first line of

 Rebels and come within several feet of Jerre. She

 lifted her M16 and shot one creeper in the face

 just as Beth was knocked down by another. Ben stuck the

 muzzle of his Thompson to the side of the creep's

 head and blew the head apart. Lifting the muzzle,

 he stopped the short advance of black-robes. The

 slugs lifted one completely off his feet and sent

 him crashing to the bricks of the street.

 "The woman!" Ben heard one black-hood yell.

 "Get the woman!"

 Ben grabbed Jerre around the waist, lifted her off

 her boots, and hauled her into the grenade-shattered

 building behind them, yelling for his personal

 team to join them.

 "Jersey and Cooper, get the back. Beth, stay

 up front with us. Heads up. They want Jerre."

 Jerre looked at him, and this time there was real fear in

 her eyes.

 Over the roar and crash and hammer of battle, she

 said, "You knew. That's why you ordered me to become

 your aide, isn't it?"

 "I felt Khamsin might try to grab you. The

 creepies

 must have had the same thought."

 "You might have told me."

 Ben triggered off a short burst before replying. He

 leaned close to Jerre and whispered, "There are lots

 of things I'm not telling people. You see, kid-we have

 an informant among us."

 A hundred or more creepies came in a suicide

 run toward the building they had seen Ben carry

 Jerre into. The Rebel line bent, but it did not

 break as night crawlers hurled themselves against the line

 of men and women, screaming their rage and hate and

 frustration as they died in bloody, stinking heaps on

 the bricks of the street and the concrete of the

 sidewalks.

 And for once, Jerre got close to Ben and

 stayed there without being told and without bitching about it.

 As some unknown signal passed through the Night People,

 they began fading back into the buildings and

 alleyways, leaving their dead and wounded behind.

 Ben stepped out of the building, Jerre close to him.

 "Get the wounded to the hospital, on the double.

 Sentries double; watch out for a second attack.

 Beth, call for trucks to haul these stinking

 carcasses off. And tell the engineers to send some people

 up here with jackhammers and diamond-bit drills

 and C-four."

 "What are we going to do with all that, General?"

 Colonel Rebet asked.

 "Rob a bank," Ben told him.

 "Why did you suddenly decide to confide in me,

 Ben?" Jerre asked, as they walked toward the bank

 building. "Because I've decided it isn't you."

 "Thanks just a whole bunch, Ben. Your confidence in

 me is overwhelming."

 "Nearly everyone is suspect, Jerre. But you

 haven't been out of my sight in over forty-eight

 hours, and the leaks continue."

 "To Khamsin?"

 "No. To the creepies. Somebody is telling them

 where our caches of supplies are hidden and

 where our small-manned machine-gun emplacements

 are located. And now the crawlers were tipped that you were

 with me and we were coming up here."

 "And now?"

 "We start at the top and work down. That's being done

 this minute at Chase's main hospital by Doctor

 Lindgren and his people. Once we've eliminated the

 top people, I can breathe a little easier."

 "Surely you don't suspect your close friends?

 You've been together for years."

 "I suspect everybody until they're cleared,

 Jerre. That goes with the territory. We've all

 been through this type of thing before. They wouldn't expect

 anything less from me." He looked up. "Here we

 are."

 "You're really going to rob this bank, aren't you?"

 "Gold, Jerre. Someday, we'll go back to a

 limited use of paper money-of some type. We have

 to have something to back that money. So we'll use the

 gold standard."

 Ben waved a team of Rebels in to clear the bank,

 and he and Jerre crouched inside the rusting hulk of a

 pickup truck.

 "Beth tells me she's going back to Illinois

 when New York City is secure,"

 Jerre said.

 Ben smiled. "Yes. She told me. Back

 to Lev and his cows. That's what we're striving for,

 Jerre. More and more people back to the land. We've gone

 back to opening frontiers, pushing out in all

 directions. Good, solid, steady people from which to build

 a base."

 "And then you'll be president-again."

 "Oh, no. Not me, Jerre. It'll be years before

 the nation reaches the point of electing a leader. If

 it ever does.

 Sometimes I have many doubts about that. We destroy one

 outlaw band, two more pop up to take its place."

 "And why is that, Ben?"

 "We're well into the second decade of no

 public schooling, no laws to guide the footsteps

 of humankind. Absolutely nothing for the young to cling

 to, no role models for the young. In a decade and a

 half this world has reverted back to the caves. It's

 going to take many, many years to restore order."

 They were silent for a time. The lower floors of the

 building were cleared, and they waited for the engineers to show

 up.

 "Remember when we first met, Ben?" Jerre asked

 softly.

 "Vividly."

 "I can't believe all those years have gone by."

 "Swiftly roll the ages, kid."

 "Even back then, Ben, you talked of law and order

 and rules. The smoke from the ashes of war hadn't

 even settled, and you were talking about order."

 "Without it, Jerre, you have anarchy."

 "You'll never change, Ben."

 "One thing won't." He looked at her. "But

 God, I wish it could."

 "I wish it could, too, Ben." She touched his arm.

 "And I mean that."

 "I know you do." He stood up. "Here come the

 engineers. Let's go rob a bank, kid."

 "Piece of cake," the engineer said. "We won't

 have to blow it. We'll torch these sections." He

 pointed them out. "And then wrench it open. Take about

 an hour."

 Ben left Colonel Rebet in charge, and with

 Jerre, headed back to his CP.

 "I see now why you were so close-mouthed about

 Khamsin," Ike told him. "You're thinking that

 whoever it is tipping off the creepies might do the

 same for the Hot Wind, right?"

 "Yes. And I don't have a clue who it

 is."

 "Nate is working on Katzman's people right now. How

 far down the line are you going?"

 "I'll stop it once we have the high-level and

 mid-level personnel checked out. I feel sure

 it's one of the newer people. He or she will tip their hand

 eventually. So far there've been no really

 important leaks-except for today's leak concerning

 Jerre."

 "If there was a way to do it, I'd like to see her get

 gone from this island."

 "I've gone over and over that, Ike. I don't

 see any way of getting her out of here. She's just

 going to have to stick close and stay alert."

 Ben checked his watch. A few more hours and it would be

 dark. A few more hours and Khamsin would start his

 ferrying of troops across the Hudson River. Ike

 noted the grim smile on Ben's face, but said

 nothing about it. He cut his eyes to Cecil. The

 black man arched one eyebrow and minutely shrugged

 his thick shoulders.

 Ben still wasn't talking about what he planned to do that

 night.

 Ben lifted his eyes, looking first at Ike, then

 at Cecil. He surprised them both

 by saying, "You boys find you a good vantage point

 for this evening. It's going to be quite a show."

 At dusk, Ben left General Striganov in

 charge and waved at Buddy and Tina and Dan to join

 him. "Buddy, go ask Thermopolis if he'd like

 to join us."

 His son was back in a few minutes, Thermopolis

 walking beside him.

 "Let's go, people," Ben said.

 "Going to personally greet this Khamsin person,

 General?" Thermopolis asked.

 "Oh, yes!" Ben said brightly. "I'm going

 to give him a very warm greeting-one befitting a man

 of his international reputation, you might say."

 Tina and Buddy exchanged glances but said nothing.

 Heavily guarded, the group drove down to 96th

 Street

 and parked along the waterfront. Another group of

 Rebels met them there, having arrived several hours

 earlier, to secure the spot.

 With the darkness, the slight warming trend of the past few

 days had vanished and the night had turned bitterly

 cold. They were all bundled up against the freezing

 winds.

 "Khamsin is loading up now, sir,"

 Beth told Ben.

 Ben nodded and then surprised everybody when he

 turned to Beth and said, "Get me Base Three,

 please, Beth. On scramble."

 The old Fort Dix airfield down in New

 Jersey.

 "Go, sir."

 Ben took the handset. "Warming them up, Chipper?"

 Whatever Chipper said caused Ben first to smile and

 then to laugh.

 "Taxi them out, Chipper. My people say Khamsin

 is right on schedule. You have fifteen minutes

 to lift off. Good luck."

 "Spotter planes, Father?" Buddy inquired.

 "Something like that, son. I hope somebody remembered

 to bring the coffee. It's cold as a well-digger's

 ass out here."

 The coffee was poured into the cups, and the group

 squatted down beside their vehicles, to block the

 cold hard wind blowing off the river.

 All of them had questions they would have liked to ask Ben.

 All kept away from the subject, knowing that Ben was

 not going to shed any light on the matter. Not yet.

 All felt this was to be an "eyes only"

 explanation.

 "What time is it?" Cooper asked, for the tenth time in

 ten minutes.

 "One minute later than the last time you asked,"

 Ben told him. "Relax. The show is going to begin

 in about four minutes."

 Thermopolis looked at Ben. "You brought me down

 here for a purpose, General. Would you like to tell me

 what it is?"

 "Not really. You'll be able to see for yourself very

 hortly."

 "You sure it's going to be worth the wait?"

 Thermop-olis asked.

 "It will be for me. I can't speak for you or any of the

 others."

 Beth said, "Spotters report ferries and boats

 shoving off, General."

 Ben glanced at his watch. "Right on schedule. The

 planes should be over the zone in one minute."

 "To spot, of course," Thermopolis said, his tone

 gin-martini dry.

 "Among other things." Ben smiled with his reply,

 conscious of all eyes on him.

 "I don't think I'm going to like this very much,"

 Thermopolis said.

 "It's a long walk back to our

 sector," Ben said. "And you know what lots of

 folks say about the Big Apple: It's a

 dangerous city."

 "If that's supposed to be funny, it isn't."

 "I have a strange sense of humor."

 Buddy lifted his night glasses. He could just

 make out the dark shapes of the boats as they made their

 way slowly out into the river. Far in the distance, the

 sounds of old prop-job planes came faintly

 to them.

 "Those aren't spotter planes," Tina pointed out.

 "Too heavy. Those sound like . . ." She whirled and

 faced her father.

 "... Puffs," Buddy finished it for his sister.

 "I have such astute children," Ben said. "Makes me very

 proud."

 "Puffs," Thermopolis said. "I remember reading

 about them. They were used in the Vietnam War, weren't

 they?"

 "Oh, yes," Ben said. "And used quite

 effectively, I might add."

 "AC47'S," Buddy took it up. "The

 planes are painted all black-awesome-looking.

 They are fairly bristling with 7.62- and

 .50-caliber machine guns and

 20-millimeter Vulcan and 40-millimeter

 Bofors cannon. All weapons taken into count, the

 Puffs are capable of pouring out some eight thousand

 rounds a minute. One Puff can

 effectively destroy every living thing in an area the

 size of a football field."

 "Very good, Buddy," Ben complimented him. He

 looked at Thermopolis. "You like rock and roll,

 don't you, Thermopolis?"

 "Yes. I do."

 "Well, get ready for some rock and roll that is

 music to my ears. Feel free to hum along if you

 like."

 "Just think, General: I was actually beginning to like

 you."

 "There are no gentleman's wars, Thermopolis.

 As far as I'm concerned, there never has been one.

 There is a winner and a loser in war. And taking

 into consideration what is at stake here, I, for one,

 don't intend to be a loser. Do you?"

 "Putting it that way, no."

 All along the shoreline, at spots stretching from

 72nd Street up to 86th, great spotlights

 clicked on-the same lights that were once used for the

 grand openings of movies and Broadway

 shows.

 The boats and ferries were caught in the strong beams.

 Ben started whistling an old tune from back in the

 1950's: "Shake, Rattle, and Roll!"

 The cold night was shattered as the Puffs unleashed

 their fury against the boats and ferries and the army of the

 Hot Wind.

 Thermopolis stood with undisguised awe on his

 face as the Puffs made their slow circles above the

 water, the big planes trembling as their payloads

 were uncorked, the deadly rain destroying everything that was

 in their path.

 A single Puff circled the docks where

 Khamsin's men were waiting to be loaded on the

 boats. The flying tank turned the docks wet and

 slippery with the blood of the army of the Hot Wind.

 The Puff lumbered on, all guns thundering and

 spitting out the deadly hail, destroying anything that

 came within range.

 There were survivors from the deadly birds, but most were

 so equipment-laden they sank like bricks in the cold

 dark waters of the Hudson. Those who did manage

 to cling to some debris and make the Manhattan

 shoreline soon discovered that Ben Raines and his

 Rebels were not in the least bit interested in

 showing any hospitality toward an avowed enemy.

 The men of the army of the Hot Wind were shot as soon as

 they touched shore.

 Khamsin was learning a hard lesson about engaging in

 warfare with Ben Raines: the man was as ruthless as a

 grizzly bear protecting cubs. As a friend, Ben

 Raines was

 generous; as an enemy, he had no equal on the

 battlefield.

 Khamsin, the Hot Wind, lost approximately

 half his army in less than ten minutes.

 The boats and ferries sank beneath the surface of the

 river with a hiss and bubble. The Puffs winged their way

 back to their base, thousands of pounds lighter as their

 ammunition was exhausted. Only an occasional shot

 was fired from the Manhattan shoreline as the last of the

 Hot Wind's army sank into a watery grave.

 "Jesus Christ!" Thermopolis said.

 Ben cut his eyes to the man. "We just shortened the

 odds against us, Thermopolis. By just about half. Now

 we really do have a chance of coming out of this alive."

 Thermopolis slowly shook his head. "I'm not

 condemning you, Ben Raines. You did what you felt

 you had to do. It's just that... I had never seen anything

 like that before."

 Ben took the handset from Beth. "Eagle to Big

 Bird."

 "Go, Eagle."

 "Good job, Chipper. I'll have to put a bonus in

 your pay envelope."

 Chipper laughed over the miles. "I'll settle

 for just wrapping up this job and seeing my wife and

 kids again, General. Big Bird out."

 "All right, people," Ben said. "Let's go zap some

 night crawlers. It's going to take Khamsin

 several days to recover from this night."

 Not only did the pounding from the Puffs stop Khamsin

 dead in his tracks, it had an enormous effect on

 the Night People, further weakening their morale. There were

 only a few very scattered firefights the night of the

 Puffs, as it came to be called. The magic

 dragons" brief but deadly appearance stunned

 everyone who had never before seen the awesomeness of the

 machines.

 The morning after the night of the Puffs, Ben drove

 down to the killing area. The shoreline was littered with

 bodies, as the river gave up its dead, belching the

 bodies ashore in swollen death. Rebels were

 busy picking up the bodies and loading them on the

 barges, where they promptly froze in

 grotesque postures of death in the bitter winter

 winds.

 Another front had moved in during the night,

 steadying the temperature for several hours and dropping

 a load of snow over the city. Then, at the dawning,

 the temperature sank like a rock and everything froze

 as the mercury stayed in the low teens. Adding the

 velocity of the winds, the chill factor was well below

 zero.

 "What about activity over there?" Ben asked,

 pointing to the New Jersey shore.

 "Very little," Ike told him. "It appears that last

 night knocked the socks off the Hot Fart."

 "He'll find another pair. Bet on that. He

 won't try another mass moving of troops. So from

 now on, we've got to be on the alert for

 infiltrators. He'll be sending in men in small

 boats, at night. Ike, let's start hammering

 at him again. Three or four rounds, then shift the

 location of the tanks. Let's keep it up around the

 clock. It's do-or-die time for us. We've

 knocked him down, now let's kick him a few

 times."

 "We'll start throwing stuff at them within the hour,

 Ben? That was a hell of a show last night."

 "Just as long as we can keep him down and guessing,

 we've got a chance."

 "The man has no honor." Khamsin spoke the

 words quietly. "None. He is void of

 morals. The god he worships must be from Hell."

 None of the field commanders replied. Like Khamsin,

 they were all still somewhat in a state of shock from the

 previous night of the Puffs.

 "We will have three days of mourning," Khamsin

 announced. "For three days we will pray for guidance

 and for the souls of our brothers. Although," he was quick to

 add, "we all know they are now with Allah."

 Everyone agreed that was surely true. With Allah.

 Right.

 The jarring crash of half a dozen incoming 155's

 sent the men diving to the floor. Khamsin was up on

 his boots before the dust had settled, cursing

 wildly. He shook his fist in the direction of

 Manhattan.

 A runner from Khamsin's communications center darted

 into the room. "Messages, sir."

 "What are they? Read them to me!"

 "The Judges from the underground want to know why you

 didn't tell them of last night's invasion. They

 would have initiated a diversion."

 Khamsin cursed louder. "Tell them . . . tell

 them that I did not wish to run the risk of Ben

 Raines intercepting the messages. My

 apologies," he added bitterly. "Is that all?"

 "No, sir. The units close to the waterfront

 are asking permission to return the cannon fire."

 "No," Khamsin said wearily. "We can't run the

 risk of harming any of our . . . allies." He

 spat out the last word. "Tell them to pull back.

 We're all pulling back; out of range of the

 artillery. God

 damn

 Ben Raines!"

 "Khamsin is pulling his people back, General."

 Beth relayed the information to him. "The first units are

 already well out of range of our heaviest pieces."

 "Tell the gunners to pour it on. Napalm and

 Willie Peter. Let's cause them all the

 grief we can while we can."

 "Yes, sir."

 The tank commanders along the Hudson began lobbing in

 the most dreaded of artillery: napalm and white

 phosphorus. The big 155 SP, capable of

 sending a shell screaming for twelve miles,

 elevated their nineteen-feet-ten-inch

 tubes and began sending out a round a minute. Within

 ten minutes, the area from North Bergen down to the

 New Jersey Turnpike bridge over Newark

 Bay was a smoking, burning hell as the

 long-vacant, dust-filled, and neglected

 buildings burst into flames.

 Ben stood on a cloverleaf of the Henry Hudson

 Parkway and watched through binoculars as New

 Jersey burned. He was smiling grimly-a smile

 that only another soldier could understand.

 "General?" Beth said quietly.

 Ben turned. She was holding out the handset to him.

 "Who is it?"

 "Khamsin, sir."

 Ben took the handset. "What do you want,

 Khamsin?"

 "I will overlook your boorishness, General, and be

 brief. You are a dead man. Walking around dead.

 I am going to destroy you. Whatever it takes,

 including my own life, you will never leave that miserable

 island of concrete and steel alive."

 "There is that old saying about talk being cheap,

 Khamsin."

 The Libyan cursed him.

 Ben broke the radio connection. "He's

 losing his cool, gang. But he's still a very dangerous

 man-maybe even more so now. I cost him a lot of

 face, and with those types of people, that's very important."

 "And now?" Jerre asked.

 "Nothing has changed. We keep Khamsin on the

 New Jersey side of the river and concentrate on

 wiping out the Night P. We've got a few days;

 it'll take him that long to recover from the mauling we

 handed him and to make some plans. Let's get down

 to some serious ass-kicking, people!"

 But the creepies had vanished. There was not one shot

 fired from either side all that day.

 "Khamsin's been in contact with them," Ben told his

 commanders that afternoon. "They're cooking up something and there

 is no point in us sitting around worrying about it.

 Let's take this time and strip New York City.

 We'll take it block by block and

 treasure-hunt. We're going to take everything of

 value, and then I just might blow this goddamn

 place into oblivion. I don't know; I

 haven't decided yet."

 "Shore would take a lot of powder," Ike

 drawled.

 "Not as much as you might think," Ben told him.

 "Since I discovered a pocket of

 methane gas over near where the kids were found,

 I've had some engineers working wherever they felt was

 clear of crawlers. The city is sitting on top of

 many, many pockets of methane. I may use it.

 I don't know.

 "For the next few days, we're going to strip New

 York City. Start working your sectors. Blow every

 bank, inspect every museum and gallery. Go into the

 major TV and radio networks and recording

 studios and take it all."

 After the men and women had left his CP, Ben sat

 alone, behind his desk, deep in thought. He looked

 up as Jerre entered the room.

 "Am I interrupting, Ben?"

 "No. Glad to have the company."

 "You looked deep in thought."

 "I was thinking about all the history I would destroy

 if I left this city in rubble. History that

 future generations can ill afford to lose. Central

 Park, City Hall, Fraunces Tavern, UN

 headquarters, and a lot of other places I can't

 recall off the top of my head."

 "Will there be future generations capable of understanding

 history, Ben?"

 "Oh, yes, Jerre. Don't ever lose

 hope of that. That's what we're fighting for. Our own

 survival, to be sure. But much more than that, we've

 got to be planning for generations that will be along a

 century after we're dry bones in the grave."

 "And that really matters to you, doesn't it, Ben?"

 "Yes, Jerre, it does."

 "Strange comment from a man who was once a mercenary,

 don't you think?"

 "Maybe." He smiled at her. "But I told

 you, I was more a soldier of fortune than a

 mercenary."

 "You think Khamsin and the creepies will be making more

 moves to kidnap me?"

 "Yes. More than ever. Although it may not seem that

 way to you, for the first time, we've got them on the

 defensive. The Night People are fighting scared.

 Morale must be terribly low in the Hot Wind's

 army. Unfortunately, we're not in a position to do

 much about it. We're still stuck on this island."

 "But you could break out if you wanted to, couldn't you,

 Ben?" She asked the question softly.

 "Oh, yeah, kid. That we could do."

 She waited for him to elaborate. When he did not,

 she said, "What's the matter, Ben? You don't

 think I'm the informant, do you?"

 "Oh, no, Jerre. Colonel Gray found him this

 morning."

 "Oh?"

 "Yes. A man who'd been with us for several years.

 Shows you how long the Night People have been monitoring

 us."

 "Where is the man?"

 "I shot him about two hours ago."

 "Come on." Ben shook Jerre's foot. "We're

 getting an early start today."

 She opened one eye and gave him a bleak look.

 "Jesus, Ben! What time is it?"

 "Two-thirty. We're going to take a little trip

 this morning and see if we can't catch some creepies

 with their drawers down."

 She swung out of the cot. "What a disgusting thought,

 especially at this time of the morning. Where are we

 going, Ben?"

 "You'll see. Shake a leg." He began rousting

 out the others.

 After advising them all that if they weren't down on

 street level, in full combat gear, in fifteen

 minutes, he would reassign them all to the death

 barges, Ben walked down the steps and out onto the

 bitterly cold and dark street.

 Dan was waiting for him. "Good morning, sir!" he

 said brightly, and poured Ben a cup of steaming coffee.

 He handed him a sandwich.

 "Do I dare ask what is in between these two pieces

 of bread, Dan?"

 "I would not, sir. Just envision several thick

 pieces of bacon and try to convince your taste buds

 of the accuracy of that."

 "I was afraid of that." He took a bite, and then

 his face brightened with a big smile. "I'll be

 damned, Dan! Peanut butter and jelly!"

 "We found a huge underground warehouse fairly

 packed with all sorts of goodies: cheeses, powdered

 milk, powdered eggs, potato flakes-all sorts

 of things. Some of it was ruined, naturally, but quite a

 lot of it was still in excellent shape."

 "Our luck is changing, Dan. I can feel it."

 "I think so as well, General. If our

 intelligence was correct, we'll deal the Night

 People a terribly crippling blow this morning."

 "I'm counting on it, Dan."

 Cooper, Beth, Jersey, and Jerre came wandering

 out of the building, yawning and stretching and pulling at the

 uncomfortable body armor under their shirts.

 "Grab you some coffee and a sandwich," Ben

 told them. "I'll drive."

 "Oh, God!" Jersey said. "We'll never get

 there alive. Where the hell are we going anyway,

 sir?"

 "You'll see. Get in," he said, as the Blazer

 was pulled around to the curb. Chuckling, Ben got behind

 the wheel. He frowned as three APC'S pulled out

 of a side street and took the point.

 "You really didn't think we'd let you take the

 point, did you, now, General?" Dan admonished

 him through the window.

 "I could always hope. Come on, let's get this show

 on the road. Who is taking point?"

 "Buddy. See you at the train station, General."

 "Right." Ben blinked his lights a couple of times

 and the APC'S pulled out.

 "Wow!" Beth said. "These are peanut butter and

 jelly sandwiches." She took a big bite and

 rolled her eyes in satisfaction.

 Ben pulled out andwitha free hand, pointed to the sandwich

 in Jerre's hand. "Eat, kid, and be happy. How

 long's it been since you had peanut butter and

 jelly?"

 "Long time, Be ... General."

 "You two can relax around us, for Christ

 sake!" Jersey managed to speak around a stuffed

 mouth. "So why don't you knock off the

 formalities. Makes me edgy."

 "Maybe you're just horny?" Cooper suggested.

 "Put a zipper on it, Cooper! And eat!"

 "We have about seven or eight miles to go," Ben

 told them. "The others were briefed just before I ordered

 that early turn-in."

 "I wondered about that," Jerre said, glancing at

 him. "You think there might be other informants among

 us?"

 "I'm sure of it. Probably in all critical

 areas. Two more were ferreted out around ten o'clock.

 They're either still being questioned or they're dead."

 "And our destination on this miserable morning?" Jerre

 asked, munching on her sandwich and sipping on the

 welcome coffee.

 "Grand Central Station, gang. Actually, it was a

 terminal, not a station. You follow me in, and stay with

 me. We have very good intelligence that the place is

 swarming with creepies. The place is about fifty

 acres, that's above and below ground. The underground yard

 stretches from Forty-fourth to Fifty-ninth Streets.

 I have people already in position at Fifty-ninth, ready

 to go in. They've found rabbit holes the

 creepies have tunneled through. Buddy is hitting the

 main concourse first, clearing it. The terminal runs

 five stories below ground, and has a maze of old

 steam pipes. Going to be a lot of creepies

 among those pipes. This isn't going to be either

 pleasant or easy. But it has to be done.

 We've broken a leg from under the Night People already.

 Let's break the other leg this morning."

 Ben followed the tanks and APC'S as they turned

 south off 125th Street onto Park Avenue and

 headed south. Their unusual but tasty breakfast

 finished, the passengers in the Blazer tried to relax

 as best they could in their uncomfortable battle

 harnesses, loaded full with clip pouches and

 grenades.

 "How do you know the creepies won't be alerted and

 waiting for us?" Jerre asked.

 "I don't. But we've never launched a night

 attack directly at them, so it's something they

 won't be expecting from us."

 They crossed 116th Street. They had not seen one

 living thing since leaving the CP. The city seemed

 deserted under the layer of snow still blanketing the

 streets. The temperature was hovering right around ten

 above, andwiththe winds blowing, the chill factor

 was well below zero. The chains on the rear tires of the

 vehicles dug through the snow and clanked against the

 brick and concrete of the old streets as the convoy

 pushed south toward the terminal.

 They passed 96th Street, still some fifty blocks

 away from their objective.

 "You ever ride the trains out of this place,

 General?" Cooper asked.

 "A few times. I remember the main concourse.

 Huge place. The terminal used to be called-by

 some-the town square of Manhattan. You could buy a

 newspaper from London, have a photo taken, get

 your shoes shined, eat some oysters, or play tennis

 for about sixty-five or seventy dollars an

 hour."

 "Lots of people used the trains?" Jersey asked.

 was "Bout a quarter of a million people a day, so I

 was told. It's an old place. I'd guess

 maybe ninety years old."

 They rolled past 85th Street. It seemed to the

 Rebels that they were visitors on a distant

 planet-a cold, barren, lifeless planet. But

 they all knew only too well that death waited

 around every corner, every turn, in every building, and until

 recently, under the very streets they now

 drove, the headlights searching the darkness.

 "Tunnel Rat to Eagle," the speaker squawked.

 Ben lifted the mike. "Go, Rat."

 "Swinging over onto Lexington at

 Sixty-fourth."

 "Pull over and wait for us, Rat."

 "Ten-four, Eagle."

 "Eagle to Scout Team Three."

 "Three."

 "Are you in position?"

 "Ten-four, sir. Waiting for the commuters."

 Ben grinned. "They're in position at

 Fifty-ninth and have the holes plugged." Lifting the

 mike, he said, "Hang tough and good luck."

 "Same to you, sir."

 The lead vehicles pulled over behind Buddy's

 short column. "Bloomingdale's is just a few

 blocks down," Ben said. "You ladies want to go

 shopping? Maybe buy some nighties?"

 "If they model them, can we watch, General?"

 Cooper said with a grin.

 "Cooper," Jersey said, giving him an elbow in the

 ribs. "I swear to GodI think your brains are

 between your legs."

 Laughing, Ben got out of the Blazer and into the

 bitterly cold night. He walked up to his

 son. "Ready, boy?"

 "Yes, sir. Dan and Tina are in position on the

 west side of the complex, ready to go in." He

 grinned, his teeth flashing in the night. "General,

 Ike and Cecil are going to be highly irritated

 about being left out of his operation, you know?"

 "Can't be helped. I couldn't risk the informants

 picking up on any transmissions and leaking it."

 He gripped the young man's thick, muscular arm.

 "Let's go kick some ass, Buddy."

 "Good luck, Father."

 "Same to you, son."

 Back in the Blazer, Ben pulled out behind the lead

 vehicles and they rolled past Bloomingdale's

 department store. Jerre was looking wistfully at the

 huge store.

 "You reckon they really have some pretty nighties

 left in there?" she asked.

 "I wouldn't doubt it," Ben told her. "But in this

 weather, do you really want to trade your longhandles

 for a silk gown?"

 "It's gonna be spring sometime, General. I

 hope."

 "I feel like I've been cold for a damn

 month!" Beth said.

 "I got news for you," Ben said with a laugh. "You

 have!"

 They rolled past Citibank and Citicorp, past

 the House of Seagrams and the YWCA. "The

 Waldorf-Astoria," Ben pointed out.

 "I bet they got beds with mirrors on the ceilings

 in there." Cooper grinned at Jerre.

 "Cooper," she told him, "just think of your M16

 as your pecker. And use it accordingly."

 The column stopped at 44th Street. "Jack

 'em in," Ben said, bailing out of the Blazer.

 "Let's go!"

 The sounds of hard gunfire split the night as

 Buddy and his team hit the main concourse, catching the

 Night People at rest, huddled together against the bitter

 cold. The booming and thudding of grenades ripped the

 gloom of the city blocks around the famous and

 majestic old terminal.

 The APC'S and trucks spewed out Rebels. The

 tanks spun around in the snowy street, men and women

 manning machine guns, ready to chop down any

 crawlers who might try to escape the attack above

 ground.

 The stench of the filthy hit them all hard as

 Ben led his team into the main concourse.

 "Good God!" Jerre said, wrinkling her nose at

 the almost overpowering odor.

 Ben lifted his Thompson and gave a black-robed

 bunch a short burst of .45-caliber Rebel

 retribution. The rattle of gunfire was echoing and

 reverberating in the 125-foot-high main concourse,

 bouncing back from its vaulted ceilings. Bullets

 were whining as they ricocheted off the marble floor and

 splattered and flattened against the walls.

 "Pick your shots!" Ben yelled over the din.

 "Watch for ricochets!"

 The move by Ben and his Rebels had caught the

 Night People completely by surprise. This location was

 deep in controlled territory, and they thought they were

 safe. A group of Dan's hand-picked Scouts

 had silently neutral-

 ized the guards moments before the attack came, leaving

 them sprawled in the cold and snow, knocked down and

 dead by silenced .22-caliber auto-loading

 pistols.

 When several hundred heavily armed Rebels came

 storming into the huge terminal, the attack had further

 demoralized the already low-spirited crawlers.

 Sleepy, cold, and hungry, the Night

 People could do little for the first few moments except die.

 And they died in stinking heaps on the cold floor of the

 terminal, their blood staining the filth-encrusted marble.

 The main concourse was cleared in only a few

 minutes, and teams of Rebels began dragging the

 dead outside, to pile them on the street, awaiting

 transport to the death barges in the harbor. The

 floor could not be watered down, removing the blood,

 for the water would freeze seconds after hitting the

 floor.

 "Gas masks!" Ben ordered. "Tear-gas

 cannisters into the lower level!"

 The cannisters went bouncing and hissing and spewing their

 fumes into the levels below the main concourse.

 Those who ran in panic from the blinding tear gas

 only ran into more tear gas being tossed down from 59th

 Street, and from the street entrances of their

 thought-to-be-safe hidey holes. Half blinded

 by the harsh gas, the Night People ran right into the guns

 of the Rebels and died in bloody stacks amid the

 steam pipes of the old terminal.

 There was no point in trying to surrender, and the

 creepies knew it, and did not attempt it. They

 died cursing Ben Raine and his Rebels.

 The battle was short, savage, and

 bloody. Ben did not order pursuit of the

 crawlers below the second level. "Blow it," he

 ordered. "Bring it down on them or block them

 off."

 The Rebels made their way back out onto the

 streets around the old terminal and waited while the

 demolition teams did their work. It did not take

 long for them to plant their massive charges of

 C-4 and C-5. At their signal, Ben

 ordered his people well away from the terminal and told

 the explosives experts to drop the hammer.

 The concrete beneath their boots trembled when the

 radio-detonated explosives blew. One

 section of the building, that part bordering 45th and

 Lexington, collapsed, sending up clouds of dust

 and raining down bricks and steel and mortar.

 Trucks arrived to cart off the frozen dead. "No

 point in leaving them here," Ben observed. "Their friends

 would eat them."

 Ike and Cecil and West roared and clanked up.

 Ike bailed out and began cussing and jumping up and

 down, yelling at Ben for being a damn fool and why

 in hell didn't he let them in on the raid. Then

 the stocky ex-Navy SEAL lost his footing on the

 ice and snow and did a frantic,

 arm-waving ballet before he thumped down on his butt

 in the middle of the street.

 Ben and Dan were laughing so hard both men were clutching

 their sides at Ike's antics.

 "Baryshnikov should be here to see those moves,

 Fats," Dan stuck the needle to Ike. "He'd

 be envious."

 "Who the hell is that?" Ike yelled, trying to get

 to his feet and only succeeding in falling down once

 again.

 Even Cecil had lost his irritation and could no

 longer keep a straight face.

 "Who is Baryshnikov?" Dan yelled at Ike,

 spinning around and around on the ice in the street.

 "Only a redneck would ask that question, you . . . you

 cretin!"

 "Redneck!" Ike squalled. "You prissy

 limey! Just for that, you'll never get to listen to my

 George Jones records."

 "Who?"

 Dan asked.

 "George Jones, you heathen! Everybody in the

 world's heard of George Jones. Somebody help

 me up, god damn it!"

 "Who is George Jones?" Dan asked

 Ben.

 "He sang country songs."

 "From what country?" Dan asked, a confused look

 on his face.

 "From America!" Ike squalled, getting to his

 boots, a clump of snow in one gloved hand. He

 balled it and tossed it at Dan, hitting the

 Englishman on the forehead.

 And in the middle of sprawled death, standing in the

 freezing cold, America and England carried on the

 Revolution . . . with snowballs.

 A blizzard was raging when Ben awakened that morning.

 He looked at his watch. Ten o'clock. And it was

 cold, the wind howling through the patched-up windows of his

 office.

 He dressed quickly and stepped into the anteroom. The

 rest of his crew was just getting up and dressing. "When

 you get some coffee and food in you, Beth, advise

 the field commanders to hand out extra rations and keep the

 troops in as much as possible. I want guards

 changed every hour, and advise the medics to be on the

 lookout for frostbite."

 "Yes, sir. You want some coffee?"

 "It would be much appreciated." Over coffee, Ben

 said, "Have the vehicles pulled inside and

 heaters placed nearby. Make sure all extra

 batteries are fully charged."

 He counted heads among the crowd, making sure that

 Jerre was present. She caught him looking at her

 and as the song goes, for a moment there . . .

 But she cut her eyes away and the moment was lost.

 After Beth was finished with her transmissions, Ben

 took the radio on scramble. "It would be like

 Khamsin to try something on a day like this, people, so double

 your spotters and change frequently to keep your

 eyes fresh. And while we've got the creepies

 on the run, the fight is far from over. So stay

 alert and do your best to stay warm. This storm looks

 like it's going to be a badoneanda long one."

 Ben walked back into his office and shoveled some more

 coal into the small stove, vented through a window and

 temporarily patched. Since the CP changed

 frequently, the accommodations were basic at best.

 Buddy walked in and warmed his hands at the stove, then

 turned to face his father. "I have a bad feeling about this

 day, Father."

 "So do I, son. What's got your hackles

 up?"

 "It would be a dandy day for a hit-and-run attack."

 "Against whom?"

 "Y. This office. Jerre."

 "Why not against yourself? Or Tina? Have you given that

 any thought?"

 "Kidnapping a son or daughter is one thing,

 Father. Kidnapping the woman a man loves is quite

 another matter."

 Ben thought about that for a moment. "It's that obvious and that

 well-known?"

 "Yes."

 "Get some additional people in here, then. And I don't

 mean surround the place with a battalion." Again,

 Ben was silent in thought. "It would be a suicide

 run, Buddy. The lower level of this place has

 been checked out and is secure. A street level

 attack would be stopped before they reached the sidewalk.

 If my intelligence is correct, they want her

 alive, not dead. So it's going to have to come from the roof,

 and I will not station people up there in this weather."

 "I'll move some people in quietly, Father. We'll

 be stationed on the stairwells."

 "All right, son. Quiet is the word."

 Buddy nodded and left. Ben sat down in an old

 rat-chewed chair he pulled close to the stove.

 He looked up as Beth entered the office.

 "General, this storm is really screwing up

 radio transmissions. The units are virtually

 cut off from one another."

 "I was afraid of that. Heads up, Beth. I have a

 bad feeling about this day."

 She walked to the window and looked out. Visibility

 was down to near zero, and she said as much.

 "They'll be coming this day. And Khamsin will, too,

 I'm thinking. Do we have contact with the units in our

 immediate sector?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "Advise them to go on full alert. I imagine that

 Ike and Cec and West have done the same. And

 Beth, don't sell yourself short about being on a list

 of people the creepies would like to get their hands on. There

 are a lot of things happening that, of the people in this section,

 only you and I are privy to."

 "That has crossed my mind, General."

 "Stay on top of it, Beth. When you ladies go

 to the John, go together. Don't go anywhere in this

 building alone."

 "Yes, sir." She fixed a level gaze at

 him. "And what about you, sir?"

 "I'm an old wolf, Beth. There have been

 bounties on my head for the past decade and a half.

 You can't poison me and I'm hard

 to trap. I'm paranoid by nature." He said the

 last with a smile.

 "Yes, sir." She left the room.

 Ben walked to a window on the alley side and

 peeked through the dark drapes. The building across the

 narrow alley had been cleared, checked, and

 rechecked, but Ben knew only too well the

 creepies could have moved in minutes after his people had

 made their final check.

 The Night People were fighting with desperation riding on their

 shoulders, knowing their very survival was at stake. They

 would stop at nothing now. If they lost fifty

 percent or ninety percent of their people to win, it would

 make no difference to them: they could always rebuild their

 perverted and hideous kingdom, for their way of life was

 a learned thing.

 Like so many of the problems that had descended upon the

 United States when it was whole, from drugs

 to crime, lack of discipline and permissiveness, and

 everything related to them, it was a learned thing. And it

 could not be treated by a pat on the head and a promise

 from the malcontent that he or she would do better.

 Ben had always felt that the way to have a crime-free

 society was to have no criminals. And for many years in

 the Tri-States, they had no crime.

 One reason was they had no elaborate criminal

 justice system in the Tri-States that catered to the

 criminal instead of seeing to the needs of the victim.

 Ben turned away from the window and picked up his

 Thompson, making sure the drum in its belly was

 leaded up full.

 He slung it, opened his office door, and stepped

 out into the anteroom. He could feel the tension among

 his personal crew. They all were feeling that this day was

 going to be a bad one.

 "Lighten up, gang," Ben said, his voice calming

 them. "Whatever comes our way, we'll handle it.

 We always have, we always will. History might show us

 to be no more than aggressive savages, trying

 to shove our way of life down a lot of unwilling

 throats. It might show us to be the only force standing

 between total collapse and anarchy. I don't know

 how future historians will treat us. And to be very

 honest, I don't know, really, whether I give a

 damn. Brute force and a driving will to survive and

 to build a better way of life forged this nation

 several hundred years ago. Generations later, the

 powers that be forgot that in their quest to nitpick us into a

 bunch of whining pansies." He smiled at the

 group.

 "Anybody got a deck of cards? I don't

 think there's a one of you can beat me at gin rummy."

 The day dragged on, each tick of the clock seeming

 to be as slow as a funeral dirge. They all heard

 Buddy and his people get into place inside the building.

 Ben pretended not to notice it.

 Jerre studied his face for a moment, trying to read it.

 She gave up when Ben said, "Deal."

 The winds howled and threw millions of bits of

 frozen ice against the old windows. Ben had guessed

 the

 temperature at just a few degrees below freezing,

 perfect for snow and sleet. And the snow and sleet would

 alternate with the varying thermometer reading. Come the

 night, Ben suspected the mercury would drop like a

 brick and the temperature would be unbearable,

 especially if these hard winds continued, and they

 probably would.

 The game continued.

 Just the faintest of foulness drifted to Ben's

 nostrils. Or was his mind playing tricks? He

 couldn't be sure. No, there it was again. It was no

 illusion. The Night People were very near.

 Ben studied his cards, arranged them in his hand, and,

 with a smile, laid them down on the table.

 "Gin!"

 "Damn, Ben!" Jerre said. "Do you have to win all

 the time?"

 "Name of the game, kid." He met her gaze. "You

 know what a sore loser I am."

 She narrowed her eyes, trying to read what he

 meant, but since she had misread his eyes for years,

 she finally gave up.

 Ben stood up, slinging his Thompson. It drew no

 attention from the others. They all picked up their

 weapons whenever they moved around, even within the CP,

 and especially on this day.

 "I'm going to the head, gang," Ben said

 matter-of-factly. "Play a round without me."

 Jerre was already shuffling the cards as he opened the

 door and stepped out into the office.

 Ben slipped his Thompson off safety and closed

 the door behind him. There was that terrible odor again. And

 it was much stronger than when he had smelled it in the

 anteroom of his office. He let his eyes sweep

 the floor for wet footprints. He could see nothing

 in this hall. But it was a big building, and even though

 most of it had been sealed off, that meant nothing. The

 creepies could have been working on it for days, or

 nights, opening new entrances.

 Ben stepped back to the closed door and pushed it

 open.

 The cardplayers looked up. When Ben spoke, his

 voice was just audible over the howling of the winds.

 "Jack 'em in, people. Assume defensive

 positions. The crud are in the building." He

 started to close the door.

 "What about you, Ben?" Jerre asked.

 "I'm going head-hunting, kid. Watch your ass."

 He closed the door and quietly made his way up

 the hall. Halfway up the hall, he lifted his

 handy-talkie. "Rat?"

 "Here, Eagle."

 "They're in the building. Very close to me. I can

 smell them."

 "Orders?"

 "Come down to my hallway. Quietly now,

 Buddy. And be very careful."

 "On my way."

 Ben squatted in the dark hallway, the only light

 coming from the windows at the street and alley end. He

 turned when the fire door at the far end opened,

 relaxing as Buddy stepped into the hallway. Buddy

 signaled that he would take one end of the hall, his father

 the other.

 Ben nodded and held up one thumb. He stood and

 began moving up the hallway, toward the street

 side of the building, his boots soft on the floor.

 He paused at each doorway, kneeling down and

 sniffing at the base of the door.

 On the third door, he hit pay dirt-a pile

 of shit would be more like it-as the foulness assailed his

 nostrils. Reaching up, he clicked the

 handy-talkie's talk button twice, and Buddy

 looked in his direction. Ben pointed to the closed

 door, and Buddy moved swiftly but quietly

 to his father's side.

 Ben took a fire-frag grenade from his battle

 harness and pulled the pin, holding the spoon down. The

 fire-frag is a mini-claymore, perhaps the most

 lethal grenade ever manufactured, filled with

 ball bearings that spew in all directions when the

 charge blows.

 The screaming winds picked up in tempo, and Ben

 thought for a few seconds of the men and women assigned

 to guarding the still-open bridges connecting the island.

 They must be miserable. He shook those thoughts away and

 cut his eyes to Buddy, nodding his head at the closed

 door and smiling. He released the spoon.

 His son returned the smile and stepped

 back. He kicked the door open, and Ben tossed

 in the fire-frag, both of them moving to one side just

 as the mini-claymore lashed out its lethal load and

 splattered blood and bone and various parts of

 anatomy all over the stinking room.

 Ben dropped to one knee and Buddy remained standing as

 they moved into position and began spraying the room with

 .45-caliber slugs, their identical Thompsons

 chugging and spitting out death.

 "Maintain positions!" Ben yelled up the hall.

 Then, as Buddy flashed a beam of light from his

 flashlight into the room, Ben methodically shot each

 creepie sprawled on the bloody floor.

 Insurance against a crawler faking it.

 The door behind them and to their right suddenly burst open.

 But at the slight sound of the knob turning, Buddy and

 Ben had hit the floor and were hammering lead at the

 opening doorway, knowing that no Rebels were supposed

 to be in any of these rooms.

 A wild scream of anguish was cut off in the

 man's throat as the Thompson rose with the muzzle

 blast and the slugs struck the night creep from his chest

 to his face. He was flung backward into the room

 just as Buddy rolled in a grenade.

 One creepie was flung out into the hall by the

 heavy blast of the beefed-up grenade, and a section

 of the wall collapsed, further confusing the dimness with a

 cloud of dust and plaster. The explosion had

 prevented them from hearing the gunfire from Ben's

 office.

 "Damn, boy!" Ben said. "Where'd you get that hand

 bomb?"

 "Ordnance just came up with them." Buddy grinned at

 his father. "Great, aren't they?"

 "Wonderful," Ben said, coughing from the dust and the

 debris. "I'll elaborate more when or if my

 hearing

 ever returns."

 They listened as gunfire drummed from the stairwells

 and the rooftop of the building.

 "They're holding their own," Ben said. "Let's

 secure this floor and then grab a cup of coffee."

 He dropped the drum and inserted a thirty-round

 clip into the ponderous old antique. It lightened

 the weight of the old Chicago Piano considerably.

 Door by door, room by darkened room, father and son

 cleared the floor, finding no more hostiles.

 The floor cleared, the men returned to Ben's

 office. Ben rapped on the door. "Secure in

 there?"

 "Secure, sir!" Jersey's voice called.

 "Come on in."

 Buddy pushed open the hall door, stepping in

 front of his father and entering first. The door to Ben's

 office was hanging on one hinge, the door

 bullet-pocked. Wind and snow were blowing into the

 office from shattered windows on the alley side.

 A half a dozen dead night creepies lay

 sprawled on the floor.

 "They crawled right up the side of the building,

 Ben," Jerre told him. "Using ropes and

 hooks. I guess they thought the noise of the storm

 would cover any sound they might make."

 Ben nodded, and it was at that point he made up his

 mind on several issues that he had been

 vacillating back and forth on. "Buddy, take a

 team and clear the floor just above this one. And I mean

 clear it. Get me some offices about the size of this

 one and start setting up communications and heating.

 Son?" Ben looked at him. "Blow the buildings

 on either side of this one, and in the rear, if possible.

 Bring them down. As soon as we get our signals

 back with the other units, I'll instruct them to do the

 same around the CP'S."

 "Yes, Father."

 "Let's start packing up our gear, gang," Ben

 told the others. "Cooper, help me with the bodies

 of this crud."

 The two men, one at the head and one at the foot,

 began picking up the bodies of the dead creepies and

 uncere-

 moniously tossing them out the shattered windows to the

 alley floor. They would soon lie in

 grotesquely twisted and frozen heaps.

 Ben summed up his feelings, and the feelings of all the

 other Rebels. "If their friends want to dine on these

 creeps, they'll have to use a chain saw to fillet

 them!"

 The storm raged on the remainder of that day and well

 into the night. About three hours after dark had slowly

 shoved light around the corners of the world, the snow and

 sleet stopped and the mercury tumbled. But the wind

 kept up its battering and howling.

 With the cessation of snow and sleet, radio

 communications improved and Ben was able to speak with all

 units scattered around the Big Apple.

 "Did you get hit today, Ike?" Ben asked.

 "Ten-fifty, Ben. We ain't seen nothin" down

 here. Been tryin' to contact you all day."

 Ben got all commanders on the horn and

 quickly explained what had happened and what he had

 done about the buildings bordering his CP.

 "We'll start doing that this night, Ben," Cecil

 told him. "Are we going to raze the city?"

 "I don't know, Cec. It really bothers me

 to think about doing it. I just haven't fully made up

 my mind about that."

 "It may come to it, General," West reminded him.

 "Yeah. I know. How about the survivors around the

 Central Park area, West?"

 "Gene Savie and his group?"

 "Yes."

 "Most of them are New York born and reared. It

 makes them nervous to think about the city being destroyed.

 The

 Underground People don't like them or trust them. I think

 Savie and his people are a bunch of candy-asses. For the

 most part, this sector has remained fairly

 quiet."

 "If the weather abates in the morning, we'll all

 resume our treasure-hunting," Ben ordered.

 "At first light, we'll rotate the teams guarding

 the bridges. They've got to be exhausted.

 Maintain a sharp lookout for infiltration from the Hot

 Wind and his Farts. The Night People are

 fighting for their very existence now, and they've started

 desperation moves. So heads up, people. Eagle out."

 Ben leaned back in the chair in his new office and

 tried to put himself in the role of the Night P. What

 would he do?

 The creepies knew mat the Rebels were scattered

 all over the city, from 220th Street in the north

 all the way down to Battery Park. Some of the

 outposts and observation teams were no more than five or

 six people strong.

 Would the creeps try to overrun the smaller units

 by sheer numbers?

 Only as a last act of desperation, Ben

 concluded-a kamikaze move when all else had

 failed, the Night People dying screaming out their rage and

 hate for the Rebels.

 Trying to overrun the smaller units would prove

 too costly for the Night People, even at this stage of the

 war. For the creepies certainly had observed how

 carefully the smaller units had bunkered themselves

 in, and how deadly their field of fire was.

 The Night People had small arms, a few heavy

 machine guns and rocket launchers, and a few

 mortars. Not even Khamsin could match Ben's

 Rebels in terms of firepower, and no

 known force on the face of the earth could even come near the

 Rebels when it came to morale.

 Ben smiled when he recalled the words of that old

 Texas Ranger who had said, "It's hard to stop a

 man when he knows he's right and just keeps on coming."

 Ben concluded that the Night People would keep on with their

 harassing actions against the Rebels-not risking too

 many lives in doing so.

 Of course the deal they had struck earlier about the

 use of booby traps was down the tube. From now on

 the war would be as dirty and nasty and unconventional as

 the human mind could conceive.

 Long-range and very secret patrols had reported

 back that Brooklyn was, for the most part, clear of

 Night P. They had committed everything

 to Manhattan. Cecil and Rebet would have to keep

 the bridges in their area open. Ben had plans for the

 old shipyard-very important plans. Plans that

 only he and a very few others knew anything about.

 Whatever else happened, those east bridges had

 to be kept intact.

 Ben rose from his chair and looked in on his crew.

 They were getting ready for bed. Ben walked to his

 cot, sat down, and pulled off his boots, stretching

 out on the cot. It had been a busy day,

 and he suspected the following days were going to be just as

 busy, or more so. He closed his eyes and let

 sleep take him, very much aware that Jerre was in the

 next room.

 She might as well have been in another galaxy.

 Ben and his people resumed their treasure-hunting early the

 next morning. The winds continued to blow, and it was

 bitterly cold, but Ben and his people had arctic gear

 to wear and could stand the harshness much better than the

 Night P.

 Several times that bitter morning, all within the span

 of an hour, Ben and his teams came upon Night People,

 huddled in stinking masses on the floors of

 buildings. Always before, they could seek the warmth and

 security of their deep tunnels to shield them from the

 winter-now they had nothing.

 Ben and his Rebels shot them where they lay and moved

 on. This was total extermination of the subhuman

 cannibals. Everyone knew diat Ben Raines and

 his people took very few prisoners; if you were foolish enough

 to fight him, you accepted that it was a fight to the death.

 All over the island, teams of Rebels were stripping

 the

 city of anything of value. They were blowing bank

 vaults and removing any gold they might

 find. They discarded the coins and paper money; they were

 useless.

 "Might make good toilet paper," one Rebel

 suggested with a grin, holding up a thick wad of

 fifty- and one-hundred-dollar bills.

 Other Rebels began stuffing their pockets with paper

 bills. It would also be good for starting fires.

 Ben had contacted Thermopolis and his people, and the

 hippie leader had agreed to go with Ben and his teams.

 "You know folk and rock and blues and all that," Ben

 told him. "If you want it preserved, come on,

 we need the help."

 They went first to the Rockefeller Center area and

 began sizing up the magnitude of their undertaking.

 "Some of you ladies mightwant to visitover there."

 Ben pointed to Saks Fifth Avenue. He grinned

 at Jerre. "Might be some real expensive

 nighties left."

 "I just want to get out of this damn cold!" she

 told him.

 "Okay," Ben agreed. "Buddy, you and

 Thermopolis take the RCA Building. I

 don't even know if that's where diey used to record

 or not. Dan, you and I will take the Museum of

 Modern Art. There are supposed to be about

 a hundred thousand pieces of work in there."

 "If I could find and preserve the work of Cezanne

 and Van Gogh," the Englishman said, "I would

 consider my life meaningful."

 "I do hope the day proves meaningful," Ben told

 him, keeping a straight face. "And please let us

 not get so wrapped up in exploring that we forget that

 behind every door there might be a half a dozen

 creepies, waiting to blow us away."

 That brought them all back to earth in a hurry. They

 stared at the tall buildings around them.

 Cooper pointed to a statue at the edge of

 Rockefeller Plaza. "Is that someone

 important, General?"

 "It's a tribute to Prometheus. From Greek

 mythology, I think. He stole fire from die

 Heavens to benefit mankind. Promethean means

 to be creative, courageously original,

 or life-bringing."

 Thermopolis was looking at Ben. Every day, he

 thought, brings out a new facet of the man. I'd like

 to walk around inside his head for a few hours. Then

 Thermopolis thought about that for a moment and changed his

 mind. Might be like walking around the fringes of

 Hell.

 "Creepiest" Jerre shouted, as she was hitting the

 cold concrete and squirming behind cover.

 Lead began howling and ricocheting off the snow-covered

 sidewalk as the Rebels dived for whatever cover

 they could find.

 "Whereaway?" Ben yelled, crouched down inside a

 doorway.

 "That one right there!" Jerre shouted over the din of

 gunfire.

 "RCA Building," Ben muttered.

 "We're closer!" Buddy shouted. "We'll take

 it!"

 "Have at it!" Ben returned the shout.

 "Don't destroy the murals!" Dan yelled.

 "They're priceless."

 "Right," Buddy muttered, then he and his team were off

 and running. They tossed a grenade to blow off the

 doors-or part of them-on the lower level and went in

 with weapons set on full auto.

 But the lobby was deserted. Buddy and his team knelt

 down behind whatever cover they could find, and all of them

 stared at the immense murals covering the walls,

 murals done by Jose Maria Sert, which depicted

 man's progress.

 "Are we gonna have to tote those things off,

 too?" Buddy was asked.

 "I suppose. We'll worry about that later.

 Did you see which floor the fire was coming from?"

 "Third floor," Diane called from across the wide

 expanse of lobby.

 "Take the point," Buddy told her.

 They moved toward the door leading to the stairs.

 "Concussion grenade in first," Buddy ordered.

 "Toss

 one, Pete. Diane, you hold the door open."

 Diane jerked the door open and the grenade was hurled

 in. If anyone was in there, the force of the concussion would

 addle anyone within the range-force of the stun grenade

 without destroying anything else, such as stairs or

 support braces.

 But the cold concrete space was empty. With

 Diane leading the way, the team took the steps two

 at a time until the now-familiar odor began

 to touch them. They slowed and became more cautious in their

 advance.

 At a wave from Diane, the team stopped and

 flattened against the concrete walls of the dark

 stairway. Muted voices came to them. Diane

 slipped forward and looked through the small

 wire-reinforced glass of the metal door.

 She smiled and handed her weapon to Pete, then took

 two fire-frags from her battle harness and pulled

 the pins just as Buddy stepped forward and put his hand on

 the doorknob, slowly turning it. He nodded at

 her and jerked open the door.

 Diane rolled the grenades in and Buddy slammed

 the door, all of them hitting the cold stoop and

 stairwell.

 The mini-claymores blew, the concussion of the powerful

 grenades bringing down a shower of dust and

 shaken-loose plaster and wild cries of pain from

 inside the darkened hallway.

 Buddy went in first, followed by Pete, Diane,

 Harold, and Judy. Three to the left, two to the

 right, their weapons set on full auto. They

 cleared the hall of all living and unholy things.

 Buddy saw a door open and quickly close. He

 ran toward the door and blew it off its hinges with a

 burst from his Thompson, then sprayed the interior with a

 long burst, hearing the screams from the stinking and dusty

 room.

 Jumping to his left, he dropped the empty clip

 and fitted in a one-hundred-round drum. It takes

 a strong man to handle a Thompson for any length of

 time with a hundred-round drum in its belly,

 for the weight is approximately twenty pounds.

 That's more than the old

 Browning Automatic Rifle.

 "Coming from your left, Buddy!" Diane yelled the

 warning.

 Buddy dropped to the floor, leveling the powerful

 old SMG, and held the trigger back, working the

 muzzle from left to right, fighting to keep the weapon from

 shooting at the ceiling.

 The .45-caliber slugs knocked creepies

 spinning and sprawling and howling in pain as the big

 hollow-noses tore into flesh and shattered bones.

 The dirty, rat-droppings-littered floor became

 slick with blood from the dead and dying.

 Judy tossed a fire-frag into a crowded room,

 the force of the explosion knocking one crawler out a

 window. He went spinning and screaming to the

 snow-covered plaza below. His howling ended when he

 impacted with unyielding concrete.

 The firing ceased and the Rebels slowly rose to their

 boots.

 "Let's clear the rest of the building," Buddy said,

 his voice quiet in the now calm but

 gunsmoke-filled air of the hallway.

 He lifted his walkie-talkie and

 advised the Rebels at ground level that the third

 floor was clear.

 Thermopolis and his people walked toward the

 seventy-story-high building.

 "Have fun climbing up to the observation deck," Ben

 called after him. "It's on the sixty-fifth

 floor."

 "He needs the exercise!" Rosebud called over

 her shoulder.

 Thermopolis looked at his wife and bit back the

 comment forming on his tongue.

 They disappeared into the lobby of the building.

 Ben and Dan turned toward the Museum of Modern

 Art, not knowing what to expect, but both of them were

 expecting the worst. Inside, they paused for a

 moment, looking around. It was bad, but not as bad as it

 could have been.

 Some of the paintings had been slashed with knives;

 nearly all had been jerked down from the walls and

 thrown to the floor. A lot of them were ripped beyond

 repair.

 "Mindless wanton destruction," Dan muttered,

 squatting down and looking at what was left of a

 watercolor. "No rhyme or reason for it." He

 reached out to touch the faded colors, then

 froze his fingers an inch from the painting.

 Ben had turned, watching the Englishman. "What's

 the matter, Dan?"

 "Don't move, General." He raised his

 voice. "All Rebels, freeze where you are!

 It's booby-trapped, General. Beth, get

 Buddy and his people on the horn. Advise them to back

 out slowly, retracing their initial steps."

 "Let's go, people," Ben said. "Slow and easy."

 Across the plaza, a huge explosion ripped the

 air, as a section of the fifth floor of the RCA

 Building was torn apart.

 Ben and his people, safely outside the museum, waited

 behind cover in the plaza until Buddy and his group

 had exited the RCA Building and made their way

 across the snow-and-ice-covered plaza.

 "Tapper and Robin," Thermopolis said, the

 emotional pain very evident in his eyes. "Two of

 your Rebels that I didn't know by name. At least

 two, maybe more. They must have touched something that was

 wired to blow."

 "I am sorry," Ben said.

 "I believe that," the hippie said. "I was under no

 illusions that we would all return home en

 masse."

 "What now, Father?" Buddy asked.

 Ben sighed heavily, his breath frosty in the icy

 air. "We don't have the time to clear the area floor

 by floor. Besides, we'd be sure to lose more people."

 He looked at Dan. "Is it worth it, Dan?"

 The Englishman shook his head. "Regrettably,

 no. Future generations will have to be content to gaze upon

 pictures of the great works." He looked back at

 the museum. "Goddamn people who would do this.

 Goddamn them all to the pits of Hell!"

 Ben and his Rebels, and Thermopolis and his

 hippie-Rebels, walked slowly away from a

 thousand or more years of history. They didn't like

 what they were doing, but all knew they had no other

 alternative. As for those lost in the explosion, there

 was nothing anyone could do. The blast

 had been so powerful that the living would have had to scrape

 up the dead with spoons.

 "Before they reach the pits of Hell," Rosebud

 startled Thermopolis by saying, "they're going to have some

 Hell on Earth-from usl" She savagely jacked

 a round into her AR15.

 "Now, dear," Thermopolis said.

 "Shut. .. up!" she told him.

 "Right," Thermopolis agreed.

 The Russian, Striganov, listened as Ben

 briefed him on what had taken place that morning.

 "For what it's worth, Ben," Striganov said,

 "I would have done the same. Perhaps it's time for us

 to start looking more to the future, rather than to the past.

 We know the mistakes that were made. Perhaps that's all

 we can salvage."

 "You may be right, Georgi. Any movement up here

 while we were gone?"

 "Very little. My people found half a dozen or so hiding

 places of the odious bastards. They were destroyed where

 they lay."

 "Intercept any communications from Khamsin?"

 "Not a word. It's my guess that he is still trying

 to come up with some sort of plan of attack. And

 he's having some difficulty in doing so."

 "You think the man is insane, Georgi?"

 The Russian pondered on that for a moment. "No .

 . . no more so than any fanatic. But I think if

 he knew he could kill you in the process, he would

 cheerfully die accomplishing it."

 "Yes. And that is just one of the many differences between us.

 Let's have some lunch and start checking out more places.

 The creepies could not have booby-trapped every building

 in the city."

 "Have you made up your mind whether or not you plan

 to destroy the city, Ben?"

 "Yes," Ben acknowledged, and would say nothing else

 on the subject.

 The loss of two of his regular Rebels and the loss

 of the husband and wife from Thermopolis's group

 bothered him, turning him testy. His personal team

 knew the signs and left him alone.

 Right after lunch, Ben waved his people into cars and

 closed-bed trucks. "Where are we going,

 General?" Cooper asked.

 "Head-hunting," Ben told him. "Just drive.

 Head south. I'll tell you when to stop."

 It was very slow going, even with the four-wheel-drive

 vehicles and chains on the tires. The snow,

 covered with a layer of ice, was treacherous.

 " 'What was all that stuff I saw being loaded

 into the back of that deuce and a half, Ben?" Jerre

 asked. "It looks like space equipment."

 "Flamethrowers. If you like, I'll give you a

 short course on the nomenclature of

 flamethrowers, Jerre."

 "Thank you, Ben. That's something I have always wanted

 to learn about."

 Ben chuckled, some of his bad mood leaving

 him. "I knew it was, kid. Veer a few

 blocks over to the east. I had an idea about an

 hour ago. There used to be a lot of places on this

 island that needed bringing down. I think today would be just a

 dandy day to do it."

 Beth had been listening to chatter through her headphones.

 "Dan and his people are right behind us, sir."

 "Yes. He knows where we're heading. Get me

 West on the horn, Beth." He picked up the

 mike at her signal. "Colonel, have you or any

 of your people inspected any of those old condemned

 buildings northeast of the park?"

 "Negative, General. Damnit!" The word

 exploded out of his mouth and through the speaker. "You're

 right, of course. The last place we would think

 to look for them would be among the rubble of condemned

 buildings. You need some help?"

 "Ten-fifty, West. Hold what you've got.

 When we start burning them out, they're going to have one

 direction to go: south toward you."

 "Ten-four, General."

 "Dan?"

 "Go, sir."

 "Split your people. I want the area we spoke about

 blocked off on three sides: north,

 east, and west. You and your team go in with me."

 "Ten-four, General."

 "Cut east for a couple of blocks, Cooper."

 "To those blocks of abandoned buildings, sir?"

 "Yes."

 "It don't look like anybody has lived there for a

 hundred years, sir."

 "It hasn't been that long, Cooper. And for a while,

 back in the eighties, Harlem underwent quite a

 revitalization period. They just never quite got to these

 places. I think that's where the night crawlers are

 hiding. At least, a good many of them."

 "Underall that crap!" Jerre spoke. "In the

 basements of places they thought we'd never look."

 "Right, kid. And I almost didn't think of it. If

 I'm right, we'll further shorten the odds against us this

 afternoon and night. And we will be working in this area until

 we've destroyed them all. I've ordered hot

 food to be sent to us. It's going to be a long,

 cold, and very bloody next twenty-four hours."

 Dan's teams worked like well-oiled machinery; they were

 moving into position from the moment the trucks stopped.

 Ben turned around at the sounds of trucks laboring

 over the ice and snow. He smiled as Cecil

 stepped out of a pickup and moved toward him.

 The men shook hands.

 "You know, Ben, when I was up here back in ...

 eighty-seven, I think it was, just over there," he

 pointed, "I saw some of the most beautiful renovation

 work I'd ever witnessed. They were going to raze this

 area, I believe."

 "Well, let's pick up where they left off, old

 buddy," Ben told the black man.

 "Right on!" Then Ben and Cecil did some fancy

 handshaking while the younger Rebels looked at them and

 wondered what in the hell was going on between the

 two generals.

 "That's kind of a hip way of shaking hands," Jerre

 explained to a couple of Rebels, both of them about

 nineteen. They would have been very young children when the Great

 War ravished the earth.

 "What's hip?" the girl asked Jerre.

 And at that moment, Jerre felt her age-every bit of

 it. "With it," she tried again.

 The two young Rebels stared at her.

 Jerre shook her head and took one more shot. "Being

 different," she said, standing out in the bitter cold.

 "Why would anybody want to be any different than

 what we are now?" the young man said, just as

 Thermopolis came walking up.

 Ben had heard the comment, and he caught Thermopolis

 looking at him, a slight smile on the hippie's

 lips. Ben returned the smile and said, "You think

 you can change him, go ahead."

 "I wouldn't even try, General," Thermopolis

 replied. "It's not that you're such a tough act

 to follow, but because you've had him longer."

 "Yes," Ben agreed. "There is that to consider.

 Where's your wife?"

 "Back in quarters." Damn! Thermopolis

 mentally fumed. He's got me talking military

 now. Shit! Just being around the man is infectious.

 "You understand that we're down here for the duration?"

 "Perfectly."

 "Fine. You work with my team, then. We can work and

 argue at the same time."

 Killing people is work? "Fine, General." He

 walked over to stand by the two generals.

 "You two have met, I think," Ben said, pointing between

 Cecil and Thermopolis.

 "Good to see you." Cecil shook the outstretched hand.

 "Sorry about those booby traps. I know what it's

 like to lose friends and loved ones."

 Thermopolis had learned just recently that Cecil's

 wife,

 Lila, had been killed during the fighting in the old

 Tri-States.

 And still they fight on, he thought. But he knew why

 they did it. And was glad they did.

 They?

 he thought. Crap, I've got my butt right in the

 middle of it, as well.

 "Did I hear you say something about arguing, Ben?"

 Cecil asked.

 "Thermopolis and I have been looking forward to a good

 debate for weeks."

 "I hope you realize what you're gettinginto,"

 Cecil told Thermopolis. "I've been arguing

 with him for fifteen years and don't recall ever

 winning an argument."

 Beth stepped forward. "The Scouts are all in

 position, General. The demolition teams have

 planted their explosives and are waiting word."

 The demolition teams had lifted manhole covers

 and lowered in huge charges. They had stuffed charges

 into drain holes and planted hundreds of pounds of

 high explosives into the lower levels of basements.

 They had worked very fast; it helped to beat the cold.

 Ben hoped that the massive explosions would seal off

 many of the hidey-holes of the Night People,

 forcing them up into this area, or driving them south toward

 West and his people.

 "Brace yourselves, people," Ben warned. "It's going

 to be a mighty bang. Beth, tell them to hit it."

 Beth relayed the orders, and the street under their

 boots trembled as the charges blew. Huge clouds

 of dust shot up into the cold air as Ben was adjusting

 the shoulder straps of a flamethrower. At least

 thirty other Rebels were doing the same, including

 Cecil.

 "Burn it!" Ben ordered. "If it'll ignite,

 fire it. Drive the bastards above ground."

 Ben and his personal team were moving forward before the dust

 had settled, Cooper carrying extra twin tanks

 of fuel for the flamethrower.

 Ben stepped into a building that had been long-abandoned

 even before the Great War. A smile touched his

 lips as the now-familiar stink of the creepies reached

 him. He could very clearly see the tracks of their

 shoes in the snow that had blown in through the shattered

 windows and empty doorframe.

 The steps led straight to a black hole leading down

 into the lower level. Old wooden steps that widened

 Ben's smile.

 "You enjoy killing, General?"

 Thermopolis asked, noticing the smile.

 "Not particularly. But when I'm dealing with

 sub-humans such as these night crawlers, it

 doesn't bother me all that much, either." He met

 Thermopolis's steady gaze. Still looking at the

 man, he said, "Jersey, you and the others spray that

 lower level. Let's see how the creepies like

 ricochets."

 His team stepped forward, and the empty shell of a

 building rattled with gunfire and the wicked whining of

 lead bouncing off concrete and brick. Screams of

 anguish rose from the stinking cold darkness of the

 basement as the flattened lead tore into flesh.

 Ben stepped forward and triggered the nozzle of the old

 flamethrower, the thickened gas whooshing out, setting the

 wooden stairs blazing, igniting the dust of the

 basement, and creating an inferno in the lower level

 of the building.

 "Toss some grenades down there, gang," Ben

 ordered, as the smoke began billowing up. He

 looked at Thermopolis. "You sure you have the

 stomach for this?"

 Thermopolis's smile was as lean as the

 temperature. "You just do your thing, General. I'll

 be right beside you."

 Twice in the next hour Thermopolis saved

 Ben's life by shooting creepies who popped out of the

 burning smoking underground and pointed guns at Ben.

 Ben grinned at the hippie. "Sure you wouldn't like

 to join the Rebels on a regular basis?"

 "Thank you, but no. After this is over, I shall have enough

 excitement stored in my memory banks to last me

 several lifetimes."

 "You're all right, Therm," Ben said with a laugh.

 "Probably voted the straight democratic

 ticket back when such things were around, but you're all

 right."

 "Goddamnedest compliment I ever heard in my

 life," the hippie muttered.

 Several black-robes came running out of a burning

 building, their underground escape routes blocked by the

 explosions that had started this campaign.

 Ben seared them with a long burst from the nozzle of the

 flamethrower, sending them dancing and howling into death.

 Ben slipped into fresh fuel tanks and glanced at

 Thermopolis. "Want to try this, Therm?"

 The sweet smell of charred human flesh floated

 on the cold air and settled into the clothing of the

 Rebels.

 "No, thank you. Pyromania has never

 been an overwhelming compulsion of mine."

 Ben laughed at the friendly but caustic remark and

 moved on.

 Ill

 "Colonel West reporting heavy fighting in his

 sector, sir," Beth said. "He says his men are

 stacking up the creepies like stovewood."

 "Good. We've been effective in blocking off

 most of their escape routes. We could conceivably

 break the backs of the creepies this day and night."

 "And then all we have to deal with is Khamsin,"

 Thermopolis reminded them all.

 "No sweat, Therm," Ben told him. "Trust

 me."

 "That's the problem," the hippie said dryly. "I'm

 beginning to do just that."

 The cracking of burning wood, the thick,

 sweet-scented smoke, and the occasional collapsing

 of a building became familiar sounds in the waning

 daylight as Ben kept up the pressure.

 "Set charges!" he yelled to the men and women handling

 the explosives. "Bring the buildings down on their

 heads. You others, use tear-gas grenades to flush

 them out." He turned to Buddy. "Son, you

 remember that fenced-in area we passed on

 the way up here?"

 "The one with all the fifty-five-gallon drums

 stacked up?"

 "That's it. Take some Rebs and some trucks and

 get down there. Cut the tops off of them and bring them

 back up here. We'll fill them with loose-packed

 dirt and saturate that with gasoline. We can use

 them for heating purposes and to give us light this

 night. Go, boy!"

 Buddy was off and running.

 "Beth, bump HQ and tell them to get a

 truckload of flares up here. When that's done,

 tell General Striganov and Ike to go to full

 alert-everybody up and ready this night."

 "Yes, sir."

 Thermopolis was curious about that. "Why those last

 orders, Ben Raines?"

 "If you were in the creepies" shoes, wouldn't you

 call a close ally and ask him to take the

 pressure off?"

 "Ahh! Yes. I certainly would."

 Ben smiled and walked away, whistling an old

 tune

 from the fifties: "Let the Good Times Roll!"

 "Doesn't anything ever bother that man?"

 Zipper asked

 Thermopolis.

 "Yes." His reply was slow as he cut his eyes

 to Jerre.

 "And she's standing right over there."

 The demolition teams began bringing the buildings

 down, the shattering crashes sending huge clouds of

 dust swirling upward, joining the dark smoke from the

 burning building.

 Buddy and his teams worked swiftly with the barrels,

 filling them with dirt and saturating the dirt with

 gasoline. The barrels were placed half a dozen

 to a short block, more to a longer block, and

 into buildings the Rebels would occupy that cold winter

 night. Portable coal-burning stoves were brought

 down with the hot food, the Rebels taking shifts

 eating and sipping scalding hot coffee. The food

 and the coffee chased away the weariness brought on from the

 frantic work of that afternoon.

 All of the Rebels longed for a hot bath, but all

 knew that was impossible. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe. For

 now, they would tolerate their grimy hands and faces

 and the stale smell from their bodies.

 South of Ben's area, the elusive, seldom-seen

 but friendly Underground People had taken up

 positions in Central Park. Gene Savie's people

 were scattered along a dozen-block area, and

 Colonel West and his mercenaries had sealed off

 86th Street, west to east, over to the Carl

 Schurz Park. The Rebels had placed many of the

 creepies in a box, and Ben was determined to put the

 lid on the box, nail it shut, and bury it.

 Then he would deal with Khamsin.

 The still-burning buildings cast weird dancing shapes

 and shadows flickering across the snowy street as

 demolition crews worked in the night, planting more

 charges and bringing down more of the old long-abandoned

 buildings. As the Night People tried to make their

 escape above ground, their underground tunnels

 blocked and collapsed, the Rebels shot them as they

 ran.

 Those creepies who actually made it out of the ruins

 had but one direction to run-south-and when they did, they

 ran smack into Savie's survivors, the

 mysterious Underground People, and Colonel West and his

 mercenaries. The few night crawlers who made it

 into the park in the curve of the East River were hammered

 to the cold earth by lead from hidden machine-gun

 emplacements.

 Ben sat in the relative warmth of a ruined

 building, sipping on a mug of coffee, smiling,

 savoring the sweet aroma of hot coffee and the equally

 sweet taste of victory. He knew there would

 continue to be battles between his forces and the Night People,

 probably right up to the moment he would lead his forces

 out of New York City- and he would lead them out-b

 the back and both legs of the cannibalistic

 creepies had been broken.

 Thermopolis sat a few feet from Ben, watching the

 man munch on a biscuit and sip his coffee. "I

 don't suppose," Thermopolis said, "now that you

 feel the Night People have been routed, you'd care

 to tell us how you plan on dealing with the Libyan?"

 Ben met his eyes. "He'll have to come to us."

 "Why? Why can't he just sit over there in New

 Jersey and starve us out?"

 "For one thing, he doesn't have the food to outlast us.

 I'm betting I'm right on that. Neither does he have

 the patience. Those people aren't accustomed to harsh winters,

 and this winter is a long way from being over. He knows

 we have him outgunned with long-range artillery. He

 has two very shaky allies in Monte and Ashley.

 He's going to have to make his move very quickly, or those

 two will cut and run. Sister Voleta-and keep in

 mind that she is a nut-and her followers,

 all trash and scum, will soon weary of the waiting;

 I've dealt with them before. Therefore, to keep his army

 intact, Khamsin will have to come to us."

 Especially after I put the needle to him,

 Ben thought.

 "You want him to come to us, don't you?"

 "Yes. Now that his forces have been cut in half."

 Thermopolis sipped his coffee-real coffee, now that

 a large warehouse had been discovered in the city-and

 studied Ben Raines. Jersey and Beth and Jerre

 were all huddled together. He didn't think they were

 asleep, but they weren't far from the arms of

 Morpheus. Cooper and Buddy and a few other

 Rebels were watching and listening to the exchange.

 "You could get us off this island right now, couldn't you,

 Ben Raines?"

 Ben smiled at the man. "Now why would you think a

 thing like that, Therm?"

 "Because you're sneaky and calculating and would never let

 yourself be put in a box without an escape hole,

 that's why."

 But Ben would only smile and offer no comment.

 "If you have a plan," Thermopolis pressed, "and

 something were to happen to you, how would the rest of us know what

 to do?"

 "Assuming I have a plan, there will be others I will have

 taken into my confidence. Relax, Therm, we're

 going to win this fight."

 "And the next one and the next one and more after that, right,

 Ben Raines?"

 "Sure. Many years of fighting face us. You and your

 bunch better stick with us, Therm."

 "Why?"

 "Simple. You're marked now. All up and down and

 across the nation, the word has gone out among the filth and

 crud and warlords and what-have-you: the hippie has

 traded his peace symbol for a gun. . . ."

 "But we've always carried guns."

 "But you never before linked up with me, Therm. You were

 pretty much left alone because you people would fight if

 pressed into it. Now look at you. Combat boots,

 body armor, battle dress, and you're commanding your

 own detachment, a part of a larger army. Ben

 Raines's Rebels. And whether you like it or not,

 you'll leave here knowing a hell of a lot more about

 survival than you did coming in. And you'll put it

 to use."

 "So?"

 "Other small groups of people who think like you-and I'm

 not saying your way of thinking is wrong, because

 it isn't-will join your group, your commune, whatever you

 call it. Your ranks will swell and you'll have a

 settlement, a town, with schools and medical

 facilities and so forth. And others of a different ilk

 will try to take it from you. And what will you do?" Ben

 shrugged. "Fight. . . it's human nature."

 He smiled at the hippie. "Welcome aboard,

 Therm."

 Thermopolis did not return the smile. "All that

 you just said need not necessarily be true."

 "Ah, but it is, my friend. You're not going to allow

 what you have built and what you will build to be taken from

 you. For all your beads and long hair and noble words,

 you and I are not that much different."

 "The hell you say!"

 "Don't you have rules widiin your commune?"

 "Of course," Thermopolis said indignantly, but

 with a sinking feeling that he was going to lose this debate.

 Bastard was tricky.

 "Why do you have rules if you're such a free spirit?"

 Thermopolis pointed a finger at Ben. "We have

 rules, not inflexible laws like you and your group."

 "Bullshit, Therm. What do you do when one of your

 group turns bad and rapes or kills or

 steals?"

 "That has never happened since we've been together."

 The son of a bitch is about to trap me again,

 Thermopolis thought.

 "Why hasn't it happened, Therm? If your

 society is so free and open and so forth? You just let

 in anybody who comes wandering up, right?"

 "No, Ben Raines, we don't do that."

 "Ah! You don't. So you must have a certain code,

 or set of laws-

 rules,

 since we're playing semantics here-that you go by,

 right?"

 "Yes, Ben Raines," Thermopolis said

 wearily. "We do." Bastard!

 "You have schools, Therm?"

 "Of course, we have schools!"

 "We have schools. You have medical facilities?"

 "Of course, we do!"

 "So do we. Is there a system of government within your

 organization? Someone to whom people come to make the final

 decisions."

 "In some cases, yes."

 "And that person is ... ?"

 "Me, Ben Raines!"

 "And there are basic . . .

 rules

 that anyone joining must agree to abide by, right?"

 "Yes," Thermopolis sighed.

 "Do you have a system worked out as far as who does what

 if you are attacked?"

 "Yes, Ben."

 "So you have an army. I'm sure you call it a

 home defense force, or something like that. Maybe it

 isn't even named. But you have, nevertheless, people who give

 orders and people who take them, right? If you didn't,

 the force would be unworkable, right?"

 "Yes, Ben."

 A crashing explosion and the following sounds of a

 building coming down halted the exchange momentarily.

 "Are you and your group stagnant, Therm?" Ben

 picked it up.

 "What do you mean?"

 "Are you content with the status quo? Do you experiment with

 food crops, seeking ways to grow more and better

 food, say, without the use of chemicals that

 ultimately poison the earth?"

 "Yes, goddammit!"

 "So do we. Do you believe now, or before the war, that

 animals of the forest should be hunted for sport?"

 "No, Ben Raines. I never thought of that

 as sport."

 "Neither did I. Are you or were you opposed to the

 trapping of animals?"

 "I used to destroy traps whenever I found them. I

 think trapping is cruel."

 "Well, now, isn't that quite the coincidence? So do

 I.

 Damn, Therm, if we keep going this way,

 agreeing on everything, we're likely to discover that

 we're soul-mates, or something like that."

 "Good God, spare me that!" Thermopolis's comment

 was Mojave-dry.

 "Oh, we'll always have something to argue about, Therm.

 But there isn't fifteen cents' worth of real

 difference between us."

 Thermopolis looked at him, clearly disgusted with

 himself. "Music!"

 Ben laughed. "I don't care what kind of music

 you listen to, Thermopolis. Just as long as you

 don't try to force me to listen to it."

 "I give up," Thermopolis said, waving his hand.

 "You may be a bastard, but you probably can't help

 it."

 Ben jerked his .45 out of leather, jacked the hammer

 back, pointed the muzzle at

 Thermopolis, and pulled the trigger.

 Thermopolis felt the heat of the big slug as it

 passed within an inch of his right ear. The events had

 taken place so swiftly he had not had time to exit

 the backless chair in which he'd been sitting.

 He heard a choked-off scream behind him and looked

 around. A black-robed creepie was draped over the

 windowsill, blood leaking out of his bullet-torn

 throat. The creep bubbled and gurgled and then was

 jerked out of the window by a couple of Rebels. He was

 finished with a single shot to the head.

 "Sorry about that, Therm," Ben said, easing the

 hammer down on the .45. "But I didn't have time

 to warn you."

 "Perfectly all right, Ben Raines." He rubbed

 his right ear. "I thought I'd said something to irritate

 you."

 Ben smiled and shook his head. "Let's get a

 few hours' sleep while we can. I have a gut

 feeling that Khamsin is going to pull something this

 night."

 "Let them come, let them come," Ike whispered

 into his headset mike, as his eyes pierced the

 darkness through night glasses.

 The tanks had lowered their cannon to the

 minimum elevation. Rebels knelt and lay behind

 .50-caliber machine guns. Mortar crews were

 constantly changing angle,

 matching the slow movement of the dozens of light boats

 being paddled and oared across the Hudson from the slips

 at Hoboken to the docks along Eleventh Avenue,

 Manhattan side.

 "Flares!" Ike ordered.

 A dozen flares were fired into the air, their

 brilliance lighting up the night sky and trapping the

 Hot Wind's men in a blaze of artificial

 light.

 "Fire!" Ike yelled.

 From 14th Street all the way down to Clarkson the

 shoreline trembled and thundered with gunfire.

 "Flares!" Georgi Striganov ordered, from his

 position on the river's edge at 155th Street,

 miles north of Ike's position.

 And Thermopolis lay in his sleeping bag and looked

 at Ben. The general was sitting up, rolling a

 cigarette and chuckling softly.

 "Is all this a joke to you, General?"

 The others, including Buddy, lay awake in their

 sleeping bags, listening.

 "Oh, no, Therm. War is never a

 joke. But victory is very sweet. I would

 imagine the Hot Wind tried to put a thousand men

 on the island this night. He lost them all. That

 knocks the odds down to just about even."

 "And now what, Ben Raines?"

 "Well, Thermopolis, in the morning, we put it

 to a vote among all the Rebels and the Russians

 and the Canadians and the hippies and Emil's group

 and the Underground People and Gene Savie's bunch."

 "Put what to a vote?"

 "You're going to be amazed, Therm." Ben ground out

 his cigarette and slipped back into his sleeping

 bag, closing his eyes.

 At dawn, the shoreline was littered with the washed-up

 bodies of the men of the Hot Wind. They lay frozen

 and stiffening in the cold air.

 "Beth," Ben said, "get me all commanders on the

 horn."

 "On scramble, sir?"

 Ben paused. "No. Let Khamsin hear this. As

 a matter of fact, broadcast some bullshit for a

 few minutes to make sure they've got us."

 Beth opened the frequency and proceeded to say a

 large and very profane number of highly

 uncomplimentary things about the Hot Wind,

 his mother and father, and any brothers and sisters he might

 have had, and even insinuated some unhealthy relationship

 between Khamsin and a goat, back when Khamsin was a

 boy in Libya. Then, with a satisfied smile on

 her lips, she contacted all commanders and handed the

 mike to Ben.

 "You amaze me, Beth!" Ben said. "I didn't

 even think you knew words like that!"

 "Our countries may no longer exist, General, but

 I'm still a Jew and that lousy no-good bastard across the

 river is still an Arab terrorist." Then she spoke

 in very fast Hebrew.

 "What did you just say?" Thermopolis asked her.

 "I prayed that a camel would chew off his

 testicles!"

 "My word!" Dan said, pausing in sipping his morning

 tea.

 Ben sat down in a battered old chair, threw

 back his head and laughed.

 He wiped his eyes and picked up the mike.

 Khamsin had been notified and was listening, shaking,

 livid with rage. He muttered dark threats about

 what he would do to a certain Jew bitch if he ever

 got his hands on her.

 "This is General Ben Raines," Ben

 began. "From all reports received over the past

 twelve hours, it's apparent that we have broken the

 backs of the Night P. That does not mean that we have

 wiped them out. We'll be fighting them for some time

 to come. But they are no longer the main threat.

 "Our main concern now is that silly bastard across the

 river in New Jersey. The Hot Fart."

 Khamsin began jumping up and down, screaming

 curses upon Ben's head.

 "We could roll right over into New Jersey and kick

 his ass, but the man has no honor and none of us could

 trust him if he said we would be allowed safe

 passage across the bridge."

 "No honor!" Khamsin squalled. "Kick my

 ass!" He picked up a chair and hurled it across

 the room.

 Sister Voleta was listening in another section of the

 battered city. She had called for a meeting with

 Monte and Ashley. Both men had crossed back

 into New Jersey to join Khamsin and his people. Sister

 Voleta listened and shook her head.

 "Typical Ben Raines," she said. "Don't

 fall for it, gentlemen. I know the man. Buddy

 Raines is my son."

 Both knew that, but still found it hard

 to believe. Sister Voleta was a pure basket

 case, but as is often the case, a highly

 intelligent one.

 "Ben is playing with Khamsin. And if Khamsin

 buys it, Ben will destroy him. Bet on it. You just

 listen, and you'll see what I mean."

 "So, to all forces fighting under my command, here it is;

 put it to a vote. That's the Rebel way. If the

 Hot Wind wants this city so badly, all right,

 we'll just invite him over and he can damn well

 try to take it. Personally, I don't think that

 ignorant headien has the balls to do it. So

 we'll see. Vote on it, people. Let me have your

 reply by noon. Eagle out."

 Khamsin was screaming his rage, pacing the office,

 waving his arms, yelling curses.

 "If he takes Ben up on his offer," Sister

 Voleta said, "we don't go. With our people, we can

 lie back and wait until Ben kicks

 Khamsin's butt-and he will. Believe it. But Ben

 will lose some people doing it. Then, as Raines tries

 to leave, we ambush him."

 "I like it!" Monte smiled.

 "So do I," Ashley said.

 Sister Voleta smiled.

 "Heathen!" Khamsin screamed, slamming both hands

 down on a tabletop. "How dare that filthy rabid

 dog call me a heathen!"

 Ben looked out over the ruined and still-burning sector

 of the city. Bodies of night crawlers lay like

 huge roaches, sprawled on the dirty, sooty

 snow. "Collect all weapons and ammo," Ben

 ordered. "We're going to need them."

 "The bodies, General?"

 Ben hesitated. The death barges were full of

 frozen creepies, and his people were getting tired of

 hauling away dead crud. "Throw them on what's

 left of the still-burning buildings. Burn them."

 The cold winter air stank of death, the smell was

 trapped in their clothing and seemed a permanent stink

 in their nostrils.

 "Have you received a report from West on last night's

 fighting, Beth?"

 "Hundreds of dead creepies, sir. Tina's

 working it up right now. Buddy and Thermopolis are

 working up a guesstimate of the dead up here."

 "Our losses, Beth?"

 "Five dead, fifteen wounded, one seriously.

 Most of the wounded were transported to the hospital."

 "Give the orders to wrap it up here,

 Beth. Let's head back to the CP for a warm bath

 and a change of clothes."

 A smile creased the woman's grimy face.

 "No one's going to gripe about that order, General."

 They bathed in warm water and then rinsed off under a

 cold shower-quickly. The smell of smoke and dirt and

 death was tossed out into the streets and into the alleys and

 quickly froze.

 Jersey tapped on Ben's door just as he was

 finishing shaving. "Come."

 "Report from the Underground People, sir. They say the

 Judges left the city early this morning. Before

 dawn. I don't know how they'd know that. But they were

 pretty positive about it."

 Ben slapped on some expensive after-shave he'd

 found in a department store. Jersey stood staring at

 the bullet scars that pocked Ben's hide. Ben

 slipped into a thermal

 undershirt and then into a field shirt, hooking his body

 armor over that.

 "If it's true, and I have no reason to doubt

 it-those Underground People are a strange and mysterious

 bunch comx means the creepies are just about finished.

 We'll have little potboilers with those left in the city,

 but for the most part, it's over with them. Any

 word yet on the voting?"

 "I haven't heard, area-wide, sir. But up

 here, including the hippies and Emil Hite's

 bunch, it was unanimous that we stay and finish it with

 Khamsin."

 Ben turned to face her. "Not one negative

 vote?"

 "No, sir."

 "I figured Thermopolis would cast a negative

 vote just to be ornery. He got hot the other night

 when I told him that back in the days when this country

 was more or less whole, if a person didn't

 vote, they had no right to bitch about what was happening

 within and without their government. Of course, I didn't

 believe that then and don't now, but I enjoyed getting

 his goat."

 Tina stepped into the office. "Voting is in,

 Dad. The only people who voted against inviting

 Khamsin in and kicking ass were Gene Savie's

 people."

 Ben nodded his head. "I expected that. Hell with the

 Savies. Jersey, have Beth call for a meeting with the

 commanders, up here." He looked at his watch. "As

 quickly as possible."

 For the first time, Ben met with a

 representative of the Underground P. The man was very

 pale and wore dark glasses against the reflected

 glare of wan sunlight off the snow. But he looked

 to be in excellent physical shape.

 "Paul," he said, introducing himself and shaking

 Ben's hand. "Are you going to destroy the city,

 General?" Paul came right to the point.

 "I don't know, Paul," Ben lied. "If I

 did, how much of a hardship would that be for you and your people?"

 "Very little. There are many cities. You realize, of

 course, that you have not destroyed the Night People?

 There are several thousand still in the city, and that many more in

 other boroughs."

 "Yes, I believe that. Leaderless and confused.

 They'll still present something of a problem. You're

 sure the Judges have left the city?"

 "Oh, yes. They went up into Canada.

 Montreal, I would think."

 Striganov, Rebet, and Danjou stirred at that

 news.

 "To start a new colony of creepies?" Ike

 asked.

 "No," Paul said. "To join the one already there.

 It's worldwide, ladies and gentlemen. The perversion

 began more than a hundred years ago. It

 skyrocketed after the Great War. I would guess there

 are several million of them around the globe.

 Believe me when I say that Hawaii is now

 anything but a paradise."

 "I think you said the same thing, Dad," Tina

 reminded her father.

 "Yes," Ben remembered. "Well, right now

 let's talk about defeating Khamsin."

 "Why did you throw down such a challenge, General

 Raines?" Paul asked.

 "Khamsin has long-range artillery. We have more,

 but his is ample. Now that he no longer has

 to worry about harming any allies in this city, he could

 do us some damage if this thing settled into a battle

 of cannons. I'd rather have him over here for several

 reasons. One, by now, we're all familiar with this

 city-we're dug in deep and tight. Two,

 Khamsin does not know the city. Three, Khamsin

 is not a street-fighter; every time we've got him in

 a city, we've kicked his butt. He's a

 terrorist and not a very good field tactician. Not

 when it comes to moving around big armies.

 "Now then, I've got people working right now planting

 charges on all the bridges connecting this island. I

 have other teams working at making certain there

 won't be a boat or a ship or a barge or a

 ferry left that'll float when we decide to pull

 out. And when we do pull out, it's going to be a

 wild, mad run for it."

 "Are you going to tell Savie and his people about this

 plan?" Paul asked. "I see they have no

 representative present."

 "No, Paul, I don't intend to inform them of

 anything. I don't trust them."

 "That is a wise decision," Paul said.

 "West, what is your opinion of Savie and his

 group? You've been working fairly close with them for a

 few days."

 West sighed. "I just don't know, Ben. You

 remember that Savie told you that originally there were

 thousands of people like him. I don't believe that. There

 is no sign that the park has ever sustained more gardens

 than it has now. I think he told you a

 bald-faced lie about that. Also, they never seem

 to mix it up with the Night P. Not directly. They

 burn up a lot of ammo, but account for damn few

 bodies. They're either the worst shots in the history

 of warfare, or they're deliberately missing."

 Ben looked at Paul, the man's eyes unreadable

 behind the dark glasses. "Your opinion,

 Paul?"

 "Like Mr. West, I don't know. I've never

 fully trusted any of them. But I do not think they

 are in any direct cahoots with the Night P. Not

 anymore. I ... well, I think they're just very

 self-contained and selfish people. Very snobbish people. As

 to them not being able to hit anything with weapons ... I

 think they have never had to become proficient with

 weapons, and now-for some reason-they have become very

 frightened people. I also think that they, long ago, made a

 deal with the Night P. Perhaps that agreement fell through

 some months ago. I've given that some thought over the

 past weeks. That's what I lean toward."

 "You mean, sort of a live-and-let-live

 policy?" Ike asked.

 "Yes. Precisely. Then the Night People-this is

 conjecture, please understand-became greedy, or

 regretted their agreement, and began turning on

 Savie and his people. But as I said, over the past few

 months, my people seldom ventured above ground."

 "If they collaborated with the cannibals, then that

 makes them just as bad as the creepies," Tina said,

 her expression that of someone who had just tasted something very

 unpalatable.

 Several others muttered about what ought to be

 done to those so-called survivors around Central

 Park.

 Ben held up his hand for silence. "We have no

 proof, people. Let's don't condemn them without some

 proof."

 Thermopolis stood up. "Ben Raines, it isn't

 reasonable that a small group of people could survive in

 rtiis city for almost fifteen years-not only

 survive, but live well- surrounded by thirty or

 forty thousand of these cannibals."

 "Just relax, people. I've had my own suspicions

 of Savie and his people since long before I first met with

 them. But we're not going to do anything just yet. I

 might decide to use them as grist for the mill. So

 to speak," he added dryly.

 They all knew better than to push for any further

 details. But they all knew that Ben Raines could

 be a very vindictive man if pushed. None wanted

 to be in the shoes of Savie's group if they had

 collaborated with the Night P.

 "We're going to let Khamsin bubble in his own stew

 for a few days," Ben said. "And while he's doing a

 slow burn," Ben smiled, "and he will be doing a

 slow burn, we'll take that time to formulate

 plans, resupply, rest, and go over

 equipment." He stood up. "Now let's get

 down to the bolts of this operation. We got the nuts

 waiting for us across the river."

 "Emil," Sister Sarah said to the little con artist,

 "what did our friend Thermopolis say after returning

 from the meeting with the Great General Raines?"

 Emil glanced at the woman. Since he had been

 in New York City, he had almost forgotten about his

 scam and his fictitious god Blomm. Time to be

 thinking about that. For if Ben Raines said they would be

 home by spring, they would be home by spring. Time

 to crank up the old scam machine, he reckoned.

 "We shall be home by spring, Sister. Just in time for the

 planting of our gardens."

 "I will be glad, Brother Emil. This place is

 so dreary. And I do miss your sermons and dances of

 praise to the Great Blomm."

 God!

 Emil thought. still

 hope she don't ask me to dance today. All this snow

 and ice and I'd bust my ass for sure.

 "And I miss doing them, Sister. But I have been in

 touch with Blomm in private-it's the best I can do

 with all the action around us. He has not forgotten us.

 Now run along, my little chickie. I must

 pray."

 Thermopolis and Rosebud had been standing close enough

 to hear the exchange. After Sister Sarah had gone

 her way, Thermopolis smiled and said, "How long

 have you been running this scam, Emil?"

 Emil looked around frantically and put a finger

 to his lips. "Shush that talk!" he whispered

 hoarsely. "You'll

 call down the wrath of Blomm upon your head."

 "Blomm's butt!" Rosebud said.

 Emil cast his eyes Heavenward and clasped his hands

 together. "Forgive them, O Great One. They know not of

 whom they speak."

 "It doesn't take you long to get back into your

 act," Thermopolis told him. "I ask again:

 How long have you had this scam running, Emil?"

 "Oh, piss on it!" Emil muttered. He

 walked to the couple. "Years."

 "Oh, I'm not condemning you, Emil. Whatever works

 for you." Thermopolis smiled at him. "I ran

 into an old friend of yours earlier this summer."

 "Oh?"

 "Francis Freneau."

 "Crap!" Emil said. "Long Dong himself."

 "I didn't tell him that so-called

 "Heavenly explosion" that sent him galloping out of

 Louisiana was a rocket fired from Big Louie's

 camp out in Kansas."

 "Thank you. How in the hell did you know that,

 Thermy?"

 "Friends of ours have a small commune out there. We

 talk back and forth by shortwave equipment."

 "How is that jerk, anyway?"

 "Doing well. He has him a small group of

 followers up in the hills and hollows of

 Kentucky. He's gone into snake-handling."

 "Good! I hope one bites him on the d . . ."

 He lookedat Rosebud and clamped off the last

 bit. "dis . . elbow," he finished it.

 She laughed at the expression on his face.

 "Snake-handling!" Emil shuddered. "I knew he

 was crazy. I didn't think he was ignorant!"

 "He's defanged the ones he handles."

 "I should hope. What's he have to say about me?"

 "Glowing praises. And that's the truth. He says

 as long as you leave him alone, he'll leave you

 alone." Thermopolis laughed. "He told us that

 after that rocket blew-and he still isn't convinced that it

 wasn't the god Blomm-he

 couldn't get it up for a month."

 "Serves him right. With what he's got to offer, he

 needs a rest."

 Rosebud shook her head and laughed. "Hasn't

 anybody ever told you that it isn't the size of the

 boat, but rather the motion of the ocean, Emil? And," she

 added, "a certain emotion called love has a lot

 to do with it, too."

 "Love, baloney. I been in love lots of

 times." He sighed and his shoulders slumped. "No .

 . . that's a lie. I don't think I ever have. I

 been too busy chasin' women to fall in love. In

 heat, yeah! Love, no."

 "You're going to look up one of these days, Emil,

 and there she'll stand. The girl of your dreams."

 "Tell you good folks the truth, I kind of like things

 the way they are now." Sister Susie walked by and

 smiled at him. Emil grinned as he eyeballed

 her posterior. "See what I mean? Ta-ta,

 folks. I think Sister Susie needs some

 counseling." Emil went tripping off behind Sister

 Susie.

 "He's incorrigible!" Rosebud said.

 "True. But it's like Ben says: His followers know

 it's a con, and Emil doesn't hurt

 anybody."

 "How is the, ah, situation between Ben Raines and

 Jerre?"

 "No better. It never will be any better, and Ben

 knows that, I think. I think right now the both of them

 are having a good time snarling at each other."

 The tension was, as the saying goes, thick enough to cut

 with a knife.

 Ben sat in his CP, alone with Jerre, who had

 been given the job of figuring out how long their

 existing supplies would last, and it wasn't a job

 she was particularly thrilled with. She made that clear

 by muttering under her breath from time to time.

 Ben looked up from a city map. Jersey and Beth

 and Cooper were in another office, the door closed.

 The silent but stinging vibrations-mostly bad-that had

 been

 bouncing around between Ben and Jerre had gotten too much

 for them to take.

 "Jerre, if you don't like that job, give it to someone

 else to do. But please stop with the mumbling."

 Silence from the outer office.

 "That's better. Thank you." Ben returned to the

 studying of the maps. The George Washington

 Bridge could not be used. So that meant that

 Khamsin-if he crossed over onto the

 island-would have to go all the way up to the Tappan

 Zee Bridge, or come all the way down to Staten

 Island and cross over into Brooklyn, then use one

 of the three bridges at the lower end of

 Manhattan.

 And Ben didn't want that. He wanted Khamsin

 to come in from the north.

 But how to get him to do that?

 Mutter, mumble from the other room.

 With a sigh, Ben pushed back from the desk and walked

 to the open door. "Why don't you just give me a

 ball-park figure as to supplies, Jerre?"

 She looked up for a few seconds, then read from a

 legal pad. "About twenty-five thousand rounds of

 ammo for each Rebel. Several hundred grenades

 per Rebel. Enough food to last for approximately

 a year. Approximately twenty thousand

 AKBLEDG'S taken from the dead creepies, and half

 a million rounds of ammo." She plopped the pad

 onto a desk. "You want more?"

 "No, that will do. That pretty well matches up with the

 first report."

 She glared at him. "You mean . . . you already had

 these figures?"

 "Of course. I always have someone do a

 second report. That cuts down on the chance for

 error."

 Another round of low muttering while Ben stood and

 smiled at her.

 Dan entered the offices and almost took a step back

 as the vibrations from the man and woman struck him.

 "We found what you requested, General. Some of them

 are a bit rat-chewed, but most are in good shape."

 "Very good, Dan." He looked at his watch.

 Plenty of time. "Let's start getting them up and

 flying. That should really set the Hot Wind to puffing and

 blowing."

 From Castle Clinton in Battery Park, all the

 way up to the Bronx County line, flags began

 going up. American flags, Canadian flags,

 and Russian flags. Dan had sent people over to the

 UN building and found enough flags for the duration. The

 entire waterfront began to resemble a

 Tri-Country flag day celebration as the

 multicolored banners fluttered in the cold wind.

 On the New Jersey side, this was pointed out to an

 already highly irritated Khamsin. It did nothing

 to improve his dark mood.

 Ben had asked Thermopolis to write a song, and

 he had swiftly composed a little ditty that,

 if the countries still existed, would have done

 absolutely nothing to improve relations between

 America and the Arab world, since the song was about

 several past Arab leaders and compared them to what

 normally falls behind certain disagreeable pack

 animals of the desert.

 Then Ben set up broadcasting equipment and

 Thermopolis, strumming a guitar, began serenading

 Khamsin and the troops of the Hot Wind.

 Since Khamsin's idols were such wonderfully noble

 and deeply religious people as the Ayatollah

 Khomeini, Muammar al-Qaddafi, and other

 terrorists, and since Thermopolis used words that were

 somewhat less than complimentary in describing those people,

 Khamsin almost had a stroke when Thermopolis's

 voice blasted out of the speakers.

 Khamsin immediately ordered all radios to be turned

 down and ordered all troops into prayer, beseeching

 Allah to strike Ben Raines dead on the spot.

 Please?

 Allah must have been taking a nap that day, for Ben

 Raines remained very much alive and well in

 Manhattan and was thoroughly enjoying sticking the

 needle to Khamsin.

 Even Jerre's mood improved as she

 listened to Ther-mopolis sing his songs, many times

 making them upas he went along. Emil wrote a

 little ditty about Khamsin, and he and Thermopolis

 joined voices and words. Then everybody started

 writing songs about Khamsin, and the airwaves were

 filled with song. Not a whole lot of talent, but

 everybody seemed to have a good time. On the

 Manhattan side of the Hudson, that is.

 Ben ordered that the songs be taped so they could be

 played around the clock.

 "Get Khamsin on the horn, Beth," he

 requested.

 But the Hot Wind was so angry he refused to speak

 with Ben.

 "Just as well," Ben said. "Beth, how about you and some

 of the others getting together and serenading

 the

 Hot Wind and his troops with some happy Jewish

 songs. That ought to really set his cork to popping."

 Upon hearing Beth and other Jewish Rebels singing

 songs in that hated language, drifting across the

 cold waters through massive speakers set up along

 the waterfront, Khamsin ordered his people to pull

 back, out of range of the concert speakers.

 Khamsin went to sleep that night with the

 unholy melodies still rambling around in his brain.

 He ground his teeth together and cursed Ben Raines in

 his fitful and restless slumber.

 But not all the Rebels took part in the serenading of

 Khamsin and his army. Many worked through the day and night

 reinforcing positions, mining bridges, and laying

 electronically detonated charges all around the

 city, smiling and humming as they worked.

 Ben went to sleep that night smiling. And not even the

 ever-present image of Jerre before his eyes could

 erase the smile on his lips.

 He awakened abruptly as the sharp stink of Night

 People filled his nostrils. In the darkness, Ben rose

 and quickly dressed, buckling his body armor in

 place. He

 picked up his Thompson, clicked it off safety,

 and slipped into the anteroom. The smell faded as

 he left his office. He looked around at the

 sleeping forms. Ben touched Buddy on the shoulder and the

 young man came awake instantly.

 Ben knelt down and whispered, "Slip into my

 office and take a good whiff."

 Buddy was back in a few seconds. He sat on

 the edge of his cot and pulled on his boots.

 "Creepies in the building for sure," he

 whispered. "I think they've managed to work their way

 into the closed-up rooms next to your office."

 "Probably scaled the building." Ben woke the

 others and alerted them with soft whispered words. "Heads

 up, gang. We got creepies in the building."

 Before everyone could dress, one entire wall of

 Ben's office blew out in front of a massive,

 almost deafening explosion. Had Ben not awakened, he

 would have certainly been killed.

 The explosion knocked everyone sprawling as small

 items became lethal objects, hurled in front

 of the blast.

 Ben was knocked through the closed hall door and found

 himself sprawled on his back in the dark hallway.

 He had lost his grip on his Thompson.

 As dark shapes moved toward him, their body odor

 leading the way, Ben shook his head to clear the

 cobwebs, and clawed out his locked and loaded .45.

 He emptied the weapon into the knot of creepies,

 then jerked a grenade from his battle harness, pulled

 the pin, and hurled the grenade toward the far end of the

 hall.

 He scrambled on his hands and knees back into his

 debris-filled office and found his Thompson just as

 the grenade blew. Screaming bounced around

 the dark and deadly hallway as automatic-weapons

 fire cut through the bloody gloom.

 Ben found Beth, frantically trying to contact

 somebody by walkie-talkie. "Big radio took

 a chunk of something, General. It's out."

 Ben listened for a moment; it seemed that gunfire was

 all around them, from the street level up. "It's a

 full-scale attack, Beth. The creepies are

 throwing everything they've

 got at us. And it's considerable. Tell the people to stand

 and hold."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Anybody hurt?" Ben asked, looking around him,

 trying to see through the murk.

 "A few cuts and bruises, is all," Cooper

 said.

 Before Ben could reply, another hard explosion

 shattered the night and the roof fell in on top of those

 in Ben's CP.

 Ben was driven to his knees when a chunk of

 debris hit him on the back. It knocked him off

 balance more than hurt him, and it pissed him off that the

 creepies could still manage to penetrate Rebel

 security. And his Thompson was buried somewhere under

 all the rubble. He grabbed up an

 MH-ANDAN ammo pouch-the ammo hopefully for the old

 Thunder Lizard-and swung the muzzle around j ust as

 a horde of black-robes came running through the

 ruined wall of his office.

 "The woman!" one shouted. "Get the bastard's

 woman."

 Ben leveled the M14 and held the trigger back,

 filling his shattered office with .308 slugs and

 knocking creepies in all directions.

 "Jerre!" he shouted, over the rattle of weapons.

 No reply.

 "She's over there, Father," came Buddy's calm

 voice. "Buried under all this crap. She seems

 to be all right. Just knocked out."

 "Grenades," Ben ordered, pulling an HE

 grenade from his battle harness and jerking the pin just as

 Buddy and Cooper were doing the same. Jersey and

 Beth were covering what was left of the doorway leading

 to the hall, and there wasn't a hell of a lot left

 of the hall.

 The grenades blew, and the screaming that followed told

 the Rebels they had landed right on the mark. Buddy

 sprayed the darkness with .45 slugs and ended

 the screaming.

 "It's happening all over the city,

 General," Beth told him, as her

 walkie-talkie ceased its transmission.

 "Scattered, but very intense."

 Flames were spreading from two rooms over as Ben

 found his Thompson and slung it. He crawled over

 to Jerre, who was sitting up with the aid of Jersey.

 "Get her out of here," Ben told some Rebels who

 materialized in the shattered doorway. "Take her

 to Doctor Chase. And don't leave her side for

 any reason. That is a direct order."

 "Yes, sir!" One slung Jerre over his shoulder

 and they were gone.

 "Grab whatever you can salvage," Ben said. "Then

 let's get the hell out of here."

 Working as quickly as they could in all the rubble, the

 Rebels grabbed up whatever they could find and left

 the building just as the flames were spreading all around

 them. They hit the street and ran right into a

 firefight.

 They darted away from the burning building, and Ben

 spread his thin line of Rebels out behind vehicles.

 Lying on the frozen snow, the Rebels went to work.

 "Here they come, gang!" Ben yelled, as he

 shouldered the butt of the M14 and let it rock and

 roll.

 "Stand firm!" Thermopolis yelled, bringing his

 M16 to his shoulder. He grimaced, knowing he was

 beginning to sound like Ben Raines.

 "Oh, Blomm!" Emil yelled. "Hear our

 pleas and strike these heathen dead!"

 A wall of a long-abandoned building chose that time

 to give it up, collapsing on a dozen or more

 creepies, burying them under tons of brick and

 stone.

 Rosebud looked at Thermopolis, questions in her

 eyes. He lowered the Ml 6 and shrugged a "who the

 hell knows" gesture.

 Then none of them had time to think about Blomm or

 anything else except survival as the creepies

 swarmed all over their position.

 Rosebud smacked a creepie in the face with the

 butt of her Mini-14, and her husband shot him in

 the chest as he was falling backward.

 Brother Sonny clubbed one on the noggin, and

 Sister Susie buried a camp axe into his

 skull. "Filthy Godless bastard!" she said.

 Emil was rolling around on the dirty floor with a

 night crawler, both of them screaming like deranged

 banshees. Emil finally rolled on top of the stinking

 crud, a brick in his hand, and clubbed him

 into unconsciousness. He grabbed up his Ml6 and

 crawled back to his position just in time to have another

 creepie hurl himself through the broken window and land right

 on top of Emil, sending them both rolling around on

 the floor.

 "Ye Gods!" Emil squalled. He jammed his

 fingers into the creature's eyes and then drove the

 stiffened fingers of his other hand into the man's throat.

 The night crawler fell to one side, choking and

 gasping for breath. Emil grabbed up his M16 and

 ended the gagging sounds.

 "One more time," he muttered darkly, returning

 to his position, wary of anything that might be lurking

 out in the darkness, waiting to leap at him.

 Emil turned to look into the eyes of a dark-haired

 French Canadian girl who had been cut off from

 her unit.

 ZING!

 With lead flying all around them, the screaming of the dying

 filling the cold night, death all around them, Emil

 fell in love.

 "This building is cleared, General!" Dan called

 from across the snowy, body-littered street. "Lay

 down a covering fire for the general's party!" Dan

 yelled to his Scouts. "Come on,

 General!"

 While the Scouts laid down covering fire, Ben

 and his people zigzagged and slipped and slid and almost fell

 down crossing the icy street. They made it intact

 to the dark and somewhat warmer ground floor of the old

 building.

 "You got a radio that works, Dan?" Ben panted.

 "Here, sir," Dan's operator called.

 Staying low, Ben made his way over to the Rebel and

 took the mike. "This is Eagle. All units

 give me a report."

 "Northernmost unit under heavy attack but holding,

 sir," the strange female voice, slightly

 accented, came out of the speaker.

 "Who is this?" Ben asked.

 "Michelle Jarnot, General. Part of Major

 Danjou's unit. I got cut off."

 "It's love, love, love!" Ben heard someone

 shout.

 He looked at Beth. "Someone is yelling that

 they're in love."

 All heads turned to look at him.

 "Did you say love, sir?" Dan asked.

 Ben listened as someone began singing "Love Me

 Tender." Fans of Elvis had no

 cause for alarm.

 "Yes. Love. Michelle, do you have any wounded

 or dead up there?"

 Whoever it was up there smitten with Cupid's arrows

 began singing "We've Only Just Begun."

 Ben flipped the toggle switch from earphones

 to speaker. His

 "Not in this unit, General. But there is going to be

 someone with a fat lip if they don't keep their hands

 off of me!"

 All heads turned toward the radio.

 "Somebody kindly keep their eyes to the front,"

 Ben said. "We do have creepies out there, people."

 A man's voice came out of the speaker. "This is

 Thermopolis, Ben Raines. Creepies are

 withdrawing. Our situation has stabilized. Which is more

 than I can say for Emil," he added.

 "What's wrong with him?"

 "He's in love!"

 "Ten-four, Thermopolis," Ben said with a chuckle.

 "The situation here has also calmed. Good luck with

 Emil."

 "Thank you, General."

 Ben checked his watch. About three hours until

 dawn. He looked at Dan's

 radioman. "Check with all units. I want a

 status report from each."

 "Yes, sir."

 Ben made his way back to the front of the building.

 "I believe it's over. But stay alert. Fires

 at the rear of the building only. Take shifts

 warming up."

 The last dark hours of morning passed slowly, with

 only an occasional shot blasting the darkness. From their

 position in the storefront, the Rebels could see the

 bodies of Night People sprawled in death on the

 bloody, trampled snow.

 Dan counted heads. "Where is Miss Hunter?"

 "In the hospital. I don't think she's badly

 hurt. When the roof caved in on us she got a

 bump on the head that knocked her out." Ben

 explained what had taken place in his office.

 "Last-ditch desperation attack on their part,"

 Dan said. "I don't think they've got the people to do

 it again."

 "Nor do I. I think from now on it'll be minor

 skirmishes. But," he added, "we've said that before."

 "Quite right."

 As the first fingers of gray dawn began tearing away

 the night, the Rebels began moving stiffly

 out of their positions, some of them jogging in place

 to warm up cold-tightened muscles and get the heart

 rate up and the blood surging.

 "Well, I guess I look for a new CP,"

 Ben said. He turned to Beth, who had scrounged

 around and found another radio. "Advise Doctor

 Chase to get ready to move, Beth. Tell him

 to move everything down to the old NYC Medical

 Center on the East River." He turned to Dan.

 "Make damn sure the Brooklyn Bridge, the

 Williamsburg Bridge, and the Manhattan

 Bridge appear to be disabled, from ground and air.

 Khamsin has got to come at us from the north. Once

 he's committed his people, we throw up a line at

 Eighty-sixth Street. And that's where we hold

 him, Dan."

 "Yes, sir. Your CP?"

 "I don't know."

 "I would suggest somewhere around the old UN

 Headquarters, General. I can guarantee that area

 is free of creepies."

 "All right, Dan. Find me a place. With

 windows," he added, smiling.

 "Yes, sir. I already have one picked out, cleared,

 and set up for you."

 Ben's new CP was in an office building one

 block over from the UN Plaza. It was on the

 second floor, facing Second Avenue, with a good

 broad view. Ben inspected the windows and found they

 had been replaced with bulletproof glass.

 Obviously, Dan had had this place in mind for some

 time.

 On the morning of the second day in his new CP,

 Ben looked up as Jerre appeared in the doorway.

 "Did Chase release you or did you run away?"

 "He released me. I'm all right. I don't

 even have a headache." She looked around. "Nice

 place."

 Ben pointed to her right. "Your office is right there.

 You'll be helping me mark locations of our units as

 we begin to shift them."

 "All right, Ben."

 "Chase get moved?"

 "He's almost finished. He approves of the new

 choice. Is it about to hit the fan, Ben?"

 "A few more days. I'd say five days at the

 most. Intell states there is a lot of activity

 over Khamsin's way." He leaned back in his

 chair and smiled. "Khamsin is moving his people north,

 so it looks like he's taking the bait without

 us having to taunt him any further."

 She moved to a huge wall map and studied it. "So

 he'll cross over here." She placed her finger on

 the Tappan Zee Bridge.

 "Yes. That's the only logical choice. He'd

 have to go miles out of his way to cross over any farther

 north. When he reaches the southern end of Bronx

 County, he'll have his choice of two bridges

 to use entering Manhattan. I don't care which one

 he uses. Certain units will be

 fighting a holding action as he comes over. Just hard

 enough to make him think he's facing our full force.

 When he's got his people over, probably after a

 couple of days, those two bridges up north will be

 blown, electronically, so none of our people will be

 trapped."

 "How about this railroad bridge?" She pointed it

 out.

 "That will go up with the others."

 "All these other bridges linking Manhattan,

 all the way down to the footbridge?"

 "They'll be blown. At least one section of them will

 be knocked out, thus making them unusable for any

 type of vehicular traffic."

 "These three bridges at the south end of

 Manhattan? What about them?"

 "That's our way out of here, Jerre. They'll be

 rendered useless as we bug out-when the time comes."

 "Then . . . you're going to trap Khamsin in

 Manhattan?"

 "That is my plan, yes."

 "And . . . ?"

 "And, what?"

 "They'll eventually get off the island, Ben."

 "No, they won't. At least, not very many of them."

 She sat down in a chair facing his desk. "The

 tunnels under the river-rivers?"

 "Blown. Destroyed. Blocked."

 "Of course, all your top people know of this plan?"

 "As of late yesterday, yes."

 "And now you're telling me. You trust me that much,

 Ben? I didn't think you trusted me at all."

 Ben shrugged. "What reason do I have not to trust you?

 Besides, within two or three days, every Rebel in this

 command will know about the plans. You know how fast camp

 talk spreads."

 "You're that sure that the creepie informants have been

 . . . well, taken care of?"

 "Yes. Dan is very good at that sort of thing." He

 stood up. "Would you like some coffee?"

 "Yes, thank you. It's hard to believe that we've

 been

 alone for five minutes and we're not arguing. It's

 almost like old times, back in Virginia. You

 remember, Ben?"

 "I remember." He sat back behind his desk and

 sipped his coffee, looking at her beauty.

 She met his gaze. "And what about New York

 City, Ben?"

 "What about it?"

 "When we bug out, I mean?"

 He met her gaze, locked with it. Neither one of them

 blinked.

 "You're going to trap Khamsin and his troops in

 Manhattan and then destroy the city, aren't you,

 Ben?"

 "Yes," he said softly.

 The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land;

 you may almost hear the beating of his wings.

 John Bright

 Ben's spotter planes tracked the movements of

 Khamsin and his army as they made their way north,

 proceeding up the Garden State Parkway, staying

 well out of the range of the Rebels" guns.

 And Ben didn't know yet whedier Khamsin

 had any intention of taking him up on his offer to butt

 heads in the city.

 He suspected that Khamsin himself wasn't sure just

 yet. That was why he was moving so slowly, trying

 to make up his mind.

 But that was all right with Ben and his people; the relative

 lull in the action-with only an occasional firefight

 with the creepies-was giving them all some much-needed

 time to rest and for Ben to reposition his units and to have his

 people lay more booby traps and more barricades and to dig

 in deeper.

 Weapons were taken down and carefully cleaned and

 oiled. Cases of Chase's MRE'S were handed out and

 stored, for when this battle began, hot meals were going

 to be the exception rather than the rule. Every member of

 Ben's Rebels would be placed on the line,

 except for the doctors, their staff, and a few

 communications people.

 And Ben had placed spotters on the top floors

 of half a dozen skyscrapers along his

 northernmost area of control, from the Hudson to the

 East River.

 They would be his eyes above the streets, silently

 watching and reporting to the Rebels the movements of

 Khamsin and his troops.

 And the first day they were up, the spotters reported some

 very interesting news to Ben.

 "A lot of movement over in New Jersey,

 General. Looks like the Hot Fart left several

 battalions behind."

 "Keep an eye on them," Ben ordered. "I

 don't think those are Khamsin's people. I'll get

 back to you."

 Ben leaned back in his chair and cut his eyes

 to Ike, telling him of the spotter's news.

 "What'd you make of it, Ike?"

 "Those aren't Khamsin's people. I agree with that."

 Ben looked at the other commanders; they all nodded their

 heads in agreement.

 "Okay, then it has to be Monte and Ashley's

 troops and Sister Voleta's people," Ben said. "But

 why did they stay behind?"

 "Because," Buddy said, "remember that my mother knows you

 well, Father. And she probably guessed that you were

 deliberately taunting Khamsin, to draw him over

 into Manhatttan. My thinking on this matter would be

 that she has convinced Monte and Ashley to join her,

 and not to accompany Khamsin."

 "So what's she got in mind, son?"

 "Killing you would be uppermost on her mind.

 But as to how she plans to do that. . . ?" He

 shrugged. "Bear in mind at all times that my mother is

 brilliantly insane and quite cruel."

 "Why did you stay with her so long, Buddy?" West

 asked the handsome young man.

 "I had no other place to go. And I never knew that

 Ben Raines was really my father until the Old

 One-my grandfather, I think-confirmed it just weeks before

 I left my mother's camp."

 "Whatever your mother is up to, Buddy-and she is your

 mother, don't forget that, crazy or not-I won't

 assign you to fighting her or her people."

 "You may not have a choice in the matter, Father," the

 young man reminded him. "She may be plotting some

 sort

 of ambush."

 "She would have no way of knowing how we plan to bug out

 of here, son."

 But Buddy shook his head. "I don't know, Father.

 Her hatred for you is so strong I sometimes think she

 can see through the miles. I've seen the woman do some

 things that bordered on the supernatural. She was a

 practicing witch, you know?"

 "A witch?" Tina looked at her brother.

 "Yes. Before the Great War. She belonged

 to some sort of satanic cult. She was some sort of

 high priestess." Buddy looked at the expression

 on his father's face and burst out laughing.

 Ben shook his head. "She told me she loved my

 horror stories. Had all my books. She even

 had the bloodiest scenes committed to memory. I

 should have guessed that she might be a little strange.

 Over the months a lot of that. . . brief encounter

 has come back to me."

 "Hell, Ben," Cecil said, "maybe she does

 possess some supernatural abilities. None of

 us can afford to discount anything anymore."

 What the hell do I do?

 Ben thought.

 Walk around carrying a silver bullet or a

 sharpened stake to drive through her black heart?

 He sighed. "All we can do is keep an eye on

 those left in New Jersey and direct most of our

 attention to Khamsin. But advise the spotters

 closest to New Jersey to keep an eye out for any

 movement from Sister Voleta. You suppose that

 motorcycle bunch came up north with her,

 Buddy?"

 "I'm sure they did. She's probably five

 or six hundred, strong. Just her group."

 "Maybe fifteen hundred then, max, counting the men

 with Monte and Ashley. No more than that, "cause

 we've creamed the hell out of that crew," Ben mused

 aloud. "Enough to cause us some grief in an

 ambush, though."

 Ben once again cut his eyes to Ike. The

 ex-Seal was in charge of planting the explosives

 around the city. "How are the explosives holding out,

 Ike?"

 "We'll have enough to do the job we talked about, Ben.

 Especially if those methane pockets run deep,

 as I think they do. We've tapped into every gasoline

 storage tank in the city. We'll open the taps and

 flood the tunnels with raw gas just seconds before

 we bug out. Then we'll blow the big boys.

 I've planted chemicals in what I think are

 strategic locations-most of it highly concentrated and

 short-lived blister gas. Effective disabling time

 something around fifteen to twenty minutes."

 "We're going to be cutting it close, gang,"

 Ben said. "Real close. Uncomfortably so. If

 we stick to the original plan. And if the wind is

 wrong, we're really going to be in trouble."

 "Do we have a choice?" West asked.

 "Not really. But we have got to clear the

 Narrows before we hit the button, and those ships are

 going to have to be hauling ass, people. We're going to have

 to leave the tanks and the big SP artillery. But

 that's no big deal; we've got tanks and long

 toms running out the ying-yang. We can run the

 jeeps and light trucks right on the ferries. The

 rub comes in if Sister Voleta and her people set up

 any kind of ambush once we're back on land.

 We're going to be short on heavy artillery."

 "Our mechanics have checked the engines on those

 ships, Ben," Striganov said. "They've got them

 purring and we certainly have the fuel for a long sea

 cruise."

 "There is something else," Tina said. "Dad, have you

 considered returning to pick up our vehicles once

 the danger time has elapsed?"

 "Yes. And I still haven'tdiscountedit. We very

 well may have to return, mount up, and head up

 into New York State, then cut over. We have

 electronic air sensors we can plant before bugging

 out. We can monitor them for readings." Ben met the

 eyes of each person in the room. "Anything else,

 gang?"

 They shook their heads.

 "Tell your forward teams to move out this afternoon

 and get into position at One Hundred Eighty-first

 Street. I want Khamsin stopped cold right there

 for at least two days. Three days would be better,

 but tell your people not

 to hang in so long they risk being overrun and

 captured. Then bug out and fall back, fighting

 all the way. Suck him in here. When he's got

 all his troops on the island-and we'll know from

 spotter planes-blow the bridges behind him. I'll

 meet with the forward teams before they pull out. That's it,

 people. Let's go."

 Khamsin crossed into Rockland County, New

 York, pulled his long columns onto the New

 York State Thruway, turned east, and then

 stopped.

 The pilots of Ben's spotter planes reported

 that the Libyan terrorist's army seemed to be

 setting up a bivouac area about fifteen miles from

 the Tappan Zee Bridge.

 "Come on, you bastard!" Ben muttered, staring at the

 huge wall map in his office.

 Even Ben's Rebels were getting edgy. They were

 all well rested and ready for a fight. So let us

 get it on! was the generally shared opinion.

 But Khamsin wasn't quite ready to attempt

 taking a bite out of the Big Apple.

 "The pig is pulling something," Khamsin told

 several of his most trusted senior officers. "He

 has some sneaky and totally dishonorable plan up his

 sleeve. I do not trust that man at all."

 "So we wait?" he was asked.

 "For another day or so. I must pray for guidance."

 Restless, Ben began a day-long tour of his

 troops, starting at the westernmost position on the

 parkway up the Hudson River. Colonel West

 and his mercenaries would defend from the parkway over

 to Amsterdam. Rebet and Danjou would take

 Amsterdam to the edge of Central Park. Cecil

 and the Underground People would have Central Park. Ike would

 take the edge of Central Park over to Third.

 Striganov would hold Third to York, and Buddy

 and Dan would take York to the East River. Ben

 and his people would stand in reserve, ready to plug any

 suddenly

 appearing hole in the line of defense.

 It was the dead of winter in the Big Apple, but the

 day had started out surprisingly pleasant, with most

 of the snow and ice melting; the temperature during the

 night had not dropped below freezing.

 "I'm sure that Khamsin has been

 praying," Ben told West. "And he'll

 probably take this warm spell as some sort of

 sign from Allah. I expect him to cross over the

 bridge today and hit us tomorrow."

 "I have been thinking along those same lines. Soeven

 if he should cross over into Manhattan tomorrow, we still

 have a couple more days of this damn waiting."

 "Yes. The meteorologists say this warm spell

 is just a prelude for a major winter storm, coming in

 right on its heels. If they're right, and they usually

 are, just about the time we blow the bridges, there'll

 bea blizzard hitting us."

 "And we're accustomed to them and Khamsin is not."

 Ben smiled. "That thought has crossed my mind.

 I've moved a lot of Abramses up to within

 shelling distance of Khamsin-when he crosses over,

 that is. We're going to sit back here and not make a

 move. The forward tanks will be well behind our front

 teams. The commanders have worked out the areas where the shell

 trajectory will clear the lower buildings. After

 we're all back here on the main lines, artillery

 can shell and let them fall wherever. Khamsin has

 never fought in a city like this. When the tops of

 buildings start coming down on their heads it's going

 to be a real morale-buster."

 "And for us as well," West pointed out.

 "Yes. Taking everything into consideration, it's going

 to be a miserable little war for both sides."

 Ben drove over to Rebet and Danjou's sector.

 The two field commanders were standing together, smiling as they

 watched Emil Hite trail Michelle Jarnot

 around the area. From the look on Michelle's face,

 it appeared that she wished the damn war would hurry up

 and start-anything would be better than this.

 "I will shower the ground before your pretty little feet with

 rose petals!" Emil wailed.

 "I hate roses! They make me sneeze! Go

 away, Emil. Please!"

 Michelle ducked into a building, with Emil right behind

 her, singing "Some Enchanted Evening." He sounded like

 Bloody Mary with a cold.

 South Pacific

 would never again be the same.

 "How long has that been going on?" Ben asked the

 two men.

 "Ever since Michelle got cut off from her unit

 the other night," Danjou replied.

 "I certainly have to compliment his taste in women," the

 Russian said, trying to keep a straight face as

 Emil changed songs and the sounds of "On the

 Street Where You Live" came drifting out to them.

 "He is loving well if not too wisely."

 Ben knew that feeling from personal experience. In a

 way, he could empatfrize with Emil.

 "Jesus Christ, Emil!" Michelle yelled.

 "Will you please cool it? You're driving me

 bananas."

 "I love you, Michelle!" Emil shouted for all

 the world to hear. Or at least a couple of blocks.

 Then he burst into a ragged rendition of "Stand

 By Me."

 Ben chatted with the field commanders for a few moments,

 until Emil's singing got the best of him. He

 moved on over into Central Park and found Cecil.

 "I hear Emil has been shot with one of

 Cupid's little arrows," Cecil said with a smile.

 "Yeah. And I think it shot him right in the head.

 Now that you've had a chance to meet the Savies and their

 group, Cec, how do you rate them?"

 "I don't trust them," the man said flatly. "Quite

 frankly, they make the short hairs on my neck

 stand up."

 "You think they have any idea at all about what's

 going down?"

 He shook his head. "No. They came

 around, asking questions. But my people just ignored them. I

 haven't seen them since late yesterday."

 "Don't count on them, Cec. I don't think they

 know, yet, what side they want to be on.

 Except for the winning side.

 You seen the Underground People?"

 "No. But they're around."

 "Bet on that. They'll stand."

 Ben drove over to Ike's sector. "I won't

 add the activating agent to the gas until just before we

 pull out, Ben," Ike told him. "That's just in

 case one of the areas where they're planted takes a

 hit."

 "Good. Let's take as many potential

 backfires out of this plan as possible."

 "I'm thinking if this warm weather holds, Khamsin

 and his boys will come across tomorrow."

 "Everyone I've spoken with agrees with that

 assessment, friend. Hang tough, Ike."

 Ben moved east a few blocks, reaching Georgi

 Striga-nov's sector. The Russian had dug

 his people in deep, and his very capable troops were ready and

 waiting for a fight.

 "Savie and a few of his bunch came around early this

 morning," the Russian said. "I don't

 trust him, Ben."

 "No one else does either. But I think out of pure

 desperation they'll be forced to join us. If they don't

 fight, and fight well, their butts are going to be

 left in New York when we bug out."

 "That wouldn't bother me at all," the Russian

 bluntly stated.

 Ben moved over to the easternmost sector, near a

 small park on the East River. As usual,

 Dan had dug his people in deep and camouflaged them

 well. A master of ambush, Khamsin's men were

 going to be in for a very brief and very deadly encounter when

 they bumped into Dan and Buddy.

 "Not long now, General," the Englishman said.

 "Tomorrow, I'd wager."

 "Ten o'clock," Buddy said.

 "Noon," Dan countered.

 Ben left them in a friendly argument and went back

 to his own sector. Spirits were high among his people, and

 they were more than ready to mix it up and get this fight

 over with.

 There was no sign of any Rebels in this area, as in

 all the sectors Ben had just inspected. His

 Rebels were staying

 low and quiet. He walked into the building

 where he knew Thermopolis and his people were housed and

 waved the man over to him.

 "You have any stroke with Emil, Thermopolis?"

 Ben asked.

 "Well, he will listen to me on occasion."

 "He's making a fool out of himself over in

 Danjou's sector. Go get him for me, please,

 and haul his ass back here. Tell him I said

 to stay put."

 Rosebud laughed and stood up. "Come on," she

 said to her husband. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

 "Oh, rejection!" Emil wailed on the drive

 back from the western edge of the park. "Death, where is

 thy sting? I would rather die than live without her!"

 "I have a suggestion, Emil," Rosebud said.

 "You have a plan?" He perked up immediately and stopped

 moaning about dying.

 "No. I said I have a suggestion. Ignore her."

 "But I love her!"

 "So ignore her and see what she does. Women

 hate to be ignored. After a few days of being

 ignored, if she starts to wonder what the matter is

 and looks you up, then you'll know if she really cares

 about you." Rosebud was aware of her husband's

 incredulous look as he stared at her. She

 ignored him.

 "But in a few days we mightall be

 dead!"

 Emil moaned.

 "Well, then it won't make any difference one

 way or the other, will it?"

 Emil thought about that. "You're right. I shall ignore

 her. As a matter of fact, I shall make it a

 point to ignore her."

 She glanced suspiciously at him. "What do you

 mean by that, Emil?"

 But Emil would only smile mysteriously.

 After dropping Emil off, once more back in the

 bosom of his block, Thermopolis and Rosebud

 went to Ben's CP and reported that their mission had

 been accomplished.

 "Emil gave in that easily?" Ben shook his head.

 "I may make you his permanent keeper. How'd you

 do it?"

 "It was all Rosebud. But I figure in about

 twenty-four hours we're all going to be so busy

 just staying alive that Emil won't have that much spare

 time to be thinking about Michelle."

 "You're right about that," Ben acknowledged. "Spotters

 just confirmed that Khamsin has crossed over

 the Tappan Zee Bridge. They're on their

 way."

 "I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be,

 Ben Raines. You think we'll be home in time for

 spring planting?"

 "I guarantee it, Thermopolis." He smiled

 at the man and wife. "Either that, or none of us will ever

 have to worry about planting anything again."

 "You're such a spirit-lifting person to converse with, Ben

 Raines."

 Ben's forward teams watched as Khamsin sent people

 across the bridges, inspecting for mines. They found

 nothing, since Ike's people had planted the massive

 charges below the waterline. ,

 "They're comin" across!" a team leader said.

 "Let's boogie out of here and let them come."

 The Rebels headed south, letting the Hot Wind and

 his troops have the northernmost tip of Manhattan.

 But Ben Raines had made Khamsin a very wary

 man. He was not about to be suckered another time. His

 troops advanced very slowly, carefully inspecting

 each foot of ground before they moved an inch.

 Staying several blocks ahead of Khamsin's

 troops, a team leader radioed back to Ben,

 "They keep this up, and we'll be here for ten

 years waitin' for them."

 "They'll pick up steam, Scout. It's a

 natural human reaction as they find no danger.

 Head on south and let them come."

 "Yes, sir."

 The forward teams got into position and waited. It was

 late in the afternoon before Khamsin's troops reached

 Dyckman Street, and it was there the Rebels

 struck the first blow, hitting a hard one-two combination

 of automatic-weapons fire and rocket

 launchers.

 The Libyan responded with cannon fire from

 tanks that were stretched out from Henry Hudson

 Parkway over to Tenth. The Rebels fell back

 two blocks, fighting as they withdrew. Khamsin

 studied the stituation for a few moments and then ordered his

 people to hold what they had taken and not to follow, fearing

 a trap.

 The Rebels had been placed much like a series of

 upside down

 T's,

 with the bottom line growing stronger every several blocks.

 Khamsin faced no more than twenty-five widely

 scattered Rebels at Dyckman. As the

 Rebels fell back, they joined

 twenty-five more at Ellwood; twenty-five more

 waited at Fairview. So by the time Khamsin and his

 men advanced down to 181st Street they would be facing

 several companies of Rebels. By the time they reached

 171st Street, Khamsin would be committed and Ben

 would start blowing the bridges, from the northernmost tip

 of the island all the way down to and including the High

 Bridge.

 By that time, Khamsin would realize what Ben was up

 to. He would also know that he had been boxed in and that

 this was a fight to the death.

 Khamsin crossed Dyckman and advanced only

 two more blocks that day. He had no desire

 to face Ben Raines's Rebels in the darkness of

 deadly night. Khamsin was fully aware of how

 vicious the Rebels were, how coldly and

 impersonally they killed. He ordered his troops

 to seek shelter and keep their heads down.

 They would be safe this night. Ben had ordered no

 booby-trapping this far north. He wanted the Hot

 Wind and his mini-farts to get deeper

 into Manhattan and be totally committed before they

 truly discovered the horrors of guerrilla warfare.

 The slowly retreating Rebels knew which buildings

 to avoid as they withdrew. Khamsin and his

 men, of course, did not. If Khamsin thought his

 fanatic mentors were experts at terrorism, he

 was only a few days away from

 looking into the cold eyes of the Grand Master.

 Ben Raines.

 "Khamsin has ordered his people in for the night,

 General," Beth relayed. "They've bivouacked

 at Thayer and Arden, with some of them stretched out from the

 Hudson to the Harlem rivers."

 "He's playing it cautious. I'm sure

 memories of Atlanta are fresh in his mind."

 "Orders, sir?" Beth asked.

 "Tell our northernmost teams to step down one

 alert and get some rest. Tell them I compliment them

 on a job very well done."

 Ben returned to his desk and began studying maps

 of the city. Khamsin still had several miles to travel

 before Ben and his troops would cut loose with the full

 fury of Rebel-style warfare, and Ben knew the

 Libyan would take those miles very slowly and very

 cautiously. But Ben also knew the man's confidence

 would grow with each block. But Khamsin could not be

 allowed to take those blocks easily. He would have

 to pay for them in terrorist blood, but not too much

 blood.

 Ben and his people were walking a tightrope in luring

 Khamsin into Manhattan; one misstep and the

 Rebels would fall. And there was no safety net

 below them. Only death waited for them in the

 impersonal and seemingly barren city streets.

 Ben suddenly realized he was hungry and that he had

 skipped lunch; he had been too busy monitoring

 radio reports coming in from the forward teams. He

 picked up his Thompson and went down to the

 makeshift kitchen that had been installed in the floor

 just below him and fixed a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

 "Want some company?" The voice came from behind him.

 Ben did not have to look up or turn around from his

 sandwich-making; he knew who it was. "Sure. You

 want something to eat, Jerre?"

 "A sandwich would be nice, thank you." She sat

 down at the table. "This waiting is getting to me."

 "They'll be on us before you realize it." He placed

 a sandwich and a cup of coffee before her. "Then we

 won't have time to think about anything except staying

 alive." Ben sat down across the table from her.

 "How about all the subway bridges south of us,

 Ben?"

 "They're already crippled; sections have been knocked

 out so they can't be used as footbridges."

 "I'm not criticizing, Ben."

 "I know. It's part of your job to follow up, make

 damn sure I haven't missed anything. And I

 appreciate the good work that you've done." He

 smiled at her. "Have you seen Emil?"

 That got a laugh out of her. "I feel sorry for

 him. I think he's really in love with that girl."

 "He probably is. He's screwed around all his

 life, chasing every skirt he could find without getting

 emotionally involved. Now that the real thing has reared

 up and slapped him in the face, or shot him in the

 butt, whatever, he doesn't know what to do."

 "You speak from experience, Ben?"

 "Yes." Damned if Ben was going to pursue this

 subject. "How's your sandwich?"

 "Very good."

 "How are your quarters?"

 "Nice. Almost like home."

 "And where has home been in the last few years?"

 "Up in the northwest. Then out on the Plains.

 I've never stayed long in one spot. Pretty much

 just been moving around."

 "Looking for what?"

 "I don't know, Ben. And that is an honest

 answer."

 "I believe you. If you'll recall, that's what

 I started out to do, years back."

 "I remember. You were going to write a journal about

 what happened and how the survivors responded to the

 Great War. How far did you get in doing that?"

 He shook his head. "I really didn't even get

 started. The Tri-States were born; I was busy

 running that. . . not that I wanted to," he added.

 "I just got stuck with the job. Then

 the war came."

 "Then you were president."

 "Again, against my will. And for the past few years seems

 like all we've been doing is fighting one war after

 another."

 "No special woman in your life, Ben?"

 He met her blues. "Yes, Jerre. There will

 always be a special woman in my life."

 "Whether I like it or not?"

 "Whether you like it or not."

 "And there is nothing I can do to change your mind?"

 "How do you stop loving someone?" He finally spoke

 the words to her. He had spoken them silently for

 years.

 She dropped her gaze and finished her sandwich.

 Neither of them spoke during the rest of the

 meal. She rose and dropped the paper plate into the

 trash. "Guess I'll be getting back to work,

 Ben. Thank you for the sandwich."

 "You're certainly welcome." He waited until

 he was certain she had made it back to her office and

 then picked up his Thompson and went outside to stand

 for a time. The weather was still abnormally warm for the middle

 of winter.

 The stench of death still clung faintly, sickly

 sweet over the city. Ben knew some of his people had

 taken this time to tow the barges full of dead

 creepies out to sea and dump them. It was not a job

 that anyone relished, but one that had to be done to keep

 down disease.

 No one had reported any contact with what was left

 of the shattered army of Night People this day. Ben

 suspected they had given up and pulled back

 into what hidey-holes they had left and were waiting for

 death to take them.

 Gene Savie and his survivors entered his head.

 Ben just could not make up his mind about that bunch.

 He agreed with the leader of

 the

 Underground People, Paul, that it was highly unlikely

 that Savie and his group could have survived in

 the city without making some sort of deal with the Night

 P.

 But the Judges were gone, and the back had been broken

 of those creepies remaining in the city. Knowing that,

 why, then, would they be so seemingly unwilling to help

 in the fight against Khamsin? Itjustdidn'tmake

 any sense to Ben.

 He shrugged it off and went back inside his CP.

 He'd turn in early this night. There was that old

 guerrilla fighter's adage: eat when you can, drink

 when you can, and sleep when you can. For you never knew when

 you might get the chance to do any of the three again.

 Ben was up several hours before dawn, drinking coffee

 and once more going over maps of the city. The question

 paramount in his mind:

 Have I missed anything?

 He could not think of a thing.

 Now it was in the hands of God and the guns in the hands of

 Rebels.

 Beth walked in, yawning. "I saw your light,

 General. Anything I can get you?"

 "How about a miracle?" Ben grinned at her.

 "Traid I'm fresh out of those, General. But"-she

 returned the grin-"we found a food warehouse

 late yesterday. Lots of it in good shape.

 How about some cinnamon toast for breakfast?"

 "Cinnamon toast. I haven't had that in years."

 "Then you better come on. Thermopolis is down in

 the kitchen and he's already eaten half a loaf of

 bread and a pound of butter."

 After having to practically arm-wrestle Thermopolis

 for the cinnamon can, Ben ate the rest of the fresh-baked

 bread, covered liberally with butter and sugar and

 cinnamon.

 Jerre entered the kitchen and said, "Doctor Chase

 would disapprove of all that sugar."

 "You want some?" Ben asked, his mouth full.

 "Naturally." She sat down and took what was

 left on Ben's plate and grinned at him as she

 chomped away.

 "I'm not fixin' any more of this damn bread!"

 Jersey bitched.

 "I've had plenty," Thermopolis said.

 "Yeah. Me, too," Ben echoed, then looked at

 Thermopolis. "Where is your wife?"

 "I left her sleeping. I got up when I heard

 Emil pacing the floor and muttering to himself about tiny

 arrows piercing his heart."

 "He certainly has been smitten, that's for

 sure." Ben looked up as Beth entered the

 room.

 "Khamsin's started his offensive, General. And

 he's hitting hard."

 "Let's go to work, gang. If our people can keep on

 sucking them in, at dawn tomorrow, we blow the

 bridges." He stood up and sighed. "And God have

 mercy on our souls if I've made a

 mistake."

 "We voted to stay, General," Jersey reminded

 him.

 "We're all in this together."

 Ben nodded, smiled, and stepped outside into the

 abnormally warm morning. He looked up at the

 sky. "Hold on for just one more morning," he

 muttered. "Then You can send the damnedest blizzard

 this city has ever known."

 Khamsin was a bit more adventurous that day, moving a

 little faster and taking a few more chances. The Rebels

 held on for what they hoped was a respectable length

 of time, then pulled back, drawing the Libyan ever

 deeper into the city.

 "All his troops across?" Ben asked a spotter

 pilot.

 "Ten-four, General. They're in."

 Ben's smile was tight. "It won't be

 long now. Any more movement over in New

 Jersey?"

 "Those that didn't accompany Khamsin are staying

 put, General."

 "Ten-four. Do a couple of flybys a day and

 keep me posted." Ben turned to Cooper. "Pull

 the Blazer around. We're going to take a ride."

 In the Blazer, Cooper asked, "Where to,

 General?"

 "North."

 Beth radioed the instructions to the lead vehicles as

 Ben was studying a city map. She didn't have

 to tell them where they were going; they all knew. Right

 up to the front lines.

 "We'll let him advance down to Hillside today,"

 Ben said. "He's going to slow up and be very goosy

 clearing the area around the Cloisters, suspecting

 ambushes. Come the night, he'll probably

 spread his troops out just north of One Hundred

 Ninety-third Street. Tomorrow morning, we'll

 give him One Hundred Ninety-second and One

 Hundred Ninety-first. As soon as he passes

 One Hundred Ninety-first, we'll blow the

 bridges. That will stop him cold for a few hours

 while he assesses the situation." He

 looked up. "Get this convoy moving, Beth. You know

 where we're going."

 "Yes, sir." She lifted her mike.

 The convoy drove over to Fifth Avenue and turned

 north. At the edge of Central Park, Ben

 ordered a halt and got out.

 "You people stay in the truck," he told them, just as

 Ike came walking up.

 "You monitoring the front?" Ben asked him.

 "Yeah. Khamsin's got some confidence back this

 morning. Our people have given him a two blocks already.

 They say he's really punching hard."

 "We don't want him to think it's a cakewalk.

 Get on the horn and tell our people to draw some

 blood and then pull back. I don't want

 Khamsin past One Hundred Ninety-third

 Street this day."

 "You figurin' on bringin' the bridges down by about this

 time tomorrow, Ben?"

 "Right. So get your explosives people in position.

 I'm heading on up the line."

 "Watch your ass up there, partner." Ike grinned.

 Ben leaned to one side and took a look at

 Ike's more than ample south gate. "You should

 talk!"

 Rolling north on Fifth Avenue, those in the

 small convoy had the time to study the seemingly dead

 city.

 "Used to be millions of people in these streets," Ben

 said aloud, looking at the empty shops and office

 buildings. "The greatest city in the world. All it

 needs now is for someone to kick a little dirt over

 it."

 "And that's what we're going to do, General?"

 Jersey asked.

 "That's what we're going to do. In a manner of

 speaking."

 They rolled on in silence for a few blocks.

 "What happened to the Night People, Ben?" Jerre

 asked.

 "I think they gave up once they discovered the

 Judges had abandoned them. I think they burrowed

 deep and intend to keep their heads down for the duration.

 They don't know it, but they just voluntarily crawled

 into their own graves."

 As they approached Frawley Circle, Ben said,

 "Tell

 the lead vehicles to hang a left here, Beth.

 Then pick up Nicholas Avenue. We'll stay

 with that all the way up to our lines."

 As they passed Lennox, Ben caught a glimpse

 of black movement as the figure scurried back

 into the gloom of a building. "They're not all in their

 holes," he said, pointing out the furtive movement.

 "But they don't want to mix it up with us, either."

 A gunner in a Duster swung his twin-mount

 .50's and gave the inside of the ground floor a

 hard burst in passing. The big slugs chopped

 away at the murky interior, kicking up dust and

 knocking down plaster and paneling.

 The column rolled on, swinging onto Nicholas.

 They saw no more Night People as they made their way

 dirough the littered streets of the city.

 Ben reached over and opened the front air vents,

 allowing some ventilation to circulate through the Blazer.

 He guessed the outside temperature was in the

 60's. Far too warm for this time of year. Except

 for spots in the alleys where the sun never touched, the

 city was almost entirely free of snow.

 "Much too warm," he muttered. "The storm is

 going to be a bad one, and it could hit anytime."

 "Sir?" Cooper asked.

 "You have the chains with you, Cooper?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "Beth, tell the lead vehicles to angle

 off at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street.

 Go on over to the waterfront. I want to take a

 full look at the sky. I think this storm is just

 about on us."

 "Done, sir."

 Ben twisted in the seat, looking at the cargo space

 behind the rear seat. All their arctic gear was there,

 along with cases of ammo, food, camp stoves,

 grenades, and water. Cooper was a natural-born

 clown, but when it came to survival, he was all

 business, keeping the Blazer stocked with everything he

 felt they might need to stay alive.

 "Did you remember toilet paper, Cooper?"

 Ben asked him with a smile.

 "I got a box full of hundred-dollar bills,

 General. About a million dollars' worth, I

 reckon."

 "That should do it," Ben said, looking out the window,

 trying to get a glimpse of the sky. He finally

 gave up on that.

 At the waterfront, Ben stood by the Blazer,

 waiting until his teams had secured the area; then

 he walked up to the parkway and took a look around.

 He had mixed emotions about what he was seeing.

 The sky held a very flat, almost ominous

 look, stretching from north to west. This weather system

 was coming straight out of Canada and was coming at them with a

 vengeance.

 "It'll hit us this afternoon," Ben predicted. "And

 it's going to be a bitch-kitty."

 "Do we head back for the CP, General?" Jersey

 asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

 "What do you think, Jersey?" Ben grinned at her.

 "Somehow I knew you'd say that."

 Ben waved the Rebels around him. "All you people have

 arctic gear with you?"

 Most did, stored in the trunks and tanks.

 "Those that don't, double up in a vehicle and head

 on back," Ben ordered. He knew his forward

 teams were supplied with foul-weather gear; he had

 personally seen to that. "Let's head on up the line,

 gang."

 They backtracked, picked up Broadway, and

 headed north.

 "Are we going to get stuck up here, Ben?" Jerre

 asked.

 "I hope not. But there is always that possibility.

 Doesn't make any difference. We've got the

 supplies so we can sit it out. I've got to see

 firsthand what Khamsin has to throw at us."

 But his eyes kept sliding toward the sky as they

 drove toward his Rebels' northernmost positions.

 At the front, Ben joined one group of Rebels,

 startling them by his presence, and viewed the

 battleground through binoculars. A tank leaped

 into view through the powerful lenses. Ben lowered the

 glasses and again looked

 up at the sky.

 "Is it getting colder or is it just my

 imagination?"

 "It's dropped a few degrees, General. The

 sky sure has a funky look to it."

 Ben made up his mind. "Fall back, people. Give

 them some territory and see if they'll take the new

 bait. Beth, get me Ike on the horn.

 Scramble and translator, please."

 "General Ike, sir," Beth said.

 "Ask him if his explosives people have left yet?"

 "He says ten-four, sir."

 "Tell him to get them into position to blow the

 bridges as soon as possible. Wait for my

 orders to do so."

 "Message acknowledged, sir. General Ike

 wants to know what's up."

 "One hell of a fast-moving winter storm,

 of the major type. That's what's up. Now I have

 to come up with some way of getting the Hot Fart and his

 turds down a few more blocks. Bump me when your

 people are in position. Eagle out. Let's back up,

 people."

 The Rebels fell back a full two blocks,

 leaving it wide open for Khamsin. And this time the

 troops of Khamsin poured across, moving fast and with very

 little resistance from the Rebels.

 At 191st Street, Ben ordered a line thrown

 up and told his people to hold for a few minutes and draw

 some blood. To Beth: "Get me the forward units

 east and west of our position." With them on the horn,

 he asked, "This is Eagle. Any signs of

 infiltrators?"

 "Negative, sir. We have them in sight, but

 they're maintaining east and west positions in line with the

 central force."

 "Ten-four. Get ready to fall back further with

 Sonny." He turned to the forward team leader.

 "Drop some mortar rounds in on them, Sonny. Just

 as many HE'S as you drop in a couple of minutes

 and then grab your ass and make a run for it."

 "Yes, sir!"

 "Get me Ike, Beth."

 "On the horn, General."

 "Ike. When I give the word, blow them all, all

 the way down to the footbridge. You ten-four that?"

 "I copy it, Eagle. Man, it's gettin'

 cold!"

 "I can ten-four that, Shark. I look for snow in about

 an hour. Must have dropped twenty degrees in that

 many minutes. That's why I've got to keep

 Khamsin on the move, so he won't notice it so

 much. Eagle out."

 The flutter and crash of mortars put an end to any

 conversation level below a shout.

 "Let's go!" Ben shouted at his team. "Get to your

 vehicles. Move, move! Sonny! One more

 minute and you get your asses out of here. All the

 way down to a Hundred Eighty-first Street.

 That's an order!"

 "Yes, sir."

 In the Blazer, Ben said, "Beth, tell Dan and

 Buddy and Tina to get up here. Meet us at the

 High Bridge Park. We'll link up at the

 swimming pool. That's on One Seventy-third.

 Tell them to bring five days' rations, full arctic

 gear, and all the ammo they can stagger with. I want

 plenty of fifties and Big Thumpers.

 Tell them to shake a leg."

 To Cooper, "Get us down to a Hundred

 Eighty-first Street, Coop. Then over to the

 Harlem River Drive. I'm the cause of it, so

 I want to witness history being shattered. Move.

 Beth, stay in contact with Sonny and his forward

 teams."

 "Yes, sir."

 As they drove, all could tell it was turning colder

 very quickly. "Mind if I turn the heater on,

 sir?" Cooper asked.

 "Be my guest, Coop."

 "General?" Beth spoke from the backseat.

 "Ourspotters in the skyscrapers have reported in.

 They've been investigating as much of the buildings as

 possible, and each team has found dozens of

 creepie bodies. The creepies killed themselves

 en masse."

 Ben nodded his head. "Tell them to bust some windows

 and toss the bodies out. Then have some teams shovel

 up what's left and truck it to the barges."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Probably in every building in the city," Ben said,

 gazing out the window and seeing the streets grow darker as

 the massive storm approached, the winds

 churning and howling high above the earth, the clouds

 beginning to block the sunlight.

 "It's going to be a bad one, Ben," Jerre said.

 "I've seen them out on the plains. It won't be as

 bad here because of the buildings, but if you get caught in

 one out there, you're dead."

 "Yes. I'm sure that Khamsin and his people have winter

 gear, but not like ours." He suddenly smiled, and

 Jersey caught it.

 "Oh, hell! I've seen that smile before. What

 are you thinking, General?"

 "Head-hunting, Short Stuff. Cutting some

 throats in the night."

 "Coming up on the bridges, sir," Cooper said,

 pulling onto Harlem Drive.

 At the High Bridge, Cooper stopped and Ben

 and the others got out. Ben had left his Thompson in

 the Blazer, electing to carry the M14, with longer

 range and just as much punch. He squatted down,

 staring at the three bridges.

 "What are you thinking, Ben?" Jerre asked.

 "What I'm about to destroy, and I don't think

 history is going to treat me very kindly for doing it."

 "Sonny reporting the fighting is very heavy,

 General," Beth related. "He's

 steadily falling back, and Khamsin is right on his

 heels."

 "When he gets to One Hundred Eighty-first

 Street, let me know. Once there, Khamsin is

 going to find the going will not be so easy."

 "Trucks coming, Ben," Jerre said.

 Ben nodded, again making a battlefront decision.

 "Beth, tell my tank commanders to get the monsters

 cranked and up here."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Looks like Colonel Gray brought an extra

 company up with him, sir."

 "I'd have been disappointed if he hadn't." He

 turned to face Dan and Buddy and Tina. He

 quickly explained what was happening. "Buddy, you and

 your team unpack your snow gear. Emergency food

 packets and fuel tabs; the whole nine yards.

 If it snows this afternoon, you're going head-hunting

 tonight."

 "Sonny and his people have formed a line at a Hundred

 Eighty-first Street, General," Beth reported.

 "They have linked up with the other companies and are

 holding."

 Ben held out his hand as he leaned up against a

 concrete barrier. "Give me the mike,

 Beth. This is Eagle to Shark ..." He sighed

 heavily, almost painfully. "Shark, blow the

 bridges." He slowly handed the mike back

 to Beth.

 It really wasn't a spectacular sight-just a

 dull crumping sort of sound as sections of the

 bridges collapsed and fell into the river. The

 tons of debris sent up cascades of water from the

 Harlem River.

 All up and down the line, from the northernmost tip

 of the island down to the footbridge on FDR

 Drive, the bridges that once were vital links

 to Manhattan were crippled. It took less than

 one minute to destroy thirteen bridges.

 "General," Beth said, "Sonny says all

 fighting from Khamsin's side has stopped."

 "I'll just bet it has," Ben said grimly.

 "Khamsin probably went into a state of shock when

 his recon teams gave him the news about the

 bridges. Give me the mike, Beth. This is

 Eagle. Hit them, Sonny. Hit them hard.

 Tanks, mortars, rockets, everything you've got,

 use it!"

 The thundering boom of 105's and 90mm cannon

 rolled toward the men and women standing in the now

 downright cold winds alongside the river.

 Something very soft touched Ben's face. He brushed it

 away.

 "Ben?" Jerre touched his arm. "It's starting

 to snow."

 In less than an hour, the snow was coming down so

 thick and so hard it had dropped visibility to near

 zero. Ben had led the new companies north to beef

 up the three companies stretched out west to east along

 181st Street, from Lafayette Plaza over to the

 now impassable Washington Bridge.

 But the near-blizzardlike conditions had brought

 Khamsin and his people to a dead halt; they had never seen

 anything like this in South Carolina, and while they had

 winter clothing, it was not enough to cope with what was yet

 to come at them from Mother Nature.

 And Mother Nature wasn't going to be alone in

 sending surprises at the Libyan.

 "All the bridges have been blown in our sector,

 General," Khamsin was told. "And we suspect

 that all the bridges on the east side have also been

 destroyed, or at least crippled."

 "Not all the bridges," Khamsin found his voice.

 "Ben Raines has left himself a hole. Wager

 on that."

 The field commander did not think this to be a proper time

 to remind the Hot Wind that Sister Voleta had

 warned him not to cross over into Manhattan. Not a

 good time at all.

 The field commander waited for orders.

 "We cannot fight a war in this miserable weather,"

 Khamsin said after a long sigh. "And as skillful as

 Ben Raines is ..." And it pained the terrorist

 to compliment Ben Raines in any manner. "... I

 doubt that he can, either. Make certain our loyal

 troops are well fed and housed adequately.

 We'll wait out the storm."

 "Yes, sir." The man waited, knowing that his general

 was not yet finished.

 "Ben Raines is worse than any filthy dog

 who ever wandered the earth!" Khamsin spat out the words.

 "He must be destroyed, Akim. Whatever the cost,

 we must kill Ben Raines."

 still

 would much prefer to get my ass clear of this miserable

 island,

 Akim thought.

 Preferably without getting it shot off.

 But he did not speak those words aloud.

 "Ben Raines will do nothing in this damnable

 blizzard," the Hot Wind prophesied. "You may

 leave now, Akim."

 "Are all our forward units pulled back?"

 "Yes, sir. They've used the storm to pull back

 to our sector."

 A solid line had been formed at 173rd

 Street, stretching from the Hudson to the Harlem

 rivers.

 "Tell our Long Toms to start lobbing them in,

 Beth. They have the coordinates. HE, Willie

 Peter, and incendiary. Let's make it a very long

 and totally miserable night for the Hot Fart. I

 want nothing but rubble between

 us and Khamsin. Commence firing and keep it up."

 "All Long Toms commence firing," Beth gave the

 orders.

 A few seconds later, the men and women on the

 line at 173rd heard the first rounds sing over their

 heads.

 Ben smiled. "I hope Khamsin is sitting on

 the pot when the first rounds fall."

 "Do you want my team to stand down, Father?" Buddy

 asked.

 "Yes. Let's let artillery have the first dance,

 Buddy. You'll have plenty of other chances

 before all this is over.""

 The first rounds of high-explosive shells hit the

 tops of buildings in Khamsin's sector and sent

 tons of rubble crashing down into the streets.

 Khamsin was not sitting on the pot, but he was changing

 clothes in his CP when the first rounds came tearing

 into his sector. He had one leg in his fresh

 field pants when a round landed just across the street.

 The concussion of the HE blowing knocked out all the

 windows and outside-facing doors in his CP and sent

 Khamsin rolling on the floor. The two guards

 who had been posted outside the CP'S main entrance

 were splattered all over the street when the second

 round dropped in.

 Khamsin managed to get his other leg in his pants

 and jam his feet into boots as other rounds came in,

 singing their deadly songs. One round set a building

 on fire, another round tore the top off another

 building, and the third round of white phosphorus

 peppered troops of the Hot Wind as they scrambled

 for cover, running out in the open. They lay screaming

 in the streets as the Willie Peter burned through

 flesh and bone.

 "Khamsin will return the shelling," Ben said. "Have

 our spotters in the tall buildings

 coordinate the returning fire."

 Ben waited until Beth had relayed those orders.

 "Khamsin doesn't have the range to reach our Long

 Toms south of us, so he'll be trying to drop some

 mail directly in on us from his tanks and

 eighty-ones. He's got the range, if his crews

 are worth a damn, so get ready for it.

 It isn't going to be pleasant. Order the people in

 bunkers."

 "All personnel into bunkers," Beth relayed the

 orders. "Deep and keep it tight."

 Ben grinned at her and she blushed.

 It was an afternoon and evening of artillery as the big

 guns roared and spat out death and destruction, the

 flames leaping out from the muzzles as the rounds were

 hurled into the air.

 The Rebels on the front line took some wounded,

 but no deaths, since they were dug in and heavily

 sandbagged against shrapnel.

 Khamsin and his people were not so lucky. They had not had

 time to adequately fortify their positions and were forced

 to take to the basements. In many cases, the heavy

 shelling from Ben's Long Toms brought the buildings

 crashing down on them, burying them under tons and tons

 of rubble.

 "All right," Ben ordered a few hours after dark,

 with die snow still coming down with blinding thickness. "Have

 our gunners start demolishing the area between Khamsin

 and us, Beth."

 Those orders relayed, Beth said, "General Ike

 on the horn, sir." She handed the mike to him.

 "Go, Shark."

 "What's up, Ben? We're sitting down here with

 our thumbs stuck up our butts wondering what's

 going on. What is goin' on, Ben?"

 "A defined battlefront, Ike. A no-man's

 land. We might make several of them before this is all

 over. When Khamsin advances, I don't want his

 people to have any type of adequate shelter. I want

 them to be just as cold and hungry and miserable as I can

 make them. Ten-four?"

 "Ten-four, Ben. Holler when you need some more

 personnel up there."

 "Be ready to come up quickly, Ike. And pass the

 word to the others. Eagle out."

 Ben turned to Beth. "Have the shelling continue until

 midnight. The crews can stand down then." When those

 orders had been sent and received, Ben took the

 mike.

 "This is Eagle to Tall Eyes.

 What's it looking like?"

 The spotters in the skyscrapers reported back.

 "A lot of fires, Eagle. You've got about a

 four- or five-block area that is burning. Night

 glasses are picking up a lot of destruction.

 Khamsin and his people are going to have a rough time of it

 picking through all that mess."

 "That's the plan. Eagle out."

 The deadly song of the shells as they passed overhead

 continued unabated. Jerre and Jersey and a few of the

 others of Ben's personal team tried to sleep, or

 at best, rest, during the late hours of the first night

 of open warfare between the men and women of the Rebels and the

 troops of the Hot Wind.

 At midnight, Ben ordered all shelling stopped and

 Khamsin followed shortly afterward. A silence fell

 over the northernmost section of the island of

 Manhattan. Ben stepped out of his hastily

 bunkered CP and looked to the north. The snow was still

 coming down hard, in thick wet flakes, but the

 flames from the fires caused by the heavy shelling,

 leaping high into the night sky, could still be seen very

 clearly.

 Buddy walked over to join his father. "I have a good

 feeling about all this," the young man said. "I

 know we have a lot of hard fighting ahead of us, and

 Rebels will be hurt and killed, but I think I can

 taste victory."

 "It's there," his father acknowledged. "Just as long as we

 don't become too overconfident. And don't

 forget, we've still got your mother and Monte and

 Ashley to deal with."

 "How do you plan on dealing with them?"

 "I don't know," Ben admitted. "I'm just taking

 it one step at a time."

 One round from Khamsin's gunner had hit the

 building across the street from Ben's forward CP,

 knocking a huge hole in the front of the structure

 and littering the street with bricks and mortar and

 twisted bits of steel reenforc-+ rod.

 And the snow continued to fall; the streets were already

 buried under a thick blanket of white.

 "Let's get some sleep, boy," Ben said. "Come

 the dawn, we're going to be busy."

 Ben was on the line before dawn; this close up, he was

 making a lot of his Rebels nervous.

 "Relax, people," Ben told them, squatting beside a

 Duster. "Before this is over, we'll all be fighting

 shoulder to shoulder."

 Ben looked up the wide snow-covered

 expanse of St. Nicholas Street as far as the

 night would allow. "Any of you see anything moving

 last night?"

 "Nothing, General," a young Rebel said. "After that

 hammering we gave them last night, I would imagine

 they're going to keep their heads down."

 "Don't count on it, son. Khamsin is going

 to hit us and hit us hard. He wants to kill me so

 badly he'll expend every man he's got to do it."

 "How many troops you figure he's got, sir?"

 "Between six and seven thousand. Another two-three

 thousand of Monte's and Ashley's and Sister

 Voleta's people sitting over there in New Jersey,

 waiting to see what happens before tfiey commit. But

 I don't think they'll try any type of boat

 crossing. They'll wait and strike from ambush when

 we get on the road."

 "Dammit, Ben!" Jerre yelled at him from behind,

 finally finding him. "You had us all worried." She

 walked to his side.

 The Rebels on eidier side of him seemed

 to melt back into the graying light, giving the general

 and the lady plenty of room.

 Ben smiled at her. "You could have brought some coffee,

 Jerre."

 She smiled thinly and held up a thermos of

 coffee. "You want me to pour, too?"

 "If you like."

 Tin cups filled with the hot black brew, they

 sipped in the dim new light of fresh morning and

 stared at each other, their breath as steamy in the cold

 air as the vapors

 coming off the brew.

 "When do you think Khamsin will hit us, Ben?"

 "Within the hour. He'll probably start with some

 artillery to soften us up."

 "Then don't you think it would be wise to seek some

 shelter?"

 "Only if there's some breakfast waiting. Besides,

 we'll be able to hear the rounds coming about ten seconds

 before they hit."

 "That's so comforting to know." She looked at the strange

 expression on his face. "What's the matter,

 Ben?"

 "Incoming mail, Jerre." He grabbed her around the

 waist and literally tossed her behind a sandbagged

 enclosure, coming in right behind just as the artillery shells

 started dropping all around them.

 They huddled close as the ground trembled around them.

 The street was showered with falling debris as

 rounds smashed into buildings and exploded. Ben

 protected her with his body as best he could, both of

 them shivering as they lay on a blanket of snow that

 had gathered inside the topless sandbag enclosure.

 Ben fumbled for his walkie-talkie and yelled for

 Beth.

 "Here, sir!"

 "Order all units to commence firing, Beth," he

 yelled over the crash and boom of the incoming rounds.

 "Give them everything we've got in return."

 He could not hear her reply, but within seconds,

 friendly mail was singing and whining overhead, heading for

 impact with Khamsin's lines.

 The incoming slackened as Ben's gunners laid down

 a lethal wall of flying steel and Willie

 Peter; then the incoming faded out entirely.

 "Let's go!" Ben yelled, his hearing temporarily

 impaired from the recent explosions.

 Together, they ran for the safety of his bunkered CP.

 Behind them, Khamsin's people had resumed their shelling.

 The concussion of an incoming round literally blew them

 inside the CP. The door had been knocked off

 its hinges the night before.

 "You all right?" Ben asked, sitting up on the

 dirty floor.

 "Oh, just dandy! But I dropped the thermos back

 there."

 Ben started laughing at the expression on her face,

 and the laughter was infectious. It was almost like old

 times, years past. Almost.

 "General?" Beth said. She was holding out the mike.

 Her voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a

 well. "General Ike on the horn."

 "Go ahead, Ike. But talk loud. My hearing is

 shot for a moment. I'm still hearing booming in my ears.

 What's up?"

 "Hell, you tell me! Are you all right up there?"

 "Oh, yeah. I haven't received any casualty

 reports yet, but I don't think we suffered any

 major injuries. We're pretty well dug

 in. . . ."

 A runner stepped into the CP. "Khamsin's people

 advancing, General. Comin' at us hard."

 "Gotta go, Ike. Work to do. Talk to you later."

 Ben picked up his Ml4 and moved to the door. There

 were no sounds of any incoming, so he concluded that

 Khamsin was letting his infantry carry the load on

 this one. He turned to the runner. "Pass the word up

 and down the line and the word is Hold! Hold until

 you receive orders from me. Go, son!"

 He looked at Bedi. "Tanks in position on

 our flanks, Beth. Mortars and heavy machine

 guns in the middle." He looked at Buddy. "You

 ready, boy?"

 "After you, Father."

 Ben and Buddy, with the remainder of Ben's personal

 team right behind them, ran from the CP and took up

 positions behind what was left of a wall, facing

 north. Ben repositioned some concrete blocks and

 bipodded the M14 just as the first of Khamsin's

 troops came darting into view.

 "Hold fire," Ben ordered, and Beth relayed the

 orders. "Let them get on top of us and then give

 them everything you've got. Everybody keep their heads

 down; absolutely no movement."

 The troops of Khamsin's army moved closer,

 slower now that they were closing. The snowing had abated

 somewhat, after dumping several feet of snow on the

 city,

 andwiththe full dawning, Ben felt sure the

 temperature would be dropping. Soon it would be too

 cold to snow. Soon it would be just miserable.

 But not as miserable as Ben intended to make it for the

 Hot Wind.

 "Steady, steady," Ben said, and Beth

 whispered the words into the mike. "I'll open the dance.

 Wait for me, people."

 The enemy was a block away, then half a block

 and closing rapidly, the footing treacherous in the

 deep snow. Nothing moved before their eyes. The last

 reported lines of the Rebels seemed deserted.

 "Now!" Ben said, and pulled the trigger, the old

 Thunder Lizard set on full auto.

 The cold air was split with hot lead; the fluttering

 of mortar rounds sang as they floated in. Tanks

 cut loose their cannon; 40mm, 90mm, and

 105 rounds blasted the white-covered calmness of the

 city.

 Still the troops of the Hot Wind pressed on, using

 their dead comrades for cover as they sprawled on the

 snowy ground.

 "We're too light!"" Ben yelled in Beth's

 ear, his voice just carrying over the rattle and crash

 of weapons. "Order all Rebels to begin falling

 back. Regroup at a Hundred Sixty-eighth

 Street. Order West and his people up. Tell them

 to stretch out east of Broadway to the river. We'll

 take everything west of Broadway."

 Beth nodded her head and gave the orders calmly.

 Ben was going to hate to lose her; but he had

 a hunch that when this was over, she was going back to Lev

 and the cows.

 "Make it appear to be a rout," he heard her

 say, and Ben smiled at the words. She was one tough

 lady who knew the way his mind worked. "Pull them

 after us. Let's go!"

 She looked at Ben. "Cooper and the others are in the

 Blazer, waiting for us, sir." Her gaze lingered

 on his face. "Jerre's there."

 "Let's go! We'll set up around the old

 Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center for a

 time."

 They ran for the Blazer, parked a block away.

 Cooper had put chains on the tires, and the engine was

 ticking over when they reached it.

 "Go, Coop," Ben said, as the women piled into the

 backseat.

 "West reporting his men are on the way, General,"

 Beth told him, listening through a headset.

 "Generals Ike and Jefferys have moved several

 companies north just in case."

 "Good. Bump Dan." He turned up the volume

 of the radio under the dash.

 "Dan here, sir."

 "Buddy with you?"

 "Ten-four, sir. We're spearheading."

 An artillery round exploded against a building,

 showering them with fragments of brick and mortar before they

 could pass through it.

 "Close," Ben muttered.

 Several creepies ran out of a building and pointed

 AK'S at the Blazer. Cooper cut the wheel and

 ran over them, their bones crunching and flesh tearing as

 the chain-covered tires spun the life out of them.

 Their screaming faded as their blood stained the snow of the

 street.

 "Saves ammo," Coop said with a tight smile.

 "The man can think about something other than women,"

 Jersey said from the backseat.

 "I lust for your body, baby!" Cooper fired

 back. "I dream about you at night."

 "I retract that statement. Drive, Cooper, and

 shut your mouth. Don't think. It's too much a

 strain on your brain."

 "Creepies in the medical center," Dan's

 voice came through the speaker. "I would guess

 several hundred of them."

 "Just about the time we think we're rid of them, they

 pop up again," Ben said, reaching for the mike. "Dan,

 we can't fight two fronts. Order

 tanks up and destroy the complex. Willie Peter

 and HE plastic rounds. Use flamethrowers

 to torch the ground floors. Set up behind the

 complex."

 "Ten-four, General."

 "I'm not going to lose any more people to those bastards,"

 Ben growled. "I'm tired of jacking around with them.

 Coop, take us around behind the center on a Hundred

 Sixty-fourth Street. Khamsin's men won't

 try to punch through a blazing fire."

 Coop slid around a snowy corner and came out on

 164th Street. Tanks were already blasting away at

 the huge old complex, and flames and smoke were

 pouring out of the building's top floors. Rebels with

 flamethrowers were working on the ground floors while

 others were tossing homemade Molotov cocktails

 through the shattered windows, the firebombs catching and

 spreading flames.

 "Mortar the roof," Ben spoke into the mike.

 "Cave it in on them. You ten-four that, West?"

 "Ten-four, General. Setting up mortar teams

 now. You going to call in coordinates?"

 "Affirmative. Drop them in when ready. I'll

 correct if need be."

 "Back us up a few hundred meters,

 Coop," Ben told him.

 From their position a few blocks east of the medical

 complex, West's men began lobbing in mortar rounds,

 the first ones falling short. Ben corrected and the

 rounds began striking their target.

 "Dead on, West," Ben said. "Keep it up."

 The mortar crews began dropping in incendiaries,

 and within moments, the medical center was engulfed in

 flames. Black-robed crawlers were hurling themselves

 out of windows, trying to escape the raging flames.

 The Rebels shot any who survived the fall to the

 ground.

 Standing outside the Blazer, Ben lifted the mike.

 "Buddy, take your teams and set up along the

 Henry Hudson Parkway just in case Khamsin's

 people might try some flanking moves."

 "Ten-four, Father."

 "Tina, you and your teams join me."

 "On the way, Pops."

 "Cease firing, West. Good job. That place will

 continue burning for hours. Khamsin won't try

 to punch through

 all that. They'll be hitting your sector hard any

 moment."

 "I see them, Ben. We'll hold

 until you tell us to fall back," he added

 calmly. It was not a brag; the mercenary knew his

 men and knew what they could do.

 "Wogs advancing across a Hundred Seventieth

 Street, General," Beth told him.

 Ben looked at her, a smile on his lips.

 "Wogs,

 Beth?"

 "Slip of the tongue, General. That's what my father

 used to call them. When the Palestinians declared open

 war on Israel, my father lost nearly all of his

 family over there. My mother was there visiting. They

 killed her. I just don't like those people, General. Not

 one damn bit."

 What could he say to her? He remembered as a

 teenager talking with World War II veterans who

 until their dying day hated the Germans or the

 Japanese.

 Ben also noticed that Beth had taken her Ml6 from

 the back of the Blazer and was carrying filled clip

 pouches around her waist.

 "Whatever, Beth." Ben motioned a young Rebel

 over to him. "Take the radio, son. Give Beth

 a break."

 "Yes, sir."

 Beth looked at Ben for a moment, then slipped out

 of the radio and handed it to the young man. She took up

 her M16 and wriggled around behind a pile of debris

 until she had staked out as comfortable a position as

 possible.

 "What's your name, son?" Ben asked.

 "Chuck, sir."

 "All right, Chuck. You stay with us. If a

 translator is needed, hand the mike to Beth."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Stay out of the line of fire and don't let the

 radio take a hit if you can help it."

 st"Yes, sir!"

 Ben knelt down beside Beth. "Back on the line,

 Beth?"

 "Yes, sir. I have a really personal interest in

 this fight."

 Ben nodded and waved his team down just as Tina and her

 people were pulling up. Ben spread them out between Fort

 Washington Avenue and Broadway then returned

 to kneel down beside Beth and Jerre and Jersey.

 Cooper had

 taken up position in a building behind a

 5.56-caliber machine gun called the Minimi.

 Each prepacked and belted ammo box

 contained 250 rounds, and the Minimi could spit out the

 lead with a vengeance.

 "Where'd you get that thing, Cooper?" Ben called.

 "I stole it from the Canadians!" He grinned with

 his reply.

 "Armies never change," Ben muttered.

 "Here they come, sir," Jersey called.

 Ben found him a spot and lifted the M14, seton

 full rock and roll and bipodded. "Chuck, tell

 the people to fire whenever they get a target."

 Ben sighted in, pulled the trigger, and began

 to make life awfully uncomfortable for some of

 Khamsin's troops.

 All up and down the line, the Rebels found

 targets and sent Khamsin's people either diving for cover

 or sprawled on the snow. Cooper's Minimi was

 rattling out 5.56-caliber slugs. Beth was very

 carefully picking her shots, and her aim was true.

 Between shots, she was muttering some highly

 uncomplimentary remarks about the enemy. Like she'd

 said, she had a personal interest in this fight.

 "Spotters report Khamsin is moving up

 tanks, General!" Chuck called.

 "Send our Abramses out, Chuck. All Dusters

 and other light tanks hold in position."

 Ben knew that his Abramses were much more heavily

 armored and better gunned than Khamsin's lighter

 tanks. It would not be much of a fight.

 Ben, watching through binoculars, saw one Abrams

 round a corner, lower its main cannon, and blow one

 of the Hot Wind's tanks clear off one track and

 then turn it into a fiery death trap with armor-piercing

 rounds.

 Another Abrams clanked up the street, looking

 for trouble. It soon found it in the form of Khamsin's

 heaviest tank. Khamsin lost another tank to Ben

 when the gunner fired an antitank round called a

 HEAT, and the enemy tank exploded from the inside out,

 frying its crew.

 With two of his tanks out and two more crippled,

 Khamsin recalled them. They just were no match for

 Ben's heavier tanks.

 "All tanks return," Ben ordered Chuck.

 "No pursuit." Chuck relayed the orders, then

 said, "Khamsin's people

 are dropping back, sir. They're crossing a

 Hundred

 Seventy-first and formed a line."

 "All right, people," Ben called. "Get ready for

 mortars

 and artillery. Get yourselves bunkered in as best you can

 and grab your asses. Khamsin is going to give us

 all he's

 got!"

 Khamsin spent the early hours of the afternoon dropping

 artillery rounds on where he thought Ben and his

 Rebels were hunkered. But when the first shells started

 falling, Ben had shifted his people several blocks to the

 south.

 Khamsin was shelling an empty sector.

 Over on the east side of the island, West chuckled,

 then said to one of his men, "Smooth move. Like silk.

 Khamsin is detroying the exact sector Ben had

 proposed destroying. The silly bastard is doing

 our work. We have found a home, Monroe. I always

 said if I ever found a better tactician than

 myself, I'd follow him up to and through the gates of

 Hell. I've found him."

 The shelling stopped. Within seconds, Ben ordered,

 "Back on the line, people. Move, move, move."

 He grabbed up the mike. "West! Move your people

 back to our original lines. Let's have a

 surprise waiting for Khamsin."

 Laughing at Ben's downright sneakiness, the mercenary

 yelled his men forward through the snow, and they

 took their hidden positions in deserted buildings.

 Khamsin's men came running through the cold snowy

 streets, racing toward the smoking desolation left

 by their gunners.

 They ran straight into the guns of Ben Raines's

 Rebels and died by the dozens-died wondering what had

 happened and why their great religious leader, the Hot

 Wind, had been so wrong.

 Ben occasionally watched as Beth coolly and calmly

 picked her shots, rarely missing. There was a grim

 expression on her face, and her eyes were flint

 hard with long-overdue satisfaction.

 "Enjoying yourself, Beth?" he asked during a short

 lull in the fighting.

 "Retribution, General. Pure and simple."

 She lifted her M16 and knocked another of

 Khamsin's terrorists sprawling to the snow-then shot

 him again to put an end to his squalling.

 "I'm going to miss you when you go back to Lev and his

 cows, Beth."

 She cut her eyes. "I ain't gone yet,

 General."

 As night fell over that shattered portion of the city,

 Khamsin sat in his drafty CP and did not

 savor the copper taste of defeat that had

 formed on his tongue.

 He sent his tanks into battle, and Ben Raines

 had bigger and better tanks. He sent his troops

 into battle, and Ben Raines's Rebels

 slaughtered them. He poured hundreds of rounds of

 artillery into a sector, and Ben Raines and his

 Rebels were not there. Then the Rebels materialized

 like ghosts, and more of his troops were dead.

 The man was a devil!

 Ben sat in his warm CP and enjoyed a spot of

 bourbon from a cache his people had found. He had ordered

 whiskey for all his Rebels who wanted a couple

 of drinks. The whiskey sort of killed the taste

 of the goop that Doctor Chase called field

 rations. Highly nutritious, but with all the flavor

 of a horseshoe. Some Rebels even went so far as

 to say it tasted like something that dropped from a horse.

 Jerre looked into her opened field-ration packet.

 "What is this crap?"

 "I do not have the vaguest idea. And to tell you the

 truth, I'm afraid to ask Chase. He might

 tell me."

 It was at times like these that Ben felt a closeness

 to Jerre. More on his part than hers, he knew. But

 a feeling that he enjoyed; more than this was

 something that he knew could never be and would never be.

 Then why wouldn't he accept that? still

 have,

 the other side of his brain countered. still

 have for years, and gone right on living, so what's the

 problem, brain?

 A simple yet complex emotion called Love, you

 dummy!

 the other side fired back.

 Ben stilled the arguing sides of his brain when he

 became conscious of Jerre staring at him through the dim

 lantern light in the CP.

 The others of his personal team were resting, after having

 endured the blandness of their field rations. Except for

 Beth, who was sitting far across the room, cleaning her

 M16, making ready for tomorrow's fight. She was

 certainly doing her part to right what she felt was a

 two-thousand-year-old wrong against her people.

 "Thinking up more brilliant tactical moves

 to use against Khamsin, Ben?" Jerre asked in a

 soft voice.

 was 'Fraid not, kid. I'm about tacticaled out for

 this day."

 "Tacticaled? Is there such a word?"

 "I don't think so. Call it poetic

 license."

 "What would you be doing right now, Ben, if the Great

 War had not occurred?"

 Ben was thoughtful for a few seconds. "Probably

 getting drunk, listening to classical music."

 "Did you drink a lot back then, Ben?"

 "I wasn't an alcoholic, but I probably

 drank more than I should."

 "Why?"

 "A question I often asked myself, Jerre. Back

 then."

 "And the answer, Ben . . . ?"

 "I never came up with one that satisfied me."

 "There was no special lady in your life that day the

 bombs came?"

 Ben shook his head. "No. I guess I spent a

 lot of years just waiting for the right one to come along,

 instead of

 going out and looking for her."

 "And she never did come along."

 "Not back then, Jerre. Maybe we just better

 drop the subject before you think I'm leading you into or

 up to something."

 "I don't think that. What were you looking for in a

 woman, Ben?"

 "I'm not even sure. After I got snakebit-in

 a manner of speaking-more than a few times, I think

 I just resigned myself to the fact that I would live

 alone; that that would probably be best all the way

 around."

 "That's a pretty dismal thought, Ben."

 "Yes, it is. But have you fared any better,

 Jerre?"

 "You shoot from the hip, don't you, Ben?" It was her

 turn to be thoughtful for a few seconds. "I guess

 I haven't, Ben. But at least I can say I've

 been trying."

 "And have you succeeded in finding your ideal soul-mate?"

 "Obviously not." A touch of ice in her reply.

 "Whatever happened to ... what was his name?

 Matt."

 She shrugged her shoulders.

 "I heard he was killed."

 No reply.

 "How many more after that?"

 "And you've been chaste, I suppose?" she came

 back at him, a surprising amount of heat in her

 voice.

 "Oh, hell, no! There have probably been more

 women in my life during the past five

 years than in all the time before Tri-States."

 "Which is symptomatic of... ?"

 "Symptomatic? Hell, I don't know. You

 tell me."

 "You're lying, Ben."

 "That make you feel proud?"

 "I didn't do anything, Ben."

 "I never said you did."

 "This conversation is going around in circles."

 "As always."

 "Good night, Ben." She stood up and walked over

 to

 her bedroll.

 Ben picked up his M14 and walked outside. As

 usual, they were so close, yet worlds apart. He

 rolled a cigarette and blew smoke to the cold

 breeze.

 "Everything all right, General?" a sentry asked,

 passing by.

 Ben smiled despite his tangled inner feelings.

 "Better than nothing, I suppose."

 Ben, very quietly and with prior notice, moved his

 troops up three blocks several hours before

 dawn, knowing it was a risky move that could well

 backfire on them all. Just before dawn,

 Khamsin ordered the Rebel lines shelled.

 Khamsin's light artillery hammered away for over

 an hour, and then he ordered his troops to advance.

 The Libyan troops walked a half a block and

 came face-to-face with hard-eyed Rebels, who

 turned the cold morning into a steamy bloodbath. The

 slaughter took less than ten minutes; then the

 Rebels were fading back toward the south, moving like

 white-shrouded ghosts, leaving behind them an area

 bloodstained and littered with the bodies of the Hot

 Wind's troops.

 Sister Voleta, Monte, and Ashley sat over

 in New Jersey and monitored radio traffic.

 Ben was not using translators except for the most

 important communications.

 "Brilliant," Ashley said. "I hate the

 bastard, but I have to concede his daring in warfare."

 Monte didn't know what in the hell Ashley was

 talking about.

 Sister Voleta remained, for the most part, silent.

 She still had not been able to figure out where Ben

 Raines was going once he got off the island of

 Manhattan. But she knew one thing: Ben Raines

 was slaughtering the Libyan's troops, almost as if

 he were playing with them.

 She thought of something, rejecting it almost as soon as it

 popped into her head. Not even Ben Raines would try

 something that stupid.

 Or would he?

 No, she concluded, throwing the idea onto her

 mental junkpile.

 "I hate to bring this up," Ashley said. "But we

 only have food for about two more weeks. After that,

 we're going to have to start rationing or do a lot of

 hunting. We have a lot of mouths to feed."

 "It will be over on the island in about a week,"

 Sister Voleta predicted. "There is no way that

 Khamsin can hold out any longer than that."

 "I agree with that," Monte said. "He must have lost

 a full quarter of his people in the last twenty-four,

 thirty-six hours."

 "I disagree," Ashley objected. "The battles

 will go on much longer than a week."

 Sister Voleta looked at him. "Why do you say

 that?"

 "Khamsin has learned a hard lesson. From now

 on, there will be no more head-to-head confrontations.

 At least not from Khamsin's side. I think

 Khamsin will be forced to resort to guerrilla

 tactics. If he can pull it off. He

 knows, now, that Ben outguns him. He'll have sense

 enough to see-I hope-that Ben has deliberately set

 up clearly defined fronts, and that if Khamsin

 continues his present method of fighting, Ben will

 slowly but surely pound him into the concrete."

 Sister Voleta grunted.

 "You pretty brilliant yourself," Monte said.

 "I knew I done right in makin" you second in

 command."

 Ashley glowed under the warm light of verbal

 praise. Even coming from a near-cretin like Monte.

 "But Khamsin cannot hope to defeat Ben Raines

 using guerrilla warfare," Voleta said. "The

 Rebels are masters at that."

 "He knows it," Ashley replied. "But he's

 willing to die in order to kill Ben."

 Siter Voleta rose and walked out of the room.

 Ashley's eyes followed the woman. "And so is

 she,

 Monte. Remember that. She's a fanatic. We

 must be careful not to let ourselves be sucked into a death

 trap." "Whatever you say, Ashley. You're

 runnin' the show, partner."

 Khamsin looked at the reports from his commanders and

 winced at the totals.

 A full twenty-five percent of his army had been

 destroyed. Estimates were that less than twenty of the

 Rebels had died; maybe that many more were wounded.

 And they were trapped on this miserable island.

 Trapped, except for the bridges at the south end,

 which, Khamsin concluded, Ben Raines intended to use

 as his escape route.

 He studied a map of the city and felt hopelessness

 settle in the pit of his stomach. There was no way

 he could get sappers down that far without being

 detected. And what was the point of blowing those

 bridges? That would seal his own fate as well as

 Raines's.

 But wasn't that what he wanted? Hadn't he made

 his boast that Ben Raines would die even if he had

 to die along with him?

 Yes, if that was the only way. Yes. He would

 willingly die. "If Allah wills it," he

 muttered. "Allah be praised."

 "What's the word from Khamsin's lines?" Ben asked

 Chuck.

 "Forward teams report nothing, sir. No movement

 of any kind."

 "He's probably had it for today. Now I have to put

 myself in his boots and try to figure out what

 I'd do."

 Ben had shifted his battle lines once again, moving

 them all down to 155th Street. For the remainder of

 that day, he had his people booby-trapping the ground

 floors of buildings and laying claymores in

 alleys. Ben was giving Khamsin a half a dozen

 blocks, but they would be

 very dangerous blocks, and with each explosion, the

 morale of the Hot Wind's troops would sag.

 And after that? Ben thought. What would Khamsin do? still

 have him outgunned with artillery; I have heavier

 tanks. So putting myself in his boots, what would I

 do?

 Hit and run. Guerrilla warfare. Sure. The

 man was trained as a terrorist.

 "Chuck?" Ben called across the room. The young man

 looked up. "Alert all units to be heads up for

 sneak attacks; hit-and-run guerrilla warfare."

 "Yes, sir." He glanced up at the door, then

 took his radio and went outside; he could always say

 it was for better reception.

 Ben noticed and turned his head, meeting the level

 gaze of Jerre. "So it's getting down to your type

 of warfare, huh, Ben?"

 "That's what the Rebels are famous for,

 Jerre. If that's what Khamsin wants, we'll

 sure oblige him."

 "The others might not realize it, Ben, but I know

 you've been taking a lot of chances. Not just you

 personally, but with the others. Why?"

 "I want this over with, Jerre. I want to get the

 hell off this island and back to Base Camp One and

 just rest for a time. I'm not a young buck anymore."

 "You're not that old, Ben."

 "Thanks. But calendars don't lie."

 "Mind if I tag along back to Louisiana with

 you?"

 "What would be the point? It wouldn't change anything.

 Nothing at all."

 "Giving up on me, Ben?"

 "Yes. I am."

 "That's not like you."

 "Comes a time, Jerre, when a man, or woman,

 has to say it's over. With us, it never got started.

 And it never will."

 "And we can't be friends?"

 "You know the answer to that."

 "This sounds an awful lot like goodbye."

 "I guess it is, Jerre. I've got a war

 to run, and we took a lot more wounded than

 I've let on. Chase needs some

 help-desperately. You can either volunteer, or

 I'll order you down."

 "At least I can get a hot bath down there. When

 do you want me to leave?"

 "I can have Cooper run you down there now."

 "Suits the shit out of me, Ben." There was enough ice

 in her tone to freeze a side of beef.

 "See you around, kid."

 She turned her back to him and left without another

 word.

 Beth and Jersey and Cooper gave him the cold

 shoulder the rest of that day. Chuck didn't know what

 the hell was going on, so he was bewildered by it all.

 "It's not you, Chuck," Ben assured him.

 "Relax. My team is a little miffed at me."

 "About Miss Hunter?"

 "Yes. You're very astute."

 "I know what that means, General. And I'm not.

 Hell, sir, the whole camp knows about you and

 Jerre. But you got to do what you think is right for the

 both of you. And I reckon you done it."

 Ben smiled, then laughed. "Yes, Chuck, I

 reckon Idid."

 Ben went to bed early that night. There were no

 booming explosions during the night to awaken him, so

 he reasoned that Khamsin had not yet begun his move

 south.

 He dressed and stepped out of the CP long before

 dawn, walking across the snow-covered street

 to Dan's billet. There had been no more snowfall,

 but it was bitterly cold, his boots crunching on the

 frozen snow.

 He saw faint candlelight in Dan's quarters and

 knocked on the door. "Up, Dan?"

 "Come on in, General. I was just brewing some tea.

 Would you like some?"

 "Yes, I would." Ben sat down. "I gather there

 were no surprises last night."

 "Not a peep out of them. And our Tall Eyes

 reports nothing is moving over in New Jersey."

 "They're waiting for the outcome of this. Then they'll

 move." Ben accepted a cup of tea and sipped.

 "Have you opened your breakfast packet yet?"

 "I'm afraid to."

 "Well," Ben sighed, digging in his pocket. "No

 time like the present, I suppose."

 Dan grimaced as Ben opened the packet. "What

 in the world is that stuff?"

 "It's guaranteed to be highly

 nutritious and as good for you as mother's milk."

 Dan opened his food packet, took a small

 bite of whatever the inert lump was, and grimaced.

 "I have a small bottle of hot sauce I would be

 happy to share."

 "Thank you. Where is it?"

 After breakfast, Dan asked, "What's up for today,

 General?"

 "We pull back. Khamsin will think we're

 closing with our people south of us."

 Dan looked at the man in the dim, flickering

 candlelight. He saw the smile on Ben's face

 and knew there was more to come.

 "I'm going to order Ike's unit to start the

 pull-out to Brooklyn."

 Dan waited.

 "And not to be furtive about it. I want Khamsin

 to come busting down here after us. I want to see what

 those over in New Jersey will do, and I want to end

 this damn war and get off the island. It's like a big,

 ugly, festering boil, Dan. Let's bring it to a

 head."

 Dan looked at his crumpled-up food packet.

 "The sooner we do, the sooner we can stop dining on

 this totally unpalatable goop."

 "That in itself is a good enough reason."

 Before the grayness of dawn touched the eastern skies,

 Ben was on the radio to Ike. Until Ike could

 pack it up and get moving, the transmissions would be

 scrambled.

 "You know the drill, Ike. Get moving and get

 things

 ready to receive on the docks."

 "Ten-four, Ben. Shark out."

 Ben stood up. "Let's take a ride, people."

 They drove through the predawn light to Chase's

 hospital without seeing a single living thing or having

 a shot fired at them.

 "Eerie," Jersey muttered. "It's like we're on

 another planet."

 "Two more generations would have had to seek life on

 another planet if the Great War had not come when it

 did," Ben said.

 Cooper cut his eyes. "Why, sir?"

 "The Greenhouse Effect, Coop. This planet was

 in serious trouble. We were deliberately destroying

 it because of man's greed and stupidity. Some

 scientists predicted that by the year Twenty-one

 Hundred, the Earth would have been almost uninhabitable.

 So the war did some good after all."

 "Smoke and other crap from cars and trucks and

 factories was causing it, right, General?" Jersey

 asked from the backseat.

 "That's right. That's why in a few years, Base

 Camp One will be a model town, using solar energy

 to heat- among other things-and very nearly

 pollution-free. If the government had thrown its

 time and money toward solar power instead of wasting

 billions of dollars on nuclear power . . .

 well, hell, it's a moot point now. But we'll

 do it, people. We'll rebuild out of the ashes; hell,

 we are rebuilding! We just have to keep plugging. . .

 and fighting."

 In the hospital, Ben located Chase and dropped

 the news on him.

 "Get everyone ready to ride, Lamar. You'll be

 going across with Ike; probably late this afternoon.

 I'm ordering flybys of JFK Airport to check

 for creepies. But I'm pretty well convinced

 they've bugged out. I'll have people clearing a few thousand

 feet; just enough for our birds to get in and out so you and the

 badly wounded can be flown back to Base Camp

 One."

 "The wounded can go," the doctor told him. "I'm

 staying."

 "I won't argue with you, Lamar. You want to stay,

 fine. Just start packing up and get ready to move out

 quickly." He smiled at the man. "I'll see you

 over in Brooklyn, Lamar."

 "Watch your butt, Ben. I'm tired of picking

 lead out of you."

 "Oh, yeah. I'll do that."

 Ben saw Jerre in the hall as he was leaving. They

 stared at each other for a moment; then she turned her

 back to him without speaking.

 "When this is over," Ben muttered, "I think

 I'll look up Emil and we'll get drunk.

 We do have at least one thing in common."

 "Sir?" Jersey asked.

 "Nothing, Jersey. Just muttering to myself. Let's go

 see Ike."

 Ike wasn't wasting any time. His sector was

 packing up and clearing out fast. As Ike's people

 left, Cecil and his bunch were swinging over from the park

 to link up with Striganov's team, who were also

 spreading out to cover the gap left by Ike's leaving.

 "Put the wounded in the middle of your column,

 Ike. They'll meet you at the Manhattan

 Bridge this afternoon. Assign part of your people to clearing

 a runway at JFK so the wounded can be

 flown back to Base Camp One. You know what

 else has to be done. You're going to run into a few

 creepies over there. But predictions are not many of

 them are left. Of course," Ben added dryly,

 "we've all said that before-about two dozen times."

 "Who goes next, Ben?"

 "Cecil, probably. Although he'll bitch and

 fuss about that."

 The two old friends shook hands. "I'll have everything

 set up for you, Ben." He looked hard at the

 man. "Who is gonna be the last to leave the

 island?"

 "Me, Ike. You knew that without asking."

 "I was hopin' you'd change your mind. Any further

 intell on Gene Savie and his bunch?"

 "Dribs and drabs. None of it good. I still

 haven't made up my mind about that bunch.

 Probably won't until the last minute.

 Hell, I might go see them now. Luck to you,

 Ike."

 Ben turned and walked away. He paused and

 looked back. "Keep an eye on Jerre for me,

 Ike."

 Ike nodded. "Will do, Ben."

 "Where to, General?" Cooper asked.

 "To see Gene Savie and his bunch. Might as

 well bring it all to a head."

 Buddy and his team and Tina and her team followed the

 Blazer. Ben stared down a pasty-faced member of

 Savie's survivors. "Get Gene out here.

 Now."

 The Rebels had spread out in a half circle

 around Ben as Gene crunched through the snow, walking up

 to Ben.

 "You wanted to see me, General Raines."

 "Not really. But it's time for some truth, Savie.

 How deep in cahoots were you with the Night People?"

 "Why . . . not at all, General."

 "You're a goddamned liar, Savie! There is no

 way you could have survived as long as you did without

 striking some kind of deal with them."

 Savie tried to meet Ben's steady gaze, but his

 eyes kept sliding to one side or the other. "They

 forced us to work with them," he finally said, his tone about as

 believable as a dentist who says that this isn't going

 to hurt a bit.

 "You're slime, Savie. Pure slime. You and the

 rest of your scum turned your backs to the horror,

 for years. You're just as bad as the creepies."

 Ben's hand lashed out and slapped the man

 across the face. "Look at me when I talk to you,

 you son of a bitch!"

 A thin trickle of blood leaked out of Savie's

 mouth. He made no effort to raise the weapon he

 carried in his hand.

 "Stay out of my way until this is over,

 Savie," Ben warned him. "As a matter of

 fact, stay out of everybody's way. Some Rebel

 just might take it into his or her head to kill you!"

 Ben turned around and walked off, leaving a badly

 shaken Gene Savie staring at his back. Savie

 slowly looked around him, looking at the hard eyes

 of the Rebels. "They forced us to do it," he repeated.

 "You don't know what it was like here. You don't!"

 One of the Rebels moved the muzzle of his M16.

 "You better carry your ass, Savie. "Cause

 there isn't a one of us that wouldn't have rather died than work

 with the creepies. They'd have had to hunt us down like a

 wounded animal and kill us, one by one. Now get on

 out of here, you slimy bastard! Just lookin" at you

 makes me want to puke. Move!"

 When Savie had walked away, toward his apartment

 building, a Rebel asked, "Do you reckon

 General Raines is gonna take them with us?"

 He got a quick glance and a hard smile.

 "Don't bet on it. I got me a hunch the

 general is gonna leave them on the island."

 Ben drove over to Colonel West's position and

 briefed the man on his encounter with Savie.

 West spat on the snow. "We don't need them out

 there," he said, jerking his head to indicate anywhere

 outside the confines of Manhattan Island.

 "I don't intend to take them with us."

 West's smile was very diin. "I didn't think you

 would."

 "You and your people and Tina and her teams follow Cecil

 and Buddy out of here when the time comes. Rebet and

 Danjou will go next, then Striganov, with Emil and

 Thermopolis. I'll come out last with Dan."

 "When do you figure the total bug-out will take

 place?"

 "Another three-four days. Maybe five. It

 all depends on how well Khamsin takes the

 bait. I want him in the center of the city before we

 push the button."

 "And Savie and his people?"

 "After we take the kids from them, I don't care

 where they'll be."

 "Ahh! Not only have I discovered that you are a

 hopeless romantic, but that you also have a soft

 spot in your heart for kids and animals, Ben."

 "Guilty on all counts, West. Dan will round

 them up

 just before we bug out."

 Ben drove over to speak to Cecil. "You go after

 Ike, Cec. . . ."

 "Now, goddammit, Ben!"

 "No arguments, Cec. I've got to have my

 second-in-command free and clear should anything

 happen to me. If I get caught up in the

 firestorm, you know what to do. Have you spoken with the

 Underground People?"

 "Yes. They're ready to leave. They say they

 plan to make their way to Colorado. I understand they

 have others like them living in caves out there."

 "To each his own," Ben said. "They're good people. All

 right, Cec. The fighting isn't over yet. I'll

 see you before the bug-out."

 Ben briefed the others on their role in the bug-out and

 then returned to his CP.

 "Dan, you take a team and hit Savie's apartment

 complex the morning of the bug-out. Grab the kids and

 take them over to Striganov's sector. Buddy,

 you'll leave with Cecil's battalion. Dan and

 I will be the last to leave the city."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Any word as yet on whether Khamsin has taken

 the bait we offered?"

 "Tall Eyes report a few patrols have made

 their way into that sector," Dan told him. "It's

 a good thing we didn't booby-trap the first few

 blocks."

 "What now, Father?" Buddy asked, the youth in him

 impatient.

 Ben smiled. "We wait."

 Khamsin halted his recon teams a block before they

 would hit the booby-trapped buildings and

 alleyways. Then he began slowly moving up his

 main force, still several thousand strong, to join his forward

 patrols.

 They spread out west to east, from river to river, and

 settled in for the night.

 Tall Eyes reported this to Ben.

 "Do we hit them, Father?" Buddy asked.

 "Be patient, son. Why should we risk our

 lives when we have a hundred or so booby traps

 to do the killing for us? What's the matter, boy? You

 got a girl back at Base Camp One?"

 "I have girls wherever I go, Father," the son

 replied, trying to look stern and very worldly.

 Ben laughed at him and ruffled the young man's hair.

 "Typical Raines," Dan remarked, saluting the

 pair with an uplifted empty teacup.

 "General Ike pulling out, sir," Chuck said.

 "And he's got his tanks snorting and clanking,

 going around in circles."

 "That's what I wanted him to do. Surely

 Khamsin had sense enough to send some spotters up to the

 top floors of tall buildings."

 "I think the man's hatred for you, and us, has

 clouded his mind," Dan said. He lifted the lid

 on his teapot and inhaled the fragrance of the steeping

 tea. "Nothing finer

 in all the world," he said with a smile. "Now if I

 just had some decent biscuits to go with it."

 "We had biscuits for lunch," Buddy told him.

 "He means cookies," Ben said.

 "But he said biscuits."

 "Trust me."

 "Tea, gentlemen?" Dan smiled.

 "I'll pass," Ben said. "Give me the radio,

 Chuck. Go have yourself a cup of tea."

 "I hate tea, sir."

 Dan looked offended. "The tastes of Americans

 never cease to amaze me."

 Ben lifted the mike. "Eagle to Shark on

 scramble."

 "Go, Eagle."

 "Any indications that Khamsin is watching or

 listening to all that racket?"

 "I got to believe he is, Eagle. The man

 may be a little bit nuts, but I don't believe

 he's a fool."

 "All right, Ike. Safe journey."

 "Ten-four, Eagle. Shark out."

 Ben looked at Buddy. "Take a recon team

 up north, Buddy. Don't mix it up with any of

 Khamsin's people. I want reports, not blood.

 Take off."

 "On my way."

 "You sure you won't have a spot of tea?" Dan

 asked.

 "I hate tea!" Chuck said. "Yuck!"

 "A large contingent of Rebels leaving their sector,

 General," a runner told Khamsin.

 "Heading where?"

 "East."

 "Brooklyn. It has to be. They're heading across

 the river." Khamsin was thoughtful for a moment. "But

 why? Why now? What is that filthy dog

 Raines pulling? He gave us half a dozen

 blocks. Why? We've encountered no traps. So

 why did he do it and what is he doing now?"

 "Perhaps he is running away?" one of the general's

 gofers suggested.

 Khamsin frosted him silent with one long dark

 look. "Running away from what? Us? If he is

 running away, he's doing it laughing, and not from fear.

 Admit it, people. I have. He's done nothing but toy

 with us. He has manipulated us with the ease of a

 puppet-master. We advance in the morning-very

 slowly, very carefully. Let's see what Ben

 Raines is giving us... and why he gave us those

 blocks."

 Buddy was back at ten o'clock, reporting to Dan.

 "Nothing moving up there. The streets are deserted.

 But the troops of the Hot Wind are on an

 unusually high level of alert."

 "Which probably indicates they will make some sort

 of move come the dawn. Thanks, Buddy. Go get

 some rest. I'll advise your father."

 Ben listened and said, "We'll roll out an hour

 earlier, Dan, and move everybody south ten

 blocks, to a Hundred Forty-fifth Street.

 Let's give Khamsin all the room he

 needs. Once he hits that booby-trapped area,

 he'll slow down, probably for a day. That will give

 Ike more time to wrap things up in Brooklyn. I

 want Khamsin in the Central Park area before we

 make our final bug-out. There isn't much in the way

 of lethal doses north of the park. Let him come

 on."

 "Going to be interesting when his men hit the

 booby-trapped areas."

 "Very interesting."

 Ben started pulling his people back several hours before

 dawn, moving them down to 145th Street. But even

 with this move, Khamsin was still fifty blocks away

 from the northernmost edge of Central Park.

 By dawn, only Ben and Dan and one company of

 Rebels were still on the line, and they were all ready

 to bug out.

 A shattering roar split the white calmness of early

 dawn, the explosion setting off half a dozen other

 booby traps nearby. Buildings collapsed,

 sending walls tumbling down onto the troops of the

 Hot Wind. Entire storefronts were blown out

 into the snow-covered streets, the bricks and tangled

 steel rods becoming as lethal as a hail of

 bullets, breaking bones, ripping flesh and

 smashing skulls.

 "I do believe Khamsin's men have reached the

 scene," Dan observed, munching on a cracker.

 "Right-o," Ben said, with a smile, lifting his

 binoculars.

 The powerful lenses brought the street of destruction

 leaping into his eyes. Huge clouds of dust were

 lifting into the air; small fires had been set

 by incendiary bombs. The flames began reaching out and

 igniting the dry wood of other buildings. Black

 smoke soon joined the dust clouds, spiraling up

 into the sky, to linger around the top floors of tall

 buildings.

 "Stay out of the buildings!" Khamsin screamed his

 orders, understanding then why Ben Raines had so

 willingly given up so many blocks; but also knowing that

 the Rebels could not have booby-trapped all the

 buildings down to their lines.

 Wherever the hell Ben Raines's lines might be,

 Khamsin thought bitterly.

 "Stay in the streets and out of the buildings and

 alleys," Khamsin ordered, calming himself.

 "Move through the next five blocks swiftly but

 carefully."

 "He's put it together," Ben said, lowering his

 field glasses. "All right, gang, let's

 split and leave the field wide open for the

 bastards."

 Ben felt something wet touch and slide down his

 cheek. He looked up at the sky. Snowing again.

 Marvelous. Anything to help make life miserable

 for the Blowhole and his mini-farts.

 "What do you find so amusing, Father?" Buddy asked,

 looking at the smile on Ben's face.

 "The end to this damn war, son. It's within our

 grasp."

 "Khamsin's men moving closer, sir," Dan

 pointed out. "I suggest we depart as hastily as

 possible."

 "In other words, Dan, you want us to carry our

 asses out of here?"

 "Crudely put, but that sums it all up rather well,

 yes."

 "You're deep in thought, General," Beth said,

 breaking the silence in the makeshift office just off

 145th Street.

 "I'm about to make one of those semi-famous,

 so-called "command decisions," Beth," he said with a

 smile. "And if I'm wrong, I'll be putting us

 in a bad spot."

 "If it'll get us off this frozen isalnd,

 General," Jersey said, "I'm for it."

 "It'll put us one step closer, that's for sure.

 Chuck, get me General Jefferys on scramble."

 "Go, Eagle," Cecil's voice came through the

 speaker.

 "Bug-out time, Cec. Right now. And make it

 noisy. I want Khamsin to regain some

 confidence."

 "Ben . . ."

 "No bitching, Cec. Has to be. Pack it up and

 clear the island today. Eagle out." He glanced up

 at Buddy. "Take off, boy. You're leaving with

 him."

 "If that is your wish, Father."

 "It is." He stood up and shook hands with his son.

 "I'll see you in a few days. Go say goodbye

 to your sister."

 Buddy quickly gathered his gear and was gone out the door,

 yelling for his team to pack it up.

 "Chuck, advise the others of General Jefferys's

 leaving. And tell Colonel West to be ready

 to bug out at a moment's notice."

 "Yes, sir."

 Ben picked up his Ml4 and walked

 outside, to stand for a moment on the sidewalk, the snow

 gently and silently falling around him.

 Beth stepped outside to join him.

 "We can't wait much longer, Beth," Ben told

 her. "We can't let the bridges get to the point

 where they become impassable due to snow. Chuck!"

 he yelled over his shoulder.

 The young man appeared in the broken doorway.

 "Advise the other commanders to fall back to Central

 Park as soon as Cecil has left his sector.

 We'll give Khamsin the upper part of

 Manhattan. Maybe that will get the lead out of his

 ass and put some steel into his backbone."

 "Yes, sir."

 "I'll tell Coop to bring the Blazer around,"

 Beth said.

 The Rebels began falling back just as Cecil and

 his battalion were leaving their sector, heading for the

 bridge and Brooklyn. And they made no effort

 to hide their withdrawal from any unfriendly eyes that

 might be watching.

 By dusk, all the Rebels had pulled back

 to Central Park and were bunkering themselves.

 To the north, a thoroughly confused Khamsin was

 conferring with his field commanders.

 "We've encountered no more booby-trapped

 buildings?"

 "No, General. None."

 "No snipers, nothing?"

 "No, General. Nothing to stand in our way."

 "Except this damnable snow," Khamsin muttered.

 "By all that is holy I do not know what Ben

 Raines is doing. That is not true. I know

 what

 he is doing. I do not know

 why

 he is doing it."

 "For sure he is making preparations to leave the

 island, General."

 "I know that! But why? Don't delude yourselves,

 gentlemen: Ben Raines and his Rebels could

 easily defeat us in this dreadful place. Surely

 by now you have all admitted that to yourselves. You may say

 it aloud. I know it is true."

 The field commanders all exchanged glances, but they

 would not speak those words aloud. They had never been

 defeated. In all their years of roaming the world, they

 had always been victorious.

 Except for the few times they had butted heads with

 Ben Raines.

 "We advance first thing in the morning," Khamsin said

 wearily. "I must pray for guidance."

 "I can't bear to be parted from my precious flower!"

 Emil wailed, standing in front of Ben in his CP.

 He threw his arms wide, and his helmet slipped

 down over his eyes.

 "Emil . . . 1"

 "Her voice is like a gentle fragrance. Her

 lips two rose petals." He pushed the helmet

 back up so he could see. "Assign me

 to Danjou's battalion, General. Please!"

 "Hell, no! Major Danjou would never forgive

 me. Look, Emil ..."

 "Michelle is the true love of my life. She

 is die wind beneath my combat boots. ..."

 Ben poured a glass of whiskey and drank it down.

 Neat. He did his best to tune Emil out. It was

 no use. Emil blithered and blathered and ranted and

 raved. Ben was afraid he might start speaking in

 tongues any moment.

 "Emil . . . to was

 "She is my treasure at the end of the rainbow. The

 light at the end of a long dismal day . . ."

 Ben poured another drink.

 Emil started singing "Bridge over

 Troubled Water."

 "That does it," Ben muttered, and started to rise.

 "Don't stop me now!" Emil said. "I'm

 gettin' to the good part."

 Ben sat down and rolled a cigarette and smoked and

 listened. He didn't want to listen, but short of

 shooting Emil, he didn't know what else to do.

 Emil finally finished and sat down. "Help me,

 General Raines!" he pleaded.

 Ben poured Emil a glass of booze and pushed it

 toward him. "Have a drink, Emil. I'll have one with

 you. Believe me, after that performance, I need one."

 Emil knocked back the drink and held out his

 glass for a refill. "That's good hooch."

 "Thank you. Now, Emil, listen to me. I know,

 personally, what you're going through."

 "You!"

 "Sure. Don't you think I've ever been

 rejected?"

 "Did you love her?"

 "I still do, Emil. Just as much as I did yesterday

 but not as much as I will tomorrow."

 Emil burst into tears.

 "Now what's wrong, Emil?"

 Emil honked his nose and wiped his eyes.

 "What you just said."

 "What about it?"

 "It was so fucking beautiful I couldn't hardly stand

 it!"

 "Thank you." Ben thought about that for a second. "I

 think."

 "But how do you cope with it, Ben? How do you stand it?"

 Ben gave each empty glass another splash.

 "Emil, let me tell you something. Memories.

 That's how I cope with it. I remember all the

 laughs we had. All the good times. And we did have

 some good times. A lot of good times. Memories can

 be beautiful, Emil. I have in my mind a

 picture of her standing in front of some windows, with the

 sunlight hitting her. I thought then, and do now, that

 she is the most beautiful woman in the world.

 "But she and I can never be, Emil. So I've

 learned to accept that and live with it. She will always

 hold a special place in my heart. But I'm

 not going to stop living because we can never be ... or rather,

 be the way I want us to be."

 Emil met Ben's eyes. "Jerre Hunter."

 "That's right, Emil. But this is just between us. Man

 to man."

 "On my word of honor, Ben. I'll

 never breathe a word of it. I got an idea, Ben

 Raines."

 "Lay it on me, Emil."

 "Let's us, you and me, two men of the world who now

 find ourselves with broken hearts . . . let's get

 shit-faced drunk!"

 Ben carried Emil out into the anteroom, slung

 over his shoulder like a sack of feed.

 "That didn't take long," Jersey said.

 "Emil passed out during the second verse of

 "Ruby, Don't Take Your Love

 to Town.""

 With Cooper taking his shoulders and Chuck taking his

 legs, they carried Emil out to the Blazer.

 "Take him to his quarters, boys. And handle him

 gently. His heart is broken."

 "So is his voice," Chuck remarked. "I

 believe that's the worst singing I ever heard."

 Shaking his head and laughing, Ben walked back

 inside. He went to the radio, fiddled with it until

 he figured out how to work it-conscious of Beth watching

 him with a smile on her face-and tried to reach Ike.

 No responses.

 "You got to turn it on, General," Beth called

 from across the room. "The black plastic

 switch on the right. Right there."

 Muttering, Ben turned the equipment on and waited

 for it to warm up.

 "It's ready to go, General. It stays hot from a

 backup battery. If you want it on scramble,

 flip that silver toggle switch on the left side.

 Right there."

 "Thank you, Beth. Eagle to Shark." He waited

 while a runner located Ike.

 "Go, Eagle."

 "How's it going over there, Ike?"

 "Better than we expected, Ben. We got the

 engines in these old rust buckets ticking over like

 perpetual motion machines. We got the winches and

 cranes working to lift most of our gear on board."

 "That's good news, Ike. We've moved down to the

 park and are waiting for Khamsin to follow. Did

 Cecgetover?"

 "That's ten-four, Ben. We cleared one section of a

 runway. The wounded will be flying back to Base

 Camp One in the morning. We have not seen one sign

 of any creepies."

 "That's ten-four, Ike. Talk to you next day.

 Eagle out."

 Ben walked outside to stand in the snow and

 cold for a time. It was coming down to the wire, and it all

 depended on Khamsin pushing hard and how Sister

 Voleta and Monte and Ashley would react once

 the plan went into effect.

 Ben tried to put himself in the place of those over in

 New Jersey. Ben felt he could figure what

 Ashley would do. He did not know enough about Monte

 to reach any firm conclusions, and Ben knew he should

 not even attempt to plumb the depths of the mind of

 Sister Voleta. She was totally but brilliantly

 insane. So there was no way of knowing what she might

 do.

 And Sister Voleta was also a fanatic, her sole

 purpose for being to destroy Ben Raines. Like

 Khamsin, she would willingly die if in doing so she

 could be assured of Ben's death.

 Ben returned to the warmth of the building and sat down

 on his cot, pulling off his boots and stretching out.

 He expected Khamsin to start his advance in the

 morning. If the Libyan did as Ben thought, his

 Rebels would have to hold their current positions for

 at least one full day, and then begin falling back,

 sucking Khamsin deeper and deeper into lower

 Manhattan. Anywhere past 86th Street would be

 ideal. They had enough fuel oil and gasoline

 to ensure a big bang and a steady burn in lower

 Manhattan.

 The chemicals would take care of any who survived

 the

 initial blast and burn. Ike and Dan had

 planted explosives at stress points of many

 buildings, guaranteed to bring them down.

 Ben went to sleep thinking of the bug-out and the devastation

 that would follow. He went to sleep wondering if he

 and his Rebels could pull it off.

 And he went to sleep thinking of Jerre.

 Since he went to sleep so early in the evening, he

 was up long before any of the others. He dressed

 quietly and picked up his M14, slipping through the

 darkened anteroom and stepping outside.

 "Ben Raines," he whispered to the sentry who had

 whirled around as Ben exited the building.

 "Yes, sir. You startled me, sir. Christ, it

 isn't even three o'clock yet."

 "I'll stand your watch, girl. You go get us a

 couple cups of coffee."

 "Yes, sir!" She grinned at him, glad for a

 chance to get out of the cold.

 Ben squatted down on the sidewalk and looked up

 at the sky. Not a star in sight. And the air

 was not only cold, it was wet. More snow on the way.

 And that was not good news.

 Two more days of snow, and bridge traffic during the

 bug-out would be slowed to a snail's pace. That was

 both good and bad for a couple of reasons. The bug-out

 would have to be executed very quickly, but if it was snowing,

 the dispersion of the chemical agents in the wet air would

 be greatly reduced and would thus place the Rebels

 in less danger should there be a wind shift. Ben's

 weather people had given him the green light for the day after

 tomorrow. But it might have to be sooner.

 "Damn!" Ben said. He also felt that the snow would

 slow Khamsin's troops in their advance. And they

 needed to be at the nordiernmost section of Central

 Park in thirty-six hours. Then, one more day of

 die Rebels falling back, and Ben could cut the

 tiger loose.

 And when to order West to bug out? No later than tomorrow

 evening, for sure. Khamsin's spotters would know that

 at least three battalions had left the city. That

 just might prompt the man to make a full frontal

 attack against the weakened lines at the park.

 Maybe.

 The sentry returned with two cups of coffee and some

 hot bread. "I conned the cook out of the

 bread, General."

 "Smells good. Thanks. Everything quiet during the

 night?"

 "Like a grave, sir." She squatted down beside him

 and they ate the bread and sipped the coffee.

 Ben knew her face but not her name. "What's your

 name?" he asked.

 "Penny."

 "Got a family, Penny?"

 "No, sir. Maybe when all the fighting is over

 I can think about that. I been fighting with the Rebels for

 three years. I kind of envy those who do have kids,

 but it's not for me, not just yet."

 "You'd miss the action?"

 "For sure. It gets in your blood. Here it

 doesn't make any difference if you're a man or

 woman. Everybody is equal. I had me a man

 down in Texas-back when I was j ust a kid,

 fifteen years old. The day he told me he was the

 boss and I do what he tells me to do, that's the day

 I told him to shove it and left. I joined up with

 Ramos and his people and then was transferred to a base

 camp over in North Carolina."

 "Equality is the way I planned it, Penny.

 How old were you when the Great War came?"

 "I think I was eight, General. Some folks

 took me in for a few years, then the man raped me.

 I was about twelve, I guess. I split and

 stayed with some other kids for a couple more years."

 She didn't elaborate on what took place

 between ages twelve and fifteen and Ben didn't push

 it. Over the years he had spoken with hundreds of

 kids who had been caught up in those years

 directly after the Great War. Theirs had been a

 mean, miserable and scary existence. Many had

 drifted to the Tri-States. Most had stayed and

 become part of the Rebels.

 "They going to hit us today, General?"

 "I would, if I were in Khamsin's boots."

 "We really going to sail out of the harbor in those big

 ships over yonder in Brooklyn?" She

 pronounced it "Brookering."

 "That's the plan, Penny."

 "That'll be fun. I never been on a ship. I

 never even seen one up close."

 "It won't be long now."

 Ben rolled his people out at four o'clock and after breakfast,

 told them to get into position.

 Chuck got the field commanders on the horn and Ben

 took the mike, telling Chuck to take it

 off scramble. He knew his words would be monitored

 up in Khamsin's CP. "This is Eagle. We

 don't use artillery unless they open up with it first.

 Let's see if the Hot Fart and his assholes have

 the courage to face cold nerve and hot lead.

 They've got us outnumbered three or four to one, but

 I don't think any of them have what it takes in the

 guts department. Dawn will tell the story, I

 suppose. Eagle out."

 When Khamsin was told of

 the

 challenge, he took it calmly, and then reached

 exactly the conclusion that Ben had hoped for.

 "A challenge between generals," Khamsin spoke

 softly. "I see now why he fought without honor at

 first."

 "Why, General?"

 "To bring our forces closer to his number,

 naturally. Very well, I accept his challenge.

 No tanks, no artillery." He held up a

 finger. "Do not fear. The forces of Allah will

 prevail."

 "Recon teams report Khamsin and men are on the

 way, General," Chuck related. "Looks like he

 took the bait. No tanks and no

 artillery."

 Ben smiled. "Very good. This time tomorrow, we can

 start moving our heavy tanks across the bridges."

 "We gonna load them on the ships, General?"

 "Some of them. I guess we'll have to leave the

 rest." He again allowed himself a strange smile and

 picked up a map, studying it, seemingly

 unconcerned that approximately four thousand

 decidedly hostile troops were rapidly moving

 toward his position.

 Ben walked over to Chuck. "Take a break,

 Chuck. I need to use the radio for a minute."

 "Ah . . . yes, sir! You want it on

 scramble?"

 "Please."

 Ben sat alone in the CP for several minutes,

 alternately looking at a map and speaking into the

 mike. Then, again with that strange smile on his

 face, he hung up the mike and stepped outside.

 "Let's go fight a war, gang."

 Neither side gave up an inch of ground all through that

 long and bloody day. Toward evening, it began to snow

 again, and Ben had to make a decision and make it

 fast.

 He drove over to Colonel West's

 position. "Bug out tonight, Colonel. Take Tina

 and her teams and head for New Jersey. We can't

 wait any longer. Another twenty-four hours of

 snow, those bridges will be impassable even with

 chains."

 "All right, Ben. But you're damn sure going to be

 short."

 "Even shorter come noon tomorrow, West."

 "That's the final bug-out?"

 "That's it."

 The two professional soldiers stood looking at

 each other for a moment, both of them smiling. West

 broke the silence.

 "I always said if I ever found a better

 tactician than myself, I'd follow him through

 Hell and back again. I found him."

 "Let's see if it'll work before you start heaping

 accolades on my head."

 "Oh, it'll work." He gripped Ben's arm.

 "See you, Ben."

 "Take care of my kid."

 "Will do."

 Ben waited and watched as West began grouping his people.

 Tina came to his side.

 "Why do I get this feeling, Pops, that

 you're about to pull something damned sneaky again?"

 "Me? Girl, you know I would never do anything like

 that."

 "Right, Pops. Sure. Now then, what about

 Jerre?"

 Ben stiffened just a bit, and it wasn't from the cold.

 "What about her?"

 "She told me she wanted to return to Louisiana

 with us."

 "So I can bump into her every goddamn time I turn

 around? So I can see her with other men? Get real,

 girl! No way."

 "She's assigned to us, Dad. You know how shitty

 that's going to look when you deliberately send her off

 to the boondocks?"

 Ben was silent for a moment. Then he sighed.

 "Maybe it's time for me to open up the plains

 states, girl. Yeah. I've been thinking about that.

 Just taking a battalion and striking out, looking for

 trouble."

 "Running away is a better name for it." When he

 did not acknowledge her comment, she said, "Are you going

 to run from her all your life?"

 "I do not wish to continue this discussion any longer,

 Tina. It's bug-out time, girl. Join

 your team."

 "Yes,

 sir,

 Generall" Then the expression on her face softened

 and she kissed Ben's cheek. "You have to do what you

 think is best, Dad. I'm with you whatever you do."

 "Thanks. You take care. I'll see you tomorrow

 afternoon."

 "I still think you're going to pull something sneaky."

 "Never! You know I am as straightforward as a

 bullet. As honest as Abe Lincoln. As

 truthful as George Washington. As pure as the

 driven snow. As honorable as a minister. As . .

 ."

 "Full of crap as you have always been," she finished it

 Ben gave her a swat on the rear and she ran

 away, over the snow, laughing. "I'll tell

 Jerre you said hello," she called over her

 shoulder.

 "Yeah, you probably will," Ben muttered. "And when

 you do, she'll probably spit in your eye or

 hang a cussing on you."

 "How is Ben?" Jerre asked.

 "Ben is Ben," Tina told her. "He's never

 going to change."

 West's column had made it over the bridges

 without difficulty and were bivouacked in New

 Jersey. Tina and Jerre were having a very welcome

 cup of coffee and talking.

 "I'm tired of drifting, Tina. I want a

 home, some permanency in my life."

 "Dad isn't going to kick up a fuss if you come

 to Base Camp One with us. Just stay out of his way and

 don't flaunt your boyfriends in his face. Dad's

 going to pull out anyway, probably within a couple

 of weeks of our returning."

 "If I come back with you?"

 "Whether you do or not. Cecil will be running the show

 at the base camp because he's better at

 administration than Dad. Cecil has him a lady

 friend and would rather stay home. Oh, Dad will bitch and

 moan about his getting old and all that type of crap,

 and about how he's too old for the field and this, that, and the

 other thing. But he's never going to leave combat

 to others. He's always going to be right in the thick of

 it. Just make plans to come on back with us. Like I

 said, just stay away from Dad when he's in camp."

 Jerre nodded her head. "What's going on around

 here,

 Tina? Something is very strange. The docks

 are off-limits except for a few people."

 "I don't know, Jerre. But I have this feeling that

 Dad is pulling something very sneaky and keeping it

 close to the vest."

 "General Jefferys said he wanted everybody in their

 sleeping bags by nine o'clock tonight. He also said that

 everybody was going to have a very busy day facing us tomorrow.

 But what the hell are we going to be doing?"

 "Beats me, girl. You know Ben, he's full of

 surprises."

 "Yes, I know that only too well. And he can

 spring them on you right out of the blue."

 Ben stepped out and looked up into a dark but snowy

 predawn morning. "Now or never," he muttered.

 He walked back into the CP and located the

 radio, taking it outside. "Eagle to Hawk."

 Cecil was on the horn within a moment. "Go,

 Eagle."

 "Get them up and moving, Gee. We'll be bugging

 out at noon."

 "Ten-four, Ben. We'll cross at the

 easternmost point, well out of range of any of their

 spotters, and then angle toward rendezvous."

 "Affirmative. Eagle out."

 HegotRebetandDanjouand gave the

 orders. "Bug out, gentlemen. And don't be

 quiet about it. I'll see you across."

 Dan had joined him. "Get the kids, Dan."

 "Right, sir." Dan waved his team to vehicles.

 Gene Savie awakened to a cold muzzle pressing

 against his face.

 "I do hate to be so abrupt this early in the

 morning, don't you know?" Dan spoke softly.

 "It isn't a bit civil. But we're going

 to relieve you all of a burden."

 "What are you talking about?" his wife asked.

 "Your children, Madame. I do hope you will not kick

 up too much of a fuss abot it. I hate

 unpleasantness before I have had my morning cup."

 "You son of a bitch!" Gene cursed him.

 Dan's smile was thin. "I wouldn't want you to get

 in the habit of calling me that. I might take

 umbrage at the slur against ray mother and become quite

 hostile. Like bashing your teeth out with the butt of this

 weapon."

 Gene slumped back onto the pillows.

 "Take all the art you can gather, people," Dan

 reminded his Scouts. "They won't be needing it."

 Gene and his wife lay in the dark bedroom and glared

 at Dan.

 A few moments passed in silence.

 "We've got them, Colonel!" a Scout

 called.

 "Very good." He smiled at Gene and wife.

 "Ta-ta, now, folks. Do enjoy yourselves ... in the

 time you have left. Oh, and don't attempt to leave

 your apartments. I'll have sharpshooters posted here and

 there. Good day!" he called cheerfully.

 "What's happening?" his wife cried.

 "Ben Raines is leaving us on the island, that's what

 is happening. Just relax. We can strike a deal

 with the Libyan just like we did with the Night P."

 "But the children!"

 "Less mouths to feed."

 Dan took the very quiet and scared kids

 to Striganov.

 "What do you plan to do with them once we are clear

 of the island?" the Russian asked.

 "Spread them around our various outposts, I

 suppose," Dan told him.

 "Do you suppose Ben would object if some of them

 went to Canada?"

 Dan smiled. "I don't think he would mind at

 all, General." He was watching as some of the

 Russian troops were busy making friends

 with the children.

 "Good, good!" Georgi said, then began assigning

 personnel to get the kids off the island. They would

 leave immediately.

 Dawn began streaking the eastern sky as Khamsin's

 troops began firing at the Rebel-held lines.

 "Fall back," Ben ordered. "Down

 to Ninety-sixth Street. Let's go, people. Fall

 back as if you "re running in fear from the Hot

 Fart."

 The Rebels pulled back, giving the Libyan

 troops twelve more blocks of the city.

 "Throw up a line here," Ben ordered. "We've

 got to hold until noon."

 The Rebels stopped the fast advance of the Libyan

 troops and held firm. There were few casualties

 on either side that morning. The snow already on the ground

 and more coming down made visibility poor and any

 type of movement very dangerous.

 "Get any vehicles that we don't need out of

 here," Ben instructed Dan. "Get them across the

 bridges. Have the drivers of the vehicles that are

 staying with us turn them around and keep them ready to go."

 Dan was back at Ben's side in a moment.

 "The bridges wired and ready to blow,

 Dan?"

 "All set, General."

 Ben checked his watch then opened a map case.

 "When we bug out, Dan, we'll take Amsterdam

 all the way down until it intersects with

 Broadway. We'll follow Broadway down

 to Fourteenth Street and then I'll angle off

 to Fourth. We'll head down to the two lower

 bridges, then across to Brooklyn. As soon as

 we're on the bridges, blow the Williamsburg

 Bridge."

 "Ten-four, General."

 "All the Tall Eyes down and clear?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "All recon patrols back to our lines?"

 "All back home, sir."

 "What am I forgetting, Dan?"

 "I can't think of a thing, sir. I believe we are

 ready to put the stopper in the bottle."

 "Just a few more hours," Ben muttered, his voice

 barely audible over the crash of combat.

 "Rebet and Danjou are across," Chuck relayed the

 message to Ben.

 Emil walked up, looking like the original Sad

 Sack.

 "Did my sweet poopsie arrive in Brooklyn

 safely?" he asked.

 "Yes, Emil," Ben replied, fighting to hide his

 smile. "Your rose of no-man's-land is safe."

 "I feel like the sun has gone forever out of my

 life," Emil moaned, looking as if he might

 tune up and start bawling any second. Or singing,

 and one was just as bad as the other.

 "Hang on, Emil," Ben told him. "You'll be

 together again." He silently groaned as soon as the

 words left his mouth, for he knew Emil was old enough

 to remember that song.

 Emil burst out in song.

 Dan looked on and listened, his face a study in

 emotions as Emil bellowed out the words, his voice

 carrying over the rattle of gunfire.

 Ben turned to a Rebel. "Go find Thermopolis.

 Tell him to get his people-and Emil and his group-across the

 river. As quickly as possible." He grabbed Emil

 by the shoulders. "Emil! Get ready to head for

 Brooklyn. Your sweet baboo is waiting."

 "Oh, thank you from the bottom of my heart!"

 Emil shouted. He ran off, slipping and sliding in

 the snow, to join his group.

 "Thermopolis is not going to be happy about

 this," Dan said.

 "Would you like to escort Emil across the bridge?"

 "God forbid!"

 "Let's go to work."

 The men and women walked toward the sounds of battle.

 Ben was leaning up against a truck when Thermopolis

 and his group drove past in their VW'S. Emil was

 sitting in the backseat of Thermopolis's Bug.

 He looked very happy, and he was singing.

 Thermopolis looked long at Ben, an

 extremely disgusted expression on his face, then

 raised his hand and gave Ben the finger.

 Ben was still laughing and Dan was losing the struggle

 to maintain a straight face as the short column

 faded out of sight, the chains on the tires clanking

 and clicking and rattling as they gripped the snowy

 street.

 "We can't have any amateurs on this last run,

 Dan. Get the Underground People out. Tell them

 to move out now."

 Within minutes, the trucks carrying the strange and

 pale men and women and children of the underground moved past.

 "Gettin" down to the nut-cuttin' now," Jersey

 commented.

 Dan glanced at her. "What a quaint

 expression. You certainly have a way with words."

 "Thanks," Jersey said with a straight face.

 "Wind is beginning to shift around," Coop said.

 "Another hour or so and it'll be coming straight out of the

 east."

 "That's when we'll make our move, people. Blazer

 all packed, Coop?"

 "Ten-four, General. Sittin' on go."

 Ben stuck out his hand and Dan shook it. "Return

 to your unit, Dan. Get ready to bug out. I'll

 advise General Striganov and his people they'll be

 leaving within the hour."

 "I shall see you on Broadway, General.

 Naturally, you will be leading the parade?"

 "Wrong. My team will be the last ones off this island,

 Dan."

 "I had to try."

 "I was waiting for it."

 "Good luck, sir."

 "Same to you, Dan."

 The Englishman wheeled around and began the short

 walk back to his unit of Scouts.

 Ben stood in the cold winds and blowing snow and

 rolled a cigarette, his mind racing back and forth like

 a restless panther in a cage. He began

 to pace up and down the sidewalk.

 Had he remembered everything?

 He thought so.

 His personal team stood around him in silence,

 watching him pace the snow.

 Ben sighed and stopped his restless walking. He

 looked at his team. "Take a look around you,

 gang. Take a look at the Big Apple.

 We're about to tear the core out of it. It's a good

 thing Hizzoner isn't around to see this."

 "Who, sir?" Coop asked.

 "The mayor. He would have been very unhappy with me."

 Ben lifted the map and for the tenth time in an hour

 studied the route to freedom. "Miles to go," he

 muttered. "And we're leaving so many treasures behind

 us."

 "Sir," Jersey said. "We got a hundred

 tons

 of books and paintings and stuff being loaded over in

 Brooklyn. More than I ever dreamed we'd

 manage to salvage. If history hangs a lot

 of blame on you, then the historians can just go kiss

 ass!"

 Ben was startled for a moment; then he burst out laughing.

 "You're right, Jersey. Thanks for taking

 a load off me."

 "You're welcome," the little lady said.

 "Let's go cross some bridges, gang. Chuck,

 tell General Striganov to bug out!"

 As soon as Khamsin's troops realized what was

 happening, they radioed the news back to his CP.

 "Pursue them!" Khamsin screamed. "Don't

 let them reach the bridges. Cut them off."

 Easy to say. But Ben had prepared for that move, as

 well.

 What Khamsin did not know, but was about to discover, was

 that East 65 this Street, from the park all the way

 over to the East River, was blocked by as many junked

 vehicles as the Rebels had been able to drag in from

 all over that part of the city.

 Khamsin split his forces, one group pushing down from

 the recently abandoned battle lines on the east

 side of the park, the other group chasing after Ben on the

 west side of the park.

 Some of Gene Savie's group, seeing what was

 taking place, ran out of their apartments and tried

 to wave down the troops of the Hot Wind.

 "We're friends!" they screamed at the trucks.

 "We're on your side. We're glad to see you."

 "Please stop!" Gene shouted. "Please.

 We're your friends."

 The Libyans laughed at them.

 "Leave them be," a field commander ordered. "When

 we get back we'll shoot the men and have our way

 with the women."

 The race went on through the slick snowy streets of

 the city.

 In the Blazer, Ben took a page from Emil's

 book and began humming "Homeward Bound."

 With chains on all four wheels, Cooper could

 maneuver the four-wheel-drive vehicle almost as

 well as if he were driving on dry pavement.

 Since they were the last vehicle in the column, Ben

 decided to have some fun by tossing grenades out of his

 open window.

 That action kept Khamsin's men back a good two

 blocks, for the Rebel grenades were almost twice as

 powerful as the old conventional type.

 Ben picked up his mike and keyed it. "Dan? When

 we reach Columbus Circle, spread a couple

 hundred pounds of HE around the area and put a

 two-minute timer on it. That ought to catch

 Khamsin's column just right. Keep the east lane,

 east side clear."

 "Ten-four, sir."

 Cooper glanced at a battered old sign. West

 72nd Street. It was going to be close. He

 picked up his mike. "You guys up front wanna

 kick it in the ass some? I sure would appreciate

 it."

 The column picked up speed.

 "What's the matter, Coop?" Ben said with a

 smile. "You getting nervous?"

 "Oh, no! Not me, sir."

 "He doesn't lie any better than he

 drives," Jersey remarked.

 Coop slid through Columbus Circle, his face

 shiny with sweat. "Shit!" he yelled, relief very

 evident in his voice as they cleared the hidden

 explosives.

 The high explosives blew just as the third truck

 in Khamsin's column passed over it. The truck

 and its occupants were splattered all over the area.

 The huge explosion blew the gas tanks on

 several more trucks and created a massive, burning

 traffic jam. The twisted and mangled and bloody

 bodies of the Hot Wind's soldiers littered the

 snow.

 The Rebel column sped past 57th Street and

 continued south, toward Times Square.

 "We're blocked!" Akim screamed into his

 mike. "Completely blocked at Sixty-fifth

 Street."

 "Backtrack!" Khamsin squalled into his

 mike. "Backtrack and cut over through the park."

 He was frantically eyeing an old city map. "Just

 past the zoo there is a road that cuts south, it will

 bring you out on Central Park South. Move,

 Akim, move!"

 "Times Square." Ben pointed it out, much like a tour

 director. "I almost got mugged in this area one

 night."

 They passed the Times Building.

 "Macy's is just a few blocks down, ladies.

 I wish we had the time to stop and browse, but I'm

 afraid our schedule just won't permit it.

 Pressing business and all that, you know?"

 "Comedian," Jersey muttered. "A

 grenade-tossing comedian."

 "Yeah, you could say he bombed out," Beth said.

 Ben groaned as the others laughed.

 They were through Herald Square and then passing the

 Flatiron Building on 23rd Street.

 Ben keyed his mike. "Dan, everything is still G.

 You cross on the Brooklyn Bridge.

 I'll take the Manhattan Bridge."

 "Ten-four, General."

 "Lead Scout," Ben radioed, "when you get down

 here to Union Square Park, just past it, hanga

 leftand you'll pick up Fourth Avenue, turn right

 on Fourth. That changes to Bowery later on. Stay

 with it. We might even see a bum or two."

 "Sir?"

 "Never mind. We'll pick up the bridge just off

 Confucius Plaza."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Where the hell did our pursuit go?" Beth

 asked, twisting around in the backseat.

 "They probably got all tangled up," Ben said

 with a smile as the others groaned.

 Coop followed the column as they turned onto

 Fourth.

 "Cooper Square right down there a few blocks,"

 Ben

 "All right! Probably named after one of my famous

 relatives."

 "Probably where they

 hung

 one of your relatives," Jersey fired back.

 "Speaking of being hung ..." Cooper

 laughed as he was booed and hissed quiet from Beth and

 Jersey.

 "General Striganov is across," the speaker spewed

 the words. "What is your twenty, General?" Dan

 asked.

 "Coming up on Houston."

 "I'm crossing Canal. I'll wait for you,

 General."

 "Ten-fifty on that, Dan. You get across the

 bridge."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Khamsin's people in sight, General," Beth told

 him.

 Ben rolled down his window and began tossing

 grenades out as fast as his people could hand them to him and he

 could pull the pins.

 Khamsin's column fell back several blocks.

 Bullets began slamming into the back of the Blazer.

 "That's very annoying," Ben remarked, as they sped

 past Delancey Street. He read the old street

 sign. "Just a couple of minutes more, gang." He

 picked up his mike.

 "Eagle to Shark?"

 "Go, Eagle."

 "I think we just might have a few

 vehicles on our tail when we cross. Have some

 reception waiting for them, please."

 "Ten-four, Eagle."

 Ben flipped the radio to scramble. "To all units

 crossing over. Do not go to the docks. Repeat, do not

 go to the docks. You will rendezvous with me just off the

 Brooklyn-Queens Expressway on Navy

 Street. Shark, shove off."

 "Aye, aye, Captain." Ike's voice contained

 a lot of high humor.

 "What the hell . . . ?" Cooper muttered.

 They were on the bridge and staying in the ruts made

 by previous vehicles.

 The sound of a ship's horn drifted to them.

 Jersey looked at Beth and Beth looked at

 Chuck.

 "Don't ask me," he said. "I just work here."

 "Eagle to West."

 "Go, Eagle."

 "You may have the honors, sir."

 "That's a big ten-four, General. But it is with a

 mixture of sadness and satisfaction."

 "I understand the emotions, West. Peel the

 Apple."

 Behind them, in several hundred spots throughout

 the city, massive charges blew, bringing buildings

 down and sending deadly gas wafting through the cold

 air. Electronically opened valves sent

 gasoline flooding into the subway system and the sewer

 tunnels under the city. The fumes ignited and

 exploded. Entire sections of streets were lifted

 high into the air. The methane was ignited and flames

 leaped hundreds of feet into the air as the methane

 mixed with gasoline.

 And the poisonous chemicals reached human lungs and

 flesh.

 "You across, Dan?" Ben radioed.

 "Ten-four, sir."

 "So are we. Blow the bridges."

 Those who had chased Ben and his columns dirough the

 city were caught on the bridge as sections of both

 spans were blown. The fast-moving trucks could not

 stop in time. They plunged off the bridge, falling

 through the blown sections to the icy waters below, carrying

 their screaming human cargo to a watery death.

 Ben did not immediately look back on the death of a

 city. Had he looked, he would have seen huge

 columns of smoke rising into the snowy air,

 flames dancing and twisting from the gasoline and

 methane as they touched and torched dusty old

 buildings.

 On both sides of Central Park, and from 86th

 Street down to Battery Park, a fiery

 maelstrom had enveloped the city, one fire feeding

 another as the flames spread unchecked.

 Only one battalion of Khamsin's troops was

 above the deadly line of fire and poison

 chemicals. Khamsin ordered them into protective

 gear and began moving them back

 toward the north, the taste of defeat bitter in his

 mouth.

 Gene and Kay Savie and their collaborators

 made it away from the chemicals and flames with the

 clothes on their backs, their weapons, and damn little

 else. They got into their once-expensive cars and

 station wagons and raced toward the north.

 John Savie sat in the backseat of his son's

 car and muttered, "I always knew that Ben Raines was

 a no-good, no-talent son of a bitch!"

 He looked back at the city and cursed.

 Flames were rapidly moving up the dusty interiors

 of the tall towers of the city, building with a hideous

 fury as the tons of papers within the offices

 exploded in flames, the force blowing out windows and

 pocking the snow-covered streets with shards of

 glass.

 As the water in the sewers and tunnels began

 to boil, steam began to build, producing pressure

 with no adequate release valve. The working energy

 finally reached the exploding point and blew, the

 collected masses blowing great holes in the

 streets of lower Manhattan and in the basements and

 lower levels of buildings. That action proved too

 much for structures already weakened by age and neglect.

 Steel twisted and concrete buckled, bringing

 hundreds of thousands of tons of ragged debris down

 into the streets.

 Khamsin looked back at the holocaust and cursed

 Ben Raines, damning him forever to the pits of Hell

 and the demons therein.

 In the department stores of the city, mannequins

 melted as the fires reached near-impossible

 temperatures; silk and satin and cotton burst

 into flames; expensive jewelry melted; and

 five-hundred-dollar bottles of perfume and

 cologne exploded, one last and very brief touch of

 extravagance splashing an aroma-salute to a dying

 city.

 Those troops of the Hot Wind who had been caught

 in lower Manhattan now lay choking on the

 snow, the deadly gases ending their lives just as the

 flames touched them, or they lay buried and forever

 forgotten beneath tons of rubble as buildings

 collapsed.

 Those Night People who dared challenge Ben Raines and

 his Rebels, those who remained in the city, went up

 in a puff of fire and smoke, for they had no

 place left to run.

 Ben ordered the Blazer stopped on an overpass

 of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. He

 stood by the railing, facing west, a hard wind blowing

 at his back. Lower Manhattan was completely

 enveloped in smoke and fire and explosions. Below

 him, on the streets under the overpass, Rebels

 waited in silence, all of them looking at the

 destruction across the cold and silent river.

 One Rebel in the crowd of men and women standing in the

 cold and snow turned to face Ben, standing above him.

 He raised his Ml6 high in the air and let a

 Rebel yell rip the air. Ben cut his eyes and

 looked at the man.

 Others in the crowd turned, raised their weapons and

 cut the cold winds with wild Rebel yells of

 victory. Behind them, the black smoke roiled

 angrily and darkly into the air.

 Soon all the Rebels on the streets and

 expressway were yelling, pumping their weapons up and

 down in a victory salute.

 Ben let them work off weeks of collected steam,

 their cries of victory filling the snowy air.

 Then he lifted his M14 into the air and joined in the

 celebration.

 Far in the distance, the sounds of ships' horns joined

 the victory yells as Ike led the three-ship,

 nearly empty convoy out into Lower New York

 Bay, past Fort Hancock, and then assumed a

 southerly heading.

 Buddy stood by Ike's side on the bridge of the

 lead ship, both of them looking back at New

 York City.

 "This was a deliberate move by my father, wasn't it,

 Ike?" the young man asked. "My being here with you, I

 mean."

 "Yes."

 "So I would not have to be a part of fighting against my

 mother."

 "Yes."

 "He had this in mind all along, didn't he? This

 ruse,

 I mean?"

 "Just about from the git-go, boy."

 "Where will we land these monsters?"

 Ike laughed at him. "We'll find us some docks

 down south with the equipment to offload our vehicles,

 and then we'll head on back to Base Camp

 One."

 Buddy stared at the smoke that was once lower

 Manhattan. "My mother is going to be highly

 displeased with this action," he commented.

 "That's the general idea, boy."

 Spotters posted along the New Jersey shore had

 seen the ships leave, steaming stately along and then

 cutting out into the Atlantic. They had radioed

 back to Sister Voleta.

 "Damn him!" she exploded. "This idea came

 to me but I rejected it as unworkable. Goddamn

 Ben Raines! Somehow he pulled it off."

 Ashley had been stunned as he watched the beginning

 of the destruction of New York City, and then he

 shook himself out of it and ordered everybody to move

 south, quickly, all the way down to Middlesex

 County.

 "Why?" Monte demanded.

 "Because I don't trust Ben Raines," Ashley

 told him.

 They waited at the rendezvous point for the last men

 to arrive. They did not arrive.

 "That's about what I thought," Ashley said.

 "What the hell are you talkin' about?" Monte

 challenged him. "Them boys was good soldiers. They

 wouldn't run off. They'll be along."

 "They will never be along," Ashley told him. "Ben

 used some sort of chemicals; poisonous gases.

 I wondered why he was waiting to cut and run. He

 was waiting for the wind to change, to blow straight out of the

 east."

 Even Sister Voleta was shaken. "If we had

 stayed, we

 would all be dead."

 "Yes. I think that, too, was his plan."

 Monte shook his head. "This guy ain't human.

 He's cruel! B. . . with him and his people all gone

 on them ships, what are we gonna do?"

 Ashley squatted down and warmed his hands over an

 open fire. his Ben Raines and his Rebels are

 indeed on those ships."

 "Now what the hell do you mean by that?"

 Sister Voleta listened in silence.

 "You have to understand how Ben's mind works. He is such

 a sneaky son of a bitch. I'll wager that

 not one percent of his people knew what he was going to do

 until it was actually taking place."

 "You mean he don't even trust his own people?"

 "Oh, he trusts them. Of course he does.

 That's not why he does it. If one of them were

 captured and tortured, they might break and talk.

 Be quiet and let me think for a moment. Your silence

 would be most gratifying."

 Monte closed his mouth and pouted.

 Ashley was thoughtful for a momentand then said, "We know that

 Ben has spotter planes. Probably based

 down at this old military complex." He punched

 at a worn map. "McGuire, Dix, the

 Naval Air Station. Somewhere in there. What if, just

 for argument's sake, Ben was not on those ships, but

 instead headed north out of Brooklyn . . . say,

 crossing into the Bronx here," he pointed, "on either

 Six-seventy-eight or Two-ninety-five. He

 would then proceed up into We/chester County and cross

 the Hudson using the Tappan Zee bridge, then

 cut south and come down behind us."

 "So what's with this spotter plane business?"

 Monte asked.

 "If spotter planes go up more than just a couple

 of times," Sister Voleta said, "that would

 mean that they weren't just doing reconnaissance of the

 city. They would be searching for us."

 "Precisely!" Ashley beamed.

 "It would be just like that son of a bitch to pull something of

 this nature," Voleta said.

 "We'll rendezvous with Cecil at this point,"

 Ben said, putting his finger on Gypsy Sprain

 Reservoir. "East side. He's taken command of the

 units Ike left behind." Ben turned to Chuck.

 "Advise the spotters to do no flybys of any

 area until I order them up. Tell them to keep

 the birds on the ground. Do it now."

 Chuck nodded and walked to the Blazer.

 "Now I'll answer the question I know you all have in your

 minds: What in the hell is going on? I've already

 briefed Ike and Cecil; now it's your turn.

 "We're going to finish Monte and Ashley and

 Sister Voleta once and for all. If we have

 to chase them all the way to California, then that's

 what we'll do. Georgi and Danjou and Rebet

 say they're in diis fight for the duration. That's

 good-I welcome their assistance.

 "What we're going to try is swinging north and then

 coming down on them. I'm sure you've all noticed

 that none of our heavy stuff was loaded on

 ship. Ike took just enough to get him through to Base

 Camp One ... if he should run into trouble."

 Ben paused for a moment, turning to look at the

 smoke pouring into the sky from the hundreds of unchecked

 fires in the city. He shook his head and turned

 back to his people.

 "Once we rendezvous with Cecil, we'll continue

 north and cross over the Hudson here." Again he

 punched the map. "*ationorth of the Tappan Zee

 Bridge. It's out of our way, but Ashley may have

 figured this move out-give him credit, he's a

 jerk, but plenty smart-and have it ready to blow when we

 cross. Then we'll head south, slowly, giving

 Dan's Scouts plenty of time to range far out in

 front of us.

 "When Monte and the others are located, we'll hit

 them and hit them hard, and get this nasty business over

 with-

 at last.

 "All right, people. Let's mount up and head north."

 It was slow going picking their way through the

 rubble-strewn and snowy streets of the Bronx. It was

 a ghost town, with not one living thing seen by any of the

 Rebels.

 "Eerie." Even Ben said it aloud.

 "Will the fires spread over this far, General?"

 Jersey asked.

 "I doubt it. The city will burn for several weeks,

 in spots, and then the fires will burn out when all the

 wood and other flammable materials have been used

 up. But for any left alive over there, it's going

 to be damned uncomfortable."

 The column finally picked its way through the mess and

 rolled north into We/chester County. It was well

 after dark when they reached the rendezvous point and linked

 up with Cecil's command.

 They were all tired and cold and hungry.

 Cecil moved them on a few miles north to a

 deserted town where his people had cleaned out a high school

 and adjoining buildings, including the gym. There, the

 Rebels had set up a kitchen and placed stoves

 all around the complex. Huge containers of water were

 being heated, providing the Rebels with a very quick but very

 welcome warm bath. To a person they were dirty and

 smelling of stale sweat and death.

 "Hell of a fire," Cecil commented, after Ben had

 bathed and shaved and had a bite to eat. "Any way

 of knowing whether we got Khamsin personally?"

 "No. But knowing that thug's luck, I doubt it. But

 we destroyed probably ninety-five

 percent of his army. And the five percent remaining are

 going to be a long time recouping from this beating. If

 he's alive, and I feel that he is, he'll get

 off the island and set up someplace-on a much

 smaller scale, but we'll see him again, somewhere

 down the road."

 "Monte and Ashley and Sister Voleta?"

 "A thorn in our sides. And don't count them

 short. They're still a force to be reckoned with. For a

 time I toyed with the idea of just going on back home,

 bypassing them. But all that would do is delay

 matters and give them time to recruit more people, and we

 won't have the time to deal with them later. So it's now."

 "You want to explain that "we won't have the time"

 bit?"

 "Trouble out west. Not even Ike knows of this,

 Cecil, so keep it between us for a time. Dan advised

 me a few days ago that two of his long-range

 recon patrols have been wiped out. When the first

 failed to report as usual, another was sent down from

 Washington State. They reported, through

 Katzman, that a very large force has set up in

 Wyoming, ranging in all directions. Then no more was

 heard from them. We can only assume they're dead."

 "What type of force?"

 "I don't know. Whatever or whoever it is, it's

 big and mean and nasty. Ramos dispatched planes

 up from the southwest base. They never returned and

 never reported one damn word."

 "Shit!"

 "At least."

 "Who are you sending, Ben?"

 Ben stared at him for a moment and then smiled his

 reply.

 Cec got the message. "Oh, come on, Ben!"

 he raged. "We've got the makings of a model

 city down in Louisiana. You've got it to run."

 "Correction, old friend.

 You

 have it to run. And you've got Patrice to think about.

 You two are talking marriage, aren't you?"

 "Well, yes, but. . ."

 "No buts. It's settled. I'm going to do some

 shaking up on this run. Pure volunteer all the

 way. After we return to Base Camp One,

 I'll ask for volunteers and re-form the units.

 I'll take one full battalion and support

 units. But that's tomorrow, we've still got a lot of

 fighting facing

 us today."

 "You're letting yourself in for trouble with this volunteer

 business, Ben."

 "How do you mean?"

 was Jerre conducted herself well on the island,

 didn't she?"

 "After her initial freeze-up, yes, very well.

 Why do you ask?"

 "What are you going to do should she volunteer?"

 "Reject her."

 "On what basis, Ben? You know the way we

 operate. You made the rules."

 "I have discussed matters with Jerre. She knows how

 I feel. She won't volunteer." still

 hope,

 he silently added.

 The Rebels got a good eight hours' sleep that

 night, and upon awakening, each took another short,

 warm bath; they were beginning to feel human once again

 as they lined up for their first full breakfast in days.

 Striganov sat down at Ben's table, a worried

 look on his face.

 "What's the matter, Georgi?"

 "I just got word from back home. Trouble. Gangs

 have resurfaced, stronger than before. Our home guard

 is holding them at bay, but..." He let

 that trail off.

 "You need to split off and head back?"

 "Maybe. But let's see if we can't wrap up

 this nasty business first. What's happening, Ben?

 We destroy one gang of thugs and three more pop

 up."

 "Everything has broken down, Georgi. There are

 no rules to follow, no guidelines for the young, no

 heroes to look up to. Kids who were three and four

 years old when the Great War came are now

 seventeen and eighteen years old. And they've known

 nothing except savagery. It was to be expected.

 I, too, have trouble." He told the Russian about

 his teams being killed in the west.

 Georgi was thoughtful for a moment. Then he smiled a

 grim soldier's smile. "I think we shall be working

 together

 again, Ben Raines."

 "Very soon."

 "Yes."

 "When I get back to Base Camp One, I'm

 outfitting one battalion with support."

 "All volunteer?"

 "To the last person. There is no telling how long

 we'll remain in the field."

 "Ben," the Russian said softly, for Ben's ears

 only. "While we are far from being old men, we are

 no longer young bucks. The juices still run hot within

 us, and, God willing, shall continue to do so for many more

 years. Is that part of the reason you are once more taking

 to the field?"

 Ben smiled. "You sure chose a roundabout way of

 asking a simple question. Yeah, Georgi, it is."

 "So you will take to the grind of the field in order that

 she may live in peace and comfort?"

 "It isn't an entirely selfless act,

 Georgi. I'm doing what I think is best for

 both of us. Besides, I like the field."

 "And you think she will never know?"

 "Oh, no. She'll know. Whether she'll give a

 damn is up for grabs."

 Georgi refilled their coffee mugs. "I have been

 blessed in my middle age, Ben. I have found a

 woman who loves me." He shrugged

 philosophically, and then smiled, a twinkle in his

 eyes. "But I, too, love the field. So I can

 both sympathize and empathize with you." He sighed.

 "Well, now that we have discussed matters of the

 heart-to not much avail-how about your children's part in this

 talked-about sojourn into the Wild West?"

 "Oh, I'm sure they'll both go. Dan will be the

 first to volunteer. I'd hate to think of him not being

 there. I couldn't keep West and his men out of it if

 I tried. But I think I'll send them off in a

 different direction, with a rendezvous point to be

 determined later."

 "Have you given any thought to this being the same gang of

 thugs working both countries? Although borders

 don't matter much anymore."

 "Itmightbe. If that's the case, it's one hell

 of a big force. And not one that we should take lightly.

 Georgi, go ahead and take your people back home.

 We can handle this. Besides, I need some firsthand

 intelligence as to what's happening out West. Stay in

 radio contact with me, please."

 "You're sure about this?"

 "Yes. I would imagine your men are worried about

 their families."

 "To be sure. Ben? With so many women in the

 Rebels, how do you keep down camp romances?

 That's something that's puzzled me for some time."

 "I don't try to keep them down. I'm sure there

 are a lot of them going on. But they know to keep it

 discreet, and if they marry, one of them is leaving the

 field for a noncombat job at some

 outpost or base camp. So far it's worked."

 Georgi nodded his head and sighed. "Well, it's a

 long way back home, Ben Raines. Almost three

 thousand miles. And sitting here isn't getting us

 any closer." He smiled and stuck out his hand.

 "I'll keep in radio contact with you and I'm

 looking forward to seeing you again, this spring or summer."

 Ben took the offered hand. "Take it easy, friend.

 And thanks for all your help."

 Georgi Striganov smiled and left the table,

 stopping at the table where Rebet and Danjou were having

 breakfast, and telling them the news. Both of them

 turned with a smile and tossed Ben a salute.

 Ben returned the smile and the salute and watched the

 three men leave the gym. He mulled over the final

 casualty reports from the fight in New York.

 Seventy dead and more than two hundred wounded. A

 hundred and fifty of those wounded had been flown

 back to Base Camp One.

 Doctor Holly Allardt had flown back with the

 last planeload.

 He looked up as Tina and Jerre came walking

 into the large gym for breakfast. Already Ben was

 experiencing a

 sense of loss just looking at Jerre.

 Emil abruptly took his mind off Jerre when the

 little man came running into the gym and threw his arms

 wide. "My poopsie-whoopsie is leaving!" he

 wailed. "The light in my life has been forever

 dimmed. Oh, woe is me!"

 "Oh, shit!" Ben muttered.

 Ben had found Thermopolis's eye and motioned for him

 to please do something with Emil. With a disgusted look on

 his face, the hippie and several of his friends carried the

 squalling Emil out of the gym. Ben waggled his finger

 for Dan to join him.

 "As soon as Tina finishes breakfast, Dan,

 get her and her team on the road north. I want

 her a full ten miles ahead of us checking things out,

 all the way up to the bridge."

 "Right, General. Jerre?"

 "What about her?"

 "She's rejoined Tina's team."

 "Always has something to prove." Ben shook his head.

 "Well, it's her ass. Sure, send her with

 Tina."

 "I'll have them gone within the hour."

 "Tell our people we're leaving at ten o'clock, Dan."

 "Ten-four, General."

 Ben watched as Dan stopped at a table

 to inform some of his Scouts. The whole group of them

 burst out singing the old Willie Nelson song

 "On the Road Again."

 As was his custom before beginning any new campaign,

 Ben walked the length of the convoy, chatting briefly

 with each driver and as many of his Rebels as time would

 allow. The snowing had stopped, the day bright and

 sunny, the temperature right around the

 thirty-degree mark, accord -

 ing to an old thermometer Ben had found still nailed

 to the side of a building.

 "Tina reports the roads are slick as owl

 crap," Ben told one driver. "Even with chains

 it's going to be slow going. We won't make the

 bridge today. We're not going to try."

 To another: "Going to be home before spring, Davy.

 You can get that garden in."

 Back up the other side of the convoy he walked, his

 waterproof arctic boots crunching the snow and his

 breath steaming the air as he spoke to the men and women

 of the Rebels.

 Back in his Blazer, Ben spoke to Cooper.

 "Let's go, Coop. We have miles ahead of us."

 The long column snaked ahead and began to stretch

 out. Striganov's columns had pulled out

 almost two hours before, and the Rebel drivers were

 following their ruts. Striganov would drive all the

 way up to the Canadian border, crossing over the

 St. Lawrence at Montreal.

 It was a beautiful day, and the beauty, although barren and

 void of human life, was not lost on the Rebels,

 who had been locked between the tall buildings of New

 York City for week after drab and bleak and

 dangerous week.

 The Rebels saw no signs of human life, but

 the wildlife had returned: bear and deer were making

 a dramatic return to their rightful place in the

 scheme of things. Ben also suspected that behind the deep

 timber and brush that had overtaken the earth, mutants

 were watching the long convoy pass. Ben had pretty

 much left the beastlike creatures alone over the

 past few years.

 Possessing some sort of native intelligence, the

 huge mutants seemed to understand that Ben would not harm

 them if they left the humans alone.

 So far, it had worked out.

 At one time, Rebel scientists had theorized that

 disease had wiped out the misshapen and grotesque

 creatures. That had proved to be a false

 assumption. The mutants were very much a part

 of the rural landscape. But they stayed well away from

 humans.

 And, Ben thought with a smile, the wolves had

 returned

 over the years, the elusive and magnificent

 animals once more roaming the timber, doing their part

 in maintaining the balance within the animal world.

 No Rebel shot a wolf. Those orders came from

 Ben Raines. Only if a person found himself or

 herself in a life-threatening situation with a wolf was

 deadly force to be used. And since that never happened,

 and would never happen if one possessed even the most

 basic knowledge of and respect for wolves-which all

 Rebels did, thanks to Ben-the wolf was back,

 running wild and free, safe from ignorant

 rednecks and other assorted fools with guns.

 Ben knew, from extensive research on the

 subject, that in the United States, over a

 hundred-year period, there had never been a

 documented account of a human ever being attacked by a

 healthy, full-grown wolf-without the human

 provoking the attack. Ben had always believed that if

 Little Red Riding Hood was eaten by a wolf, she

 probably started the incident by poking the wolf in the

 eye with a stick.

 There had been many changes in the treatment of

 wildlife since Ben started ramrodding the show.

 Animals were still hunted for food, but only if

 absolutely necessary, and never for sport. Kids were

 taught in school-from the earliest grades-to

 respect wildlife. Theirs was a natural place

 in the scheme of things. Given enough land to roam and

 hunt, animals would take care of animals without

 human interference.

 And as long as Ben was alive, humans would not

 interfere.

 The Rebels spent the night in the deserted town of

 Croton-on-Hudson. Tina and her team had

 made a fast but thorough inspection of the town.

 "It doesn't appear that human life has existed

 in this place for years, Dad," she told him.

 "It's just like every town we've inspected on this

 run-nothing. No dogs, no cats, nothing."

 "They've gone back to the wild, Tina. They're

 seeing us, but we're not seeing them. And only the

 toughest of dog breeds have survived. The working

 breeds probably

 made it by feeding on the smaller, pampered breeds.

 It isn't cruel, it's just the way it is.

 Animals don't kill for sport,

 girl. Only man kills for sport. How about the

 bridge up ahead?"

 "It's okay, structurally. But it's going to be

 tough to cross unless we can find some snow blades

 to hook onto our trucks and plow a lane open."

 "We'll get on that in the morning; find a state

 highway department building and start rigging the

 trucks. You find us a place for the night?"

 "Several of them. School, gym, motels-the whole

 town is ours."

 Ben squatted in the snow and watched as several

 trucks, now equipped with snow blades, carved a

 lane down the center of the bridge. Slowly the convoy

 made their way across the Hudson River and once more

 began their trek. By nightfall, they had only

 traveled twenty-five miles. The roads were

 several feet deep in snow. Tina's team had been

 forced to rejoin the main column and let the snowplows

 forge ahead, plowing a path for the vehicles. In many

 cases, had it not been for the old, for the most part

 wireless power poles, they would not have been able even

 to find the road as it twisted and turned through the deep

 snow.

 The column had to travel many miles before they could

 turn back south, since sections of the

 New York State Thruway had been destroyed.

 When they did finally cut south, using state and county

 roads, the traveling was even slower.

 "At this pace," Dan said, "we just might lose

 our quarry. They might get tired of waiting and

 start to wonder if perhaps we all were on those ships."

 "Possibly," Ben acknowledged. "If so, we'll

 meet them another day. But I think they're still just about

 where we left them. South of the city, probably."

 The men turned as the last of the vehicles began

 pulling into camp for that night. Thermopolis and his people

 had been forced to find big tractor-trailer rigs

 with flatbeds and

 chain down and transport their VW'S that way; the

 snow was just too deep for the Bugs and many of the vans.

 The hippies were not about to give up their VW'S. That

 would be as unthinkable as cutting their hair or shaving.

 "Enjoying the sightseeing?" Ben asked, as

 Thermopolis and some of his group walked up.

 "Actually, yes. The scenery is breathtaking. And the

 air is so clean. Ben Raines, what do you people do with

 your garbage?"

 "We bury it so the earth can once more claim it."

 "Goddamn walking

 contradictionea8Thermopolismuttered as he

 went his way. "Shoots every human being in sight and

 worries about the environment. Blows up entire

 cities and protects the wolves. Jesus

 Christ!"

 "How's Emil?" Ben called.

 Thermopolis turned around, a bleak look on his

 face. "In mourning. He says if he could find

 some sackcloth he'd wear it. He's already

 sprinkled ashes on his head. I don't think he

 realizes that sackcloth was originally made of

 goats' hair. Come to think of it, I might mention

 that to him."

 "Please don't. He'll go out hunting goats and

 get lost."

 "Yes. There is that to consider. Both pro and con."

 He turned to leave.

 "Look after him, Therm. Remember, his heart has

 been broken."

 "Thank you so very much, Ben Raines. Your faith in

 me is very nearly overwhelming."

 Dan lifted a map. "We should reach Highway

 Seventeen sometime tomorrow. That will take us to the New

 York Thruway, then on into New Jersey. Each

 day the sun shines, the going becomes a bit easier.

 I would predict three days

 to confrontation."

 "On the morning of the third day, I'll order

 spotter planes up to make one pass over the

 city. Two people to a plane. They should be able

 to pinpoint the bogie camp. But when they do, we're

 going to have to drive as fast as possible and hit them

 hard."

 "With General Striganov and his people gone, we're

 too short to try to box them in."

 "I know. We're going to have to hit them so hard and so

 fast, we put them into a rout. Voleta's forces

 are made up mostly of thugs and punks and

 remnants of various motorcycle gangs. Their

 bikes are absolutely useless in this weather, and

 besides, they don't know jack shit about tactics

 anyways. Monte probably has the larger force,

 but they are going to be cold and miserable and surly and

 have never had to rely on anything except brute force

 to get their way. Ashley and his men will be the ones

 we'll have to destroy and do it totally-if we can. Of

 course, none of us have any idea, really, how many people

 we'll be going up against until the spotters give

 us some kind of a report; even then it's going to be

 pure guesswork."

 "Let's get us a bite to eat," Dan

 suggested. "Chase has promised faithfully that this

 evening's meal will be something to remember."

 "That's what I'm afraid of."

 The convoy pulled out the next morning, just at dawn.

 And it promised to be another bright and sunny day, the

 sunshine continuing to melt the snow and turn the roads

 slushy, especially for the vehicles rolling along

 at the rear of the long column.

 At noon they reached Highway 17 and turned

 southeast, angling toward the New York State

 Thruway. Ben sent a team in to check out

 Middletown. When they reported back it was the

 same as always on this trip: nothing. Absolutely

 no signs of life.

 "The Night People ranged out far, didn't they?" Ben

 said, sticking his arm out the window and motioning the column

 to move on.

 "We'll fight them again, won't we, General?"

 Jersey asked.

 "I'm sure. But after the lesson we handed them in

 New York City, you can bet the Judges will

 contact their kind

 around the country and warn them to fight shy of us. I'm

 thinking they'll also try to adopt a more normal type

 of outward lifestyle."

 "You mean dress like us or other civilians?"

 Beth asked.

 "Yes. And perhaps even bathe occasionally. But that might

 be asking too much."

 "If I never smell one of those creeps again,

 it'll be too soon," Chuck said. "I don't

 think I ever smelled anything like that in my life."

 "Killed the taste of the field rations," Cooper

 offered.

 All agreed that was about the only good thing to be said for the

 creepies.

 They spent the night at a small town not far from the

 West Point Military Reservation.

 "No desire to go inspect the place, Ben?"

 Cecil asked, over dinner.

 "None whatsoever. I always figured all that crap

 the cadets had to go through to be a lot of bullshit.

 And it must have been," he said with a small smile.

 "I'm running the biggest army known to exist anywhere

 in the world, and they're all dead."

 The sun continued to shine, and the column was moving much

 faster; they would be well inside New Jersey before

 noon.

 Ben ordered the convoy halted and two spotter

 planes up.

 "They were practically sitting in our laps,

 General," a spotter reported. "They're all

 strung out between Twin Rivers and what appears to be

 ... ah, Kingston, I guess it is. If I had

 to take a guess, I'd say about fifteen hundred

 to two thousand of them. They must have been joined by some

 other outlaws."

 "Probably. Did they appear to be nervous at

 seeing you?"

 "Ten-fifty, General. Some of them waved at us."

 "All right. Thanks. Return to base and pack it

 up. Get out of there. There are little airports south

 of your

 position. Try the Camden-Burlington airport.

 That's just off the New Jersey Turnpike. Check

 it out and give me a bump one way or the other.

 Eagle out."

 Ben looked at Dan and Cecil and West.

 "Ashley's got something up his sleeve. Dan,

 get your Scouts out. Let's find out what the hell

 is going on."

 Ben had skirted the area around New York City,

 and the column had wound their way through the countryside.

 Ben halted the convoy in Somerset County and told

 his people to eat and rest. It might be the last

 chance to do so for several days.

 Late that night, the Scouts reported back.

 "They seem to be strung out in a line running

 southeast from Kingston over to Twin Rivers. They're

 in private homes all up and down the line."

 "You saw them in the homes?" Ben questioned.

 "We observed a few of them through long lenses,

 yes, sir."

 "And that is all that's there, too," Ben said, leaning

 back and sipping at his coffee. "All they were

 waiting for is the spotters to note their positions and

 then the bulk of them took off, leaving fires burning

 and a few behind to throw us off."

 "Where'd they go?" Tina asked.

 "That, my dear, is a damn good question." He glanced

 at the Scout. "You saw people moving around in those

 houses?"

 "Ah . . . no, sir. Not moving around. Sitting

 in chairs . . ." The Scout trailed itoff,

 frowning. "I think, sir, that we've been had."

 "Right. I think so, too. Heads up, people. Full

 alert.

 Everybody spread their people up and down the line from . .

 ." Ben studied the map. He had no idea where the

 enemy was and no clue as to where they might

 strike. "Shit!" he spat out the word. "Spread out

 all over the town and I want a total blackout.

 No smoking, no fires, no light whatsoever.

 Get everybody in full arctic gear for warmth.

 Move!"

 The town of Sommerville went black as the orders

 spread. One minute there were lights all over the

 place from portable generators and cook fires; the

 next minute it was as if someone had flipped a

 giant switch.

 Ashley was smiling with thoughts of total victory

 dancing in his head, when all of a sudden the sugarplum

 pudding turned rancid.

 "Hey!" Monte yelled. "The damn place done

 wentdark on us!"

 "There is nothing wrong with my vision," Ashley

 told him. "That bastard figured it out. That has

 got to be the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

 "Let's charge!" Monte yelled. "Hell, we

 got "em outnumbered!"

 "Let's don't." Ashley nixed that. "I prefer

 to go on living for quite a few more years. Be quiet,

 let me think."

 "How many lights is that?" Ben asked Chuck, who

 was monitoring through a headset as Rebels

 with night lenses began reporting flashes of lights

 from matches, probably from lighting cigarettes.

 "Eight, sir. Fifteen hundred meters out in a

 rough line running east and west."

 "Uh-huh. Ashley swung his people around as we moved

 up into town." Ben lifted his own mike.

 "Gunners, you have the coordinates?"

 "Ten-four, sir."

 "Commence firing."

 The quiet starry night was shattered as every piece of

 artillery Ben had at his disposal began booming out

 its lethal loads.

 "Willie Peter," Ben ordered. "Let's start

 some fires. It'sa cold night."

 Grinning at Ben's deadly humor, Chuck

 relayed the orders.

 Showers of white phosphorus began lashing the

 night, the burning shards setting homes and buildings

 burning. The flames, burning unchecked, soon

 began ravishing the area, leaping from building to building

 and putting the enemy's troops into a rout, running

 wildly in all directions in an effort to escape

 the flames.

 "Cease firing," Ben ordered. "And stand down to a

 low alert. I don't think they'll be

 back this night."

 At dawn, Ben ordered the spotter planes up

 while the Rebels began a body count. While not

 many of the thugs had been killed during the short

 shelling, it had obviously knocked a large hole

 in their morale, for the eyes in the skies could not

 locate any sign of the outlaws.

 "Both good and bad," Ben said. "They've gone, but

 where?"

 "Spotters report the roads are almost entirely

 free of snow," Ben was told. "So they can't

 track the retreat that way."

 "Dan, get your Scouts out. The rest of us will be

 moving down the New Jersey Turnpike. We'll

 cross the river between Trenton and Philly and set

 up camp on the outskirts of Philly. Might as

 well see what the city holds."

 "More Night People, General?" Chuck asked.

 "Probably."

 "If we find them there, are we going to destroy the

 city?"

 "We don't have enough explosives left, Chuck.

 We're running low on everything except bullets

 and grenades.

 If we come face-to-face with any

 major battles, it's going to be damn near

 hand-to-hand from here on in. Let's pack it up,

 gang."

 Dan sent his Scouts out, ranging all the way down

 to Philadelphia. They reported back that they could

 find no sign of Monte or Ashley or Sister

 Voleta's people, but that Philadelphia contained some

 life. What type of life, unclear.

 "Do not enter the city," Ben ordered. "Hold what

 you've got. Make no moves until we get

 there."

 It was not that long a run down to Philly, andwiththe

 roads nearly clear, the convoy made good time,

 arriving at the outskirts a couple of hours before

 dark.

 Ben approached his daughter. And Jerre. He

 ignored Jerre. "What's it look like in there,

 Tina?"

 "I didn't go in. She went in with Ham and a

 team." Tina jerked a thumb toward Jerre.

 Ben turned to face her. "So what did you find?"

 "A lot of people without much organization. It looks like

 a huge hobo camp. I felt sorry for them."

 "You would. How far in did you penetrate and using

 what route?"

 "We went as far as Pennypack Park, using

 highway one. It ran right past the North

 Philadelphia Airport. The airport

 appears to be intact, but littered."

 "Tina, at first light, take a team in and clear a

 runway for our planes. We've got to be

 resupplied from Base Camp One." He cut his

 eyes to Jerre. "That was a good report. Thank

 you."

 "You are certainly welcome, sir," Jerre said,

 her words very crisp.

 The snow had melted on the roads, but Ben didn't

 have to look far to find plenty of ice.

 "We'll set up for the night in this area. We'll

 enter Philly in the morning." He wheeled around and

 exited that spot before he came down with a bad case

 of frostbite.

 "I thought for a time we were in for a warming trend,"

 Dan spoke to Colonel West. "It appears I

 was badly mistaken."

 "I think I have bits of ice on my nose,"

 West agreed.

 The men cut their eyes to Tina and Jerre, both of

 whom were glaring at them, not appreciating their stabs

 at humor one little bit.

 "Shall we take our leave, Colonel West?"

 Dan suggested.

 "By all means, Colonel Gray." He looked

 at Tina. "Shall we have our evening meal together as

 usual?"

 "I'll be busy," she frosted him. "Thank you."

 "I'm available," Dan told the mercenary. "Just

 don't try to kiss me."

 After dinner, Ben went over the list of remaining

 supplies and shook his head. "We'll make the

 airport our CP," he told his team. "As

 soon as a runway is clear, our birds from down

 south can start resupplying us. We'll enter the city

 in the morning. But I got a hunch that, from what

 Jerre said, all we're going to find is a bunch of

 goddamn losers waiting for someone else to do for

 them."

 "And we do what with them?" Chuck asked.

 "We help the elderly and the young-probably ship them

 back to a base camp. The rest can go to hell."

 "We see this a lot," Jersey explained

 to Chuck. "We'll find a group of people really

 putting things back together again. Schools,

 collective gardens, farms, the whole nine yards.

 But we see more of people just doing nothing. The

 way we feel is this: If these people won't do anything

 here, for instance, they're not going to do anything after we

 leave ... no matter what we do to help them."

 "We've tried it the other way, Chuck," Ben

 told the young man. "It just doesn't work. These people

 you'll see tomorrow-most of them-were a pretty sorry

 bunch before the Great War. Whiners and complainers.

 Always looking for the easy way. No matter what an

 employer paid them, it was never enough to their way of thinking.

 These are the people who eagerly supported any wealth

 redistribution programs dreamed up

 by politicians. These people are narrow-minded, lazy,

 ignorant, and for the most part, good for nothing. You'll

 see. I promise you."

 "Are you here to help us?" a man asked Ben. A

 group of people had been waiting at the airport for the

 arrival of the Rebels.

 "Why in the hell didn't you help yourselves?" Ben

 asked him.

 The question seemed to confuse the man. He blinked a

 couple of times. "We have defended our city,

 General."

 "Your city? The goddamn city is dead, man!

 How in the hell are you going to grow crops on

 concrete? Have you restored any type of

 power? Running water? Sewage? I can answer the

 last question. No. The place stinks like a cesspool.

 What do you do with your waste, just dump it in the

 gutters? I believe you do. I've seen this a

 hundred times. When you've fouled one neighborhood

 beyond belief, you simply move to another. Have you set

 up schools for the young? Do you have a system of

 government? I doubt it."

 Ben pushed the man away with a gloved hand. "Get out

 of our way. We've got work to do."

 The man was astonished. "But we need help! We

 need food and clothing."

 Ben withered him silent with a look. Something was all

 wrong here; but Ben couldn't pinpoint it. "Then grow

 your food and sew your clothing. And stop bothering

 me." He turned his back on the small crowd and

 walked away. The crowd started to follow. They

 stopped when a squad of hard-eyed and heavily armed

 Rebels blocked their way.

 Ben walked up to Dan. "Get your teams out,

 Dan. Round up the kids and take them to the old

 state hospital building we passed coming in.

 That's where Chase is setting up. As soon as our

 birds come in and unload, we'll start flying the

 kids out."

 "Hard man," Rosebud whispered to her husband.

 "Hard times," Thermopolis replied, and was aston-

 ished to hear those words coming out of his mouth.

 Rosebud stared at him.

 "I gotta get out of this army," he said. "It's

 beginning to cloud my ability to reason."

 Cecil walked up to Ben. "Some of the . . .

 citizens say you're being unreasonable, and that they

 want to become part of the Rebel army."

 Ben leaned against a vehicle and rolled a smoke,

 licking the tube tight and lighting up. "And you told

 them .. . ?" He couldn't shake the feeling that something

 was terribly wrong.

 "I told them we would take their request under

 advisement and would give them our reply sometime in the

 near future."

 "Cec, you certainly have a way with words. You're

 going to love running things when we get back

 to Base Camp One."

 "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking

 forward to it, Ben."

 "You and Patrice going to tie the knot?"

 "It's a distinct possibility."

 "I'm glad, and you know I mean that, Cec."

 "I know. You're really going to stay in the

 field, Ben?"

 "Yes, I am, Cec. I figure it'll take

 four or five weeks back at the base

 to reorganize and get reequipped for the field.

 I'm handing all the administrative duties over

 to you the instant we get back."

 "And you'll be gone . . . ?"

 "I don't know, Cec. When I do get back, it

 won't be for any lengthy stay." He smiled at his

 friend. "So I expect many great and monumental

 tasks to be accomplished while I'm gone."

 Cecil grunted. "Well, if your mind is made

 up, I won't try to talk you out of it."

 "And I appreciate that. Now then, what do you think

 about exploring Philadelphia?"

 "Well, as my daddy used to say, it sure beats

 the hell out of a lick upside the head!"

 "Bullshit!" Ben said with a laugh. "Your father was a

 psychiatrist and your mother was a college

 professor, and I happen to know that you hold a

 Ph.d. from what was once a very prestigious

 Eastern university. So don't pull your

 cotton-patch coon business on me!"

 "Cotton-patch coon? Good God!" Cecil

 roared with laughter, and Ben joined him,

 while other Rebels stood and stared at the men,

 thinking that one of them must have told a hell of a funny

 joke.

 "Care to come along with us?" Ben asked

 Thermopolis. "It'll get you away from Emil for a

 few hours."

 That did it. "I'll ride with General Jefferys,"

 Thermopolis said. "Let me tell Rosebud where

 I'll be."

 "Bring her along if she wants to come."

 She did. Sitting in the backseat of Cecil's

 Blazer with her husband, she said, "If someone had

 told me years back that someday I would be a part of a

 Rebel army, armed to the teeth and fighting all over

 the United States-or what's left of it-I would

 have laughed at them."

 Cecil smiled. "Both my wife and I were

 college professors back before the Great War,

 Rosebud. Believe me, I know what you mean."

 "Your wife was killed during the fighting of the

 Tri-States, was she not?"

 "Yes."

 "And you've been with Ben Raines . . . ?"

 "Since the beginning. And I can tell you that no man

 ever fought harder to avoid being placed in

 charge of the Rebels than Ben."

 "And Ben's wife . . . ?"

 "Salina. She was about ready to give birth to their

 son when she was killed during the fighting. The baby

 was born as she lay dying."

 "Did Ben love her?"

 "No. He told her he did. But she always knew

 that he

 was in love with Jerre; had been for years and would always

 be in love with her. But he was never unfaithful

 to Salina. Ben has a very rigid moral code about

 marriage. Ike's wife was also killed during the

 fighting. Ben was very badly wounded. We got creamed

 and Ben rebuilt the Rebels, practically from the

 ground up. The rest is, as they say-whoever they

 might be-history."

 "Pulling over just up ahead," Ben's voice came

 through the speaker.

 They all got out and stood staring at the littered and

 filthy streets.

 "Christ, what a mess!" Ben was the first to speak.

 "And those sorry bastards want to join us? To do

 what, do you suppose?" That feeling of something being very

 wrong continued to nag at his mind.

 "To get a free ride," Jersey

 answered him. "Look at this place. New York

 City was a paradise compared to this hog pen."

 "Let's go see the rest of it," Ben said. "But I

 think it's going to be a short tour. This is making

 me sick."

 He was to be a lot sicker at heart before the morning

 was over.

 They toured the downtown area, inspecting a few of the

 once fine hotels for a few floors up. The

 citizens had fouled every room. It appeared that when

 one room became too filthy-and that took some

 doing-they would just move to another and start all over.

 Most of the historical old homes had been

 ravaged by looters and vandals. The Betsy Ross

 House had filth and profanity spray-painted all

 over it and on the inside walls. The Christ Church

 Burial Ground had been desecrated with shovels

 and sledgehammers. St. George's Methodist

 Church had been burned.

 "I've seen enough," Ben said.

 "For once, I agree with you," Thermopolis told

 him, pointing. "Look over there."

 Ben's eyes narrowed and his face hardened as he read

 what was spray-painted on the side of a building.

 Someone, or a group of people, had tried

 to remove it, but

 the letters were still readable. And that nagging feeling opened

 wide to the light.

 THE JUDGES RULE

 "Just like Gene Savie and his bunch." Cecil put

 it together for them all. "Only these people fit right in with

 them-with the possible exception of being cannibals, and

 I'm not so sure I'd rule that out."

 "Chuck, tell our people to go on middle alert. Warn

 them that the city might be filled with creepies." Ben

 stood for a moment, mentally sorting out some facts.

 "Cecil, didn't you tell me that the group of people you

 talked with seemed upset when they learned that we were

 going to tour the city?"

 "Seemed that way to me, Ben."

 "What was that spokesman's name?"

 "Allen."

 "Let's go see this Allen person."

 Ben walked up to Allen and pointed his .45 at the

 man's head. Allen paled under the dirt on his

 face and his hands began to tremble.

 "The Night People, Allen, where are they?"

 "General Raines ... I don't have no idea

 what you're talking about. I ain't never seen no

 Night P."

 Ben eared the hammer back, the metallic cocking

 sound loud in the silence.

 "If you think I won't blow your goddamned head

 off, Allen, then you don't know much about me," Ben

 warned the man.

 "They all pulled out!" Allen screamed. "They

 done left."

 "That's better. Why did they leave and when?"

 "Nearabs a week ago. They got some sort of

 message from New York City. I don't know

 where they went."

 "How long have they been in the city?"

 "Forever, I reckon! Don't kill me, I

 don't want to die."

 "You and your scummy-assed bunch worked with them, right?

 And don't lie to me, you bastard!"

 Allen bobbed his head up and down.

 "You filth! You and your bunch procured people for them

 to eat, right?"

 "Yes, sir! But we was forced to do it."

 "You're a liar. You could have left anytime you wanted

 to leave. There are no blockades around this city. You

 weren't chained or imprisoned. Everything you and your

 scumbags did you all did willingly. Now,

 isn't that the truth?"

 "We had to live!" the man shouted.

 "I hope you enjoyed it, because you haven't got much

 longer."

 Allen looked around him, searching for any sign of

 compassion in the eyes of the Rebels.

 He found none.

 "They'll get you, Raines," Allen hissed.

 "They're everywhere. In every city still left standing in the

 world. They been here for a couple of centuries,

 growin", and growin', and growin'. They's a couple

 hundred thousand of them in the States alone. Maybe

 as many as half a million. You'll never defeat

 them, Raines. They'll cut your heart out and eat

 it!" He screamed the last.

 "How many left in the city?"

 Allen just grinned at him, and to Ben's thinking, the

 grin of a Nazi SS man must have looked the same

 way.

 Ben pulled the trigger. The force of the big

 .45-caliber slug, fired at almost point-blank

 range, knocked Allen off his feet. The man was

 dead before he bounced on the dirty street.

 Ben walked up to a woman and placed the muzzle

 of the .45 between her eyes, the muzzle touching the

 dirty flesh of her forehead.

 "You want to die?"

 "No, sir! I'll tell you anything you want

 to know. I promise I will."

 Not one of the filth-encrusted citizens made a

 move. They were all looking down the muzzles of

 Rebel weapons.

 "How many Night People left in the city?"

 "I don't know, sir! Maybe a couple of

 thousand. When it was learned that you and your troops were

 winning in New York City, the message come that

 they was to scatter; to split up and fan out, seek

 new places to live. I swear to God that's the

 truth!"

 "God!" Ben's voice was harsh. "You profane

 His name by speaking it from that cesspool you call a

 mouth!"

 "We had nothin'," the woman said, her words shaky

 with fear. "Not "til they surfaced and we struck a

 deal with them ..."

 "I get it. Now I know. You were instructed, or you

 volunteered to join us to infiltrate our ranks.

 Where do you live?"

 She said nothing.

 "Speak, goddamn you!" Ben shouted.

 "When did you put it together?" she finally

 spoke.

 "About fifteen minutes ago. Dan? Are the kids

 all clear?"

 "Ten-four, sir. They're at the hospital."

 "Order security at the hospital to go to full

 alert, Chuck."

 "What's up, Ben Raines?" Thermopolis

 asked.

 "They're all Night People, Therm. Every one of them."

 The woman tried to grab for Ben's pistol. The

 .45 roared, the slug striking her on the jaw and

 angling up to exit out the top of her head.

 The crowd of men and women grabbed for weapons concealed

 under their ragged-appearing clothing.

 It was no contest.

 The Rebels opened fire, most firing from a distance

 of no more than thirty meters.

 "Death before defeat!" a man shouted.

 Ben shot him in the head.

 "The Judges rule!" a woman screamed,

 leveling an Uzi at Thermopolis.

 Rosebud stitched her with her Mini-14.

 Rosebud loved most living things. She loved her

 man more.

 The battle was very intense, and very short.

 Within seconds the street was littered with bodies, the

 gutters

 running with blood.

 Silence crept over the battleground, broken

 only by an occasional moan from a dying creepie.

 A shot from a Rebel hastened the process.

 "Jesus God!" West shouted, driving up in a

 Hummer and viewing the carnage. "What the hell

 happened, Ben?"

 Ben very quickly briefed the mercenary.

 West's driver, Curly, arched one eyebrow.

 "Looks like we got a long war ahead of us,

 Colonel."

 "To be sure, Curly. But that is our chosen

 destiny, is it not?"

 "From Africa to Central America to the States,"

 another of his men said. "I never would have thought it."

 "What now, Ben?" West asked.

 "We've got to be here for at least several more days,

 getting resupplied for the run back home. West,

 you and your men take everything north of Market

 Street. Cecil and his battalion will take

 everything south of it. That's up to the Schuylkill

 River. I'll take everything west of the river.

 Hunt them down and kill them!"

 Ben set up his CP just across the river, in an old

 Post Office building-after first clearing the building

 of creepies. Then the gruesome task the Rebels

 thought they'd left behind them in the ruined rubble of New

 York City began anew. Although not on such a

 huge scale.

 There were no defined battle lines; this was deadly

 house-to-house search and destroy, with no one knowing

 what lay behind a closed door or at the darkened end

 of basement steps.

 Sister Voleta, Monte, Ashley, and their forces

 had seemingly dropped out of sight; however, Ben

 knew he had not seen the last of them, and when they did

 resurface, he felt they would be much stronger and more

 difficult to deal with. But for now, another deadly

 hunt was on.

 Ben's teams spread out all over the city, looking

 for any elderly people. There were none. Only bones.

 "Ghastly business, what?" Dan commented, over a

 cup

 of tea during a break in the SandD.

 "Looks like the creepies disposed of the elderly

 first," Ben said. "I guess they were fattening up the

 kids, not of their persuasion, for later dining." Ben

 spat his disgust on the sidewalk.

 "Speaking of the kids .. ."

 "The doctors say the younger ones will be all right. But

 the ones thirteen and over, for the most part, are

 hardcore crawlers, so thoroughly brainwashed they will

 never come around."

 And you plan to do what with them?" Thermopolis

 inquired.

 "Leave them here when we pull out. What'd you think

 I was going to do, shoot them?"

 "I hoped not. But let me play devil's

 advocate for a moment."

 "Go ahead."

 "When you turn them loose, they'll just return to their

 cannibalistic ways."

 "That is true, sadly."

 "And they and their kids and all their kind will grow up

 despising you, Ben Raines."

 "That is also true. But I still can't kill a

 thirteen- or fourteen-year-old, Therm. Not unless

 he or she is pointing some type of weapon at

 me."

 "They'll be a threat to me and to others as well as to you

 and yours, Ben."

 "That is certainly true. Do you want to be the one

 to kill them, Therm?"

 He shook his head. "No. No. I could not do that,

 and there is no one in my group who could." He was

 silent for a few seconds. "And I wouldn't have

 anyone around me who could. I think," he added.

 "It's like I keep telling you, Therm. You and me,

 we're not all that different. We both want a

 cool shade tree in the summer and a fire to keep the

 chill away during the winter. We want to be able

 to sit on our front porch and watch the squirrels

 play and the hummingbirds feed. We like to have friends around

 us for companionship and

 conversation. We both want peace, Thermopolis.

 The only real difference between us is how we were going

 about attaining it."

 "How we

 were

 going about attaining it?"

 Ben smiled. "You're here, aren't you? That's a

 weapon in your hand, and another one belted around your

 waist. There isn't fifteen cents" worth of

 difference between us. Really, there never was. See you,

 Therm." Ben walked away.

 Thermopolis stood with a frown on his face.

 Rosebud walked to him. "What's the matter with

 you?" she asked.

 He pointed toward Ben. "I just hate it when he's

 right!"

 With two runways cleared for landings and takeoffs,

 birds from Base Camp One began bringing in

 badly needed artillery rounds for the tanks and

 mortars. They also brought in hundreds of cases of

 home-canned vegetables and meats just slaughtered and

 boxed in dry ice. The cargo planes brought in

 fresh BDU'S to replace the torn and frayed

 battle dress the Rebels now wore. The

 planes brought in soap and socks, boots and

 berets and bras and underwear, bombs and bullets and

 belts. Planes were landing every hour around the clock,

 the runways lighted by flares at night. They

 offloaded their cargo, grabbed a bite to eat and cup

 of coffee-sometimes a few hours' rest-and were back in

 the air.

 During the daylight hours, the Rebels continued their

 deadly search-and-destroy missions throughout the city.

 And destroy they did, sometimes burning entire

 blocks of the old city to flush out the night

 crawlers, shooting them as the flesh-eaters ran from the

 burning buildings.

 It was New York City all over again, and while

 on a much smaller scale, just as deadly,

 just as dangerous, and just as nerve-racking.

 The Rebels' eyes smarted from the smoke of the

 torched buildings; their clothes stank of sweat and

 soot and blood and death. They worked slowly but

 relentlessly, clearing block by block. Finally, after

 working a five-block area, from Market all the way

 over to the Spring Garden Street

 Bridge, without finding a single creepie, Ben

 called a halt to it.

 "I don't think there's two hundred creepies

 left in the city," Ben told his commanders, from company

 level down to squad leaders. "So let's knock

 it off. Tell your people to stand down and relax for

 twenty-four hours. We'll shove off day after

 tomorrow."

 Dan and West and Cecil stayed behind.

 "Gentlemen," Ben looked at them.

 "What are you going to do with the kids, Ben?" Cecil

 asked.

 "They've already been flown back to base camp."

 "You know what I mean, Ben."

 "Nothing. I don't plan on doing anything with them.

 I plan on leaving them right here when we leave."

 West breathed a very audible sigh.

 "Something on your mind, Colonel?" Ben

 asked.

 "I must be getting old-turning into some sort of

 sentimental fool!"

 "And that means . . . ?"

 "Ben, some of those kids are just in their teens."

 "I'm aware of that. Say what's on your mind,

 West."

 "Well, some of my men have agreed, if it's all

 right with you, to take a few of the kids with us. We think

 we can shape them up."

 "It'll be your responsibility. Solely," Ben

 cautioned him.

 "I'm aware of that."

 "Fine with me. I just hope you don't wake up some

 evening with one of them carving off part of your leg for a

 late-night snack."

 The convoy pulled out of the Philadelphia area just as

 the weather was once more turning foul after days of

 pleasant weather. A cold, bone-chilling rain was

 falling as the Rebels pulled away from the still-smoking

 city, heading west.

 Ben had traveled the straight westerly route before,

 and

 wanted to see some new country this run, so he

 ordered the foward teams to plot them a

 southwesterly route. The city faded behind them. On the

 morning of the second day out, the recon teams

 reported smoke coming from chimneys; it looked like some

 sort of small community, set well back from the

 highway.

 Ben pulled the convoy over and told the recon

 teams, "Check it out. Carefully." He sat in the

 Blazer and waited, the hard rain drumming on the

 roof.

 "They're not friendly, Eagle," the team leader's

 voice came through the speaker. "They ordered us off the

 land."

 "Did you tell them who we were, recon, and that we

 mean them no harm?"

 "Ten-four, Eagle. They said they didn't like you and

 didn't want to have anything to do with you."

 "Whether they like me or not is their business," Ben

 radioed. "Do they have children?"

 "Ten-four, Eagle. A whole bunch of kids

 all gathered around us."

 "Ask one of the kids if they can read and write."

 Ben waited for a few moments. Thermopolis walked

 up to the Blazer and Ben rolled down his window.

 Thermopolis had been listening to the exchange over a

 walkie-talkie.

 "And if the kids cannot read or write, Ben

 Raines?" he asked, rain lashing at his face.

 "We'll take the kids with us."

 "Just about the time I get where I like you, you pull

 something like this. Goddammit, Ben, what gives you the

 right to take someone's kids from them?"

 "Thermopolis, we cannot have a nation of illiterates,

 not if this battered country is ever going to pull out of the

 ashes of war. Education is right up there with

 survival."

 "They can't read or write, Eagle," the voice

 came out of the speaker.

 Ben lifted his mike. "How many people in the community?"

 "I'd say a hundred, tops."

 "Stay put. Tanks, forward. Circle the

 community. West,

 your men in position behind the tanks."

 Ben waited.

 "You're really going to take the kids, aren't you,

 Ben?" Thermopolis asked.

 "We've been doing it for years, Therm."

 "In position, Eagle."

 "Tell the leaders of that redneck community I want

 to talk to them-right now!" Ben got out of the Blazer and

 faced Thermopolis. "You want to come

 along?"

 "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

 It was a miserable day all the way around, and Ben was

 in no mood for a lot of lip from near-cretins. He

 faced the group of men and came right to the point.

 "Why can't your children read and write?"

 ""Tain't none of your goddamn concern whether they

 can or cain't, General."

 Thermopolis then noticed that Ben Raines was

 awfully quick. The man with the smart-and now bloody-

 mouth also noticed it, from his position flat on his

 back in the muddy front yard.

 "Oh, but it is my concern," Ben said. "It is the

 concern of every person in this shattered nation who

 possesses a forward-looking mentality. Now get

 your ass up off the ground and face me!"

 The man crawled to his hands and knees and stood

 up, with the help of a couple of his buddies.

 Ben said, "I will repeat the question again. And if you do not

 give me an answer that holds some degree of

 civility, I will take the butt of this M14 and

 knock your goddamn teeth down your throat. Why

 can't your children read and write?"

 "Never seen no use for it, General." The man

 wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand.

 Ben glanced at the ramshackle buildings of the

 community. In western vernacular it would have been

 called a rawhide outfit: not built to last for

 any length of time.

 "Can you read and write?" Ben asked.

 "Some. I never cared much for it. Readin" makes

 my

 head hurt. I'd ruther watch the TV."

 "What do you do now?"

 "Huh?"

 "There is no television, you idiot. What do you do

 now?"

 "NothinVery

 "How do you feed yourselves? Do you have gardens?"

 "Shore. The wimmin work "em. The men does what

 men is 'posed to do. Hunt and fish. Beat the

 wimmin ever" now and then to keep "em in line."

 Several female Rebels stirred at that remark,

 and the man's eyes flicked to them for a second.

 Somewhere amid the rot of his brain, he realized he

 had erred-badly.

 "Tina," Ben called.

 "Here, Dad."

 "Take a team and go house to house. Explain our

 philosophy to the women of this . . .

 community of ignorance. Ask them if they'd like to join

 us. And you might explain to them that we are taking the

 children."

 The man did not stir at that.

 "That doesn't bother you?" Ben asked.

 "Naw. Not really. Snot-noses is a bunch of

 bother anyways."

 "Jesus Christ!" Thermopolis muttered.

 "But you ain't takin" Jenny," the man stated

 flatly.

 "Who is Jenny?"

 "My oldest girl. She tends to my needs when the

 old woman don't feel up to it."

 The man looked to be about thirty-five . . .

 rotting teeth and all. So Ben figured the "old

 woman" bit was nothing more than a

 colloquialism.

 And Ben did not have to be told what the man meant

 by Jenny "tending to his needs."

 "How old is Jenny?"

 "Twelve, I reckon."

 "And how long has she been tending to your needs?"

 "Three-four years."

 "Having sex, you mean?"

 "She enjoys it. Says she don't, but a

 man can tell.

 Wimmin was put here with a hole. Ain't no point in

 lettin' it go to waste."

 Ben noticed that Rosebud had joined them, and that the

 muzzle of her rifle was pointed a few inches below

 the man's belt buckle. If she shot him there,

 he would not have to worry about anyone ever again tending

 to his needs.

 "Dan, find this Jenny. Take her to Chase and

 tell him what's going on. We'll wait for his

 report. It won't take long. As a matter of

 fact, tell the medical team to inspect all the

 kids for signs of sexual abuse. Male and

 female. I think we've lifted the cover off of a

 snake pit here."

 "I said you ain't takin' my Jenny," the man

 spoke, his breath very foul.

 "We're goin', Hoyt," the voice came from

 Ben's left. He cut his eyes.

 A very pretty woman, perhaps in her late

 twenties, stood with several children. One boy, two

 girls.

 "I'll whup your ass, woman!" Hoyt warned.

 "No, you won't," Ben corrected. "Just stand still and

 shut that flapping mouth." He looked at the

 woman. "Take your kids and go with this lady." He

 nodded at Beth. "You don't have to stay here against your

 will. Has this man, Hoyt, been having sexual

 relations with his daughter?"

 "Jenny. Yes. And he just started with Abby." She

 placed a hand on the wet, uncovered head of a girl

 no more than seven or eight.

 "Beth, take diem to the medical teams."

 Hoyt stood and cussed Ben, his breath steamy in the

 cold rainy air.

 A dozen women and perhaps thirty or forty kids

 came trooping out of the shacks. Several of the women

 had black eyes and bruises on their faces. The

 kids looked malnourished and frightened.

 "This ain't constitutional!" another man stuck his

 mouth into it.

 Ben laughed at him.

 Beth returned after only a few minutes and

 whispered in Ben's ear. Ben nodded his understanding.

 Tina walked up. "That's it, Dad. All the

 women and kids are out."

 Beth whispered to Tina. Tina drew back, a

 grim look on her wet face. "All of them?"

 "Yes," Hoyt and the other men heard Beth say.

 "And several of the boys have been

 sodomized."

 "Colonel West, you and your men will stay here with me.

 The rest of you return to your units and prepare

 to pull out."

 "Does that include me?" Thermopolis asked.

 "That depends entirely upon how strong your stomach

 is, Therm. And, of course, your interpretation of

 law and order."

 Rosebud touched his arm. "Come on. Let's get

 back to the van."

 "Tanks out," Ben told Chuck. Then conversation was

 impossible for a few moments, while the tanks roared

 and spun around in the earth, moving back to the road.

 "Chuck, you and Cooper return to the Blazer."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Beth, you and Jersey going to stay for this?"

 Their reply was to click their weapons off safety.

 Behind the wheel of his VW van, Thermopolis was not

 startled when the rattle of gunfire cut the cold

 wet air. He watched as Ben and West and the others

 walked slowly down the muddy hillside to their

 vehicles.

 "This has got to be the most barbaric time since man

 stuck his head out of the caves," he said.

 Rosebud gave him a cold but not

 unloving look. "Either that, or justice was just

 served."

 Ben ordered the convoy on a straight westerly route

 and instructed Dan's Scouts to check out the York

 airport, but to stay out of the city itself until the main

 force had caught up with them.

 "That was a town of about forty-five thousand at one time.

 Big enough for a lot of night crawlers to hide in.

 If they're in here, we clean them out. We're going

 to be waiting a couple of days for the birds to come get

 these new people. There should be enough motels and private

 homes close by for us to use. Check them out."

 And it was as Ben had suspected. The place contained

 the flesh-eaters.

 "How's the airport look?"

 "It's going to take some cleaning up, but it's usable.

 Gong to take us a day or more to pick up all the

 litter and shove these old cars and trucks out of the

 way and patch some holes in a runway."

 "Throw up a line of defense against possible

 attack from the creepies. They're sure to know about

 what went down in Philadelphia. We're about

 two hours behind you. Hold what you've got."

 "No sweat, General."

 Dan was standing outside Ben's Blazer,

 wearing a poncho and hood against the still-falling rain.

 "No sweat?" he muttered. "I shall certainly

 give him a lesson in military courtesy. And

 promptly."

 Ben smiled at the Englishman. But he did not

 interfere. Each commander ran his or her own unit, and

 Ben seldom interfered.

 Ben looked around. "Chuck isn't back yet?

 Where'd he go?"

 "Back to see Doctor Chase," Beth told

 him. "He was sweating and running a fever. I think

 he's coming down with pneumonia. I've treated it

 before, General."

 "I'll take your word for it, Beth. You want some

 help with the radio?"

 "I asked for a replacement, sir."

 "Good," Ben said absently, his mind on other

 matters.

 "By your leave, sir," Dan abruptly said, and

 went walking off, quick-stepping through the rain.

 "What was all that about?" Ben asked, not expecting a

 reply and receiving none. Had he turned around, he

 would have seen Beth and Jersey winking at each other.

 Cooper was looking in the rearview mirror. "Oh,

 shit," he muttered.

 Ben cut his yes. "What's that, Coop?"

 "Nothing, sir."

 "Well, here I am," the voice spoke through the

 open window, Ben's side.

 Ben looked into very familiar blues. "I can see

 that. What are you doing here, Jerre?"

 "You sent for me!"

 "I didn't send for you!"

 "Well, dammit, I was told you needed someone on

 the radio. I'm radio trained. By the way,

 Chuck will have to be flown back to Base Camp

 One. He has pneumonia."

 "I'm sorry to hear that. Oh, hell, get in out

 of the rain."

 With everybody settled, Ben said to Cooper, "Get

 this circus on the road, Coop. I swear

 to God, I sometimes think we ought to charge

 admission."

 "Is something the matter,

 General?"

 Jerre asked very sweetly.

 Ben ground his teeth together and broke off an old

 filling.

 "Oww! Goddammit!" Ben roared.

 "General, I have to clean out the old cavity

 before I can fill it. It'll only take a few more

 seconds."

 "Hurry it up!"

 "Yes, sir." The dentist did not like to work on the

 general. Made him nervous.

 What he didn't know was that Ben had been scared

 to death of dentists all his life. But he sure as

 hell wasn't going to admit it. Not to a soul.

 After a few more minutes of trying not to hurt Ben- which

 he didn't-the dentist stepped back. "There you are,

 General. Good as new."

 "Thank you. Can I go?"

 "Oh, yes, sir."

 "Thank you." Ben got the hell out of the converted

 truck. Quickly. He never could stand the smell of

 dentists' offices or hospitals.

 Tina caught up with him. "I'm so happy to see that

 you survived your terrible ordeal, Pops."

 "Your concern is touching."

 "Why are you talking funny?"

 "Because my damn mouth is numb!"

 "You'll probably need an interpreter for a few

 hours. You want me to call Jerre?"

 Ben shook his head and had to smile. It was rough

 humor, no disrespect was meant by it, and

 he knew it. And Ben also knew that those involved

 really wanted him and Jerre to make up. This was their

 way of showing concern for the both of them.

 "Well, the damn rain has stopped," Ben said,

 looking up at a few rays of sun trying to cut

 through the clouds. "Something good is coming out of this

 lash-up."

 "You want me to reassign Jerre, Dad?"

 "No. In a few more weeks we'll be out of each

 other's hair for good."

 "How do you know that's what she wants, Dad? Has

 she told you so herself?"

 "It's going to be totally volunteer, Tina," Ben

 said, hedging her question. "And we're going to be in the

 field for a long time. Maybe as long as a year before

 returning to

 base. Talk it over with Ham and the rest of your

 team, Okay?"

 "Okay, Pop. But you know that I'm going. So is

 Buddy. What are you going to do if Jerre

 volunteers?"

 "She won't."

 "How do you know that?"

 "Because you're going to see to it, daughter."

 The Rebels began a house-to-house,

 building-to-building search of York, flushing out the

 creepies and destroying them.

 With the rain gone, the weather turned mild once more,

 and the Rebels shed their heavy winter gear. But all

 knew that the winter was far from over, and this warm weather

 might roll over onto a nasty side at any

 time.

 The birds flew in, picked up their passengers,

 and were gone, heading back south. They carried with them

 twelve wounded Rebels from the operations in Philly

 and York.

 Two dead were buried far from York, so they could not be

 dug up and eaten by the creeps.

 "Let's wrap it up and get the hell gone from

 here," Ben told his commanders. "Tina, you and your team

 cut us a path southwest. Wait a minute." He

 looked at Jerre. "You want to go through Cumberland,

 Jerre?"

 "Why?"

 "Because it was your home, kid."

 She was silent for a moment. Met Ben's eyes.

 "Might as well, I guess." As usual,

 keeping a tight lid on her true inner feelings.

 Ben nodded and turned to Tina. "We'll cut south

 and pick up Interstate Seventy at

 Hagerstown, follow that all the way over

 to Cumberland." He looked at the atlas's index.

 "Hagerstown was about thirty-five thousand and

 Cumberland was about twenty-five thousand. Could be

 creepie-time again, people. So heads up."

 The column rolled out at midday, meandering around on

 state and county roads, heading more west than south.

 They saw no signs of human life. Southeast of

 their

 position, and fading fast, lay the devastation that was

 once Baltimore and Washington.

 The weather was holding in the Rebels' favor, with the

 skies blue and the temperature in the low fifties

 during the day, dropping down to near freezing at

 night.

 "Scout to Eagle," Tina's voice came through the

 speaker.

 "Go, Scout."

 "We'll hold here at Waynesboro, Eagle.

 Something you need to see."

 "Ten-four, Scout. We're about an hour behind you.

 We'll approach on Sixteen."

 As he approached the town, Ben began to suspect

 what Tina and her Scouts had found. It was very clear

 that a battle had recently taken place

 on both sides of the winding old country road.

 Ben halted the column and got out to inspect what was

 left of a small town just a few miles east of

 Hagerstown. Carrion birds had feasted on the

 naked bodies that lay outside the homes-after flesh

 had been cut from the bodies. The brass of shell

 casings lay twinkling on the ground.

 "They put up a fight," Jersey observed. "They

 weren't taken easy."

 All the bodies had been carved on, with great

 hunks of flesh cut away.

 And Ben noticed something else, too: those children of the

 Night People that West and the others had brought with them, in

 hopes of salvaging, were staring intently at the

 mutilated bodies, a savage gleam in their

 cold, murderous eyes.

 "I see it," West spoke the words softly.

 "Watch them very carefully, West," Ben cautioned.

 "I have a strong suspicion they'll revert back

 faster than you can blink."

 The mercenary nodded, his face grim.

 Ben ordered the bodies placed in a house and the

 house burned.

 They could find no bodies of creepies. But all

 knew that

 with the recent victory of the Rebels, the crawlers

 had probably discarded their robes for a traditional

 form of dress. And the creepies, if they did not

 carry off their dead, would probably have no compunction

 about carving up or eating their own.

 Ben waved the column on and linked up with Tina on

 the outskirts of Waynesboro.

 "Hell of a fight here, Dad. You saw what went

 down at that little town just east of here?"

 "Right. We burned the bodies. Jerre, order

 tanks into the town, everything buttoned down."

 The tanks rumbled and clanked past and disappeared

 into the silent town. Silent, but with the smell of death

 hanging unseen over it.

 With the column halted, West had positioned some of his

 men around the vehicles containing the children of the

 creepies.

 Tina watched the move and met her dad's eyes.

 "The little bastards were licking their chops back in that

 town. West has realized that he made a terrible

 mistake in bringing them, but neither he nor I know

 what to do to rectify it-not at this stage of the game."

 He sighed. "Well, we know

 what

 to do, we just don't want to do it."

 Tina cut her eyes to the teenagers. They stared

 back at her, the hatred cutting like sharp invisible

 knives in the sunny afternoon. "It's coming down

 tonoprisonersatall, isn't it, Dad?"

 "No. I won't permit that. I'm not going to kill

 children. If we find them, we take them alive and then

 leave them."

 "So we can fight them again another day." It was not a

 question; more a statement of fact.

 "I guess so, girl."

 The roaring of cannon fire from the tanks tore the

 afternoon. The rattle of machine guns immediately

 followed.

 "Back to work," Ben said, a grim note in the

 statement.

 It was grim, but it was short, as the Rebels smashed

 the small stronghold of Night P.

 During the mopping-up, a small pocket of

 prisoners

 was found in a basement. Naked, abused, and very

 nearly out of their minds from fear and the ravages of day

 after long day of degradation at the hands of their

 captors.

 "See if you can get some of these old vehicles

 running," Ben told his people. "We can't

 leave these people here. We're going to have to open up a

 runway at Cumberland and call for more birds from the

 base. Dan, start getting statements from the

 survivors. We've got to know what we're up

 against in the next town."

 "How goddamn many of these creatures are we

 facing?" Dan asked, using rare profanity.

 "Several hundred thousand, if we can believe what

 those crud back in Philly told us."

 "Are you thinking that this force out west is aligned with the

 creepies?"

 "I don't know. But it wouldn't surprise me. I

 think we're going to be-we

 are

 comfacing the greatest threat we've ever encountered. And

 we'd damn well better win it."

 Ben led the convoy over to the Interstate, using a

 badly rutted country road, and halted them at

 Greencastle. That town, unlike the others, showed

 no signs of any battle. No shell casings,

 no blood, no bodies.

 "This place was abandoned years ago," West said.

 "The survivors probably decided that living beside

 any well-traveled road, like this Interstate,

 meant trouble and grouped out in the country.

 Probably in those towns we just left."

 "That's my thinking," Ben agreed. "We'll clear

 Hagerstown in the morning. I want us on full

 alert this night. The creepies know we're hot on

 their butts, and they probably also know Voleta and

 Monte and Ashley are somewhere behind us. They may

 try to form another alliance."

 "You really think those thugs are following us?" Emil

 asked. Emil was slowly recovering from his one-sided

 affair of the heart with Michelle.

 "Oh, yes, Emil. And on both sides and ahead

 of us, probably. They're wanting to get us in a

 box for an ambush. That's why I keep taking a

 snake's route getting home."

 Thermopolis arched an eyebrow. He had wondered

 why the column was traveling like a bunch of wandering

 nomads.

 "The creepies just might decide to clear out tonight rather

 than face us in the morning," West said.

 "Personally, I hope they do," Ben told him.

 Ben had his people up and fed and ready to roll while

 Dan sent his Scouts into the city well before dawn.

 It had turned colder during the night; winter was

 preparing to show them all it still held a punch.

 "Tina reporting that the town definitely

 has creepies," Jerre told him. "No signs

 of other life."

 "Order Tina and her teams out. Tell artillery

 to stand by. They will commence firing on my orders,"

 Ben said. "HE and incendiary. Damned if I'll

 lose people when I can prevent it."

 Less than a minute passed before Tina reported

 that her teams were clear and in position to act as forward

 observers.

 "Commence firing."

 The artillery rounds began singing their songs as they

 roared through the cold dark morning. In five

 minutes, portions of Hagerstown had been turned

 into a raging inferno, the flames caused by the

 incendiary rounds licking upward into the darkness. An

 old underground gasoline storage tank went up with a

 whooshing roar, balls of flame jumping high into the

 air like angry fingers of hate, searching to destroy.

 The gunners began lobbing shells in with much more

 discrimination, setting one section of the town blazing,

 then moving to another. After an hour of pounding, Ben

 ordered the gunners to cease firing.

 Dawn was just beginning to pierce the darkness with thin

 silver fingers, lifting up and pushing away the lid of

 night.

 "If Monte and the others are within fifty miles of

 this area," Cecil said, "they'll sure know where we

 are."

 "That they will. Jerre, order Tina and her teams

 back. Let's get ready to pull out."

 The Night People finally figured out that Ben and his

 Rebels were moving westward, and nothing was going to

 stand in their way. The leaders ordered their kind

 to abandon any towns that stood in the way, moving either

 north or south until the Rebels had passed.

 The Rebel columns bypassed the burning city and

 picked up Interstate 70, heading west, leaving the

 smoke and death behind them. Full dawn found them

 looking at the deserted little town of Hancock,

 Maryland.

 "Less than two thousand people lived here before the Great

 War," Jersey said, looking at an old map.

 "I had friends here," Jerre said. "Just up the road

 is a little town called Piney Grove. My

 suitemate at college was from there. I was so sick

 I couldn't even move off the floor of the room. I

 lay there watching her die. The thing that got me moving

 was when the rats came and started eating on the dead in

 the dorm. How come it didn't kill the damned

 rats? I crawled outside, found a car

 that was unlocked and passed out in the front seat.

 All around me people were dead or dying. Absolutely,

 totally gross. When I finally was able to see and sit

 up, and my eyes stopped seeing double, I found that the

 damn car didn't have any keys in it. The cars that

 did have keys also had dead bodies in them. I

 finally found a car that was empty and had the keys in

 it."

 "Where was college?" Cooper asked.

 "Salisbury State. Took me days to get

 home. I had to drive all the way up

 into Pennsylvania because Washington had taken a

 direct hit. I met people who had been on the fringe

 areas. They didn't have any eyes! They had looked

 at the blast and their eyes had melted. The flesh was

 burned off of others. I had never seen anything like

 that. I didn't know what to do to help them. Then it

 dawned on me that there wasn't anything I could do;

 nothing anybody could do. They were j ust walking around

 dying.""

 "You sure you want to do this, Jerre?" Ben asked,

 his voice soft, for he was remembering finding his own

 parents in Illinois, just after the bombing.

 "Yeah," she said, her voice just as soft. "I need

 to do it."

 Ben waved the column forward.

 "Creepies have been here," Tina's voice came

 through the speaker. "But they've bugged out. It's

 pretty grim here, Dad."

 "Hold what you've got. We're not far behind."

 Jerre's eyes were busy as they approached the

 small city. But whatever thoughts and emotions she was

 experiencing, she kept bottled up ... at least

 for the time being.

 Ben halted the column just inside the city limits

 and walked back to Thermopolis's van. "Seems

 like I'm always asking you to do some unenviable job. So

 I'm asking again. This is where Jerre grew up.

 Would you people stay with her while she tours the area?"

 "Don't you think she would rather have you with her, Ben?"

 Ben blinked; looked shocked. "No. I don't."

 Thermopolis cut his eyes at Rosebud, and both

 of them smiled rather sadly. "All right, Ben

 Raines. We'll look after her."

 Ben and Dan took Tina and a team of Scouts and

 went on a quick tour of the town. It was just as Tina had

 reported: grim.

 Mutilated bodies had been stacked in houses

 to rot and gather flies-after the choicest cuts had

 been carved from them. That the men and women had

 been carved upon while still very much alive was evident

 by the hideous expression on the still twisted and

 pain-filled faces, mouths still open in a silent

 scream, before death mercifully took them across that dark

 shore.

 "Did you find any survivors?" Ben asked

 Tina.

 "None, Dad. And no sign of any."

 "The creepies took their meals with them," Ben said.

 "Twenty-first-century version of fast food."

 They all looked at him to see if he was kidding.

 He wasn't.

 "Large hordes of thugs and outlaws and warlords out

 west, Monte and Ashley and Sister Voleta

 operating here to the east, night crawlers all over the

 bloody place. We have long years of war ahead of

 us, General," Dan said.

 "Probably more years than you and I have, Dan.

 Our children's children will be fighting to pull this land out of the

 ashes of barbarism and ignorance and savagery.

 It's up to us to see that they don't have quite as hard a

 battle."

 Ben lifted a map and studied it for a moment.

 "We'll let Jerre get her fill of her old

 hometown-and it probably won't take

 her long; then when the birds land and get the rescued

 out, we'll cut south. I've got a hunch the

 creepies didn't go far. We'll check out this little

 town on the West Virginia line. It's just far enough

 off the beaten path for the crud to feel safe. If so,

 we'll see if we can't crash their party."

 Jerre stood before a plaque that read: GOD HAVE

 MERCY ON THOSE WHO DIED IN THE

 GREAT WAR. TWENTY-ONE THOUSAND FIVE

 HUNDRED FIFTEEN SOULS. CUMBERLAND,

 MARYLAND.

 "Itwas this way all over the nation, Jerre,"

 Thermopolis told her. "The survivors scooped

 out great holes in the earth and buried them in mass

 graves. It would have been impossible any other

 way."

 "I know. Well," she sighed, "I've seen it.

 Hell, I don't even know if my parents are

 buried here. They were pretty badly decomposed

 when I finally got back to the house."

 "I thought that a neighbor was going to bury them?"

 "He was too busy trying to get my pants off.

 No. They were still in the back yard when I popped that

 jerk with a poker and split." She shook her head.

 "I've seen enough. Let's go help

 clear the airport. The birds are on the way

 in."

 "West, you take your men and cut south off the

 Interstate on this county road, Thirty-six.

 It's about ten or twelve miles west of our

 present position. Hold up when you get to this little

 town of Barton. We'll be coming down Two-twenty

 and we'll stop at McCoole. I want both our

 forces to hit Westernport together. I think the

 creepies have prisoners with them, so shelling is out

 until we learn different. You go ahead. We'll

 pull out thirty minutes behind you."

 West nodded and left.

 Ben glanced at Jerre. "How are you feeling?"

 "I'm all right. In a way, I'm glad my

 parents died back then, rather than like . . . the

 creepie way."

 "Let's start getting mounted up, people." He glanced

 up at the sky. He would like to travel through West

 Virginia, but he didn't want to get caught in

 the mountains in a snowstorm. The weather had turned

 decidedly cooler, but the skies remained clear.

 After Westernport had been cleared, if the weather still

 looked good, they would angle over and pick up the

 Interstate, take that south down

 to Charleston. After that. . . his Play it by ear.

 And where in the hell had Monte and the rest of that crud

 gone? Ben didn't think they had given up-although that

 could certainly be possible. They might well have

 reassessed the situation, found it not to their liking, and

 then pulled back to gather up more men. It seemed like

 for every decent person left in what had been

 America, there were ten times ten more crud. He shook

 his head. Time would tell.

 He walked the line of vehicles, deep in thought and

 killing time until West was well on his way. He

 wasn't even sure what month it was.

 February, he thought. They had spent so many weeks

 in the city that all of them had lost track of time.

 He looked up the line. The column seemed

 to stretch for miles. The trucks and tanks and

 APC'S and jeeps and Hummers containing the only

 army in the world-that Ben was aware of-fighting to restore

 some type of democracy to the nation.

 So much to do. And where in the hell did that large force

 out west pop up from? Had the nation been invaded by some

 foreign force? It was certainly possible. Khamsin

 had

 done it.

 The Libyan had waltzed right in and caused

 a lot of grief before he elected to stick his nose

 in with the creepies in New York City.

 Another force knocked down and out. But how many more

 to go? And would it ever stop?

 "Miles to go," Ben muttered. "Miles to go."

 Jerre was very quiet as they rolled out, as could have been

 expected after experiencing one hell of an emotional

 jolt. Ben noticed that she looked back several

 times with tears in her eyes.

 What could he say? He knew only too well the

 sense of loss when you have nobody left, all

 family dead. Kith but no kin.

 "Recent fire right over there, General," Cooper

 broke into his thoughts, pointing to what was left of a

 house. The ashes were still smoldering.

 "The creepies are just one jump ahead of us, that's

 for sure."

 A mile farther down the road they saw another

 home that had been torched. Fat carrion birds were

 strutting around in the yard, too heavy to fly after

 gorging themselves on dead human flesh.

 "Yuck!" Beth said, her eyes lingering on the

 bloated birds.

 "All part of the plan, Beth," Ben said.

 "You believe in God, General?" she

 asked.

 "Oh, yes."

 "Heaven and Hell?"

 "Sure. But I also believe-rightly or wrongly-that

 there are levels, with the highest plane being very

 sparsely populated."

 "And what level will you attain?"

 Ben laughed. "I don't think I'll get very

 high, Beth. I'll probably be with the rest of the

 warriors. And I'm not at all certain that

 Valhalla is going to be a paradise. My

 punishment will probably be having to listen to Emil

 sing throughout eternity."

 After the laughter, Jerre said, "Emil appears

 to be bouncing back rather quickly after his loss."

 "Life goes on, Jerre. Emil is a sharp little

 guy and he'll be all right."

 But,

 he added silently, still

 can tell you for an iron-clad fact that he'll never

 forget the woman.

 "So you believe that love fades after a time?" she

 asked.

 "Sure. I don't know that true love ever really

 dies. It just loses its sharpness, dimming

 into a memory that one can live with."

 After that brief exchange, the miles passed quickly

 and in silence. Ben was surprised diat Jerre even

 brought up the subject of love; but then, she had

 always been full of surprises.

 "Coming up to the junction, General." Cooper's words

 jogged him back to the present.

 Ben pulled the mike from its clip. "Eagle

 to West."

 "Go, Eagle."

 "In position?"

 "Setting on ready."

 "We're turning west on One-thirty-five.

 Five miles to touchdown."

 "I'm rolling."

 "Eagle to Scout."

 "In position, Dad. The town is populated, but

 it's iffy as to who or what lives here. Those that we

 have seen don't look like creepies."

 "Ten-four, Scout. We'll be with you shortly.

 Hold what you have. Tank commanders, take your beasts

 to the point. Convoy slow, let them pass. Dan,

 block the road leading south out of the town. West,

 split your people and block the west end of

 One-thirty-five."

 "Welcoming committee coming out," Tina reported.

 "They're dressed in normal clothing, but they're

 all armed."

 The tanks were in position as Ben pulled up. He

 stepped out of the Blazer and walked up to the knot of

 men and women. The first thing that caught his attention was the

 paleness of skin. Even though, he cautioned himself, that

 could be attributed to staying indoors during a very long

 and cold winter.

 But he didn't believe that for a second.

 "Welcome, General Raines!" a man called,

 a smile on his lips.

 But he did not step forward to offer his hand in greeting.

 "Thank you," Ben responded. "We just thought we'd

 drop in for a visit. Maybe stay a few days and

 rest up ... if that wouldn't be an imposition on you

 good folks."

 "Well . . ." The man hesitated. "We

 don't have much food. It's been a long winter and

 our supplies are almost gone."

 Ben waved that aside. "We have plenty of food.

 We'll be happy to share it with you. As a matter of

 fact, I have an idea: Why don't we all get

 together for a potluck supper this evening? We'll all

 bring a dish and share. That sound good to you?"

 "J. . . wonderful, General."

 Ben spotted a group of kids; they had the same

 flat look of hatred and contempt as the kids taken

 from Philly.

 Stepped right into a snake pit, Ben thought, as his

 eyes caught faint movement on rooftops and

 second floor windows of homes. Riflemen

 waiting to open fire.

 Ben and the spokesman stood and smiled at one

 another. And each smile was filled with contempt for the

 other. The creepies knew that Ben Raines would

 take no prisoners, so if this ruse didn't work,

 and the spokesman knew it wasn't, they would try

 to kill as many Rebels as possible . . .

 especially Ben Raines.

 "Shouldn't your children be in school?" Ben asked.

 "Well ... it isn't every day that the famous Ben

 Raines drops in for a visit. We turned school

 out for the

 auspicious event."

 "I'm flattered. But auspicious is a very heady

 word. Really, all we've been doing is killing

 crud. You folks been having any problems with the

 Night People?"

 "Ah . . . no. We haven't seen

 any."

 "You're a goddamn liar!"

 The man brought his rifle up, his face mirroring his

 inner hate. He was shot all to pieces by Rebel

 fire just as

 the

 cannon on a tank boomed, the round blowing off the

 top of a building where the crew chief had seen

 creepies lurking.

 On the road leading into town, the battle was very hot

 and very brief. The instant the spokesman brought up

 his weapon, several hundred Rebels opened fire

 into the knot of creepies, killing them almost

 instantly.

 The children of the Night People ran away, disappearing into the

 buildings and the brush.

 "Take the town," Ben ordered.

 The retaking of Westernport was very short and very

 brutal, just as brutal as what the creepies had

 done with their prisoners, taken from the small towns and

 villages around the area.

 The Night People must have sensed that the ruse would not work,

 for they had killed the prisoners, all the men and

 women and children, and hung them up on hooks, like

 hanging ducks.

 And they had obviously told their own children to head for the

 timber at the first shot, for not a child could be found among

 the rubble that was all that remained of the little town after the

 Rebels had finished.

 "Leave the bodies where they lie," Ben told his

 people. "It's too dry to burn them; we might starta

 forest fire. And there is no point in trying to chase

 after the kids. I don't know what in the hell we'd

 do with them if we did catch them."

 Ben took a sip of water from his canteen. Even the

 water tasted of death.

 The Rebels were back on the road without a

 backward glance at the shattered town and the bodies that

 littered the bloody streets.

 They took Highway 220 out of Westernport and

 spent an hour in Keyser. Ben had expected

 to find somebody in the town that once held a

 population of over six thousand. But it was a ghost

 town.

 "It hasn't always been," West said, walking up.

 "We've inspected several homes and found signs

 that people were here and not that long ago. There are graves that

 were dug maybe six months ago-no longer than that.

 And one hell of a lot of brass around. There was a

 fight here, and a big one."

 "But against whom?" Ben questioned, not really expecting a

 reply. "And I doubt that digging up the bodies would

 tell us anything. Let's go."

 A few miles south of Keyser the column turned

 west on Highway 50. They passed through small

 towns-all deserted. They saw no signs of

 human life as the Rebels pushed on into the

 unknown. With darkness just a couple of hours away, the

 Rebels moved into a small town and began clearing

 out homes and buildings to spend the night.

 "Anybody see the city limits sign?" Cooper

 asked.

 "Aurora, I think it was," Jersey told him.

 "Why, you want to mail a letter?"

 "Funny, Jersey. Very funny."

 "Double the guards," Ben ordered. "Just in case."

 But the night passed uneventfully, with the Rebels

 catching up on rest. Ben was the first one up-except

 for the guards already on duty, and the cooks-and walked

 over to one of the buildings being used as a mess hall

 and poured a mug of coffee. He chatted with the cooks

 for a moment and then went outside, to sit on the fender

 of a truck until his butt got cold and he was

 forced to move around.

 By that time he had some appetite and started

 back to the mess hall. A runner stopped him.

 "General Ike on the horn, sir. They've

 docked and have

 the equipment unloaded, ready to move west."

 Ben turned just as the mess hall building exploded

 and the artillery barrage began.

 The first explosion knocked Ben and the runner

 sprawling. He got to his knees and grabbed die

 ankles of the young runner, dragging him under a truck

 for protection, and then went racing toward his quarters.

 "Everybody out!" he yelled. "Bug out! Bug out!

 They've got our range dead on. If we stay

 here, we're dead. Move, people, move!"

 Grabbing whatever they could, the Rebels, in various

 stages of dress and undress, went racing for the

 vehicles as the deadly artillery dropped in around

 them. A deuce and a half went up with a whooshing roar

 as the incoming landed directly on die truck,

 blowing the gas tanks, the deadly debris killing

 several Rebels who had been working at frantically

 loading the bed of the truck.

 Running without lights, the Rebels roared away from

 the small town, exiting east and west on Highway

 50, and south on a county road, for the artillery was

 coming in on them from the north.

 Ben took as many of his people as he could gather and headed

 north, up a county highway. He halted them a

 mile out of town, when the muzzle flashes of the enemy

 artillery could be seen from the road.

 Flipping his radio on scramble, he lifted the

 mike. "Eagle to West."

 "Go, Eagle."

 "What's your twenty?"

 "Couple of miles east of the town."

 "Find a road north and take it. They're about a

 mile outside of the town. You may have to work across

 country on foot. I'm taking my people and heading for

 them now."

 "Ten-four, Eagle. Moving."

 "Cec, you copy?"

 "Ten-four, Ben. I took some hits and bugged out

 south. Chase is with me, patching up the badly

 wounded."

 "You hold what you've got and spread out. With any

 kind of luck, we'll be driving them toward you."

 "Ten-four, Eagle."

 "Dan?"

 "Right behind you, Eagle. What's the drill?"

 "I think Monte found us. Now let's go find him

 and kick some ass."

 Ben and Dan left their vehicles on the road, the

 keys out of the ignition, and began walking toward the

 artillery, while West and his men came

 cross-country from the other direction. Both

 advancing parties carried light mortars and rocket

 launchers. Just as the artillery ceased firing,

 Monte sure he had creamed the Rebels hard,

 he was hit from both sides with mortar, rocket

 fire and grenades fired from grenade launchers.

 Ashley, being the cautious type, was not so certain

 he had done much damage to the Rebels and had

 pulled his people back about a mile and was attempting

 to see through night lenses. He saw the shapes of the

 Rebels closing the pincers and knew Monte was

 trapped.

 "To help or not to help?" Ashley muttered.

 "We don't need him," Sister Voleta said.

 "The man is a fool."

 "Then it's agreed?" Ashley looked at the woman

 in the moonlight.

 "Of course. There is always another day."

 They faded back into the timber and joined their forces.

 Monte and his men were, as one Rebel would later

 sum it up, getting their asses kicked.

 With the Rebels closing with them from the west,

 and the mercenaries closing with them from the east, the warlord and

 his men went into a panic as the shapes

 seemed to materialize out of the darkness.

 Monte's men were not accustomed to hand-to-hand combat,

 not on this scale, and not outnumbered. Like most

 bullies, they were cowards at heart, always being very

 careful to pick the people they bullied. This time they had

 tweaked the tail of a giant dragon, and the dragon

 was a many-clawed fire-breather.

 Monte's men tried to run away. Only a few

 made it. Ben stepped around a light artillery

 piece that had been crippled by rockets and came

 face-to-face with Monte. Monte was standing by the

 cannon, one side of his face slick with blood from

 a minor wound.

 The two men had never met, but each instinctively

 knew the other.

 Monte lunged at Ben, a pistol in his hand. Ben

 kicked the man in the knee with a boot, and the pain

 caused the warlord to drop his weapon as he cried out,

 both hands grabbing his knee.

 Ben stepped in closer and butt-stroked the warlord on

 the jaw with the stock of his M14. Teeth flew out of the

 man's mouth, and his lips were smashed to bloody

 pulp. Monte hit the cold ground

 moaning and rolling, trying to escape the rage of the

 man.

 As the sounds of battle waned around them, Ben stood

 over the man, the muzzle of the old Thunder Lizard

 pointed at the man's chest.

 "No!" Monte cried. "I'll deal with you!" The

 words came out mush-mouthed.

 Then he saw Ben smile as a Rebel came

 to his side. "Tie this bastard up," Ben ordered.

 "I want him to stay alive- for a little while

 longer."

 "Forty-seven dead, a hundred wounded," Dan

 reported to Ben as dawn kissed the darkness, the

 caress opening the mouth of light. "We're going to have

 to get to an airfield and open a runway for the

 birds to get the wounded."

 Ben cursed at the totals. When he had

 profanely vented his spleen, he lifted a map.

 "There's an airport at Clarksburg. Send some

 people over there to check it out. If it's usable, clear a

 path and get the birds in."

 "Yes, sir. About the prisoners we took this

 morning ... ?"

 "Keep them alive and well-fed and under heavy

 guard."

 "Well-fed, sir?"

 "That is correct, Dan."

 "Very well, sir."

 Ben walked over to West. "Ben, my people found

 signs where a large force waited and then pulled out,

 heading north toward Pennsylvania. Sister

 Voleta and Ashley, I'm sure. And they

 didn't show any signs of planning to stop anytime

 soon."

 "They've had it for this run. I don't think we'll

 see them again soon." He glanced at Jerre.

 "Jerre, advise the forward teams heading

 to Clarksburg to clear the airport and advance no

 farther. Do not, repeat,

 do not

 enter the town. If there are creepies, leave them

 alone unless the creepies make the first move."

 She looked at Ben, questions in her eyes. She

 nodded her head and relayed the orders.

 West, too, had questions in his eyes, but they remained

 unspoken.

 "Let's get our dead cremated and the wounded made

 ready for travel."

 With creepies all over the place they had all

 agreed that cremation was the only logical

 way to treat any Rebel dead.

 "Jerre, bump Katzman and tell him to contact

 Base Camp One. Send some planes up here for the

 wounded. We'll wait at Grafton until after the

 birds have taken the wounded on board, and then we'll

 move on."

 "Yes, sir."

 The convoy made the short run to Grafton and found

 the town a deserted death town-but only recently so.

 The signs and smells of creepies were all over the

 place.

 Mutilated bodies lay about the streets.

 "Burn them," Ben ordered. "And then stand down for the

 night."

 "What's Ben got in his mind?" Thermopolis

 asked Tina, after the dead were collected and burned.

 "I don't know. He's not talking and I'm not going

 to push him on it."

 "Probably a wise choice."

 Ben remained mostly by himself and very taciturn the rest

 of the day and all that night. He would occasionally walk

 over to the building where Monte and his men were being kept

 under guard, to stand and stare at them.

 "You wanna deal, General?" Monte would ask

 each time Ben came over, the words mushy

 coming out of his busted mouth.

 Ben would always mutter a low curse and turn his

 back to the man.

 The planes began landing during the early morning

 hours and picking up the wounded Rebels.

 Dan informed Ben that Clarksburg was filled with

 creepies. But they had made no move toward the

 Rebels, and the Rebels were leaving them alone as

 ordered.

 "Keep it that way," Ben told him.

 By eight o'clock in the morning, all the wounded had been

 transported out.

 "Let's roll," Ben ordered. "All personnel

 out of the airport area. Link up on the Interstate

 and wait for me there."

 The Rebels dismounted and stood on the Interstate,

 watching as Ben and his contingent stayed on Highway

 50 and escorted Monte and his men to the city

 limits.

 "Get them out of the trucks," Ben ordered.

 On the pavement, Monte looked around nervously.

 "What the hell are you gonna do, Raines?" he

 demanded. "If you're gonna shoot us, get it the

 hell done."

 "I have no intention of shooting you," Ben

 told the

 warlord. "Strip!"

 "Do what?" Monte screamed.

 "Strip, you bastards! I want the creepies

 to see what's coming up for lunch."

 "You can't do this to us!" Monte yelled.

 Ben's reply was a tight smile.

 "I ain't a-gonna do it," a man said.

 Ben glanced at Dan. "Strip them and hogtie

 them."

 Using rifle and pistol butts for clubs, the

 Rebels knocked the men down and stripped them

 naked, tying them up, leaving them on the cold

 concrete.

 Monte lay on the highway, filth spewing out of his

 mouth until he was breathless from cursing Ben

 Raines.

 "Creepies watching this," Dan said.

 "Good."

 Tina lifted her binoculars. "They're carrying

 knives, Dad."

 "That's even better." He looked at Monte.

 "You're scum, Monte. Only God knows how

 many innocent men and women and kids you kidnapped,

 raped, tortured, sodomized, and then handed

 over to the Night P. It's payback time,

 Monte. You better start praying, because that looks like

 a hungry bunch over there."

 "Goddamn you, Raines! This ain't decent. This

 ain't right. This ain't nothin' no human being would do

 to another human being."

 "Call it justice, Monte," Ben told him.

 "Call it true justice at last."

 Ben turned to leave.

 "Wait!" Monte's busted and bruised mouth

 wailed out the one word of pure and nearly mindless

 fear. "You don't know them people. They'll torture us

 a long time "fore they kill us. Them people is worser

 than anything on the face of this earth!"

 Ben looked at the naked lot of scum and trash and

 outlaws. There was only contempt in his eyes. "I

 hope so, Monte. I really hope so."

 The screaming from the mouths of the warlord and his outlaws

 began just as the long column of Rebels was pulling

 out. The screaming would continue throughout the very long day.

 The Rebels made camp for the evening about fifteen

 miles outside of Charleston. Tina and her teams

 of Scouts reported that the city was filled with

 creepies.

 "Do we clear the city, Ben?" Cecil

 asked, a haggard look around his eyes.

 "We destroy it," Ben said. "Or as much of it as

 we can. We've been fully resupplied, so

 we're going to stand back and shell it and set it on

 fire."

 Ben lifted a battered old map. "West, you

 take your people, this evening, and cross over the river

 down here at Interstate Seventy-seven. Cecil,

 take your battalion and cross over here, at

 Highway Twenty-one. At dawn, we'll commence

 shelling from three directions. That's it. You people get

 into position and get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be

 noisy."

 When Cecil and West had gone, Ben turned

 to Jerre. "Get Katzman. Ask him if he's

 had any further word from Ike."

 Katzman reported that Ike was well inland and

 moving toward Base Camp One.

 "Advise Ike not to engage with the creepies. He

 isn't strong enough. Tell him to avoid the cities

 and head straight for the base camp and start setting up

 field supplies and vehicles for one

 battalion."

 "All right, Ben." Her eyes touched his. "Your

 battalion, Ben?"

 "That is correct."

 He walked away while she was speaking with

 Katzman.

 "When we get close to your camp, Thermopolis,"

 Ben told him, "feel free to break loose and

 head home."

 "We've talked it over, Ben Raines. We're

 going to

 resettle in Arkansas. Until this creepie

 business is over, I have to admit there is strength in

 numbers. We'll settle near the Ouachita

 Mountains."

 "Probably a wise choice. We'll set you up

 with good radio equipment and anything else you need."

 "You won't run my community, Ben."

 "I have no intention of running your show, Therm. I just

 want you properly equipped in case you're

 attacked or in the event we might need some help.

 Like I said before: We're not that different."

 The hippie and the soldier smiled at each other and

 shook hands. "Well, I suppose I can live with

 that, Ben Raines."

 "Good. I'll send a platoon of Rebels with you

 when you decide to break away. They'll escort you

 to your new base and help you get set

 up."

 "That would be much appreciated. I suppose," he

 added dryly, "that Jerre will be among those assigned

 to escort us?"

 "You're reading my mind, Therm."

 "Maybe she won't want to go."

 "She'll take orders or leave this outfit."

 "In her own strange way, Ben, she cares very

 deeply for you. Surely you must know that."

 "In her own strange way. Ships that pass in the

 night and all that crap."

 "Yours is a strange combination of love, devotion,

 and anger, Ben Raines. She will never be

 subservient to any man."

 "And you think that's what I want?"

 "Of course it is. You have to control everything around you.

 I'm not faulting you; that's just the way you are. But

 you'll never control her. No man ever will. I think

 one did at some point in her life. And she will never

 permit that again."

 "You might be right. But it's a moot point. Because

 I'll be pulling out and chances are very good that I'll

 never see her again. I have a suspicion that she'll

 stay with you and your group."

 "She'll certainly be welcome."

 "Take care of her, Thermopolis."

 "I'm not her keeper, Ben Raines. She'll be

 free to come and go as she pleases. She's not a child."

 Ben's smile was very sad. "That's where you're wrong,

 Therm. Because in a way, she is."

 The shelling started at dawn, from three sides.

 Tanks and self-propelled artillery and mortars

 began their destruction of the city. They began dropping

 in HE, Willie Peter, and incendiary. It did

 not take long before sections of the city were blazing, the

 fires, unchecked, consuming the dusty old

 buildings.

 Ben sat in an old service-station building drinking

 coffee, choosing to remain by himself and making it plain

 he did not wish to be disturbed. He had his boots

 propped up on the desk and was reading a paperback

 he had found when Jerre came in and sat down across

 the desk from him.

 "Something on your mind, kid?"

 "Thermopolis and his people are going to be leaving the convoy

 in a couple of days."

 "Yeah, we talked about it earlier."

 "You're sending a platoon of Rebels with them."

 "That's right."

 "I am formally requesting permission to be

 among that platoon." She stuck her chin out, getting

 set for an argument.

 "All right."

 She blinked, not believing what she'd just heard.

 "That's it? No arguments about it?"

 "There is nothing to argue about, Jerre. If you wish

 to go, go. I'll reassign you right now. Dan is

 picking the team, isn't he?"

 "Yes." She spoke softly.

 "Then you're on your way. Pack up your gear and

 report to Dan. Tell him what I said. He'll

 verify it with me later."

 She stood up and looked at him. "Well, I

 guess there is nothing left to say."

 "I don't know that there ever was all that much to say,

 Jerre." He lifted his coffee mug. "Here's

 lookin" at you, kid."

 She was gone amid the crash and howl of artillery

 shells.

 Ben was not hearing the roar of combat. He was lost in

 memories, remembering that day years back when he

 had first looked into those blue eyes.

 He sighed and closed the book, putting it in his

 jacket pocket. He stood up and walked to the

 door, opening it and stepping outside just in

 time to see Jerre get into a jeep.

 She looked back at him.

 He tossed her a salute.

 "What's that all about?" she called, her voice

 small over the roar of the shelling.

 "One always salutes the victor, Jerre.

 Protocol and all that."

 "Nobody won, Ben. We both lost." She put

 the jeep into gear and drove off.

 While it was impossible for a force as small as

 Ben's to completely destroy a city the size of

 Charleston, they did leave behind them a burning city.

 None had any way of knowing how many creepies they

 had killed, but for about eighteen hours, they had made

 life damned miserable for them.

 The column crossed over into Kentucky without

 further incident, bypassing Lexington and taking

 Interstate 75 south.

 It was just past Lexington that Thermopolis and his

 group split with the Rebels.

 "We're not far from home, Ben Raines,"

 Thermopolis

 told him. "About a hundred fifty miles south

 and a bit east of here. So," he stuck out his hand,

 "I guess for a time, this is goodbye."

 Ben shook the hand. "I'd like to say something to your

 following, Thermopolis."

 "They are not my following, Ben."

 Ben smiled. "Now who is bullshitting whom,

 friend?"

 Both men laughed and walked toward the band of

 twenty-first-century hippies. The contingent of

 Rebels who were to act as escorts and to help with the

 move to Arkansas were already packed up and ready to go.

 Ben made no speeches. He shook hands with

 everyone there and thanked them. Then he walked away.

 Without seeing Jerre.

 As the columns split, Ben did not look back.

 Just told Cooper to take the country roads and

 to angle southwest; they were going down through Arkansas

 this time. And Ben also told his people they were not hunting

 trouble. They were going home.

 They were lucky to make a hundred miles a day on

 the old county and state roads. Two hundred

 miles was considered good on the rapidly

 deteriorating Interstate system.

 They followed Interstate 40 all the way over

 to Memphis. From there, the Rebels took 61 down

 through the delta of Mississippi. They saw

 occasional smoke from the chimneys of houses

 along the highway, but Ben made no effort to stop and

 inquire as to their well-being. Everyone in this part of the

 country, everyone in the deltas on both sides of the

 Mississippi River, knew that the Rebels'

 Base Camp One was located at Morriston,

 Louisiana. If they needed help, all they had

 to do was ask, it would be provided. They also knew not

 to screw up, or the Rebels would land on them hard.

 And on a cool, very crisp and sunshiny midday, the

 Rebels pulled into Base Camp One to the sounds

 of a band playing and hundreds of people lining the streets,

 waving and cheering them home.

 That evening after a very long and steamy and soapy shower and a

 good close shave, Ben was sitting in his favorite

 chair in the den of his home, listening to Gregorian

 chants on the CD player and having a vodka

 martini while his dogs lay around the chair, glad

 to have the master back home.

 Of course, he was thinking about Jerre; she was never

 far from his thoughts.

 A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie.

 Ben waved Ike and Buddy inside and offered them a

 drink. Ike thought that would be just dandy; Buddy

 declined.

 The CD player turned down and the drinks

 fixed, the men took seats. Ike propped his feet

 up on an ottoman and said, "I've had the

 mechanics working on vehicles for you, Ben. But

 since I don't really know how many people you're

 plannin' on takin' with you, I don't really know

 how many vehicles to line up."

 "Four companies, Ike. All volunteer. And

 probably one short company of Dan's Scouts."

 "The way our companies line up, you're talkin'

 about roughly eight hundred people."

 "That's close enough."

 "Your four-wheel drive has seen some rough use.

 I got you another lined up. People armor-plating it and

 replacing glass now."

 "You're walking around something, Ike. What is it?"

 "I'd like to go with you."

 "Ike, you're a brand new daddy. And we've got

 several hundred new people to train. With Dan gone,

 that's up to you. You and Cecil are needed here."

 Ike grinned. "I had to try."

 "And I appreciate it." He cut his eyes

 to his son. "Your mother is still out there, boy. We could

 run into her on this trip."

 Buddy shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Then so be it,

 Father. The woman is insane and for years

 has acted in a criminal manner. She must be

 stopped."

 "Then you're volunteering?"

 "Of course. Father, the entire base has

 volunteered

 to go."

 Ben had expected it, but it still filled him with

 pride. "I'll start picking names in the morning.

 Now then, the only outpost we currently have out

 west-the far west-is at Great Bend, Kansas.

 That's another reason for this trip. We've got

 to start stretching out and reclaiming territory, making

 it productive once more. I just went over the

 records here at camp. Jesus, Ike, we've

 got over ten thousand people around this area. We've got

 people coming in daily. So that means we've got to start

 pioneering some families. Pass the word that I'm

 looking for settlers to go with us."

 Ike nodded. "I'm ahead of you, Ben. I got a

 list of more than two hundred families who want

 to go."

 "Good. We're on the right track. Now then, as we

 go, we're going to start clearing small-town

 airports for the birds to use, to resupply

 settlers until they can get crops in and

 become productive. We'll probably be gone

 the better part of a year. Cecil is going to handle the

 administrative end of things while I'm gone.

 Everything else fallson your shoulders, Ike."

 Again, Ike nodded.

 "I'm not going tojump into this thing, Ike.

 Idon'twant to start out and find ourselves in the big

 fat middle of a blizzard on the plains. We're

 going to have very firm timetables as to when and where and how we

 resupply along the line. And down here, I'm going

 to go over everything from socks to bullets." He

 smiled at them. "But for this night, I'm going

 to listen to some music, have a few drinks, and relax.

 Get some sleep, boys; tomorrow starts a very hectic

 schedule."

 Ben patted the track of a main battle tank,

 105mm-cannon-equipped. "Ten of them," he

 said. "Ready to roll."

 Beth took that down in a notepad.

 "I thought you were going back to Lev and the cows,

 Beth."

 "Lev got tired of waiting," she informed him.

 "There was a message waiting for me when we got

 back. It'sjustas well. I'd have gotten tired

 of wiping that ick off my boots." She

 jerked a thumb toward a very pretty blond woman,

 in her early to mid-twenties. "This is Corrie.

 She'll be handling the radio."

 "I definitely approve."

 "I thought you would," Beth said dryly.

 Corrie smiled at him.

 "I want a dozen hand-held vision scopes,

 Beth, and five tripod night vision scopes.

 Five grenade launchers per platoon."

 Beth scribbled.

 "I want Big Thumpers mounted on every vehicle

 that will take them. Five Dusters."

 They walked on-Beth, Cooper, Jersey,

 Corrie, and Ben.

 "Three eighty-one-millimeter mortar carriers,

 five-person crew."

 Beth jotted it down.

 "One five-point-five-six Minimi per

 platoon. One fifty per platoon. Two

 Puffs ready to fly at all times."

 Beth noticed the absence of Ben's old

 Thompson. "What will you be carrying, General?"

 "I'll keep the Thompson in a boot. I'll

 carry the old Thunder Lizard."

 She jotted down .308 ammo.

 "Tankers to keep us rolling and equipment to test

 gas and pumps to suck it up from storage tanks.

 "Get everyone's boot size and make sure there

 are adequate replacements. I want all body

 armor checked and any defectives replaced

 immediately."

 Beth wrote it down.

 "One mini-Mash fully equipped. Find out what

 doctors are going along."

 "Doctor Chase says he is leading the team of

 doctors."

 "Doctor Chase is most definitely

 not

 leading the doctors," Ben countered.

 "I just work here, General," Beth said. "Argue with

 Doctor Chase."

 "Put down Doctor Ling to lead the team. I'll

 deal with Lamar.""

 "Better you than me," Beth muttered.

 "Umm?"

 "Nothing, sir."

 "Ike is seeing to the vehicles, so if any of them

 breaks down, we can blame it on him."

 "Yes, sir. We can cuss him a thousand miles from

 nowhere, sitting on the side of the highway

 holding a busted U-joint. Right, sir."

 "Make a note to recheck the transportation before

 we pull out," Ben said with a smile.

 "Thank you."

 "What am I forgetting, Beth?"

 "About ten thousand things, sir. I have a list." She

 held out her hand and Cooper gave her a notebook

 about die size of the Bible.

 Ben glanced at it. "Good God!"

 "Yes, sir. Are you ready?"

 "Do I have a choice?"

 "No, sir."

 "That's what I was afraid of. Where do we start?"

 He had discovered that Beth was very thorough.

 "Five thousand pairs of socks."

 "Can we start with the bras and panties?"

 "We'll get to that later," Corrie said, smiling

 at him.

 Ben arched an eyebrow. Might be a more interesting

 trip than he first thought.

 Emil had settled back into his role as spiritual

 leader of his little group. The battle dress was gone

 and the robes had returned.

 Emil had contacted the Great God Blomm, and

 Blomm,

 so the little con artist informed his following, had

 "instructed him to keep his ass close to home from

 now on.

 But Emil was forced to admit, not aloud, that he did

 miss

 the excitement.

 No more had been heard from Sister Voleta or

 Ashley.

 Thermopolis and his group were settling in up in

 Arkansas. Ben had instructed the platoon of

 Rebels to stay with them for as long as they were needed.

 At least that kept Ben away from Jerre.

 And vice versa.

 And Ben was stalling in pulling out, and he knew it.

 He had made up a dozen excuses for his delaying

 the trip west, some of them proving valid, most just

 no more than excuses and nothing else.

 West knocked on his office door and Ben waved

 him in and to a seat. "What's up?"

 "Ben, I lost two men last week."

 "Lost two men? How? Desertion?"

 "No. I've never lost a man to that. My people are

 professionals. B. . ." He spread his hands.

 "Ithoughtat first that, well, hell, there is a first time

 for everything, so maybe they did desert.

 Now I find that two more

 are missing. Sometime last night."

 Ben kept his face expressionless; but his first thought was

 of the kids of the Night P. "And your thoughts on the

 matter?"

 "The same as yours, Ben," the mercenary said

 grimly.

 "All the creepie kids accounted for?"

 "Yes. But that doesn't mean a damn thing. The

 sneaky little bastards can almost slip out and away while

 you're looking at them."

 "You think . . . ?" Ben let that hang.

 "Yeah, Ben. I think."

 "If they did the unthinkable and unspeakable, West,

 they didn't go far to do it. Come on."

 The creepie kids would have few places to feast on

 human flesh, for there were no slums and no shacks in

 any town or outpost occupied by the Rebels. If

 there were unoccupied buildings or sheds on any land

 claimed by a Rebel, the buildings were repainted and

 kept up by the new owner, or they were torn down.

 Since building materials and nails and paint were

 free for the taking, the standing orders were: Just do it.

 Period.

 When Ben said that Rebel communities were

 going to be models that would stand the test of time for

 future generations to build by, he meant it.

 Morriston was rapidly becoming a small town that

 would have been the envy of anyone even when the nation was

 whole. There was no litter. If one littered and was

 caught, and the offender almost always was, the culprit

 spent a week, seven days, eight hours a day,

 doing community service work, usually cleaning out

 septic tanks, digging ditches, or some other

 unenviable type of work. There was no appeal. There just

 wasn't any litter.

 But it was not an inflexible society. Ben knew that

 kids are kids and kids are going to break the rules

 from time to time. Loud mufflers and loud music of any

 type-rock to classical-was tolerated, to a

 point. Probably the most important thing was that the

 kids understood the rights of others. They were taught

 values not only in the churches and at home, but in

 the schools.

 Members of the ACLU were probably spinning in their

 graves, and Ben hoped they kept on spinning, right

 out into another galaxy.

 "Corrie," Ben told her, "have Doctor Chase

 get the lab ready to test for human blood on hands

 and lips and clothing. Tell Ike to take

 a team and go over their quarters like a Marine Corps

 inspection team landing on a recruits" barracks.

 They left something behind, bet on it."

 "Yes, sir." They walked on toward the kids'

 quarters as Corrie completed her transmissions.

 She said, "General? Doctor Chase says that his

 goddamned, blankety-blank,

 I-refuse-to-say-that-word lab is always that-word-either

 blankety-blank ready."

 "Thank you, Corrie. You have to remember that Chase

 was in the Navy. He was an officer, but he was a

 mustang. You'll get used to Lamar . . .

 eventually."

 "If you say so, sir." But she looked very dubious

 about it.

 "What are we looking for, Ben?" West asked.

 "The last place those men were seen."

 "They were pulling guard duty around our compound. The

 dog watch."

 "We'll start there."

 It took them several walk-arounds of the area, but

 West was the one who found the small splotches of

 blood. "Got it," he called.

 Ben waved a lab technician over, and the woman

 lifted the blood onto slides.

 "Now we have something to work on," Ben said. "Let's

 see if we can pick up a trail."

 A dozen yards on and they found a thin blood

 trail leading toward a stand of timber across the old

 Interstate. In the timber, in an old shotgun

 house, they found the men, hanging up like sides of

 beef. What was left of them, that is. They were naked

 and had been carved on with very sharp knives.

 "What's the drill now, Ben?" West asked,

 anger very plain in his tone.

 "We either prove or disprove it was them. I have never

 believed in pampering kids. If a teenager commits

 an adult

 crime, they should be punished like an adult." "And the

 punishment for a crime like this?" "Death."

 "What'd you have, Lamar?" Ben asked.

 "Dried blood under their fingernails and on their skin

 and clothing. It's being matched up now. Did you find

 all the bodies, Ben?"

 "All four of them. The kids ate their fill."

 "If it was the kids," Doctor Holly Allardt

 said.

 These were the first words she had spoken to Ben since his

 return to the base camp at Morriston.

 "Right, Holly. If."

 The doctor turned her back to him and walked

 away, to stand in her office doorway, glaring at

 him.

 "Hell has no fury, and all that," Chase

 muttered, looking at Ben.

 "I didn't scorn her, Lamar."

 "You think."

 A lab technician walked up to the group, which had

 now grown to include Cecil and Ike and Buddy and

 Tina and Dan. "It's a match. All the kids were

 involved. They all feasted. If that's the right word."

 Ben nodded. "Dan, take their statements. I

 don't think they'll deny it. They're proud of what

 they ate."

 "Yes, sir. And then . . . ?"

 "Hang them."

 "They're just kids! "Holly yelled at him. "The

 youngest is no more than fifteen. This is barbaric

 behavior."

 "This is a hospital, Doctor," Chase warned

 her. "We have some seriously ill patients. So

 please lower your voice."

 Holly walked up to Ben. "If you hang those

 kids, I'll resign."

 "Turn your resignation in to Doctor

 Chase, then. And I'll be sorry to lose you.

 You're a fine doctor." Ben walked away.

 The older cannibalistic offspring of the Night People

 were hanged, and Holly did not resign. But in the

 time Ben had left at Base Camp One, she

 avoided him whenever possible, and then spoke only

 when spoken to.

 The younger kids were spared; they had taken no part in the

 killing and eating of West's men, having been housed

 in separate quarters. Most of Ben's medical

 personnel thought the younger kids had a chance to shake

 their earlier teachings. Only time would prove or

 disprove that theory.

 On a cool early spring morning, Ben rose before

 dawn and stepped out of his house, a mug of coffee in

 his hand. He sat down on the porch and looked out at

 the quiet before dawn.

 His dogs came to him and he petted them all.

 "Gonna miss you guys and gals," he spoke

 softly to them. He knew they would be well taken

 care of by the Rebels who stayed in his house whenever

 he was gorie. "But the old man's got to go. I

 wish I could take you all with me, but that's not

 possible. I'll be back, and that's a promise,

 gang."

 The dogs took turns licking the back of his hand.

 Then they all ran out into the fenced yard to play.

 Ben finished his coffee and went back into the house,

 to pack up a few last-minute things. He looked

 at the only picture of Jerre he had and picked

 it up; then he gently placed the framed picture

 into a drawer of the nightstand and closed it.

 "You will never know how much I love you, Jerre."

 Ben buckled his flight bag and walked out into the

 predawn darkness.

 Ben walked up and down and through the lines of

 vehicles in the staging area, noting that a great many

 of the Rebels who had volunteered to travel west

 had been part of the forces who had fought in New York

 City. But still there were many new faces among the eight

 hundred Rebels.

 Ben stopped and stared at a man from Missouri who

 had been with him since the beginning.

 "Dammit, Jimmy," Ben said to the sergeant

 major. "When are you going to admit thatyou're just

 too damned old for the field?"

 "The same day you do, General," was his reply.

 Ben laughed and walked on, Beth, Corrie,

 Jersey, and Cooper walking with him.

 He stopped at a truck and looked up

 at the line of Rebels seated on the bench.

 "Chuck, how are you feeling?"

 "Good as new, General," Chuck said with a grin.

 "Good to have you back with us."

 "Thank you, sir."

 Ben completed his inspection and looked at his watch.

 Ten o'clock. He walked back to his new Blazer,

 bullet-proofed and armor-plated. Cecil and Ike

 and Chase were standing beside the vehicle.

 Ben shook hands with all of them.

 Nobody said anything. There was nothing left to say.

 The three men backed into the throng of silent and

 watching Rebels who were staying behind.

 Ben climbed into the Blazer and rolled down his

 window. "Corrie, tell the Scouts to move out and

 maintain a ten-mile lead."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Order the convoy out onto the Interstate."

 The orders were given and the long column began

 rumbling and snorting and clanking out onto Interstate

 20.

 "Cooper!" Jersey spoke from the backseat. "Will

 you quit tailgating that damn tank. I swear

 to God, I only know one other person who's a

 worse driver than you!"

 Ben laughed as everybody in the Blazer started singing

 "On the Road Again."

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