OUT OF THE LOOP

Ben knew the instant he put eyes on Paula Preston that she was going to
be big trouble.

"I am the only remaining official from the United States Consulate left
in this city," she told him, sticking out her chin. "What happens here
in North Africa is my business."

"We're not from the United States of America," Ben said.

"Of course, you are. Where is the American flag? Why aren't you flying it?"

"I am Ben Raines, Ms. Preston. Commanding General of the Armed Forces of
the Southern United States of America. The SUSA."

"You're what?"

"You don't know what happened in America, do you?"

"We've been cut off here for years with no electricity, no
communication. We knew there was some sort of civil war, but. . ."

"The SUSA won. The United States is broken up into four sections now,
Ms. Preston. I have nineteen battalions here in Africa. We're stretched
out over the entire continent."

"I fear that Field Marshal General Bruno Bottger has you outnumbered,
sir. Even with your nineteen battalions."

"The Rebels are always outnumbered, Ms. Preston. We're used to that."

"The . . . Rebels? The Southern United States of America and the Rebel
army? Then you fly the stars and bars of the Confederacy?"

"No. We do not. We fly the stars and stripes, Ms. Preston. We just don't
have as many stars as before."

3 WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE THE PREACHER SERIES

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4 Ambush In The Ashes

William W. Johnstone

Pinnacle Books Kensington Publishing Corp.

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5 This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues
are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as
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6 A prince being thus obliged to know well how to act as a beast must
imitate the fox and the lion, for the lion cannot protect himself from
traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore
be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves.

-Machiavelli

7 One

The loading for the long voyage had begun.

A dozen ships, heavily laden with equipment and supplies, had already
set sail, half a dozen tanker ships with them, filled to overflowing
with fuel for the Rebels' vehicles. They would loaf along until the rest
of the convoy caught up with them.

Ben's One Batt would be the first Rebels to set sail, and the first
ashore in Morocco . . . after Ike's SEALs went in to check things out.

Ben paced the docks all day, day after day, until his ship was ready to
go and his One Battalion was on board. He stepped up the gangway and
turned to look back at Ike and the other Batt Corns, standing on the
dock. He tossed them a very sloppy salute; they returned the salute in
like manner. Ben turned away and stepped on board.

The deck was filled with lashed-down vehicles, from pickup trucks to
Hummers to deuce-and-a-halves. Many of the Rebels would sleep in the
trucks on the way over.

The factories in the SUSA had been working overtime for a year, gearing
up for this voyage, working around the clock producing bullets and
grenades, boots and bras, field rations and mortar rounds, uniforms and
socks, notepads and maps, spare parts for every piece of equipment the
Rebels used, headgear and bandages,

8

and ten thousand other articles that the Rebels would need long before
this campaign was over . . .

This ambitious campaign to Africa that no one, including Ben, had been
all that anxious to undertake.

But it had to be done. The Nazi, Bruno Bottger, had to be stopped; he
could not, must not, be allowed to grow any stronger, to establish any
further inroads in territory.

Ben looked down at the docks as the lines were freed and his eyes caught
those of President Cecil Jefferys, staring up at him. Ben lifted a hand
in farewell and his long-time friend returned the gesture. Both of them
knew this campaign might take a year, it might take five years.

No one knew.

For the Rebels were sailing into the unknown.

Nineteen oversized battalions were sailing, each with their own backup
of tanks and artillery; thousands of combat-ready men and women under
the overall command of Ben Raines.

Dr. Lamar Chase, die Rebels' Chief of Medicine, walked up to stand at
Ben's side as the tugs began to ease die big ship away from its slip
along the docks.

"How's Cooper?" Ben asked.

"Already suffering from seasickness," Lamar said with a smile. "It's
going to be a long voyage for Coop."

Cooper, Ben's driver.

"I'm sure Jersey is giving him a very bad time of it."

"Naturally."

Jersey was Ben's diminutive bodyguard, part Apache Indian.

"Beth?"

"She had her head stuck in a book about Africa when I passed by her a
few minutes ago.

Beth, the statistician of the team.

"Anna?"

9

"Should be in school and you know it. However ..." The doctor quickly
held up a hand. "... I know she would have defied you and stowed away
had you tried to insist on that."

Anna, Ben's adopted daughter. Eighteen years old, beautiful, and one of
the most deadly guerilla fighters ever to put on a uniform. Ben had
found the dirty-faced little waif in Europe and taken her in.

"Corrie?"

"Fiddling with her radio equipment."

Corrie, Ben's radio tech.

Corrie, Jersey, Cooper, Beth, Anna: Ben's personal team.

The huge engines of the ship began grumbling; Ben could feel the
vibration under his boots.

Chase pointed. "Another ship moving away from the docks."

"That'll be Therm's Headquarters Batt. Ike's 2 Batt will be shoving off
a few minutes behind Therm. The rest will be moving out in numerical
order after that."

Chase glanced at Ben and smiled but said nothing, knowing Ben's reply
had been automatic. Dr. Lamar Chase had been through all this before.
Lamar had been one of the original few to follow the dream of the
Tri-States philosophy of government. He had been there when the dream
was born, and had survived the federal government's almost successful
attempts to smash it into oblivion.

But the dream would not die; the philosophy lived on and grew and
flourished despite everything the federal government did to kill it. And
the government did much to kill the dream, including character
assassination of many of the followers of the Tri-States philosophy,
false accusation of crimes, bankrupting followers by punitive measures
through the IRS, and sometimes

10

even killing a too-vocal follower of the Tri-State movement.

The biased and left-wing controlled press did their part, too, in
attempting to destroy anyone who did not roll over and kiss the ass of
Big Brother Government. Anyone who spoke too loudly against the
government was called a whako, a gun-nut, a right-wing conspiracy freak,
and if anyone dared join a group that had the courage to speak openly
against the government, the press called them government haters.

Finally there was what was called the Great War among the nations of the
world, followed by a devastating worldwide depression. In America, there
was a revolution by followers of Ben Raines and the Tri-States
philosophy of government.

Then there was anarchy all over the world; that is, anarchy in every
area not controlled by the force that had become known as Ben Raines Rebels.

But through it all the Rebels prevailed, until finally they formed their
own nation: the Southern United States of America, the SUSA. And with
the emergence of a new nation came the mightiest army on the face of the
earth: the Rebels.

Ben Raines and his Rebels had roamed all over North America, clearing
the nation of gangs of lawless punks and thugs and street slime. They
had helped hundreds of thousands of American citizens, who either could
not or would not help themselves, to stand up and face reality and start
the process of rebuilding. And for that, the Rebels had received very
little in the way of thanks. They had traveled to many countries of
Europe, helping to restore order in that part of the world. Now they
were on their way to Africa to see what surprises that huge continent
held in store for them.

"Ben," Lamar Chase broke a long silence between

11

them. "This could prove to be the costliest campaign in terms of human
life the Rebels have ever been on."

"I know, Lamar. Believe me, I know. I vacillated a dozen times on this
decision."

"Let me explain, Ben. I wasn't speaking in terms of combat alone ..."

Ben looked at him.

"We're going into a hotbed of exotic diseases; diseases that the men and
women of the CDC-when there was a CDC-were fighting day and night to
find cures for. For weeks, I've had my people studying everything they
could find on Africa, trying to stock up with as many types of vaccines
and medicines as I could think of. Ben, before the Great War and the
revolution, you spent some time in Africa as a mercenary. What was your
impression of the country?"

Ben Raines had never denied his employment with the CIA, sometimes
working as a mercenary for the Company. "A land of many contrasts,
Lamar. Some parts of it lush and beautiful, some harsh and totally
unappealing. Personally, I never liked Africa. And I'll be honest with
you: if Bruno Bottger and his people were not there, we wouldn't be
sailing for that continent."

"Ben, I've known you for a long time. I've seen you risk your life
dozens of times to save people of all colors. So I know that hesitation
isn't based on race. What is it?"

"Some writer, some philosopher, once wrote that it is always five
minutes to high noon in Africa. People much more intelligent than I have
tried to figure out what he meant by that. I think he meant that
somewhere in Africa, at any given time, it's showdown time; a crisis is
about to explode. Lamar, there are hundreds of languages and thousands
of dialects in Africa. There are old hatreds between tribes that go back
countless

12

centuries. And we re not going to heal those rifts; no white man has
ever managed to come close and I'm not even going to try. If these
people want to kill each other off, let them. I don't care. I'm going to
deal with Bruno Bottger and once that is done, we're out of there as
fast as we can board ship and get gone."

"But we are going to try to form some working relationship with various
countries?"

"I'm going to make a very perfunctory effort, Lamar. Look, you don't
understand African politics. I can make a deal with the ruling
government of some country today, and before the ink is dry, some of the
other tribes in that country will immediately begin plotting against it.
In a week or a month or a year there will be a coup, or an attempted
coup, or an assassination, and the agreement won't be worth the paper
it's written on. I've seen it happen too many times."

"So we just do what we can for the people, the Band-Aid solution, if you
will, and walk away?"

"That's about it, Lamar. They've got to work out their own internal
problems."

"While countless thousands die from hunger, disease, and warfare?"

"They've been doing that for centuries, Lamar. Seems to me the more
technology we pour into that continent, the worse it becomes. A few
benefit, the masses suffer. Maybe it's time to say, 'We're out of here.
Somebody will be back in a hundred years. I hope you've solved your
problems by then. Don't call us. We'll call you.' "

"And the continent continues to be exploited."

"Of course. The U.S did, France did, Germany did, Belgium did, England
did. Every nation that ever ventured there had a hand in raping the
country and screwing the people."

"Because of the greed of various nations."

13

13

"And the ignorance of the people who were in power at that particular time."

Lamar looked at Ben for a long time, then slowly shook his head and
turned, walking away without another word.

Jersey strolled up to stand beside Ben. "Dr. Chase looks pissed, boss."

"It's the way of the world, Jersey," Ben said. "The strong exploit the
weak. The educated often take advantage of the uneducated and less
fortunate."

"I'm glad I missed that conversation," she said. "On a lighter note,
Cooper says he's dying and wants somebody to witness his last will and
testament."

"Cooper will be dying for a couple of weeks," Ben said. "And as soon as
his boots touch soil, he will be miraculously cured of his seasickness.
It never fails. Just leave him alone and let him wallow in his self-pity."

"Which he does so well," Beth said, walking up.

The ship just then gave a great lurch and somewhere forward Cooper
cried, "Oh, my God. I'm dying!"

Jersey sighed. "It's going to be a long trip."

14 Two

The Rebels cleaned equipment, sharpened already razor-sharp knives, read
books, studied maps of Africa, played various card games, and caught up
on sleep during the sea voyage across the Atlantic. Cooper managed to
make everybody miserable with his constant moaning about being sick . .
. until a group of Rebels threatened to keelhaul him if he didn't shut
up about it. Cooper suffered in silence after that . . . except when
around the Team.

And everybody got caught up on their shots.

"I have never received so damn many shots in all my life," Ben bitched
one calm sunny morning, as he stood in line on the deck with his team,
waiting to get stuck in both arms. "My ass still stings from those damn
shots the other day."

"Oh, shut up, Raines," Dr. Chase chided him. "I'm saving the best for last."

"I'm not sure I want to know about it, you damned old quack," Ben responded.

Lamar chuckled at Ben's antics. "I have never seen a man so goosy about
taking shots, Raines."

"I wouldn't be if you sadists would cool it with the square needles!"
Ben fixed his long-time friend with a hard look. "And what is this crap
about 'saving the best for last?' "

15

15

"Oh, you'll see, Raines," Chase replied, a wicked look in his eyes.
"You'll see."

"Seeing is one thing, you old fakir. Feeling is quite another."

Chase walked away, chuckling.

"What the hell's he talkin' about, boss?" Jersey asked.

"I don't know, Jersey. But you can bet your boots it isn't going to be
pleasant."

"What were those shots they gave us in the butt yesterday?" Anna asked.
"My rear end still hurts."

"I asked one of the medics," Beth said. "She just smiled and said it
might help if I was real careful and didn't stand in swamp water for too
long."

"What the hell does that mean?" Corrie asked.

"Who knows?" Cooper said. "I know only that when we get through, if
there's a way to catch a plane back, I'm going to take it. You can bet
on that."

"How many more of these damn shots do we have to endure?" Ben asked a
passing doctor.

"Only a few more, sir," the doctor replied. He smiled. "Tomorrow is the
last one." Then he hurried on.

"I didn't like that smile worth a damn," Jersey said. "Those doctors are
about to spring a surprise on us."

"It's all for your own good, my precious little cactus flower," Cooper
needled her.

"Stick it up your kazoo, Cooper," Jersey told him.

"Women to the left, men to the right," a medic yelled from the front of
the line. "Women step behind that canvas and drop your britches."

"Aw, shit!" Jersey hollered. "My ass still hurts from yesterday!"

"What you need is some tender loving care," Cooper told her. "And I am
just the man for the job."

"What you're going to get is a rifle butt in the teeth, Cooper," Jersey
responded. "I hope they break the damn needle off in your arm."

16

"Now, now, my beauty," Cooper smiled. "WHA-HOOO!" Cooper yelled as a
medic jabbed a needle into his upper arm and popped the vaccine to him.

"I just wish I knew what lay in store for us tomorrow," Ben muttered
through clenched teeth.

"The last one, General," a medic said, popping the needle into Ben's arm.

"I suppose I should take some comfort in that," Ben said with a grimace
as the medic pressed a piece of cotton against his arm.

"Hold that there for a few seconds, General. That's it. Move along, please."

From behind the canvas, Jersey yelled, "What the hell did you just jab
me with, you blacksmith? A friggin' railroad spike?"

The next morning, Ben looked up from studying maps, as Lamar Chase
approached.

"What do you want?" Ben demanded.

"I will spare you the indignity of having the troops watch their
commander sink to his knees, Raines. Stand up and pull up your shirt."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Raines. Don't argue. This shot is very important."

Ben stood up and pulled up his shirt. "What is it?"

"A combo." Lamar swabbed Ben's stomach with alcohol and opened a small
black case.

"Did you take one of these things, you old goat?"

"We all did, Raines. Untense your stomach muscles. That's it. Now this
is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me."

"Thanks so very much." Ben grunted as the needle went in, then a burning
sensation overwhelmed his stomach area. "Jesus H. Christ, Lamar," he
groaned,

17

grabbing hold of the edge of the small desk in his quarters.

"Not very pleasant, is it?"

Ben sat down in a chair and groaned, both hands holding his stomach.
"What was that?"

"A combination of vaccines, Ben. Well, I've done all I can do to protect
us ... including boosters for us all. Probably overkill, really. But we
don't know what we're heading into, do we?"

The pain had lessened in Ben's stomach and he exhaled in relief. "For a
fact, Lamar. What all have we been inoculated for?"

"Oh, typhoid, tetanus, hepatitis, meningococcal meningitis, anti-rabies,
anti-venom. The pills you all started taking several weeks ago and will
take every day for as long as we are on the continent are for malaria.
Let's see . . . well, we all took some experimental shots for dengue
fever. I don't know whether they'll work or not, but they damn sure
can't hurt ..."

"That's a matter of opinion," Ben interrupted.

"Oh, shut up, you big baby. Let's see, what else? Well, you all got some
pretty heavy duty shots of gamma globulin. You received some shots that
will help-supposedly-in warding off some afflictions as elephantiasis,
hydatid disease, leishmaniasis, schistosomiasis ..."

Ben held up a hand. "I don't want to hear any more about it, Lamar. I
don't know what the hell you're talking about anyway. I only hope you do."

"Trust me."

"Do any of us have a choice in the matter."

Lamar smiled. "Actually, no."

From the restored Port of New Orleans in the nation of SUSA to Africa is
not an overnight cruise. With the ships heavily cargoed, the trip took
days. Luckily the

18

seas were unusually calm and the voyage uneventful. . . except for an
occasional case of seasickness and a whole lot of bitching from Cooper.

The Rebels on each ship exercised daily to keep the kinks out of their
muscles and to give them something to do ... and to bitch about.

Ben worked on deck whenever possible, even though his quarters were
private, airy, and very nice.

Beth spent much of her time studying books out of the cases she had
brought with her on Africa. On the voyage over, she was boning up on
Morocco.

One sunny morning she sat down beside Ben, the team gathered around her,
and opened a map. "Where are we going to land, boss?"

Ben stuck a finger on the map. "Right there, Beth. Tangier." He looked
at the date on his watch. "In two days. The battalions will start
stretching out immediately. Ike and his 2 Batt will travel across the
top of North Africa to Egypt. We know that the northernmost part of
Libya is relatively secure. Israel took care of that . . . with some
assistance from Egypt. Egypt is secure and prospering. We confirmed that
when Israel finally opened up lines of communication with us."

"How about those other mideast countries that were sworn enemies of
Israel?" Corrie asked.

"So far as we have been able to determine, they have been neutralized,"
Ben said. "They are no longer a threat to anyone."

"So we don't worry about them this run?" Cooper asked.

"I don't think anybody will ever again have to worry about those
terrorist nations," Ben said softly. "Not for a long, long time."

"So we're taking the west side of the continent?" Jersey asked.

19

19

"That's it, gang. When the battalions have stretched out west to east,
we start working south."

"What's the time factor on this, General Ben?" Anna asked.

"There is no way of determining that, Anna. We might be over here for
years. I won't even make a guess. Hell, we might be tied up in North
Africa for months fighting our way through highly organized resistance.
Then we still must face our main opposition."

"Bruno Bottger," Corrie said softly.

"Yes. Good ol' Bruno and his Nazis. Jesus, I wish I could have killed
that son of a bitch in Europe."

"We gave it a pretty good shot," Jersey reminded him.

Ben sighed. "Yeah, we did. Well, better make sure you've got all your
gear together. Forty-eight hours is going to pass pretty quickly."

After his team had left, Ben sat for a time, deep in thought. Then he
folded his maps, tucking them away in a waterproof map case, his other
papers going into a briefcase. Then he went in search of the SEAL team
who would be going in first.

Forty-eight hours was ticking down toward jump off time.

"Looks peaceful enough," Lamar Chase remarked, standing beside Ben at
the rail. The doctor lowered his binoculars.

"SEALs have determined the docks are secure," Ben replied. "They also
reported that the city itself, at first glance, does not appear to hold
any hostile forces. But the team leader also said he has a very goosy
feeling in the pit of his stomach about the situation."

"Well, if that's the case, you can't lead your people in, Ben."

"Watch me."

20

WMiam W. Johnstone

"Listen, you hard-headed ..." Lamar bit the remark off, knowing there
was no point in arguing with Ben. He sighed and shook his head.

"1 Batt into the landing craft," Ben said to Corrie, standing by his side.

She immediately transmitted the orders and the Rebels began going over
the side, climbing down into the landing craft that were tucked in close
to the huge ship.

Ben stuck out his hand and Lamar shook it. "Break a leg, Raines," the
doctor said.

"You wish," Ben replied with a smile, then went over the side and
seconds later was in a landing craft, his team right with him.

The landing craft pulled away from the ship and into the channel,
beginning a circling/holding pattern until all the other landing craft
filled with Rebels were ready to go.

Ben, Jersey, Corrie, Beth, and Anna were carrying CAR's, Cooper was
carrying a SAW (squad automatic weapon). Every Rebel was heavily laden
with equipment, for no one had any idea how long they might have to hold
the dock area before supplies could reach them.

Ben cut his eyes to his team. Jersey was calmly chewing gum, her
expression bland. Corrie was listening intently to the SEAL team chatter
on the docks. Anna was adjusting her battle harness. Cooper was talking
softly with Beth. Ben smiled. His team had been through this many times.

"Ship is signaled 2 Batt is ready to go," Ben was informed. "All 1 Batt
personnel in landing craft."

"Take us ashore," Ben ordered. "2 Batt will hold until my orders."

"Yes, sir."

"General Ike says for you to watch your ass," Corrie told Ben.

21

"Tell fatso as big as his ass is, it's in far more danger than mine,"
Ben responded.

"Right, boss," Corrie said. "You know I'm going to do that."

Ben laughed as the landing craft headed for the shoreline.

"The SEALs are coming under fire," Corrie reported.

"I wondered when that would come." Ben looked at the coxswain, who was
looking back at him. "Put the pedal to the metal, son. Get us ashore."

"Yes, sir."

The young coxswain was not used to commanding generals being in his boat
and was just a tad on the nervous side. Ben moved to his side and patted
him on the shoulder. "You're doing just fine, sailor."

"Thank you, sir. Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Would you please get your ass down behind cover?"

Ben laughed at the expression on the young sailor's face. "You mean it
wouldn't look good on your record if I got killed while riding in your
boat?"

"Something like that, sir."

Ben chuckled and moved away, rejoining his team.

"Boss?" Cooper said.

"Yes, Coop?"

"You know I'll follow you through the gates of Hell, don't you, sir?"

"I know that, Coop."

"But I have got to draw the line at one thing."

"What's that?"

"I refuse to ride a goddamn camel!"

Cooper had such a serious expression on his face, Ben and his team
howled with laughter, breaking any slight tension.

The dock area drew closer.

22 Three

Ben was the first one out of the landing craft and onto Moroccan soil-or
concrete and wood to be more accurate, since the coxswain put the craft
into a slip right up against the docks.

Ben and team ran to a row of large metal shipping containers and
crouched there. So far, they had received no hostile fire in their
direction.

"1 Batt coming in," Corrie reported.

"Tell them to spread out left and right and secure the port area," Ben
ordered. "If an unknown points a gun at them, drop him."

But whoever had been attacking the small SEAL team cut and ran when
hundreds of Rebels began pouring all over the port area and spreading out.

"SEALs report a number of shadows fading back and disappearing into
alleyways and buildings," Corrie said.

"That means they'll probably be setting up to ambush us and take pot
shots. Tell the first platoon to work forward and start putting some
rifle grenades into those buildings. Pour it on. Let's see what happens."

When the first several dozen or so 40mm grenades dropped in through the
broken windows and open doorways and exploded, there was a mass exodus
of those who had met the Rebels with hostility. They were

23

23

wearing a mishmash of clothing, varying from long hooded robes to
tattered military uniforms.

"All right, people," Ben said. "Let's clear the port area so Ike's 2
Batt can land."

An hour later, Ike strolled up to Ben: a great big teddy bear carrying a
CAR, battle harness bulging with full magazines and grenades. A very
dangerous teddy bear.

"Any casualties, Ben?"

"Not a one. You?"

"One guy slipped and broke his ankle. It's pretty bad. I'm sending him
back home. He's out of it."

"Well, somebody has to keep the ladies happy back home. It's a dirty
thankless job, I'm sure."

Ike laughed. "Those who attacked you . . . any idea who they were or if
they were acting alone or part of an organized resistance?"

"We took two prisoners, but so far, they're not talking."

"Civilians giving you any trouble?"

"What civilians, Ike? We haven't seen the first sign of a civilian-man,
woman, or child." He turned to Beth. "What was the population of this
city before the war, Beth?"

"Just about three hundred thousand, boss."

Ben cut his eyes to Ike just as Dan Gray walked up; his 3 Batt was
ashore. "So where did the people go? What happened to them?"

"How far in have you pushed?" Dan asked.

"A few hundred meters. Past several streets. Nothing." He opened a map
and spread it out on the hood of a beat-up old car of indistinguishable
make. "Dan, start spreading your people up this road." He jabbed a
finger at a spot on the map. "Up toward Medina. Take it slow and careful
and investigate each building and alley."

"Right, sir."

24

The former British SAS man went trotting off, yelling at his platoon
leaders and company commanders.

"Boss," Corrie said, "Therm is hollering about coming ashore. He was
supposed to follow us. He wants to know what the hold-up is."

The former hippie-turned-warrior was in command of headquarters
battalion; actually a short battalion about the size of several
companies, designated 19 Batt.

But Rebel companies were several times larger than the old regular army
companies. Rebel battalions were pretty much self-contained, with armor
and artillery rolling with them. In the short run, Rebel battalions did
not have to call for armor and artillery; they already had it available.

In support of the 19 battalions, there were additional armor and
artillery companies separate from them, as well as air. But it would be
several weeks before the helicopters and planes arrived on the scene,
and another several weeks before the additional armor and artillery
companies would arrive and come ashore.

"Tell Thermopolis to keep his pants on," Ben said. "I don't have any
need for his HQ people just yet. Tell him to stay busy sharpening his
pencils. He'll have plenty to do in a very short time."

"Advance teams are finding large groups of civilians," Corrie reported,
after acknowledging the radio report. "French-speaking, mostly. With
Arabic and various Berber dialects."

"Get the interpreters ashore," Ben ordered. "ASAP." He looked across the
wide street, then consulted his map. "We just crossed the Avenue des
Forces Armees Royales. We've got a long way to go to reach the business
district. When the interpreters get here, ask the civilians if there are
any creepies around."

"Sergeant Broussard managed to get his Cajun French

25

through to them," Corrie said. "They said no. They didn't even know what
a night person was."

"Thank God for small favors," Ben replied. "At least we won't have those
bastards to contend with."

"Dr. Chase is throwing a fit," Corrie reported. "Demanding to know why
he must remain on board ship."

"For his own good," Ben told her. "We can't bring the MASH units ashore
until we find a place for them. Tell him there have been no wounded to
care for, so just calm down." Ben looked around. "Dan's 3 Batt is moving
out. Tell West to bring his 4 Batt ashore and start spreading out to the
south. Let's go talk to some of these civilians."

"Marauders from the south is all they can tell us, General," an
interpreter told Ben. "The same bunch who attacked us."

"Marauders? Damn it, marauders didn't kill off an entire city,
Lieutenant. What happened to the people?"

The lieutenant talked with the resident for a few moments, then looked
up at Ben. "He says thousands fled when the Great War started. Then
poisonous gas came and killed thousands more. For several years, the
city was calm, life was hard, but people survived, then the marauders
became coming in out of the south. He says there are only small pockets
of people all over the city. He thinks there are much larger numbers of
survivors south, in Casablanca."

"Do you trust him, Lieutenant?"

"No. Not at all, General. I get the feeling everything he's said is a lie."

"For what reason?"

"I don't know, sir. But he's lying. I'd bet on that."

"Talk to some of the others and let me know your feelings then. I'll be
around."

"Yes, sir."

Outside, clear of the dimness of the ground floor of

26

the building, which had held a slightly unpleasant odor of stale grease
and unwashed bodies, Ben took several deep breaths and leaned up against
the side of a wrecked old pickup truck.

"What's up, boss?" Jersey asked.

"I don't know, Little Bit. But something is definitely wrong about this
city."

"You remember what Dr. Chase told us about the danger of rabies in this
part of the country? And to be real careful about approaching stray dogs?"

Ben cut his eyes. "Yes. So?"

"Scouts report not one sign of a dog, cat, or rat anywhere."

"That's what the people have been eating."

"Right."

"Food might coax them out of hiding."

"But do we really want them to come out of hiding, boss?" Cooper asked.

"Cooper, you're an asshole," Jersey told him.

"No, wait," Ben said. "He's got a point. We start bringing out tons of
food, we could easily provoke riots. But, if we ignore the situation and
move on, would we rather have thousands of starving people at our backs?"

"So we're peacekeepers and humanitarians after all," a familiar voice
came behind Ben.

Ben turned to look at Lamar Chase. "How the hell did you get ashore?"

"I walked on water, Raines. How the hell do you think I came ashore?
What are you going to do about this situation?"

"Lamar, we don't even know what the situation is as yet. We haven't had
time to assess it. It's dangerous out here. Where is your security."

"I have a SEAL team all around me. You forget I was Navy before I had
the misfortune to meet you. Any more stupid questions?"

27

"I suppose you brought a team of non-combatant doctors with you, to get
in everybody's way and add more confusion to an already confusing day?"

"Certainly, I did. Now stop with all the questioning and point out where
you would like us to set up."

"We don't have a place, Lamar. You were told that. We've only pushed in
two blocks or so from the docks."

"Fine. So we'll set up right over there in that building." He turned and
pointed.

"Oh, goddamnit!" Ben said. "Go ahead, you old crocodile. But don't blame
me if you get caught up in a riot."

"Why shouldn't I? You're in command, aren't you?"

"Sometimes, I wonder," Ben muttered.

Chase wandered off with his security team to set up a temporary
hospital. Ben looked at Corrie.

"Tell the cooks to set up their mess tents and get to cooking. Bake some
bread. That aroma should get the people out of cover."

"This could get scary, boss," Beth said. "Starving people could easily
riot."

"I know, but we've got about an hour to get ready for any trouble.
Corrie, have our people set up defense lines. Get any French-speaking
Rebels up here on the double. We'll have four entrances to this area,
and only four. We can't let more people in here than we can safely
control. Bump Georgi and have him start bringing his 5 Batt ashore and
Therm's HQ Batt as well. Therm can set up on the docks and I want Georgi
with me. Tell them to hurry it up. And tell the cooks don't start fixing
anything with pork in it, or we'll damn sure have a riot."

"It's my opinion that if people are starving, they don't have the right
to be very damn choosy," Anna said coldly.

"Veil, personally, Anna, I feel the same way about it."

28

William W. Johnstone

Ben smiled. "But let's not tempt fate our first day in the country."

Ben walked around, inspecting the defense posts. "All people on the
defense posts put on face shields," he ordered. "If the people get ugly,
they'll probably start with spitting and throwing rocks," Ben told each
defense post. "No Rebel life is to be put in danger. If a person points
a weapon of any kind at you, drop them on the spot. If they rush you en
masse, don't hesitate to open fire. Because I damn sure won't hesitate."

Georgi, the big Russian bear, stormed ashore with his 5 Batt and added
part of his people to the defensive line, others in spot locations all
around the area, and kept the remainder inside the loose circle with
Ben, the mess areas, and the impromptu hospital.

"You people can go play with the fish now," he told the SEAL team who
were protecting Doctor Chase. "Crazy bunch of people," he muttered, as
the SEALs wandered off, looking for something to get into.

"Well, hell, Georgi," Ben said. "Look who set up the training for them-Ike."

"I know, Ben. That should explain it all. Ike is still as nutty as the
day I first met him."

Ben didn't tell Georgi, but Ike felt the same way about the Russian.
However, that didn't keep the two men from being good and close friends.
They just were wary of each other's tactics in the field.

"A few groups of people are approaching the first checkpoint," Corrie
said. "They appear to be unarmed and showing no hostile intent."

"Damn wogs," Georgi growled. "I don't trust any of them."

Ben hid his smile at the Russian's use of the old highly derogatory term
for Arabs.

"Thieves and beggars, all of them," Georgi summed up his opinion of the
population.

29

29

"I should have left you back in the SUSA, Georgi," Ben said with a laugh.

The Russian chuckled for a few seconds, the vocal expression of humor
sounding much like a rumbling engine of a tank. "Ages-old intolerances
surfacing, Ben. Pay no attention to me. My father was in this area when
I was just a boy. He brought all his prejudices home with him.
Personally I have nothing against these people-yet," he added in typical
Georgi Striganov fashion.

"Guards asking if it's okay to allow the first bunch in," Corrie questioned.

"Let them in," Ben said.

"Tell them to check their camels with the attendant," Georgi said, then
grinned, cutting his eyes toward Ben.

Ben laughed and clasped Georgi's arm. "Let's go to work, you grumpy old
bear."

30 Four

"We did not know who you were, General," a civilian wearing a tattered
old business suit said to Ben in perfect English. "So the people ran
away and hid."

"Who shot at us upon landing?" Ben questioned.

"Raiders from Rabat and Casablanca. Thieves and murderers and brigands.
They control the entire coastline all the way down to Agadir. Other
gangs have control of Marrakech."

"Why don't they have control of this city?" Ben pressed him.

The citizen shrugged his shoulders. "They did for years. But now," he
grimaced, "what is there to control? No food. Starving people reduced to
eating rats. Disease and no hope and no help from anyone. Spain is in
the midst of the worst civil war in that nation's history. No help
there. Algeria and Libya could best be described as a no-man's land.
South of Tarfaya is the same. I am told the airport at La'youn is still,
for some strange reason, untouched by the hordes of gangs."

"Still operational?"

"As far as I know. It is not safe to venture outside the city, General.
Those who do, never return."

Ben talked with the man a few more minutes then told him to go get
something to eat and then get in line for a check-up and some shots.

31

"I have not seen a doctor in years. Merci, General, for everything."

Chase had been listening to the last part of the exchange and as soon as
the citizen had left, he stepped up and sat down.

"Lamar. I thought you'd be happily sticking needles in people."

"No joking, Ben. This is serious."

"What's the matter?"

"What isn't? This place has more diseases than a research lab. I've sent
out a memo to all company commanders to warn their people to avoid
intercourse with the natives at all costs. I have never seen so damn
many venereal diseases in all my years as a physician."

"AIDS?"

"Rampant. There are bugs out there I didn't even know existed. I'm
having a fully stocked mobile research lab flown in as we speak."

"Whatever you want, Lamar. You're the boss when it comes to medicine.
You know I'll back you up a hundred and ten percent."

"I want a directive from you warning the troops about the venereal
threat on this continent."

"You've got it. I'll draft it immediately."

"There is no cure for many of these strains, Ben. If they contract one
of the bad ones, they're dead, and toward the end, it's horrible. There
is no hope for them."

"I understand."

"Ben, I don't think you do. I want you to come with me and look at
something. There are a few doctors left in the city, but they've had no
medicines for years. But they have isolated the bad cases. Come on."

"So you haven't stayed inside the safe zone?"

"Of course not. Come on."

Ben kept his expression bland during the short tour

32

of the clinic, but inwardly he was badly shaken. Standing outside in the
warm sunlight, he removed his surgical mask and said, "It would be far
better if those people in there could be gently assisted into death."

"That's being arranged as we speak, Ben," Lamar said.

"Good. You're sure this virus is not airborne?"

"Yes. My people are sure of that." Lamar sighed. "Ben, we can help these
people in the short run, but when we pull out? ..." He shrugged his
shoulders in a gesture of helplessness.

"I'm certainly open to suggestions, Lamar."

"Ben ... I don't know the answer. Hell, we can't even adequately feed
and take care of the medical needs of the people in America."

"And here?"

"Put a Band-Aid on it and hope for the best, I suppose. There really
isn't much more we can do."

Ben nodded his head. "I'll get the warning out to the troops about
sexual encounters with the locals."

"Do that, Ben. I can't stress how important it is."

Back inside what was being called the safe zone, Ben was pleased to see
how well-behaved the locals were, patiently standing in line to receive
food, then medical attention.

He had Beth take down the warning Chase had asked for. She would radio
the ship and they would type it up and make copies for distribution
among the troops.

When that was done, Ben wandered down to the docks, his team with him.
Therm and his 19 Batt were ashore, and Rebet and his 6 Batt were about
to come in. Equipment was being off-loaded: HumVees first, then APC's
and tanks, followed by huge tanker trucks. Several miles from the
shoreline, out of sight of land, and perhaps unfriendly eyes, huge
tanker ships waited. Several others had left the SUSA days before the main

33

33

convoy. They would travel around the Horn and come up on the other side
of the continent and then track south, supplying those Rebels on the
east side of Africa with fuel.

Thousands of Rebels were now ashore. Ike was already swinging his 2 Batt
around and getting ready to move east. Dan would follow, then West, then
Georgi, as other battalions came ashore to take their place. Ben had
figured that the sight of so many well-armed Rebels would take all the
fight out of any guerilla group or gangs of thugs that might have
resistance on their minds; Ben had figured correctly. Scouts reported
that bands of armed men and women, gangs of various sizes and strengths,
were leaving the city and heading south post-haste, deserting the city
like rats from a sinking ship.

Ben glanced as Therm strolled up to stand beside him. "Well, you told me
you always wanted to visit Africa, Therm. Here we are."

"Some people maintain it's the beginning of humankind, Ben."

Ben grunted his reply to that.

Therm laughed at Ben's expression. "I think I'd better change the subject."

"I think that would probably be best, Therm."

"Where do you want my 19 Batt?"

"When we get cranking, I want you right in the middle of the line,
between and very close to two battalions. I don't know which ones that
will be as yet. But you're going to be getting reports from east and
west, so you'll stay busy. And take Emil with you."

"Somehow I knew you were going to say that."

"You're the only one who can control the little con artist. And we both
know that when the chips are down, Emil and that idiotic bunch of his
will fight like devils."

34

"Okay, Ben. There's some of my equipment coming in. I'll see you around."

"I certainly hope so. Take care. And tell Rosebud hello."

Ben walked up and down the docks for a time, stopping when Ike approached.

"I figure three days until we get enough equipment ashore for us to
start pulling out, Ben. All the battalions will be ashore by dusk, and
I've ordered floodlights to be set up so we can unload around the clock."

"I know that Bruno has something of an air force. I just wonder if he
might try an air attack."

"I doubt it, Ben. His spies back stateside will have told him we have a
pretty good air defense system. Besides, that would be a long jump for
his people unless they had refueling capabilities. And our satellite
pass-overs have never shown anything even resembling that."

"So you think we should keep our little secret under wraps for a while
longer?"

"I do, Ben. No point in opening that package until it's necessary."

"I agree. Besides, we don't have that many."

"Yet," Ike said with a smile.

"Yeah," Ben returned the smile. "Yet."

Both men left the topic at that. Neither felt comfortable discussing it
openly, for only a few dozen people outside of those directly involved
even knew of the project. It was probably the best kept secret of the
past one hundred years. Not even Ben's team knew.

The men separated, Ike leaving to check on when his tanks would be
off-loaded and ready to roll off the docks, Ben to just wander around.

Ben walked down to the slip where one of the cargo ships carrying his
battalion's big boys was docked and was pleased to see a row of main
battle tanks lined up

35

35

and engines rumbling. Just behind the tanks, towed howitzers were lined
up, ready to be hooked up and pulled away. Ben glanced at his watch. The
off-loading was running hours ahead of schedule.

Ben walked over to a tank commander. This was a combat zone, and she did
not salute. "We're ready to roll, General. Just waiting for some fuel
trucks to join us."

"The staging area is not yet secure," Ben told her. "It's being readied
now. You should be rolling off the docks within the hour."

"Yes, sir. Looking forward to it."

"Radar reports nothing in the air within five hundred miles in any
direction," Corrie said, after listening to her headset.

Ben smiled. The Israelis were standing true to their word and had stood
down their air force until the offloading was complete. They would take
no part in this North African campaign, unless Ben asked for their
help-and that was something he had no plans to do at the present time.

The Israelis had stabilized the mideast region for which Ben would be
forever grateful.

But the Israelis were very anxious to join Ben when he reached the
northernmost lines of the territory claimed by Bruno Bottger and his
Nazis. Ben smiled at that thought. It would probably have taken World
War IV to keep them out of it. Mention Nazi to a Jew, and he was ready
to fight.

However, that campaign lay months in the future; no point in thinking
about it now.

Ben's growling stomach told him he had missed lunch, and he waved to his
team. "Let's go get something to eat, gang. We're just in the way down
here."

* * *

36

Ben stood by the side of the highway and watched as the battalions
rolled out, heading east. Ike's 2 Batt was spearheading the drive,
followed by Dan's 3 Batt, West and his 4 Batt, and Georgi and his 5
Batt. Ike had nearly two thousand miles to travel before he could turn
and begin the push south.

The column was miles long and moving slowly over very bad roads; roads
that had not been maintained for years.

When the last vehicle had passed Ben's location and disappeared into the
dust, Ben rode back into the city and up to Dr. Chase's headquarters and
into his office.

Lamar looked up from a mass of paperwork he was wading through, bitching
all the time. He threw a pencil down on the paper-littered desk and
stood up. "Glad to you see, Ben. I'm about to go nuts with all this
paperwork. Let's take a walk and get some air."

Chase disliked paperwork almost as much as Ben did.

Outside, Chase said, "We've got a handle on things here, Ben. We're
gradually beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel."

"The overall condition of the city's residents?"

"Poor. Very poor. But there isn't much more we can do. When we pull out,
they'll go right back to near starvation."

"We can't support the world, Lamar."

"I know that, Ben. All we can do is prop them up and move on. How long
before Ike reaches the eastern borders?"

"Two/three weeks. That enough time for you?"

"Plenty, for what we can do. Still no word from that Nazi bastard down
south?"

"Not a peep."

"Do you find that strange?"

"Not really, Lamar. He'd be a fool to launch any sort

37

37

of ground attack against us here, while we're thousands strong. Besides,
he knows our satellite passes would pick up any massive ground movement.
He wants us close to his home territory, where he'll have the advantage
of knowing the terrain and keeping his people supplied. The man is an
arrogant bastard, but not stupid."

"Supplies will be a problem for us, won't they, Ben?"

Ben shook his head. "Not really. There will be times when fuel might get
dicey, but that's about it. The advance teams we sent over pinpointed
dozens of underground fuel depots that had never been touched. Once we
get down to Bruno's northern lines, we'll set up positions and slug it
out for a time, feeling each other out."

"Of course, that's several thousand miles away," the doctor pointed out.

"Several thousand very difficult miles, old friend."

Lamar glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd best be getting back to this
damnable paperwork."

"Tell me when your people have done all they can do with what they have,
Lamar."

Lamar nodded. "Tell the truth, we've just about reached that point now.
We've already shut down and packed up several MASH units on the
outskirts of town. Planes will be coming in tomorrow with medical
supplies for the push south. We'll be ready when you are."

Back in his CP, Ben opened a map of Africa and looked at the outline of
the continent, as he had done at least twenty times a day for weeks. He
smiled, thinking: Nothing on the map has changed.

"And not much will have changed once we've gone," he muttered. "At least
not for any length of time." He closed the map and stood up. "To hell
with it! We'll do the best we can. No one can logically expect us to do
more."

38

"I've wished the few doctors in the city good luck and left them
medicines and vaccines," Lamar said to Ben. "I closed the last aid
station yesterday afternoon. We're ready when you are, Ben."

"We'll be pulling out in one hour. Ben smiled. "But you knew that
already. You just wanted an excuse to come up to the front of the column
hoping I'd invite you to join the spearheaders, right?"

"Screw you, Raines!" Then the doctor laughed. "Only half true. I did
want to come up for a moment, but I have absolutely no desire to ride up
here and invite somebody to put a bullet up my butt."

"That would take a hell of a marksman considering the size of your
skinny old ass, Lamar."

"That's it, Raines!" Chase said in mock affront. "I refuse to stand here
and be insulted by die likes of you. Good-bye!" Lamar turned away, then
paused and looked. "Take it easy up here, Ben."

Ben smiled at Lamar and the doctor returned to his HumVee and was gone.

Ben walked to the big nine-passenger wagon that had been shipped over
and got in just as the lead tanks were pulled out. He smiled at his team
and winked at his adopted daughter, Anna. He looked at Cooper. "Okay,
Coop. Let's head soudi."

39 Five

"What's going to happen to those residents back there?" Jersey asked, as
Cooper pulled into place in the column.

"I don't know, Jersey. The land around the city isn't worth a damn for
farming. But the country did have a hell of a fishing industry before
the Great War. You saw the fishing fleet, rusting and rotting dockside.
They're either going to have to cope, adapt, or move."

"Or starve," Cooper added.

"That is certainly an option for those who decide to stay," Ben agreed.

"Not much demand for exotic carpets in the world right now," Beth said.

"We didn't get to do much sightseeing," Cooper said.

"Personally, I didn't want to," Anna spoke up. "And neidier did very
many of the troops I spoke widi."

"You didn't do much wandering around either, boss," Jersey stated.

"No, I didn't," Ben admitted. "I guess I didn't care to view what I
consider to be a hopeless situation. Not any more than I had to, that is."

"What's the next major city?" Cooper asked, turning his head and
directing the question at Beth.

"Rabat. Ribat al-Fath, originally. It used to be some

40

sort of religious retreat, according to this visitor's guide."

"Big city?" Corrie asked.

"Over half a million before the Great War."

"Wonder how many now?" Anna asked.

"Maybe a hundred thousand," Ben answered her. "And fly-overs report the
population is in bad shape. Then it's Casablanca."

"I saw that movie one time back at Base Camp One," Anna said. "I enjoyed
it."

"I think everybody loves that movie, Anna," Ben told her.

Beth opened a map. "Then we go to Safi and then cut across to Marrakech.
Right, boss?"

"That's the way I've got it figured, Beth. Then we'll backtrack and see
what's happening in Essaouira and then down to Agadir. We'll follow the
coastline highway all the way down to Laayoune and then cut across the
Western Sahara to Bir Meghrein, in Mauritania."

"Faraway places with strange-sounding names," Jersey said in a quiet voice.

"That's a line from an old song, Jersey," Ben smiled the reply. "Hadn't
thought of it in years. But you're right."

"They're not going to make it, are they, boss?" Corrie asked. "The
people, I mean."

"The strong will. The weak will die. If they're left alone, and they
probably will be, the strong will soon revert back to many of the old
ways. They lived for hundreds of years in that fashion. The younger,
smarter ones will leave, go to Europe or America." Ben waved a hand.
"But hell, I could be way off base in my think-ing."

"Scouts are reporting there's been one hell of a slaughter in the towns
and villages along the way to Rabat," Corrie said abruptly. "The gangs
of punks and

41

thugs and insurgents and what have you took the women and young girls
and then killed everybody in sight before pulling out. Scouts think it
started late yesterday. It's pretty grim along the way. The carrion
birds are having a feast."

"We've all seen it before," Ben said quietly. "I've been expecting it.
Corrie, get the flatbeds with the earth moving equipment up here. We're
going to have to scoop out some mass graves."

"Again," Cooper said.

"Yes. And I'm afraid it won't be the last time we do it."

Asilah and Larache had been spared the slaughter, but the next town down
the coast, Ksar el Kebir, took the full force of the outlaws' savagery.

"The Great Fortress," Ben said, speaking through the mic in his gas
mask. Ben and team stood just inside the first houses and shops of the
old city. "That's what this city used to be called."

"Didn't help them much," Anna said.

Bodies lay everywhere in the twisted and grotesque final throes of
death. Black carrion birds were busy ripping out dead flesh and pulling
out yards of intestines. Huge bloated flies hummed all around the Rebels.

"The fleeing gangs couldn't have killed everyone," Ben said. "Bump the
Scouts and find out where the survivors are."

"They're hiding in little pockets all over the city," Corrie informed
him. "They want us to move on and leave them alone."

Ben didn't change expressions. "Do they want us to bury the dead before
we go?"

Dr. Chase had driven up from his position in the center of the column
and was looking strangely at Ben.

"They want us to go," Corrie repeated.

"Mount up," Ben said. "Let's go."

42

"Ben . . ." Chase said.

"Mount up!" Ben ordered. "I'm not going to nursemaid these people. If
they don't want our help, that's fine with me."

"Not everyone feels that way, General," the voice came from behind Ben.

Ben turned around. A man and a woman stood looking at him. A nun and a
priest.

"The survivors are frightened," the nun said. "They don't know who you
are. They've just been through a terrible ordeal."

"Won't you stay and help us, General?" the priest asked.

"Get these people some protective gear," Ben ordered. "Have your doctors
check them out and bring them up to date on everything, Lamar. We'll
start burying the bodies."

Father Joseph and Sister Mary had been checked out and brought up to
date on their shots. They both had taken hot baths and were dressed in
clean clothes when they met with Ben about two hours later. The sounds
of earth-moving equipment gouging out pits in the ground grumbled
throughout the edge of the city. Rebels were working in the city,
gathering up the bodies and trucking them to the mass grave sites. The
chaplains that traveled with each battalion were offering up prayers for
the dead.

"You're Americans, aren't you?" Ben asked, waving the man and woman to
chairs in the makeshift CP.

"Yes. We've been here since before the Great War," the priest replied.

"Are there more Americans in this area?" "Several hundred, at least. At
last count." "You're both educated people," Ben said. "There

43

43

must be shortwave equipment in this city. Why didn't you start
transmitting, sending out trouble calls. Somebody would have rescued
you. We would have if we'd received a signal."

"This is where our work is," the sister replied. "We have people who
depend on us."

"If there are Americans here, why didn't they make an appearance in
Tangiers?"

"They're mostly concentrated in Casablanca," the priest said. "About two
dozen or so are in this immediate area."

"Religious people?"

"Only a few. Most are business men and women who were trapped here when
the Great War erupted around the world. During the past couple of years,
nearly a hundred have fled the southern part of the continent, getting
away from Bruno Bottger and his Nazis."

"We assume that is why you've come to Africa," the sister said. "To
fight the Nazis?"

"That is correct, sister," Ben replied. Ben looked at the priest and the
nun. Both had told Dr. Chase they were in their mid-fifties, but time
had not treated them well. Chase had told Ben the pair were not in good
health. "And to do what we can for the people on the way down to the fight."

"It's a noble gesture, General," the sister said. "God will surely
reward you for your efforts."

"For saving lives or for killing as many criminals and Nazis as I can?"

Both the priest and nun frowned, the priest opening his mouth to speak,
then thinking better of it.

"Do you feel up to leading a patrol to where the Americans are hiding?"

"Oh, yes!" the sister said. "We can do that now."

Ben motioned to a Rebel and die soldier led the pair

44

away. Ben stood up and looked at Corrie. "This bunch should be a sight
to see, Corrie."

"What do you mean, boss?"

"Isolated for a decade and never made the first effort to communicate
with the world outside of this area."

"That does seem strange, doesn't it?"

"Very. Hell, they could have thrown a bottle with a note in it into the
ocean and it would have reached us years ago." Ben walked to the open
window and sniffed. "The stench of death is fading. Our people are
working fast." Ben didn't ask what the tally of the dead was. He just
knew it was high.

"I guess punks are the same all over the world," Jersey said, walking
into the room. "I've talked with some of the survivors. Their stories
are pretty damn grim."

"Any idea where they've taken the women and kids?"

"To sell to slavers," Jersey said, a sour expression on her face. It's a
booming business."

"History repeating itself, I suppose," Ben said.

"Who are they selling the people to, boss?" Cooper asked.

"I don't know, Coop. People of very low moral fiber, to be sure." He
glanced at Corrie. "Have there been any reports of our people being
fired on here?"

"Negative, boss. The city is clear of any resistance. At least so far,"
she added.

"I have a strong hunch the gangs have gone," Ben mused aloud. "But they
should have reached Casablanca by now and done their dirty work. Yet our
flyovers show the city has not been touched. So where the hell did they go?"

"Maybe hidden along the highway setting up an ambush for us?" Cooper
suggested.

Ben opened a map. "That would be an incredibly stupid move on their
part. Yet," he muttered, "you never know. You just never know ..."

45 Six

Ben asked the Americans if they wanted transport out of the country. The
only two who elected to stay were the priest and the nun. Ben did not
argue the point with them, saying only, "It's very doubtful that we will
ever be back this way."

"We're doing God's work, General," the priest replied. "We'll stay."

"Your option," Ben said. "We'll leave you with medical supplies, plenty
of food, and wish you good luck."

The Americans were driven to Tangier and put on board a ship readying
for the voyage back to the SUSA. The Rebels pulled out of Ksar-el-Kebir
the next morning. No one mentioned the priest and the nun.

The Rebels stayed with a secondary road that ran along the coast instead
of following the main highway which cut inland and offered too many
great places for an ambush.

Kenitra had met the same fate as Ksar-el-Kebir, although not nearly as
bad. In Kenitra, the citizens had banded together and made a stand
against the hordes of thugs and punks and malcontents who always surface
after a disaster of any kind. With the Rebels bearing down on them from
the north, the gangs could not afford the luxury of a prolonged battle
with citizens, and had cut out for parts unknown.

46

By the time the Rebels arrived, survivors from Rabat were trickling in.
The rampaging gangs had struck Rabat in full force just a few hours
after leaving Kenitra, and while Rabat was a much larger place, the
citizens there were not as prepared as those in Kenitra and had suffered
terrible casualties.

"We'll be here for awhile," Chase told Ben.

"Take as long as you need, Lamar. We're in no hurry."

"Oh, I will, Ben," the chief of medicine said with a smile. "Count on it."

Ben and his team and a unit from his personal platoon of Rebels took a
couple of days to tour part of the city, but soon gave it up and
returned to their quarters. It was too depressing, for the city, once a
thriving place of over half a million people was rapidly falling into
decay and ruin. Most of its citizens were barely hanging on at the very
edge of survival.

The museums and finer homes had been looted, the libraries sacked, the
books ripped apart and burned.

There was not a dog or cat or rat to be seen anywhere in the city.

"The people ate them," Ben said. "That is why I forbid any mascots to be
brought along."

Ben and his team checked all the embassies and consulate buildings, in
search of anything that might tell some sort of story as to what
happened. They found only looted buildings and rat-chewed bits of paper.

"Nothing," Beth said one hot and humid afternoon. She threw a wad of
paper back to the floor of the embassy building.

"Same here," Anna said. "It's almost as if time just stopped for these
people."

"Maybe it did," Ben mused aloud. "Perhaps the end came so quickly they
didn't have time to do anything except run or die."

47

"But if they were killed," Cooper asked, "where are the bones?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't know, Coop. Eaten by animals, maybe."

"Or eaten by . . ." Corrie shut off that thought before the words could
leave her mouth.

"Yeah, Corrie," Ben said. "I gave the same thought some consideration."

"Shit!" Cooper breathed, a disgusted grimace on his face.

"But we have no proof of that," Ben quickly added. "And probably never
will."

"I doubt it's something the survivors would be willing to talk about,"
Beth said.

"I damn sure wouldn't admit it," Anna offered. "I was hungry many times
back in the old country, but ..." She made a disgusted noise and walked
outside.

"Let's see what the intel boys and girls have managed to put together,"
Ben suggested.

"We're getting there," a Rebel intelligence officer told Ben later that
morning. "But it's slow going, piecing together paper that has been
shredded."

"You have anything?"

"Food riots, for one thing. People running in blind fear, for another."

"Running in fear . . . from what?"

"Don't know, General. But it seems there was a general panic. And this
was after the Great War . . . several weeks after the war. We're sure of
that. That's about the only thing we're sure of at this point."

"It'll probably turn out to be one of those mysteries that will never be
solved," Ben said. "And we have had a few of those over the years."

Ben returned to his CP and spent the rest of the day doing paperwork.
That evening he met a few of the

48

Americans who had remained in the city and assured them they would be
granted safe passage back to America.

None of them impressed Ben very much and after they had left, he
dismissed them from his mind.

Jersey and Anna strolled into his office later that evening and Anna
plopped down on a battered old couch. "It's boring, General Ben," she
announced.

"Typical teenager," Ben said with a laugh. "You have to be entertained
all the time."

"I agree with her," Jersey said. "And I'm no teenager. So far, this has
been a milk run."

"Well, it has been boring," Ben agreed. "But that can't last forever.
These gangs number in the thousands. They don't dare try to slip into
Bruno Bottger's territory; he'd shoot them on sight. We've got them
between a rock and a hard place. Sooner or later, they've got to turn
and fight. Probably before we reach the Senegal and the Niger rivers.
And there, folks, is where I suspect we're really going to hit some hard
fighting . . ."

The other members of Ben's team had wandered in and were listening.

"... Those countries have been cut up into sections-tribal hatred,
warlords, dissident army factions. You name it, and we're going to run
into it."

"So we had better enjoy this more or less calm while we can, huh, boss?"
Cooper asked.

"That's about the size of it, Coop." Ben cut his eyes to Corrie. "Did
those additional water and fuel trucks arrive?"

"They just pulled in, boss."

"Good. We'll sure need them. Once we pull out of here, it's fifteen
hundred miles to the next port. That's at Nouakchott, in Mauritania. And
there is a lot of desert between here and there."

49

49

"And not many people?" Anna questioned.

"Not many, Anna." Again he looked at Corrie. "Any word from Nick
Stafford's 18 Batt?"

"He's running into the same thing we are," Corrie replied. "Starving
people and looted towns. It's the same thing all across to Ike. Somebody
really did a number on North Africa."

"South of here we're going to see starving people by the thousands," Ben
said, then added grimly, "Or find the bones of thousands."

"What the hell is with this country?" Coop asked. "I mean, I can
understand up here, it's desert. The land's no good. But south of here,
it's fertile."

Ben stood up and walked to a window, gazing out for a moment. "You don't
really want to get me started on that, Coop. So let's just call it bad
land management."

The Rebels did what they could in Rabat, then moved on down the coast to
Fedala, better known as Mo-hammedia. Then down to Ed Dar el Baida,
better known as Casablanca. There they almost got caught up in their
first food riot.

"Put warning shots over their heads!" Ben ordered, as the mobs of
starving people surged toward the Rebel column. "Now!"

The mob paused, hesitated for a moment, then began moving toward the
column again. Additional Rebel tanks rumbled forward; armored personnel
carriers joined then. The mass of starving humanity stopped.

"Have the interpreters tell them we have food and medical care," Ben
said. "But if we don't have order, we'll move on."

The local, who had joined the column at a village just north of the
city, said, "They might take that the wrong way, General."

50

William W. Johnstone

"If they do, and they rush us," Ben said, with menace in his voice,
"I'll put a lot of them out of their misery. Be sure and tell them that,
too."

"Would you really do that, General?" the interpreter asked, worry in his
words.

"You want to find out?"

"Ah . . . no, sir."

"Then advise the people to settle down."

The interpreter spoke quickly and the mob began slowly backing up.
Several males stepped out of the mob, rocks in their hands. One drew
back his arm to hurl the stone and the muzzles of several Rebel machine
guns swung in his direction. The citizen suddenly had second thoughts
and the rock dropped from his fingers.

"That's better," Ben said. "I just knew we could reach some sort of
peaceful resolution to this altercation."

The interpreter cut his eyes to Ben and whispered a small prayer under
his breath.

"Did you say something?" Ben asked.

"I thanked Allah for sending us such a benevolent commander of the
relief column," the local answered quickly.

"I just bet you did," Ben muttered. "All right, Corrie. Tell the troops
to unass the vehicles and throw up a defensive perimeter. Once that is
done, get Chase and his wonder-workers up here and have the cooks start
cooking."

"Yes, sir."

The battalion was split along two streets, one, the Blvd. Ambassadeur
Ben Aicha and the other along the Blvd. Moulay Ismail, both near the port.

"Quietly get the Americans gathered in one secure location," Ben said to
a Scout standing nearby. "Without using bullhorns and certainly without
attracting a lot of attention. I certainly would not want to be accused

51

of favoritism or discrimination. That wouldn't do at all."

The Scout hid his smile. "No, sir. Of course not. Right away, General."

"Really, now, General!" came the decidedly American woman's voice from
the side of the deuce-and-a-half. "These people are desperate and
starving and you threaten them with guns and brute force."

"Oh, shit!" Ben muttered.

Her name was Paula Preston and Ben knew the instant he put eyes on her
she was going to be trouble. He climbed down from the bed of the truck
and faced the woman.

"You figure it's any of your business, lady?" Ben demanded.

"I certainly do, General." Paula stuck out her chin. "I am the only
remaining official from the United States Consulate office left in this
city. So that makes it my business."

"We're not from the United States of America," Ben informed her.

Paula blinked-stared at him for a moment. "Of course you are!"

"Sorry, Miss Preston, but we're . . ."

"That's Ms. Preston, General."

"Of course. How silly of me. Ms. Preston, naturally. And if you ever
marry, there will be a hyphen somewhere in there, right?"

"What do you mean you are not from the United States? Where is the
American flag? Why aren't you flying it?"

"I am Ben Raines, Ms. Preston. Commanding General of the Armed Forces of
the Southern United States of America. The SUSA."

52

Paula blinked about half a dozen times, opened her mouth, closed it,
finally managed to ask, "You're what?"

Ben sighed. "You really don't know what has happened in America, do you?"

"We've had bits and pieces of information, General. But for the past
several years, we've been virtually cut off here. There isn't a piece of
electronic equipment to be found anywhere in the city. All that was
looted years ago. All the portable generators were taken. We have am/fm
radios, of course, but no electricity and no batteries. We knew, of
course, there was some sort of civil war in America. You mean? ..." She
tailed that off.

"Yes. The SUSA won."

"Well . . ." Her tone was much more subdued. "I mean, where is the
United States Military?"

"Rebuilding. Slowly. The United States is broken up into four sections
now, Ms. Preston. The Western United States of America, the Eastern
United States of America, the Northern United States of America, and the
Southern United States of America."

"That ... is difficult for me to comprehend, General."

"I suspect that in a few years, perhaps as soon as a few months, Eastern
and Northern will become as one. There is talk of that now."

Paula looked around her at the Rebels. "This is ... well, a rather small
force, General."

Ben smiled. "What you are seeing now is just a small part of one
battalion, Ms. Preston. I have nineteen battalions over here. We're
stretched out the entire top of Northern Africa, west to east. Working
our way south."

"Toward a fight with Bruno Bottger, General?"

"Yes. How do you know about him?"

"Refugees, General. I fear that Field Marshal General

53

53

Bottger has you outnumbered, sir. Even with your nineteen battalions."

"The Rebels are always outnumbered, Ms. Preston. We're used to that."

"The . . . Rebels." She nodded her head. "The Southern United States of
America and the Rebel army. Then you fly the stars and bars of the
Confederacy?"

"No. We do not. We fly the stars and stripes, Ms. Preston. We just don't
have as many stars as before." Ben motioned to a Rebel. "Get Mis.
Preston and the rest of her group to a secure area, please. Corrie,
inform Dr. Chase of their presence."

"You have women in combat roles, General," Paula remarked, after looking
for a moment at the Rebels.

"Yes. The SUSA is virtually discrimination-free."

"You have African-Americans in positions of high authority?"

"The President of the SUSA is a black man, Ms. Preston. Cecil Jefferys.
The vote was overwhelmingly in his favor."

"I am very confused, General. I thought ..."

"I know what you thought, Ms. Preston. A lot of people jump to
conclusions and make that mistake. Look, go with the sergeant here, and
get cleaned up, some hot food in you, and then checked out by our
doctors. We'll talk more later, all right?"

"Certainly, General. I look forward to news from home."

"Outside of the SUSA, Ms. Preston, I'm afraid it's pretty grim."

"Why am I not surprised at that news, General?" For the first time since
their introduction, the woman smiled . . . sort of. "We'll talk at
length later, sir."

"Certainly."

Ben watched Paula lead the small group of Americans away, following the
Rebel.

54

"Boy, is she in for a shock," Jersey said.

"Yes," Ben replied. "She sure is, Little Bit. A very drastic shock."

"She'd be very attractive if she was cleaned up and did something with
that mop of hair," Beth remarked.

"I hadn't noticed," Ben replied, then looked at his team in mock
surprise when they all burst out laughing at that statement.

55 Seven

Beth had been correct: Paula was a very nice-looking woman. Ben guessed
her to be in her late forties. She was dressed in clean army camo BDUs
(which were too big for her), and she had cut her hair (or somebody had
done it for her). She seemed somewhat subdued as she sat down in the
chair Ben offered her in his hurriedly cleaned out and very temporary HQ.

"You feel all right?" Ben asked.

"What? Oh. Yes, thank you. It's just that I'm not used to being clean
and well-fed, that's all. I have an appointment with the doctors in an
hour. They've set up one MASH unit for the Americans alone."

"We're Americans, Ms. Preston," Ben reminded her gently. "And I am a
firm believer in looking out for our own. Anyway, I am told that a great
many more Americans than anticipated are coming out of the woodwork, so
to speak."

"Yes. There are a great many among the newly arrived refugees. And some
of them are mercenaries."

"Oh? That is interesting. American mercenaries?"

"A few. I would say, from the reports I just got no more than an hour
ago from locals, there are perhaps a dozen or so. The rest are Europeans."

"Armed?"

"Well . . . yes."

56

"Uh-huh," Ben said with a smile. "All of them white?"

"Why . . . yes, as a matter of fact, they are. Is that something of
importance?"

"Oh, it might be, Ms. Preston. It just might be."

"I'm ahead of you," Jersey said, standing up. "I'll alert Coop and the
others." She walked swiftly from the room.

"That is a, well, very attractive young lady," Paula remarked. "In a ...
savage sort of way. And I don't mean anything derogatory by that, General."

"I'm sure Jersey wouldn't have been offended. She'd probably think it
was funny. She tends to scowl at times when she's around people she
doesn't know. And for her size, she can be very intimidating. As for her
complexion, she's part Apache Indian."

"Ah . . . Native American."

"Anyone who was born in America is a native American, Ms. Preston."

Paula opened her mouth to come back at him for that politically
incorrect remark. Cooper stepped into the room. "I think we've got
trouble, boss."

"Yeah, so do I, Coop. Get set up."

"What do you mean, General Raines?" Paula asked.

"Get under that old desk, Ms. Preston," Ben told her bluntly. "And stay
there."

"I beg your pardon!"

A spray of bullets from an automatic weapon ripped into the building,
knocking plaster from the walls and sending up clouds of dust. Paula let
out a squall of fright and hit the floor, quickly crawling under the desk.

"You were right on the money, boss!" Jersey yelled, sliding into the
room on her belly and crawling over to a window. "They're Bruno's people
and the bastards are all over the city."

"How many, Jersey?"

"They're battalion size, boss. And it appears they've

57

57

hidden weapons and plenty of ammo all over the place. Looks like we're
in for a fight."

"Well," Anna quipped from her position at a far window. "I did say I was
getting bored."

"Our people are pinned down in small groups all over this section of the
city," Corrie called, after talking with platoon leaders. "But as it
stands now, Bruno's people haven't produced any heavy weapons."

Ben waited until another twenty seconds of gunfire ceased, coughed at
the dust falling all over everybody, then said, "Anna, you and Beth
bring that Big Thumper over here to the front window. Start spraying
those buildings across the street. We've got to have some relief. Coop,
how's it looking from the rear?"

Cooper had his SAW (squad automatic weapon), ready to bang and he nodded
his head. "They're back there, boss. But so far they're staying low and
quiet."

Anna and Beth began hammering at the building across the street with
40mm grenades, many of which sailed through the windows. Those enemy
troops who had taken up positions in buildings began exiting out the
back, straight into the machine-gun fire of two main battle tanks. At
least two squads of Bruno's Nazis went down in five seconds, torn to
bloody pieces.

The tanks reversed their turrets and bulled their way through the
buildings, taking up positions in front of Ben's HQ.

"Tell one of them to cut down the alley and take out that building
directly to our rear," Ben said.

Three minutes later, the MBT was tearing the building apart with 120mm
HE cannon fire.

All around the section of the city occupied by Rebels, tanks and APCs
were rushing to the aid of trapped Rebels, and making very short work of
Bruno's people, who really had only two options, since they could not
run: surrender or die.

58

Most chose death.

The fight was savage and relatively short once the Rebels recovered from
the shock of the unexpected attack from what they assumed to be hungry
refugees. Recovery for the Rebels did not take long.

When the last holdout had been killed, and the area declared safe and
secure, several prisoners were brought to Ben. Paula had crawled out
from under the desk and had been escorted over to a MASH tent, where
Rebel doctors had resumed business as usual. They were accustomed to
working with battles raging all around them, but this time the refugees
had panicked, forcing the doctors to call a halt to their examinations
and shot-giving.

"What gave us away, General?" a man who had identified himself as a
captain asked, standing in front of Ben.

"Just a hunch, Captain."

"What will happen to us now?"

"I don't know yet what I'm going to do with you."

"I demand ..."

"You demand nothing!" Ben shouted at him. "You're all in civilian
clothing. I could shoot you as spies and be in full accordance with the
old Geneva Convention concerning treatment of prisoners captured during
wartime. So don't waste your breath telling me what you demand."

"Are you going to shoot us, General?" the captain asked, in a much less
harsh and demanding tone.

"I doubt it. I probably should, but I probably won't."

An expression of great relief passed over the captain's face. He had
very quickly realized that he had pushed Ben over the line.

Ben asked the captain a few questions. Each time the man responded by
his name, rank, and service number. Ben finally looked over at the
guard. "Find someplace to lock them up until I can decide what to do
with them."

59

59

The prisoner gone, Jersey asked, "What areyou going to do with them, boss?"

"Probably keep them locked up here for a month with an arrangement to
have them turned loose at the end of that time. I certainly am not going
to shoot them. Corrie, alert all the other battalions as to what
happened here and to be on the look-out for infiltrators."

"Right, boss."

"I must be getting old and careless," Ben mused aloud. "I've never
underestimated an enemy. I should have anticipated something such as this."

"Yeah, you're real ancient, boss," Cooper said sarcastically. "You want
me to order up a wheelchair for you?"

"\eah, General Ben," Anna said. "And I wish you'd stop with all that
drooling. Maybe we should have a nurse with you around the clock."

Ben turned first to Cooper, then to Anna, and after a moment, started
laughing. "All right, all right. Enough. I get your point. Well, Bruno
probably, and I stress 'probably,' won't try this tactic against us
again. But we can't be sure. From now on, everybody stays on low alert
at all times." Ben stood up and stretched. "Let's go prowl some."

The charm that Casablanca once held was forever gone. The city that once
boasted a population of over two million had been looted and savaged so
many times it was nothing more than a mere shell of what it had once
been. And it had once been quite impressive. Casablanca had once been
the economic capital of the nation. It had been the center of trade,
industry, and finance. And it had been a major port handling goods of
all kinds.

Now it was a dying city, and of the people who were left, many were sick
and terribly malnourished.

Ben and his team walked the streets for a time, but it was not pleasant.
Every window at ground level in the

60

stores and shops had been smashed by looters and rioters. The stench of
death lingered everywhere, hanging over the city like a stinking shroud.

Lamar caught up with them, and motioned for Ben to join him by the side
of his vehicle.

"What's up, Lamar?"

"Ben, we're perhaps seventy-two hours, max, away from a major health
problem here. There are hundreds of dead bodies rotting in houses and
shacks all over the city. We can't use fire, we'd have to destroy more
than half the city."

"So it's up to the Rebels to remove the bodies and dispose of them?"

"That's what it comes down to, Ben. And it has to be done quickly or
we're going to have real problems on our hands."

Ben glanced to Corrie and she nodded and got on the horn.

"Do you want the troops who do the job in full protective gear, Lamar?"

"I want them buttoned up, Ben, using air tanks. I'll issue them gloves .
. . the new cut-resistant type. I just got them in."

"This is that serious, Lamar?"

"Yes, Ben," the doctor said very somberly. "It's that serious."

"What are you holding back from me, Lamar?"

"You've all been inoculated, Ben. It's just these poor damn refugees are
bringing all sorts of bugs, and with the troops handling rotting bodies,
I want them buttoned up. If there was anything else, Ben, I'd level with
you."

"All right, Lamar. We're going to be here for awhile, aren't we?"

"Yes. We certainly are, Ben."

61

Rebel teams began clearing the city of dead rotting bodies within an
hour after Ben and Dr. Chase spoke. Doctors worked with the team,
ordering some of the shacks in the city carefully burned... with stacks
of dead bodies inside. Ben didn't ask why the selective burning, but he
had his suspicions. They spelled: Cholera.

Black stinking smoke spiraled into the sky as the shacks began going up
in flames.

"How come we have to do this?" Cooper asked. "How come those living here
didn't do it?"

"I guess many are afraid to touch the bodies, Coop," Ben replied. He
shook his head. "I really don't have an answer for you."

"Always us," Jersey added her two cents into the conversation. "It
always comes down to us doing the dirty work."

Ben couldn't argue that. She was right.

"Because we will do it," Beth said.

"Are any of the troops bitching about it, Beth?" Ben asked.

"Oh, no. They just do as ordered, boss. Fight, march, or burn or bury
the dead. It's a job."

Anna looked around her at the shacks that butted right up against what
had once been enormous wealth. "What a shithole," she said.

62

Ben didn't argue that, either.

When he got back to his CP, he found Paula Preston pouring over a stack
of old newspapers that someone had found on board ship and brought
ashore. The papers had been used as packing material before leaving the
port in the SUSA and these had been left over.

"Catching up on the past few years, Ms. Preston?"

"Please call me Paula, General," she said, looking up.

Ben noticed she was wearing new glasses-army issue. Chase had seen she
made all the stops.

"All right, Paula. That'll make it easier. I'm Ben. I really hate
formality, especially in the field. Are the stories in those papers
shocking to you?"

"Somewhat, yes. So much has happened in America in such a relatively
short time." She fixed him with her new magnified gaze. "You and your,
ah, Rebels have been busy, haven't you?"

"Very."

She pointed to the stack of old newspapers. "Those reporters don't think
very highly of either you or the SUSA, Ben."

Ben smiled at the woman. "Our system of government works, Paula. While
the states outside of the SUSA flounder about, struggling to get on
their feet, so to speak, the SUSA is functioning smoothly, with full
employment, the lowest crime rate in the world, factories, farms, ports,
railroads, stores, shops, and a smooth-running government that is truly
made up of and for the people. That's why those hanky-stomping reporters
don't like us. We didn't crawl out of the ashes of destruction, we came
out heads high and working together."

She returned his smile. "Hanky-stomping, Ben? What a unique expression.
I assume you mean liberals?"

"That's right, Paula. The people who did more to screw up America than
any other group."

63

63

"I can see we have hours and hours of delightful discussion about
politics ahead of us, General."

Ben grunted noncommittally at that, not knowing exactly what the woman
had up her sleeve. But he had a hunch, and the thought didn't thrill him
all that much.

Again, she pointed to the stack of newspapers. "There is nothing about
China or South America in those papers, Ben."

"We don't know much about what is happening in South America, Paula,
except that nations there are embroiled in civil wars. As for China ..."
He shrugged his shoulders. "We don't know what the hell is happening
over there. You probably know more about die Mideast than we do."

"The Israelis settled their difficulties with those Arab nations who
wanted war with diem."

Ben chuckled. "I just bet they did. And settled it per-manendy, too."

She frowned. "War is not always the answer, Ben."

"In their case it was. And for them it was inevitable. And I could have
told die rest of world what the outcome would be. We've signed an
alliance widi Israel. They'll be joining us in die fight against Bruno
Bottger."

"That does not come as any surprise to me. I certainly can't blame diem
for diat decision."

Ben leaned forward, putting his big hands on die old, beat-up table diat
was serving as a desk. "What did you mean, Paula, by the statement 'we
will have hours and hours of delightful discussion ahead of us?' "

"Just diat, Ben."

"I'm staying in Africa, Paula. You're going back to America on die next
ship out."

"No, I'm staying here."

Ben leaned back in his chair. "Oh? You mean here in Casablanca?"

"No. I'll be traveling widi you."

64

"The hell you say!"

She smiled sweetly at him. "I have twice spoken to President Jefferys
and to Secretary of State Blanton, General. Also to the leaders of the
EUSA, the NUSA, and the WUSA. They all thought it was a very good idea
for me to stay and assess the political climate here. President
Jefferys, who seems to be a very nice man, by the way, and an extremely
intelligent one, said he would be speaking with you shortly about his
decision."

"Oh, he did, did he?"

"Yes."

Ben muttered under his breath.

Paula frowned and gave him a very odd look. "I beg your pardon, Ben?
Surely, I must have misunderstood. Did you just refer to your president
as an asshole?"

"What the hell are we going to do with her, boss?" Corrie asked, after
Paula had left the CP.

"I have no idea. I ought to send her over to Therm and let him deal with
her."

"Then she'd have access to Emil," Jersey said. "You really want that?"

"Oh, God, no." Ben sighed. "Well, I guess we're stuck with her." He
paced the room for a moment, then turned to his team, his face
brightening with a smile. "We could always sneak off in the night and
join the Scouts up ahead."

"Sure, General Ben," Anna said. "And an hour after we were reported
missing, every 'copter and plane in North Africa would be up looking for
us, in addition to hundreds of troops and eighteen highly pissed-off
batt corns."

"Well, it was just a thought."

"Speaking of Thermopolis," Corrie said. "I just spoke with him. The
subject was Emil Hite."

65

65

"Do I have to hear this?"

"Yes. Emil and his followers are now wearing the traditional dress
uniform of the French Foreign Legion, complete with kepi."

"Where the hell did they get those?"

"Therm says he thinks they brought them over from the SUSA."

"Where the hell did they get them over there?"

"I don't know. But Emil is quite a sight to see, so says Therm."

"I hope we're spared that sight."

"He's carrying a sword," Corrie added with a smile.

"I don't want to hear any more."

Laughing, the team left Ben's office and Ben stood by the window for a
time, staring out. Then he smiled, thinking about Emil and the many
antics the little con artist had pulled over the years. Ben's smile
widened when he thought about the thousand miles that separated them.

The last American leaving Casablanca shipped out on the evening before
Ben's 1 Batt was due to pull out of the city, heading for Marrakech.
There were several dozen Europeans sailing with the Americans. They
chose not to return to Europe, preferring to take their chances in
America instead. Scouts had reported that Safri was burning out of
control, deliberately set ablaze by the gangs after looting the city.
The Rebels would head for Marrakech, then over to the coastal city of
Essaouira. After that? ... it all depended on what the Scouts, working
far ahead of the main column, reported back.

Ben had placed Paula Preston in the center of the column, with the
medical personnel. She and Dr. Chase had hit it off from the first, and
it kept her out of Ben's way.

66

William W. Johnstone

The Rebels did not see one living soul between Casablanca and Marrakech.
They passed through afew long-deserted villages, and occasionally
spotted the bleached bones of animals and humans, but nothing else.

"Scouts are reporting farming going on in the Haouz Plain," Corrie
reported. "And the city has a home guard that have successfully battled
the gangs. They've also kept the population down to a controllable
level, one they could manage to feed, to one degree or another. But
they're desperately short of medical supplies."

"What kind of shape is the airport in?"

"Clear and ready for traffic. Six klicks west of the city. Scouts are
there now."

"Head for airport, Coop."

"On our way, boss."

"Scouts have home guard directing us around the city," Corrie said.

Ben said, "Corrie, have the Scouts alert the commanders of the home
guard and the officials of the city that the airport will be where I'll
set up my CP. I would like to meet with them as soon as possible."

"Right, boss."

"And the city's doctors, as well."

"Ten-four, boss," Corrie said, a smile curving her lips. She had already
done all that. Corrie knew how to stay a few steps ahead of Ben. The
team had been together so long, they could usually anticipate the
other's moves.

As the column began approaching the far outskirts of the city, there
were burned out hulks of vehicles and houses either burned or pocked
with bullet holes.

"I don't see any brass twinkling in the sunlight," Beth observed.

"They're picking it up for reloading," Ben said. "By now they must be
desperately short of gunpowder and lead . . . and everything else needed
for survival."

67

They were, as Ben soon discovered.

A CP had been set up for him about half a mile from the airport, in a
reasonably clean and undamaged building. MASH units were swift in
setting up, and the cooks were at work within half an hour after the
column halted.

Planes started coming in within the hour, off-loading medical supplies,
clothing, and food.

"We could have held out for perhaps another month, General," the
commander of the home guard told Ben, speaking in French-accented
English. He was a former army officer, born and reared in the city. "Six
weeks max. We're nearly out of everything."

"Who is supplying the gangs, Colonel?" Ben asked.

"Bottger," the colonel was quick to reply. "The Nazi bastard's goal is
to control all of Africa. And the truth is, he isn't promising so much
that he can't deliver. He may be a first class son of a bitch, but he's
a smart one."

"What is he promising those who follow him?"

"Food, medical care, and certain of the more intelligent of them high
positions in the governing of their respective nations. And it's working."

"The bastard is smart, isn't he?"

"Or he has very good advisors."

Ben shook his head. "No. I've fought Bottger before. He runs the show,
be assured of that. He's very intelligent, but also very arrogant. And
that arrogance is going to be his downfall."

"I would very much like to be there when you kill the man, General Raines."

"Perhaps you will be, Colonel. Who knows? But one thing is for certain."

"Oh?"

"I didn't travel all the way to Africa to shake the bastard's hand."

68 Nine

While supplies had dwindled to the critical point in the city, the
residents were in far better physical shape than their counterparts in
the other North African cities Ben and his 1 Batt had visited.

"When the Great War came, everyone raced off to the port cities seeking
a way out," a local doctor explained to Ben. "They became grossly
overcrowded with not enough medicines or food. The sanitation systems
were overworked and either poorly maintained or not maintained at all.
And that is fertile ground for disease." The man shrugged his shoulders.
"You saw what happened."

"Yes, we certainly did. So that's what they were fleeing from. Well,
that's one mystery solved." He looked at the doctor. "But won't the same
thing happen here should thousands try to flood your city?"

"No, General. We won't permit it. We've reached maximum capacity. It's a
terrible thing to say, but some of us have to survive to rebuild. We've
already sent out hundreds to the smaller towns to start over, and so
far, it's working to a satisfactory degree."

"I know the feeling, Doctor. Believe me, I do. It's hard to turn people
away."

"But sometimes necessary."

"Very much so."

69

The citizens of Marrakech had not allowed their city to turn into a slum
or be looted by vandals and thugs. In the face of everything that had
happened, they had maintained order and their dignity and pride. That
had helped pull them through the years of bad times.

In every space available, someone was growing a garden. On the outskirts
of the city, chickens were being raised in huge numbers. The people of
Marrakech were not going to be defeated; they were going to pull out of
the ashes of war and prosper.

The airport stayed busy around the clock, huge cargo planes bringing in
supplies for the once-beleaguered city. The railroad leading to the city
was useless, for vandals had destroyed miles of track, rendering it
inoperable.

"How about Essaouira?" Ben asked the colonel. "I've not yet sent my
Scouts over there."

"Forget it," the colonel was blunt. "It's been looted and sacked so many
times it's only a hulk of what it used to be. Pirates used it for a
time, but even they finally abandoned it and moved on, some of them
moving on down the coast to Agadir. South from there ..." He shook his
head. ". . .1 don't know. We lost radio contact with the Canary Islands
a long time ago. I don't know what is happening there. Probably pirates
have taken over the islands. That would be my guess. But. . . who knows
for sure. Allah, alone."

"Then I guess Agadir is next on our list of scenic places to visit," Ben
said with a smile.

"You'll have a fight on your hands there, General."

"It helps to break the monotony, Colonel."

The Rebels took a secondary road from Marrakech over to Agadir and were
met by Scouts miles from the city.

70

"We've got a fight coming, General. Pirates occupy the city, and I have
never seen a scummier bunch anywhere."

"How are they armed?"

"Light weapons, mostly. We didn't see any heavy stuff."

"Civilians?"

"Women, mostly. Only a few kids. The women are, well, where I was raised
we used to call them road whores."

Ben smiled. "I get the picture. Well, I suppose we'd better get busy. We
came here to take out the garbage, so let's do it."

"Take out the garbage," Paula repeated, walking up with Dr. Chase. "What
an insensitive phrase to use when one is about to wage war against
another human be-ing."

Jersey, who had been eating a candy bar, looked at the woman, wrapped up
her candy bar and stuck it in her pocket, belched, and walked off.

Ben turned his head to hide his quick grin. Jersey did not much care for
Paula Preston. She was fond of referring to her as "That whiny liberal
bitch."

"That young lady does not like me," Paula said. "And I cannot imagine why."

"You're a politically correct liberal," Ben informed her. "That's why."

"I certainly am," she replied indignantly. "And there is something the
matter with that?"

"Paula, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. I am about
to start an assault on that town."

"Aren't you going to ask them to surrender?"

Ben sighed. "No, Paula. I was not planning on asking them to surrender."

"Well!" she huffed up. "I think . . ."

"Lamar, would you please take this woman to the rear

71

71

of the column?" Ben had lost his patience. "We are about to move in and
if those pirates in the town have mortars, it's going to get very
dangerous up here."

"Of course, Ben." Lamar took Paula's arm and gendy but firmly led her away.

"That woman is a fruitcake," Beth muttered.

"Yeah, boss," Cooper said. "How come we always get stuck with the yoyos?"

Ben smiled, his quick burst of temper fading as rapidly as it came. "I
suppose the best answer to that is the one the prostitute gave when a
customer asked her how she ever got in the business." Ben chuckled.
"Just lucky, I guess."

The pirates had no stomach for a fight against professionals. Before the
Rebels could even move into position, die pirates were scrambling for
their boats and attempting to head out to sea.

They didn't get very far.

Rebel helicopter gunships had been hovering just out of sight and sound
of the small city. When die pirate ships were just out of the harbor,
the pirates thinking they had gotten clear, the gunships swooped in, low
and fast and deadly, machine-gun and cannon and rocket fire rocking and
rolling. The harbor became a watery grave for the pirates, who learned a
hard lesson about the Rebels diat day: They gave no quarter and asked
for none. War was not a game to them ... it was a profession.

"Send teams out to scutde those boats still floating," Ben ordered.
"Clear die harbor. We're going to need it."

"We've got a few prisoners," Corrie said, after acknowledging Ben's
orders and transmitting them.

"Bring the officers to me."

72

The pirates, Ben surmised, had spent their youth watching too many old
pirate movies; they obviously envisioned themselves as real
swashbucklers: Earrings in both ears, bandannas around their heads,
tattoos on every available patch of skin.

"They all speak English," Jersey informed him.

Ben looked at the pirates and then laughed at them. "Which one of you is
Tyrone Power and who is Errol Flynn?" he asked.

The four men scowled at him.

Beth came in and laid a piece of paper on the table Ben was using for a
desk. Ben read it, his expression changing into a deep frown. He glanced
up at the men. "Which one of you gave the orders to slaughter the
civilians before you tried to sail out?"

The pirates all grinned. One hawked up phlegm and spat on the floor.

Ben nonchalantly lifted a pistol from his desk and shot the spitter in
the knee. The pirate hit the floor, howling in pain, both hands holding
onto his bloody and ruined knee.

The others started jabbering in a mixture of languages, all pointing at
the other.

"It's a slaughterhouse in town, boss," Cooper said, stepping into the
room. He gave no more than a cursory glance at the man screaming on the
floor. "These bastards killed all the old people. Shot them, hanged
them, and killed them in other ways too disgusting to mention."

"Kids?"

"Only a few kids in town, boss. Some of the older people left alive said
most of the kids were seized along with the young women several months
ago and sold."

"Any idea where?"

Cooper shook his head.

Paula stepped onto the porch of the home. She heard

73

the squalling and rushed into the house. She pulled up short at the
sight of the man writhing in pain on the floor. "My God!" she blurted.
"What's happened here?"

"I shot him," Ben told her. "And I'm about to hang these others. What do
you want, Paula?"

"You're going to hang them?"

"Yes. You want to watch?"

"You're not serious!"

Jersey laughed at her.

Paula's eyes narrowed in anger. "You can't just hang these men, Ben. Not
without a trial."

"You wanna bet?"

Ben thought Paula would barf all over her combat boots when he hanged
the pirates, including the man with the busted knee.

"Eased his pain," Ben said, looking at the pirate swinging from a
makeshift gallows. "All right, let's prowl the town and see what we have."

Death.

The elderly had been shot and hanged and burned alive and tortured to
death and killed in every manner a criminal degenerate mind could dream
up ... for sport, their bodies left to rot under the sun. The stench was
overpowering.

"Get the troops into protective gear and clear these bodies from the
streets," Ben ordered. "Before Dr. Chase starts jumping up and down and
screaming."

"I do not jump up and down, Raines," Lamar said, walking up behind Ben
and team. "However, I might raise my voice from time to time."

"Where is Paula Pureheart?" Ben asked.

Chase sighed, feigning great patience. "The lady had a very gentle
upbringing, Raines. She is just not accustomed to your crudeness and
vulgarity."

74

"Yeah, Lamar. Right. Her ancestors came over on the Mayflower and all that."

"That is probably true, Raines."

"Mine were here first," Jersey said with a smile. She put one hand on
her hip and with great British affectation, said, "I'm quite the lay-dy."

Chase could not hide his grin. He shook his head and said, "What a bunch
of characters. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Good-bye."

Lamar gone to oversee the setting up of his MASH units, Ben said, "Okay.
Let's find me a temporary CP. Down by the port area. We're going to have
ships coming in shortly with supplies and more water trucks. Not long
after we leave here, we're going to have one hell of a long, dry pull
ahead of us."

Agadir had once boasted a population of over a hundred thousand. Now
there were approximately five thousand people left in the city, mostly
older women.

"Any able-bodied man was taken and sold," Rebel intelligence told Ben.

"And no idea where?"

"None, General."

"What about the Canary Islands. Anything firm yet?"

"Not really. We know it was a haven for pirates for a time. Then for
some reason-as yet unknown-the pirates left the islands. They didn't
leave much behind them."

"No communications at all from the islands?"

"Nothing. Not a peep. Flyovers show many of the cities and towns on the
islands have been destroyed by fires. We don't know if they were
deliberate or accidental."

"But the flyovers can detect nothing that would pose a threat to us."

"That's correct, sir."

75

"Very well. Thank you." The briefing over, Anna asked, "We going to
visit those islands, General Ben?"

"Not this time, Anna. We don't need them for any base, and if they don't
pose any threat there is no point in going."

"No people over there?" she asked.

"Heatseekers show very few of them."

"So where do we head next?"

There are lots of towns and little villages between here and Laayoune,
Anna. And then . . . we're in the desert, into Mauritania and crossing
the Tropic of Cancer."

"Not much along the way, huh?"

"Not much. Not once we get away from the coast." Ben looked out the
window: black smoke was drifting lazily toward the blue of the sky. The
troops were burning the bodies, for the flatbed trucks carrying the
earth-moving equipment had not yet reached the main column. They were
about a half a day behind, accompanied by tanks and a company of heavily
armed Rebels. Many of the bodies were so badly decomposed Dr. Chase took
one look and ordered them all burned immediately.

"I wonder if it's going to be this way all the way down to Bottger's
territory?" Corrie asked, standing with Ben by the window.

"Worse, probably. The further south we go the more populated the land.
What about the other battalions?"

"We seem to be catching the worst of it, boss. All the battalions are
reporting burying or burning bodies, but not as many as we've found. Ike
says Egypt was a piece of cake, no trouble at all there. He's going to
hug the coast through the Sudan and Eritrea."

"Nothing new after we received that report?"

"Nothing new."

"Supplies?"

76

William W. Johnstone

"Ships have docked and off-loaded. Shoving off shortly. Planes in and
out with no trouble."

"Miss Priss is about to make an entrance," Jersey called from the open door.

Ben smiled. "Be sure and show her right in, Jersey."

Jersey muttered something under her breath and Ben laughed aloud.

Paula Preston entered the room and marched up to Ben. "General, I need
to make a report to my government."

"Of course, Ms. Preston. Corrie will be only too happy to get an up-link
for you. That is, providing your government has managed to allocate
enough money for radios. The last report I got was they were very busy
sending federal agents out into the countryside gathering up weapons
from private citizens."

Paula stared at him for a moment. "Sarcasm is not necessary, General. I
am very much aware of your contempt for my government."

"I really doubt, Ms. Preston, if you fully comprehend the depth of my
disdain."

"Perhaps we can discuss the merits of our respective governments at some
later date, General."

"Anytime, Ms. Preston. Corrie, see if you can get through to, ah, her
government, please."

"That should prove to be a good trick," Corrie mumbled.

"I'm sure you'll succeed, dear," Paula said to her.

"Only if they have enough sense to find the on/off switch . . . and flip
it in the right position," Corrie popped right back.

Paula sighed with the great patience of a career diplomat.

Ben laughed at the expression on her face.

It was turning out to be a very interesting trip.

77 Ten

A vast emptiness stretched out before the column, seemingly void of any
living thing. The Rebels had left the looted and burned city of Laayoune
behind them, after doing what they could for the few thousand residents
left.

It was almost unbearably hot, and to make matters worse, the Western
Sahara and the bordering nation of Mauritania were in the grip of a long
drought, and the sun burning every living thing. The Rebels had removed
their shirts and stripped down to T-shirts in an attempt to cool off
during the day; at night it was sometimes downright cold. During the
day, no vehicle air-conditioning could be run because of overheating.

"Goddamn miserable country," Jersey bitched. "Why in the name of God
would anyone in their right mind willingly choose to live here?"

"You were raised in the desert," Cooper said. "I thought you liked this?"

"That's what you get for thinking, Coop," Jersey came right back. "What
was that last village we passed through?"

"Guelta Zemmur," Beth told her, fanning herself with a magazine.

"We're in Mauritania now," Ben said. "Crossed the

78

border a few miles back. Bir Moghrein is a few miles ahead."

"Which used to be called Fort Trinquet," Beth injected.

"A French Foreign Legion outpost?" Cooper asked.

"I guess so. The brochure doesn't say."

"What does it say?"

"Not a whole lot. One paragraph stating that there is nothing there."

"How far to some vestiges of civilization?" Jersey asked.

"About a hundred and thirty miles," Beth replied. "Give or take twenty
or so."

"And that would be? ..." Anna asked.

"Zouerate."

"Is there anything at ... whatever you called it?" Corrie asked.

"Not much."

"What a shithole," Jersey muttered.

There was even less at Bir Moghrein than the travel brochure
mentioned-nothing but the skeletons of a few dozen long dead humans,
their bones bleached white.

"This place gives me the creeps," Cooper said, looking all around him.

"For once I agree with Coop," Jersey said.

"What do you think, Doctor?" Ben asked the Rebel doctor who had been
inspecting the bones.

The doctor stood and looked at Ben and Lamar Chase, the chief of
medicine, who had just walked up to stand alongside Ben. "Disease and
starvation would be my guess. Possibly bad water. There are no broken
bones on any of these remains. No bullet holes in the skulls; skulls
have not been smashed."

Rebels had been testing the water supply; what there

79

was left of it. "Water's bad," they replied. "It's been contaminated."

"Well, let's get the hell out of here," Ben said. "We've got a long dry
pull ahead of us."

There were about five hundred people left in Zouer-ate, and they were
all in bad shape.

"Used to be almost twenty-five thousand people living here," Beth stated
softly.

Lamar had been observing his doctors check over the people. He left the
tent and walked over to Ben. "About twenty percent of these people are
dead and don't realize it," he said. "They are too far gone for us to be
of any help. Ravaged by disease, lousy diet, bad water. If the others
remain here, they'll all be dead within a year. There is just nothing we
can do."

"Very few babies and young children," Ben observed.

"Most were miscarried or stillborn," Lamar said. "Those that weren't,
died within a few days or weeks of birth. The mothers just weren't
strong or healthy enough to carry them to full term."

"And you suggest we do ... what?"

"Nothing. If the people insist upon staying here, we'd be wasting time
and supplies."

Ben looked at the commander of the engineer company that traveled with
the column. "Can you get the locomotive running? That's the only way we
can get them to Atar."

"Providing Atar wants them," Chase injected.

"I think we could get it running," the engineer replied hesitantly.

"Corrie, have you received anything out of Atar?" Ben asked.

"Nothing, boss. Flyovers show it's not much better than this place."

"Damn!" Ben said.

80

Another Rebel walked up. "The people say they don't want to leave here,"
he said. "They're firm about that."

Ben shrugged. "All right. We can't force them and I won't stay here and
nursemaid them. Let's get the hell gone."

"Just like that, General?" the familiar voice of Paula Preston reached Ben.

Ben turned. "Yes, Ms. Preston. Just like that. We don't believe in
helping people who don't want to help themselves. That is part of the
Rebel philosophy."

"I see."

"I doubt it." Ben turned his back to her and said, "Mount up. We're out
of here."

Atar was like a beautiful garden flourishing in the middle of nowhere.
There were gardens on every patch of ground that would grow anything,
and the date palm groves were well kept. When Ben told the local militia
commander of the situation in Zouerate, the man merely shrugged.

"We know," he said, and let it go at that.

Ben did not press the point. It was not his country and certainly none
of his business.

The commander was a former army officer who, before the Great War, was
stationed at the military base in Atar, and who still wore part of his
old uniform, with the rank of colonel on the collar. He sensed Ben's
plight and smiled apologetically. "At this stage, General, we can only
help those who will make some sort of effort to help themselves. To do
more would be a waste of our time and our precious resources."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Colonel. I think you and I are going to get
along. How about joining me for some hot food and conversation?"

"It would be both a pleasure and an honor, sir."

81

81

The airstrip at Atar was long enough and in good enough shape to handle
cargo planes. The town had several doctors, and all the people needed
was medical supplies, and that did not take long. Considering all that
had happened, the citizens were in relatively good shape.

The Rebels soon shoved off toward Nouakchott, on the coast.

The colonel had warned Ben that conditions in the capital were grim:
"Ahundred, a thousand times worse," to use his words, than before the
Great War. And Ben knew from studying old reports that they had been
dismal even then.

When it became the nation's capital back in 1960, it was an extension of
the old walled city. The city was originally designed for about fifteen
thousand people. By the time the Great War came, the population had
swelled to about half a million. The colonel had told Ben the population
now was probably over a hundred thousand.

But it was nothing more than a place for people to come and die, and the
stench could be smelled for several miles.

Ben studied the Scouts' reports on the city for several minutes, after
listening to taped transmissions from the pilots doing flyovers.

"Corrie, what do the ships' captains say?"

"They've had to beat back boarders," she reported. "Finally they had to
leave the harbor and head out to sea to avoid being overwhelmed."

Ben glanced at Dr. Chase. "Give me your opinion, Lamar. It's going to be
a medical decision ... at least in part."

The chief of medicine grimaced. "The humane thing to do, the moral
thing, the right thing, I suppose one could say, would be to enter the
city and start seeing people. But we're going to lose troops if we do that.

82

How many looters and thieves did the sentries have to threaten, warn,
and finally shoot last night?"

"About a dozen."

"Multiply that by about a hundred thousand and you have the story."

"Your autopsies showed what, Lamar?"

"The people are ravaged by disease. TB and cholera are rampant. The
water is bad, they have no sanitation facilities, bodies are rotting in
the streets. Rabies has reached epidemic proportions. If we did manage
to get in without losing five to ten percent of our own people
attempting to beat back those rioting for food, we would only be
prolonging the inevitable. It's my opinion that in a year, it's going to
be a dead city . . . no matter what we do."

Ben nodded his head wearily and looked at a Scout. "Can you get us
around the city, without getting too close?"

"Yes, sir. We've found a route that misses the city by miles. We won't
get anywhere close to it."

"All right," Ben said with a sigh. "Let's head for Senegal. There is
nothing we can do here."

"Wise decision, Ben," Lamar said, and headed back to the center of the
column.

No one had much to say for an hour after by-passing the city. It's not
easy to leave over a hundred thousand men, women, and children to die,
not even for the battle-hardened Rebels of Ben's 1 Batt. But the Rebels
realized they had no choice in the matter. The situation in Nouakchott
was hopeless.

The change in landscape was subtle at first, but there was a definite
change as the long column crossed over into Senegal, heading for the
city of St. Louis, which

83

83

was once the capital of Senegal and Mauritania, until the countries
officially split in the 1950s.

There was a good port on the west side of the island, and the airport
was usable, after some cleaning up. Scouts radioed back that the
situation there was nothing like what the Rebels had found in Nouakchott.

"Let's radio the city we're on our way in," Ben said.

The first roadblocks the Rebels encountered were miles from the city,
manned by some sort of home guard: the first line of defense against the
roaming gangs. The home guard was protecting their fields, which were
planted with vegetables of all sorts.

"Day and night, General," a well-spoken, middleaged man who was
commanding this detachment said. "The people try to steal what is not
theirs to take. We don't want to shoot them, but warning shots no longer
have any effect." He shook his head. "We have to survive."

"I understand," Ben told him. "And if you let one in, soon there will be
one million storming the gates, so to speak."

"That is correct, General. And then no one will survive. We are strong
enough to keep the hordes out, but not strong enough or well armed
enough to go out into the countryside in force to hunt down and kill the
gangs."

"We can help you solve that little dilemma," Ben later told a group of
civic leaders, after the problem was repeated to him at a meeting. "But
let me make one thing very clear: we are not peacekeepers, ladies and
gentlemen. When we go after an objective, we don't play war games with
rules. We smash the enemy, we grind them down into submission, and we
take damn few prisoners."

That was met with broad smiles and affirmative nods.

Ben returned the smiles, thinking: Now we get down to doing what we do
best. "Consider it done," he assured the group.

84

* * *

"We hunt them down," he told his company commanders, "and we kill them.
We take prisoners only as a last resort. We will not offer them
surrender terms. The only thing to do in this country, and probably
every country we visit, is to rid them of the gangs that are the major
stumbling blocks toward their rebuilding. We came here to help those who
have the desire to help themselves. So let's do it."

The Rebels trapped the first bunch of thugs and hoodlums in the ruins of
a village about thirty miles from the city. After the helicopter
gunships did their thing with rocket and machine-gun fire, the Rebels
moved in and finished the job. They took no prisoners but did leave two
very frightened gang members alive, cowering among the torn and mangled
dead.

Ben stood over the two men and stared down at them. Through an
interpreter, he told the men that if they wanted to stay alive, they'd
better run far and fast, don't ever come back, and warn other gang
members if they wanted to live, to do the same.

The two men took off running and did not look back.

"Count the dead," Ben ordered.

Nearly two hundred were tossed into a shallow mass grave scooped out by
'dozers.

The Rebels moved on.

With Mike Stafford swinging his 18 Batt around north to south near the
border, and moving west, Ben and his 1 Batt working east, the gangs
could either go north into the desert, or south. Or they could stand and
face the Rebels and make a fight of it ... and die.

Most chose to run south.

All over the top of North Africa the same scene was

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being repeated. The gangs of criminals were meeting a force unlike
anything they had ever encountered. A force of savage warriors who
seemingly operated without rules, killed without emotion, and took very
few prisoners. Bruno Bottger had not warned them about the Rebels.

Within two weeks, the area between St. Louis and Matam was declared
clean of gangs . . . and the residents slowly began moving out of the
crowded cities and towns and back into the countryside, in an attempt to
pick up their lives and begin anew.

Ben and his 1 Batt headed south, toward Dakar, hugging the coast, while
Mike Stafford and his 18 Batt worked south toward Bakel, following the
river that separated Senegal and Mali.

Dakar, Ben was warned, was a mixture of gangs and decent citizens, all
trying to survive through the hard times: the former through criminal
activities, the latter by legal means.

All that was about to change with the arrival of the Rebels.

"The Yoff Airport is in pretty good shape, all things considered," Ben
was told, after receiving reports from Scouts and from flyovers. "A
day's work and we can have it up and operating. The port is in good shape."

"Gangs?"

"About a hundred different gangs operating out of the city. Protection,
extortion, slavery, strong-arm stuff- you name it and they're doing it.
And doing well with it."

"Will the locals work with us in bringing a halt to it?"

"Doubtful, General. Just like the old days back in the States, they're
scared to cooperate."

"Well, then," Ben said with a smile. "I guess we're going to have to
show them how it's done."

The Scout laughed. "Somehow, sir, I just knew you'd say that."

86

"Yes, I know who the hoodlums are," the merchant spoke through an
interpreter. "Every one of them. All of us along this block know their
identity. But if we cooperate with you, they will kill our families. No,
sir. I cannot do it."

"They can't kill your families if they're not alive," Ben told the man.

The merchant stared at Ben for a long moment. "That would be the only
way this city will ever know peace and prosperity again, General."

"That's the way we operate. We don't play games with criminals."

"They have guns and grenades," the merchant said, but Ben could tell he
was wavering.

"We have bigger guns and more powerful grenades."

The merchant suddenly smiled. "I will do as you ask, General. And so
will the others along my block."

The back door suddenly burst open and Jersey and Cooper threw a young
man inside. He slid on the floor on his face. He was butt-ugly before he
hit the floor, so the slide really didn't hurt his looks any.

"You will die for this, you coward!" he hissed at the merchant.

The interpreter told Ben what the punk had said and Ben kicked the
hoodlum in the face with the toe of his

87

boot. Several teeth abruptly left the young man's mouth and went
bouncing around on the floor.

A policeman stood by watching the scene very nervously. The local
police, those that weren't on the take, were largely ineffective.

Ben smiled down at the hoodlum who was looking up at him, blood leaking
from his mouth. "Oh, I don't think so, bub."

There were three Rebels in every store along a five-block downtown area,
both sides of the street. They had slipped in earlier and taken up
positions. Two were armed with M-16's, the CAR version, the third armed
with a pump-action, sawed-off, twelve-gauge shotgun, loaded with 00
buckshot, three-inch magnums.

A prearranged hand signal had been settled upon to warn the Rebels when
a gang member entered the shop. It wasn't a long wait for Ben, Jersey,
and Anna, in the back room of one shop. Ben's company commanders did not
like the idea of him being right in the middle of things, but he was the
boss, and they knew better than to argue with him.

Ben didn't need the hand signal to tell him a punk had entered the
store. Ben could smell the bastards from a hundred yards away.

Jersey listened to her headset for a moment, then whispered, "Corrie
says gang members are entering every store along the way. Guess the
shopkeepers were leveling with us: this is collection day."

"This is the day they get sent right straight to hell," Ben returned the
whisper.

Anna smiled, a strange savage moving of the lips. The young woman could
be almost bloodthirsty at times. But, as Ben often had to remind
himself, she grew up fighting gangs of punks and hoodlums and other types

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William W. Johnstone

of human slime. She hated punks just as much as Ben did, and that was
saying a mouthful.

Ben clicked the shotgun off safety.

The punk facing the shopkeeper shook his fist at the man and the two
with him laughed. Then the punk jerked out a pistol. Ben didn't have to
understand the language to know the shopkeeper was being threatened and
cussed. Ben stepped from behind cover and gave the hoodlum a full load
of 00 buckshot.

From a distance of about fifteen feet, the load of buckshot nearly took
the thug's head off. The impacting lead knocked him out the front door.
He sprawled in front of the store in a pool of blood.

Jersey and Anna stepped around Ben and gave the other two bursts from
the weapons. They joined their friend outside, in front of the store.

All up and down the block the sounds of shotguns and M-16's could be
heard, roaring and clattering. It lasted for no more than a minute, then
a strange silence followed.

Ben stepped past the shocked shopkeeper and walked outside, looking up
and down the street. Rebels were dragging bodies out of the stores,
dumping them unceremoniously in the gutter. Several Rebel
deuce-and-a-halves appeared. Using local help, the bodies were tossed
into the covered beds of the trucks and hauled off to the mass grave
that had already been scooped out of the earth, well outside the city.

Ben carefully rolled a cigarette and lit it. The shopkeeper appeared by
his side. "Friends of the dead thieves will stop by for a visit later
tonight. They will attempt to burn my shop in retaliation for this."

"We'll be here," Ben assured him.

"Others will be back tomorrow," the shopkeeper persisted.

"We'll be here then, too," Ben said.

89

The shopkeeper smiled. "Is this the way they do it in America?"

"No," Ben told him. "But it's the way we do it in my part of America."

The Rebels stayed in the city for ten days, Chase and his medical
personnel keeping busy seeing people, Ben and his people keeping busy
dealing with punks.

At the end of the week, the Rebels had brought the reign of lawlessness
and near anarchy to a stop, putting nearly two thousand punks in mass
graves.

New city officials had been elected in fair elections (replacing the old
corrupt officials-some of whom had been promptly hanged by extremely
irate citizens, after very short and highly emotional trials) and the
police force had been completely revamped.

Rebel political officers had worked closely with the local hierarchy and
trade agreements had been signed establishing trade between the SUSA and
the country of Senegal.

Gangs of punks, thugs, and various other types of human vermin had fled
the city in droves aftxjr the first seventy-two hours of retribution,
knowing if they stayed their future was going to be very short, with a
very abrupt cessation of life coming at the end of a rope or a bullet.

For the first time in years, Dakar was a peaceful city.

"Your concept of justice is rather harsh, General," Paula said to Ben on
the evening before the column was due to pull out. She had poured a mug
of coffee and seated herself across from him. It was the first time
she'd had anything to say to him in a week, which suited Ben just fine.

"But it works," Ben said shortly, hoping to end the conversation before
it could get started.

90

His remark didn't faze her. Paula stared at him for a moment, then
sugared and creamed her coffee and slowly stirred it. "If what I've seen
so far is your method of dealing with the poor unfortunates who are
forced into a life of crime, I don't want any part of it."

"I can arrange for a plane to pick you up in the morning," Ben said quickly.

She didn't blink. "Forget it. I'm here for the duration. I am going to
report you to the United Nations, General."

Ben laughed. He wiped the tears from his eyes and said, "Lady, I don't
care who you report me to. Send out as many reports as you like."

"Oh, I have, General. I have sent dispatches to all the major newspapers
outside of the SUSA. They are sending reporters ASAP."

"Are they, now?"

"Yes. I want the world to see the conditions here in Africa and
especially your methods of dealing with unfortunates."

"Oh, my!" Ben smiled at her.

"You think it's funny, don't you?"

"Sort of, Ms. Preston. Tell me, who is going to provide food and water
and shelter and protection for these guardians of the Constitution?"

"They're bringing everything they need," she said smugly.

"Are they, now?"

"Yes."

"Well, that takes a real load off my mind. My goodness, I was worried
about their welfare. I certainly wouldn't want anything to happen to any
of them. I don't know if I could endure that."

"Your humor is grotesque."

"Thank you."

91

"My God, General, I didn't mean that as a compliment."

"Oh? Well, sorry about that."

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a moment before realizing
that he was putting her on. She sighed and took a sip of her coffee.
"I'm beginning to believe you cannot be insulted, General."

"It's been tried by the best, Ms. Preston."

"I can just imagine. Whatever happened to Ben and Paula?"

Ben smiled. "You got all stiff and formal on me, Ms. Preston."

"For that, I apologize, Ben. But I won't apologize for calling the press
in."

Ben shrugged his indifference. "I think most of them know by now they'll
be on their own here. I won't nursemaid them."

"Those two or three reporters who write favorably of you probably won't
be along on this trip."

"I know. I've been advised of that."

"You were advised? . . ." She spoke softly and let that trail off into a
moment of awkward silence. "Then you knew all along that I had alerted
the press?"

"Sure."

"And you just let me ramble on?"

"Why not?"

She flushed. Cleared her throat. "Does anything happen in the Rebel Army
that escapes your attention?"

"Not very much, Paula. Tell your reporter friends to link up with us in
Banjul, Gambia. I'll have my people alert them when the airport is
secure and they can come in. I've already had the ship captain who is
bringing their vehicles and supplies over alerted to hold off attempting
to dock until he receives word that the dock area is safe and secure.
He'll lay a safe distance offshore until he gets word." Ben pushed back
his chair and

92

stood up. "We'll be pulling out of here at dawn tomorrow. Nice talking
with you, Paula."

Ben walked away and Dr. Chase sat down, a smile on his face.

"What are you grinning about?" Paula asked.

"You'll learn not to try to get sneaky with Ben Raines, Paula. The man
invented the word."

"I'm beginning to think you're right, Lamar."

Lamar's grin faded and his eyes grew serious. "Paula, warn your reporter
friends not to cross Ben. Ben doesn't like the press, and he believes
strongly that the press has no business anywhere near a war zone. He's
not going to cut them any slack. If they get into trouble, they're on
their own. I've gone over the list of reporters Ben's people intercepted
from your State Department transmissions. As far as I can tell, they're
all a pack of whiny left-wingers who pee their lace-trimmed drawers at
the sight of a gun and fall into a foaming fit of indignation when some
punk gets shot. Paula, he's shot reporters for filing a biased story."

Paula's smile quickly faded at that. "You and Ben think quite a bit
alike, don't you, Lamar?"

"Quite a bit, Paula. We've been together a long time."

"These men and women will report what they see."

"Will they, Paula?" Lamar questioned. "Or will they report what they
want to see?"

"Well, we're beating the rainy season," Ben said, when the column was
about an hour's drive from the Gambian border. "But not by much."

"17 and 18 Batts are reporting the roads are in really bad shape,"
Corrie said. "Slowing them down to about ten miles an hour, tops."

"They'll get worse, much worse," Ben warned. "The

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93

rainy season is not far away. And when that happens the roads will turn
into a quagmire of red mud."

None of the team asked how Ben knew that. They did not inquire into
Ben's past . . . although all knew that Ben had done contract work for
the CIA as a young man just out of the service, and some of that work
had been in Africa.

"The column's going to have to stop," Corrie announced. "There is some
sort of old military truck stalled in the road ahead."

"Let's get out and stretch our legs," Ben said, opening the door and
stepping out onto the road.

He leaned against the big wagon and rolled a cigarette. All around him
lay creeks and swamps, foreboding looking even in the midday.

A strange stillness lay over the land, and Ben puzzled about that, for
this area was known for its chattering monkeys and squawking parrots.

"Jersey," he said softly.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Tell Corrie I said to put everybody on high alert, but to do it quietly
and easy. I've suddenly got this real bad feeling about this place."

"You are not alone, boss."

Corrie quietly issued the orders and the Rebels began unassing from the
trucks, nonchalantly appearing, but all the while they were seeking out
the best defensive positions along the road. Tank commanders were
talking on another frequency, ready to button up and swing their
turrets, staggered left and right.

Ben reached into the big wagon and pulled out a rucksack containing
several dozen filled magazines for his CAR and for his team. He had
already picked out a good position in a ditch just a few yards from the
road, and with his eyes had told his team where they were going when
trouble started.

94

Jersey stepped close and stuck a stick of chewing gum into her mouth.
"Wagon's going to get full of holes, boss."

"Better it than us," Ben said with a smile. He cut his eyes to Cooper.
"What's Coop looking so worried about? An ambush is nothing new for any
of us."

"He's worried about his recently acquired collection of filthy
magazines. He picked diem up back along the way. Really nasty ones.
They're in the truck right behind our wagon."

Ben chuckled. "These real juicy magazines, hey, Jersey?"

"Filthier than any I've ever seen him read. And Cooper has some real
gross magazines."

Before Ben could reply, Anna said in a whisper, "Movement in the swamp,
in front and behind us."

"I wonder who they are?" Beth questioned, getting ready to jump into the
ditch in front of them. "Gangs usually aren't this smart."

"We'll question any prisoners we take," Ben replied.

"If we take any," Anna said.

"There is always that to consider," Ben agreed.

Out in the swamp, someone got anxious and rose up from behind a log. A
Rebel stitched him with a burst from his M-16 and the fight was on.

Ben and team jumped for the ditch.

"Well, crap!" Beth said, from her position on the far left side of the
line. "I landed right in a pile of shit!"

"Probably monkey shit," Ben told her.

"Thanks a lot," Beth replied.

Then there was no more time for talk as the as yet unknown enemy opened
up from both sides of the swamp.

95 Twelve

These were not undisciplined gangs of punks staging the ambush. The
Rebels knew that within a few seconds. These were trained soldiers. Or,
as Ben thought, they had been at one time.

But as highly trained as they were, the ambushers could not match or
withstand for long die withering fire from the Rebel column.

The first wave of ambushers died before they could make ten yards toward
the road. The dark swamp water soon became stained widi their blood.

In less than one minute, die Rebels in die long column probably blew ten
thousand rounds of various types of ammo at the ambushers. The swamp
became thick with bodies of the dead and the dying and the close still
air was soon acrid with the smell of gunsmoke.

The ambushers pressed the attack for another couple of minutes, dien
abrupdy broke it off, fading back into die swamp and the stunted trees.

"Hold your positions," Ben ordered, Corrie repeating the orders the
instant diey left his moudi. "Where the hell are die gunships?"

"On their way."

"Tell diem to strafe everything that moves on eiuier side of the road."

"Right, boss."

96

Helicopter gunships, which had been circling the city of Banjul, some
miles away, began roaring overhead, machine guns clattering and rockets
tearing up the swamp.

Still more ambushers died in the air assault.

"Tell the tanks to strafe the bodies in the swamp with machine-gun
fire," Ben ordered. "I don't want some dying asshole to take a Rebel
with him with his last breath."

.50 and 7.62 caliber machine-gun fire ripped the swamp for a full minute
before Ben ordered a halt. "Wounded?" Ben asked.

"Two wounded, minor. No Rebel dead," Corrie reported.

"Good. Now shove that damn stalled truck off the road and let's get the
hell out of here."

While the vehicle blocking the road was being shoved off into the swamp,
Corrie said, "Two prisoners, boss. They just crawled up out of the
swamp. Both of them hard hit, not expected to make it."

"All right. We'll hold up while intel gets what they can from them. Then
toss the bodies back into the swamp."

"Done," Corrie responded.

"The Scouts near the city yet?"

"As close as they dare get. The city is jam-packed, to use their words.
The dead are piled up in rotting stacks outside the city. The residents
try to burn the bodies, but are usually not entirely successful. They
get the top of the pile, those underneath rot. There are absolutely no
sanitation facilities; they were pretty lousy before the war, when there
were about fifty thousand people here. Now there are about ten times
that number."

"Damn!" Ben said. "Got any more good news?"

"The city is a breeding ground for disease. Not even the gangs of punks
want anything to do with it."

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"This is why the people back up the road looked at me so strangely when
I said our next stop was Gambia. I should have pressed them for details.
All right. We'll bypass Banjul; give it a wide berth. We'll hold up just
inside the Guinea-Bissau border and wait for Nick to catch up. He's
supposed to be in Bansang late this afternoon or early in the morning."

"Right. I'll bump him now. Oh, the two prisoners just died without
saying anything."

Before Ben could reply, Chase came walking up. "What's this about
Banjul, Ben?"

Ben very quickly summed up what Corrie had told him.

Chase nodded. "That ties in with what a doctor told me back in Banjul.
But he said it was all rumor. He could confirm nothing."

"Bypass it, Lamar?"

"I don't think we have a choice. We can't save every human being on the
continent. It's a noble thought, but impossible for us."

"Corrie . . ."

"I know, boss. Tell the captain of the ship bringing the reporters'
supplies to push on, or sail on, whatever sailors do, down to the port
of Bissau. Tell the charter plane bringing in the press to hold off
until we are sure the airport can handle them."

"That's right, Corrie."

Chase looked at both of them strangely, then said to Ben, "She can read
your mind? God, poor girl!"

The going was so slow through the tiny country that many times the
Rebels chose to walk alongside or behind the trucks rather than endure
the torturous ride.

"What a choice," one Rebel was heard to say. "Blisters on my feet or
blisters on my ass."

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William W. Johnstone

Ben only smiled when he heard that. He knew that the time for a
commander to really start worrying was when the troops stopped bitching.

Despite the terrible roads and the slow going, Ben and his Rebels make
it across the tiny country without further incident. As to who was
behind the failed ambush, Ben never found out. The Rebels had gathered
up many of the weapons used by the ambushers and they were in good
shape, and, as Ben was quick to point out after looking at several of
the bodies, so were the boots. Good gear can tell an experienced field
commander much about a unit.

Nick Stafford and his 18 Batt reached their objective without running
into trouble, and they reported that while Bansang was no paradise, the
people there were making a great effort to climb out of the tragedy of
war and resume some degree of normalcy. Nick and his people would stay
for a few days, his doctors seeing, as much as possible, to the needs of
the people. Nick and his 18 Batt would then have to travel east over to
Basse Santa Su before cutting south and eventually make it into
Guinea-Bissau . . . which used to be known as Portuguese Guinea. The
other battalions were keeping pace with Ben's 1 Batt, although the
west-to-east line would appear very snake-like on any map.

Ben's Scouts reported that the city of Bissau was coping, and while the
citizens had suffered at the hands of gangs, the gangs had fled upon
hearing that the Rebels were fast approaching the city. The reputation
of the Rebels was quickly spreading all over the continent. Ben knew
that eventually the hundreds of gangs would band together under one
leader and make a stand of it-they would have no other choice.

During a rest break, Paula found Ben and sat down on the ground across
from him. "I've just spoken with

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some of the reporters. They think you're deliberately stalling to keep
them out of the country."

Ben screwed the cap back on his canteen. "I don't give a damn what they
think, Paula. I did what I did for their own safety. If they haven't got
enough sense to understand that, to hell with them."

"You really hate the press, don't you, Ben?"

"I don't have much use for a lot of them. But hate? . . . No, I don't
hate them. What I hate is to see the press going right back to being
what they were before the Great War. Those outside the SUSA, that is,"
he added with a smile.

"What do you mean?"

"They were biased then, they're biased now. It was the press I believe,
who, back before the Great War, coined the phrase 'hate groups' to
describe many, if not all, of the militia groups that sprang up across
the country. I knew many people who belonged to various militia groups,
and very few of them hated the government. They disliked the direction
the government was taking, which was to the left. They were opposed to
the government wasting billions of taxpayer dollars each year. They knew
that many departments and agencies of the government were not necessary.
They disliked the big bloated bureaucracy the federal government had
become. They disliked the fact that government was snooping around in
the private lives of its citizens. If one got his or her news solely
from the national press, the average citizen would think every member of
a militia group, or a tax protest group, or any kind of group who had
the courage to speak out against government was evil. The evening news
and the broadcast news magazines-so-called-became a joke to millions of
Americans . . . and I include myself in that group. There was no
fairness, no balance, no presenting of both sides of every story. Now to
be honest about it,

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William W. Johnstone

some of the militia and other protest groups were filled to overflowing
with nuts and cranks. But not the majority. The majority were decent,
honest, working, tax-paying men and women who felt they had no voice in
the running of government . . . which they didn't."

"There was always the ballot box, Ben."

"It wasn't working. In the last national election before the Great War
and the following revolt by citizens, only about forty-eight percent of
eligible voters bothered to vote. That's how bad it had become in
America. Many people just gave up, believing, correctly to some degree,
that their vote didn't count and didn't matter in the long run. They
believed, again correctly to some degree, that big government was going
to do what big government wanted to do, and to hell with the millions of
Americans who were opposed to it. Revolution was inevitable, Paula. If
the politicians had not been so far out of touch with the average
citizen, they could have seen it coming. Should have seen it coming."

"But the war came instead."

"It sure did. And right on its heels, open rebellion by Americans who
simply refused to go back to the old ways."

"America never really recovered, did it, Ben?" she asked softly.

"It recovered just fine for us, Paula."

"A few weeks ago, you said you felt that sometime in the very near
future, or words to that effect, that the EUSA and the NUSA would soon
become as one. Do you really believe that?"

"Oh, yes. I know that talks were underway even before we sailed. I'm not
supposed to know that, but as you have stated, very little escapes my
attention." He smiled. "And we have a very good intelligence network."

"I'm sure you do. And will the SUSA ever agree to return to the Union?"

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101

"Doubtful. The eastern and northern sections of the country are going
right back to the old ways just as fast as die liberals an steer them.
And that is something we will never do."

"What if, once America is reunited, the leaders try to force the SUSA to
rejoin the Union?"

"They won't. The politicians might bluster around and poke out their
chests and talk tough, but that's all it will be. They know better than
to attempt to use force against us."

"Why? Nearly your entire army is over here."

"Paula, I won't hesitate to use germ warfare against any enemy of the
SUSA. And I have the stockpiles and the delivery systems ready to go."

"You wouldn't do that!"

"The hell I wouldn't, lady. Those of us who conceived and followed this
dream worked too damn hard and sacrificed too damn much to see it
destroyed. That will not happen. Do you know what MAD means?"

"I can but assume you are talking about the old cold-war term meaning
Mutually Assured Destruction?"

"That's right, Paula. And you be sure and remind your asshole press
buddies about it. I say remind, because they already know. If die United
States ever does become united again, and I suspect they will, probably
sooner than I think, and tries to move against us, I will defend the
SUSA down to the last missile, the last canister of airborne sickness
and death, and the last drop of Rebel blood. I will destroy any country
who elects to wage war against us."

Paula visibly paled under her tan. "I have never heard such a deadly
warning behind any person's words."

"You've got that right. And I mean every word of it."

She stared at him for a few heartbeats. "You say the press knows of this?"

"Sure. But they think I'm bluffing."

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William W. Johnstone

"And you don't bluff, do you, Ben?"

"Not when it comes to the SUSA."

"But Ben, the people who live outside the SUSA won't be the ones who
make war against you . . . if war ever comes," she added.

And Ben knew with those words, his lingering suspicions about how much
Paula really knew had been confirmed. On the same day they'd met, while
she was being checked over by Rebel doctors, Ben's intelligence people
had slipped into the basement at the consulate office. They had found
extensive shortwave equipment, a huge portable generator, and fuel to
last for years. They had found medicines and emergency food . . . among
other things.

The next day, the consulate offices had been gutted by a fire,
everything destroyed. Again, Ben's people had gone there while Paula was
out. The fire had been set by someone. No doubt in Ben's mind who had
set the fire: Ms. Paula Preston.

What Ben didn 't know was who she was really working for. He did not
believe she was working for Bruno Bottger, for his people back in the
States had checked her out and she was indeed an employee and official
of the State Department, and she had indeed been stranded over here
shortly after the Great War ... or somebody fitting her description had.
There was no way to really check that, for her fingerprints had been on
file in Washington and that city no longer existed. Her family-mother
and father-had lived just outside Washington; they had been killed when
the nation's capital went up.

Ben and his intelligence people felt she had been in contact with the
state department all along, and that probably some of the so-called
"refugees" were also state department employees. If that was true, and he

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felt it was, what was her game? What the hell was she up to?

"They support the administration of their respective governments,
Paula," Ben finally answered her. "And they have rejected the Tri-States
philosophy of government. Which is certainly their right," he added.

"Which means? . . ."

"They would probably support a war against the SUSA. Most of the people,
that is."

"I hope a civil war never happens, Ben."

"You better do more than hope, Paula. You'd better pray it doesn't."

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Mike Richards, head of the Rebel Intelligence, had at first balked at
going to Africa, but in the end he relented and had been with Ike's 2
Batt. He joined the column at the border and immediately pulled Ben to
one side.

"Paula Preston is a ringer," he said flatly.

"Yeah, Mike. I finally put that together the other day. I've had my
suspicions since day one. Who does she work for?"

"State Department. Been with them since she got out of college."

"Something about to pop back Stateside, Mike?"

"Not anytime soon. But there are rumors of some sort of action being
planned against the SUSA."

Ben was silent for a moment. "Mike, am I so hated my enemies back home
would align themselves with Bruno Bottger in an attempt to defeat or
kill me?"

That startled even Mike Richards, something that was not easy to do.
"Jesus, Ben ... I haven't even considered that."

"Well, consider it, Mike. Tell your people back home to start digging."

"All right, Ben. I'll get right on it. But what a monstrous thought."

"Not so much, Mike. Left-wing liberalism is a form

105

of socialism. Socialism is a first cousin to fascism. It really isn't
that far a jump between the two."

Mike smiled and took the makin's Ben offered. He rolled a cigarette and
lit up, then said, "There are many people who would argue that
connection, Ben."

Ben shrugged. "Both of them are a form of people being dependent on the
government and the government being all powerful in the lives of its
citizens. People can argue that all they want to, but it's true."

Mike wandered off to the communications truck and Dr. Chase walked up.

"I just spoke with a doctor in Bissau via shortwave, Ben. Things are not
that bad there. They're desperately short of supplies, but morale is
high and they've maintained a fairly decent standard of life,
considering the circumstances."

"Why do some people just give up and others fight for life, Lamar?"

"Ben, don't get philosophical on me while we're standing by the side of
this miserable road sweating and slapping flies and mosquitos. Hell, I
don't know." La-mar squinted his eyes and stared at Ben. "What's really
on your mind, Ben?"

"You like Paula Preston, don't you, Lamar?"

"Well . . . she's all right. We get along. But I don't believe she's the
shrinking violet she would like people to think. Why she insists upon
maintaining that charade, I don't know. Why are you asking about her?"

"She's a ringer, Lamar."

"Explain that, please. I'm a physician, not a cryptolo-gist."

"She's told so many lies since she joined us I'm surprised she hasn't
tripped over one."

"You know this for a fact?"

"Oh, yes, Lamar. For a fact. Mike just had her checked out back
Stateside ..."

106

"I thought I saw him skulking about."

"Yeah, he's here."

"Tell me about Ms. Preston."

Ben brought him up to date as they walked, being careful to stay on the
road, for it was marsh and swamp on both sides. Since the ferry across
the Rio Cacheu over to Cacheu had not run in years, the longer route was
the only option left. The column would have to travel the road east to
Ingore, then down to Sao Vicente, finally into Bissau.

"You actually think there will be a war waged against us, Ben?"

"I thought we were talking about Paula Preston?"

"Oh, to hell with her. We can feed her false information and have her
and whoever the hell she's working for so confused they won't know up
from down."

Ben laughed at his old friend. "You're getting feisty in your advanced
years, Lamar."

"Damn right, I am. Are we going to have to fight on American soil,
again, Ben?"

Before Ben could reply, Corrie came running up. She paused for a moment
to catch her breath, then said, "Boss, I just got this flash from Base
Camp One. The EUSA and NUSA have rejoined ..."

"That answer your question, Lamar?" Ben said, a grim expression on his face.

". . . It's now the United States of America, boss," Corrie continued.
"And they are working on the WUSA as we speak. They're leaning toward
reuniting."

"Son of a bitch!" Lamar cussed.

"I suspected it was coming," Ben said in a calm voice. "I just had a
hunch it was."

Mike Richards came panting up. "Goddamnit!" he cussed. "I just heard. Is
it true?"

"It's true, Mike. Calm down. Take a deep breath. It will take them
months or a couple of years, or more,

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to work out the political angles. Hell, you get a bunch of loud-mouthed
politicians-especially a gaggle of liberals-together and all they'll be
able to agree on is to disagree. They'll be enough hot air expelled to
heat a major city for a year."

Lamar laughed and Mike grinned. "You're probably right, Ben," Mike said.
"I lost my cool there for a moment."

"Cecil knows what to do," Ben assured them both. "Believe me, he does,
and he will. Right now, let's get this show on the road and get to
Bissau. I want to get a link set up with Base Camp One. Cecil and I have
a lot to talk over."

"Not to worry, Ben," Cecil's voice was strong over the thousands of
miles that separated the two good friends. "They know better than to
make a move against the SUSA."

"They do right now, Cec. Down the road is another matter. How about our
friends in the NUSA and the others?"

"We have no politico friends in the newly reunited USA, Ben. They've all
been replaced; some of them forcibly."

"That doesn't surprise me one litde bit. Have any of them asked for
asylum in the SUSA?"

"Quite a few, and I granted it."

"Good. What about any type of armed forces?"

"They have no navy or air force. But they are building an army as
quickly as they can. And with their economic situation as bleak as it
is, they're having no problem getting recruits."

"I can just imagine. And many of those men will have combat experience
and make damn good soldiers. And thousands of them will have a very
strong hatred for us."

108

"That's true, Ben. But it will take them months to put any type of army
together. They're having to start from scratch. They have few weapons
and are having to build the factories to manufacture the weapons from
the ground up. They have no missiles-none, zip. They have no bombs of
any kind and no delivery system if they build bombs."

"Two years, Cec. That's how I figure it. But two years max before
they'll be capable of launching any type of effective attack against the
SUSA."

"I agree, Ben. But there is something else we've got to think about."

"Bruno Bottger," Ben said quickly.

"Right. You can bet he's already heard the news and has his political
people working around the clock trying to come up with some plan to
offer the USA aid."

"If this entire scheme wasn't hatched in his sick brain to begin with."

"There is that to consider."

"I have and I think the Nazi son of a bitch is behind it all, Cec."

Cecil had the key open when he sighed, the sigh very audible over the
distance. "I think you just might be right, Ben. Needless to say, our
intelligence people are very red-faced about this matter."

"Tell them to stop kicking themselves. This caught all of us off guard.
Good God, Cec, we've got the best intel system in the world. They've
done a superb job over the years. They can't be expected to nail down
everything. All right, ol' buddy, here it is: I want infiltrators moving
ASAP ..."

"I've got them ready to go, Ben. At the very first sign of aggression,
they'll start knocking out vital facilities in enemy territory."

"Good, good."

"I've placed the SUSA on low alert and beefed up

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our border crossings. We're monitoring every transmission. We're
stockpiling supplies."

Ben laughed and let Cecil hear the laughter. "Hell, Cec, I'll stop
worrying then. You've got a handle on it."

"Ben, I've just been notified that the new President of the USA wants to
talk to me. I'll break off and get back to you just as soon as I find
out what's up."

"Ten-four, Cec. I'll stay close to the radio. Good luck."

"Watch your ass over there, Ben."

"You can bet on that. Talk to you soon. Eagle out."

Ben stood up and walked around the room for a moment, deep in thought.
He stopped and turned to the crowd who had gathered to hear what Cecil
Jefferys had to say. "Corrie, advise the batt corns of the situation.
But tell them I don't want to even think about a meeting just yet. There
really is no point. We simply don't know enough to warrant that. Cecil's
got everything under control back home. We've got a job to do over here,
so let's concentrate on that for the time being."

He put his gaze on Dr. Chase, sitting on the corner of a deck in the old
office building on the edge of the airport. "Lamar, give me your first
estimates of the health situation of the people here."

"Pretty good, Ben, all things considering. We're getting supplies in
from Europe in a couple of days: enough vaccines to last us for a long
time. Those countries have really come through for us."

"Good, Lamar, good." He looked at each of the company commanders. "Any
trouble in town?"

"Not a bit," one told him. "General, the press is due to arrive this
afternoon. What the hell are we supposed to do with them?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"The ships have docked, waiting to be unloaded," another CO said. "You
want us to see to that?"

110

"Hell, no!" Ben said emphatically. "That isn't our job. I didn't invite
these people over here. Let them take care of their own mess."

Lamar turned his face away so Ben could not see his grin. Ben was
determined to get off on the wrong foot with the press. Lamar was always
amused at that, for Ben had a marvelous relationship with the press back
in the SUSA, occasionally writing columns for them when he was home.
There were several reporters traveling with the Rebels, constantly
moving from one battalion to another, and they wrote and sent dispatches
back home. But the difference between the national press and the press
from the SUSA-at least one of the differences-was that the local people
never had to have their columns censored. The local press knew there
were always going to be accidental killings of innocent civilians-that
was war-and they didn't dwell on it and blow it all out of proportion,
pissing and moaning with every sentence. Not so with the press outside
of the SUSA, and Lamar often wondered when that changed. His father had
told him that the press was respected and trusted-for the most
part-during World War Two. So when did it change and why?

Lamar shook his head, mentally laid the problem aside-if it was a
problem-and returned his attention back to Ben.

"I've said this before, but it bears repeating: we've got the gangs on
the run; we're pushing them south, and that is making our primary job of
seeing to the needs of the people a lot easier. But sooner or later the
running has to stop and the gangs are going to stand and fight."

"The sooner the better," Jersey griped, and the people in the room burst
out laughing.

"Keep your pants on, Jersey!" one of the CO's called.

"Oh, don't tell her that!" Cooper yelled.

111 AMBUSH IN THE ASHES 111

The last thing anyone saw of those two for about an hour was Jersey
chasing Cooper out the front door, threatening all sorts of pain and
suffering upon his body.

112

The press was two days late in arriving, due to the big news Stateside
about most of the country reuniting. They started raising hell within
moments after their charter plane landed at the Bissau airport. They
were very unhappy about their vehicles and supplies having not been
unloaded. Several of the big-shot news anchors, from the Big Three
Networks, demanded to know why their equipment had not been unloaded.

"It's your equipment," several Rebels told them several times within the
span of about twenty minutes. "You unload it."

That attitude did not do much to improve strained relations between Ben
Raines and his Rebels and the nation's press. Not that Ben cared.

The press finally contracted with some locals to offload their equipment
and that was completed just about the same time Ben and his 1 Batt was
due to pull out. They had done all they could for the residents of the city.

Ben had yet to meet with any member of the press, even though they had
repeatedly asked for a meeting.

Ike had radioed Ben, telling him if he sent any of the press over to his
sector he'd strand them in the middle of hostile territory the first
chance he got.

"They don't want to travel with Ike anyway," Mike

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Richards told Ben on the day before the battalion was due to pull out.
"They want to get some dirt on you."

"I'm sure of that. You going to stay with me on this next run?"

"Not on your life. I'm gettin' out of here today. Press types give me a
pain in the ass. They always ask the dumbest questions."

"I wish I could go with you," Ben said wistfully. "Sooner or later a
half a dozen of them will corner me somewhere and bombard me with
questions."

"Good luck."

"Thanks a lot. Keep in touch."

"I will. From a distance."

Ben watched the chief of intelligence walk away. There was no telling
where Mike would pop up next. Even though he should have his butt parked
behind a desk, he had spent too many years in the field to be content
with paperwork.

"We're lining up the column now, boss," Corrie said. "Where do you want
the press?"

Ben sighed. "Oh, hell, Corrie. As much as I want to, I can't stick them
at the rear of the column. They'd get lost or ambushed. I'd get the
blame for sure. Put them in the middle of the column. Hell, we might as
well get used to baby-sitting them."

"Right." She didn't tell Ben she'd already done that, knowing that would
be his final decision. Corrie was one of the few people who knew that in
many cases, Ben's bark was a lot worse than his bite. He didn't like the
press, and wouldn't hesitate to inconvenience them, but he didn't want
to harm any of them. Well . . . most of them.

There were three news anchors that Ben had absolutely no use for at all.
Stan Travis, Marilyn Dickson, and Ford McLachlan. Those three had been
up-and-comers just before the Great War, being groomed for

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William W. Johnstone

the anchor spots on the big three networks. All three were
one-hundred-percent left-wing democrats, sobbing and pissing and moaning
every chance they got about guns in the hands of private citizens, the
use of deadly force by the police, the death penalty, and anything else
that smacked of conservatism.

Ben's feelings for the three news-people came very close to open hatred.
And he made no effort to hide it.

Before dawn, on the morning of the pull-out from Bissau, Ben was
standing beside his vehicle when the three news anchors walked up.

"Well, General," Ford said. "We meet again."

"How wonderful for you," Ben said acidly.

Jersey gave Marilyn Dickson a very contemptuous look and spat on the ground.

Marilyn fixed Jersey with a haughty gaze and then ignored her.

"Nice to know you ladies are going to get along," Ben said, deliberately
antagonizing them both.

"It came as quite a surprise when we learned you were allowing us to
accompany you, General," Stan Travis said.

"I'd rather have you with me than have to waste time hauling your asses
out of trouble."

"We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, General," Marilyn
said.

Jersey laughed at that.

Ben verbally stepped in before Marilyn allowed her ass to overload her
mouth and Jersey popped her . . . something Jersey would do in a
heartbeat. "You people ready to pull out?"

"We're ready whenever you are, General," Ford said. "What's the next stop?"

"We'll travel from here over to Mansoa, then Bam-

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badinca, with stops along the way. Wherever the people need us."

"Looking for trouble along the way, of course," Marilyn stuck her lip
into it.

"We're always ready for trouble, Ms Dickson," Ben answered evenly,
although if she could have seen his inner thoughts concerning what he
would like to do to her neck she would have run shrieking into the
jungle. "We're an army, not a pack of wimpy-assed left-wing liberals who
faint at the mention of a gun."

Marilyn curled her lip at him and walked off. Jersey pranced along
silendy behind her for a few meters, doing a pretty good imitation of a
prima donna carefully avoiding the mud puddles.

Ben's team laughed at the sight. Marilyn stopped and glanced behind her.
Jersey was standing innocendy, a smile on her face. "Go away," Marilyn
told her.

"With pleasure, lady."

Marilyn minced on, with Jersey once more resuming her imitation.

"Amusing, in a crude sort of way," Stan said.

"That's us," Ben said cheerfully. "Crude. Awfully crude."

Ford looked at Ben for a few heartbeats, then smiled faindy. "Come on,
Stan. We'd better get ready to move out. Wouldn't want to be left
behind, would we?"

The press walked off and Jersey rejoined die team. "Twenty-five of those
buttholes to put up widi. How long will they be with us, boss?"

"The duration, I guess."

"Wonderful," Jersey said. "Sometime between now and then that bitch is
sure to stumble and fall on her face right in the mud."

Ben walked back to the wagon, chuckling as he walked. He hoped Ms.
Dickson never got too close to

116

a large mud puddle while Jersey was around. Although, that would be
quite a sight to see . . .

There was nothing left of Mansoa. Not one building remained of the
village. The Rebels pushed on to Bam-badinca, or rather, what was left
of it. It too, like Mansoa, had been destroyed. In Bambadinca, Ben's 1
Batt linked up for a day with Nick Stafford's 2 Batt. The two huge
battalions would travel together south down to Mampata. There, Nick
would veer off to the east and Ben would continue south.

"Starving and sick people," Nick told Ben. "It's been a depressing run
so far."

"I've got a hunch it'll only get worse the further south we go," Ben said.

"Says here there is excellent food in Mampata," Beth read from an old
travel brochure. "French food."

"Not anymore," Corrie called. "Scouts report the town is in ruins. Looks
as though it's been deserted for a long time. Water is still good though."

"Where have the people gone, General?" Ford McLachlan asked, standing a
few feet away.

Since the question had been posed in a civil tone of voice, Ben answered
it civilly. "I don't know, Ford. All my battalions have run into the
same thing." Ben's eyes narrowed as a gaggle of press types strolled up
to join Ford, including Marilyn Dickson and Stan Travis. "Gangs might
have driven them out or killed them, or taken many of them to sell in
the newly flourishing slave trade. They might have died from disease or
malnutrition; probably a lot of them did. Many of them fled to the
cities . . . and died there."

"And many of them were forced to turn to a life of petty crime in order
to survive and your troops shot

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them down like rabid animals and killed them," Marilyn ran her mouth.

Nick quietly slipped away from the growing crowd and beat it back to his
battalion. He had seen Ben lose his temper a couple of times while
dealing with certain press types, and it was not a pretty sight.

Ben ignored the woman's comments. "Other than the explanation I just
offered, I don't know what happened to the people. I can add this: for
several years we have had rumors-those rumors now confirmed- that after
the Great War, millions of people died here on the African continent."
He cut his eyes to Marilyn. "Long before we arrived."

"General," a reporter that Ben did not know asked, "Who is paying for
this massive military operation of yours?"

"The SUSA is covering part of the cost," Ben replied. "The newly formed
United Nations and participating countries is picking up the rest of it."

"But you are not here as peacekeepers, officially sanctioned by the UN
as such?" another asked.

Ben shook his head. "No, we are not."

"You are here primarily to deal with the growing threat that Bruno
Bottger and his army presents to the free world, is that it?" another asked.

"Yes. That is our primary mission."

"But General Bottger says he would welcome the press in his country,"
another reporter stated. "He says he will show that the nations under
his control have prospered, and there is no rampant starvation there."

"Feel free to go anytime you wish," Ben came right back. "But by all
means, ask the general if you may travel unescorted throughout his
territory, asking questions of anyone. How about doing that?"

"The general says there are still many gangs prowling

118

the countryside, and that would be dangerous for us," the reporter replied.

Ben laughed, devoid of humor. More and more, his suspicions that Bruno
had a large hand in what was happening back in America were being
confirmed. "I could have told you that would be his reply. A few years
back, the dictators of Libya and Iraq-to name two countries-basically
said the same thing. If you care to recall."

"Are you comparing General Bottger to those dictators, General?" Marilyn
asked.

"Bruno Bottger is worse than Hitler ever thought about being," Ben told
the crowd. "Hitler is the man's idol. Bear in mind, I've fought this
bastard off and on for years. Believe me, I know him far better than any
of you. The man is the personification of evil."

"But we only have your word for that," another liberal jackoff popped.

"Oh, shit!" Jersey muttered under her breath.

Several more knowledgeable reporters quickly stepped away from the
reporter who had just let his ass overload his mouth.

Ben held his famous temper under control . . . sort of, and for a moment
only. He smiled at the young man, guessing the reporter to be in his
very early to possibly mid-twenties-probably just out of college, with
his head crammed full of socialistic bullshit from egg-headed professors
who had never had a firm grip on reality in their entire life. "That is
correct to a degree, sonny-boy," Ben said softly, the crowd straining to
hear his words. "You only have my word. But that remark tells me you
know nothing about world events, and probably very little about anything
else. My advice to you would be to keep that flapping blow-hole of yours
closed until you have the ability to see and report, fairly, both sides
of every story."

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119

Ben turned to Corrie. "Tell the troops to mount up. We're out of here."

Ben turned and walked off without another word.

Jersey fixed the mouthy young reporter with a gaze from her dark
obsidian eyes. There was a lot to be read in that look, and most of the
reporters read it accurately. Unfortunately, the young man, Alex Marsh,
was not yet worldly enough to understand he had just implied that
General Raines was a liar.

Not a very smart thing to do.

120

The Rebels passed through many small villages on the way south to
Mampata, but most were long deserted and falling down.

"Where the hell did all the people go?" Cooper asked, as they crossed
the bridge over the Rio Corubal River and headed for Quebo. At Quebo,
they would cut south once more and cross over into the Republic of Guinea.

The Rebels had found no signs of mass graves, and since leaving the
north, no signs of mass slaughter in any of the villages along the way.

"I don't know, Coop," Ben replied. "What I do know is we're less than a
month away from the rainy season. And when that hits, we're going to be
slowed down to a crawl and worse, we're all going to be miserable."

"Says here," Beth said, lowering the travel brochure, "that in some
parts of Guinea, the rainfall can be torrential from May to September,
with many roads closed during that period."

"If it gets too bad, we'll just hole up," Ben said.

"And then, Jersey," Cooper said with a grin, "you and me can play house."

Jersey told him to go commit an impossible act upon his person.

"I just can't figure Mampata," Anna said. "Not a

121

skeleton to be found, not the first sign of any fight. But the people
were all gone. It's weird."

"Here's something just as weird," Corrie said. "Scouts are reporting
that Quebo is deserted. Not one sign of life."

"Damn!" Ben whispered. "Corrie, signal we're stopping. Tell the Scouts
to hold up."

That done, Corrie asked, "Bad feeling, boss?"

Ben shook his head. "Not really. I don't know. Maybe. Hell, I just don't
know what's going on. And these mysteries about deserted villages and
missing people are beginning to bug me."

Cooper stopped the big wagon and Ben got out, waiting for the HumVees
carrying his company commanders to come to the front of the column.

"I want everybody in full body armor," he told his CO's. "Button up.
Heads up."

Ben looked carefully all around him. It was perfect country for an
ambush. For a few seconds, Ben thought it might be deja vu: a halted
column, then ambush. But nothing happened. "All right, people. Let's
move out."

A few miles north of the Guinea border, the guerrillas sprang from their
ambush, cutting the column in half.

The Rebels jumped from trucks and hit the ditches, taking up defensive
positions. They didn't know who they were fighting, but whoever it was
had opened the dance; now it was time to pay the fiddler.

"Any of our people take hits?" Ben shouted to Corrie, over the ratde of
gunfire.

"Half a dozen. I don't know how bad."

"How about the reporters?"

"None of them hurt. Just scared."

Bullets sang their deadly song as they passed over the heads of the
teams, the lead slamming into the side of the big wagon. The
nine-passenger wagon was bullet-proofed, but the exterior was really
taking a beating.

122

Then somewhere out in the mangroves and marsh the ambushers opened up
with heavy machine guns, the gunfire coming from both sides of the road,
all up and down the stalled column.

"Mortars," Ben ordered. "Lay the pickles to them. WP and HE. The tops of
that marsh grass will burn, so let's give them some fire and create some
smoke for us. If we stay on this road, we're going to get creamed. If
this keeps up, we're going to have to get out there among 'em and mix it
up."

Within thirty seconds, the thunk of mortars could be heard and the
ground on both sides of the road exploded, the willie peter igniting the
tops of the grass. The WP arched upward, then returned to earth and
struck cloth and burned into living flesh of the ambushers. Through the
thick smoke and gunfire, muffled screaming could be heard.

The Rebels had set up their big .50's and were pouring out the lead. The
tank commanders had swiveled their turrets, lowered their main guns, and
were roaring out death and mayhem. The Bradley Fighting Vehicles and
APC's were hammering out 25mm rounds from their chain guns. The sound
was nearly overpowering and conversation was impossible.

The lightly armed ambushers soon realized that if they continued the
attack, they would die. They broke it off and began fading away into the
marsh and swamp.

"Cease fire," Ben ordered, and gradually the sound and fury died away. A
sullen, smoke-permeated silence setded over the land.

"CO's want to know if they should press the attack," Corrie asked.

"No," Ben said. "Hold their positions. It's the attackers' country,
their land, not ours. They know it, we don't. To follow would be foolish."

"We've got some dead," Corrie announced.

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123

"Bodybag them and put them in trucks until we can clear this fucking
swampy area. Ask Chase if the wounded can take the ride out of here."

Seconds later, "Affirmative, boss. But not for any extended length of time."

"All right, let's get these flattened tires changed and mount up and
move out. Goddamnit!" Ben cursed. "I hate not knowing my enemy. See if
we can drag some prisoners out of that swamp. Maybe we'll get lucky this
time."

A dozen miles down the road, the Rebels came to a village, the buildings
still standing, but the homes and few businesses devoid of human life.

"Check it all out for booby traps," Ben ordered. "Then see to the
wounded ASAP." He looked all around him at the still and silent village.
"Damn, I hate mysteries. I never did like mysteries. They bug me."

"Who attacked us back there, General?" a reporter asked, walking up.

"I don't know. We did take some prisoners and they're being questioned
now. Maybe we'll find out, but the odds are we won't."

"What will you do with the prisoners after you've questioned them,
General Raines?" Marilyn Dickson asked. "Shoot them?"

Ben sighed. "I doubt it, Ms. Dickson. We'll probably patch them up as
best we can and leave them behind."

"It was our understanding that the Rebels always executed their
prisoners," a reporter said.

"Whoever told you that is full of shit," Ben said bluntly. "If we're
dealing with murderers and rapists and child molesters and the like,
yes, we sometimes do execute them. But these men today are soldiers,
following orders from someone. They'll be treated as fairly and as
decently as is possible, under the circumstances,

124

and left behind. Now if you will all excuse me, I have things to do."

The Rebel dead were buried in a local cemetery, with simple military
honors, in unmarked graves. The Rebels had learned to do that because
many times, depending on the enemy, marked graves were opened and the
bodies desecrated and mutilated.

Ben explained that to the reporters.

"How awful!" a woman exclaimed.

"We are not well liked," Ben said simply, then turned away and walked off.

Ben did not hear Marilyn Dickson say very sarcastically, "I simply
cannot imagine why that would be."

But Jersey heard her.

On the way to Conakry on the coast, where they were to resupply before
traveling on to Sierra Leone, the Rebels passed through a dozen
villages, all deserted. The town of Boke was a shambles, ravaged by war,
and so was Boffa, a town south of Boke. The Rebel doctors attended to
the few people that remained, mostly the very old, the sick and the
dying, and then they moved on after leaving them food. There was litde
else they could do.

The highway, and it was stretching the imagination to call it that,
missed the town of Coyah by a few dozen miles as the Rebels turned west
heading for the city of Conakry.

"A mass of humanity, to use the words of the Scouts," Corrie told Ben.
"But they are making some effort to cope."

"Gangs?" Ben questioned.

125

"Negative. They split a few days ago when they learned we were on the way."

"I hate to ask, but how many people are we dealing with here?"

"About half a million."

Ben groaned. "Damn! Is the airport functional?"

"Affirmative. Once we chase the people off the runways. They're camped
all over the place."

"All right. Tell Nick to send us half his doctors and Paul Harrison and
Mike Post to do the same. Tell them to share some of their medical
supplies. Thank God we do have ample vaccines and medicines."

"The airport is on the main road into the city," Cor-rie reminded him.

"I'll set up a CP there."

"The SEALs went in with the gunships and set up a defensive line along
with the Scouts. So far no one has made any serious attempts to breech it."

"We'll be there by midafternoon. The ships?"

"Standing by well off the coast. The people in the city are hungry,
boss. It could get touchy. Probably will."

"We'll handle it," Ben said. "One way or the other."

"We have shooting trouble with starving people, that will be just what
the press is waiting for," Anna said.

"I know," Ben said softly. "But I won't lose a Rebel to a goddamn mob
when I can prevent it."

The column arrived at the airport just in time. Huge mobs were gathering
all around the runways and the Scouts and SEALs, as tough as both units
were, were about to be overrun by the screaming mobs.

Tanks began to circle the airport as Rebels by the hundreds jumped from
trucks to set up defensive lines. The mob paused.

"The gangs had surrounded the city, General," a Rebel SEAL told Ben.
"They cut off the people from food; took it for themselves."

126

"Here's an interpreter, General," a Scout said, walking up leading a
very reluctant-appearing man with him.

"A sound truck is being readied right now," Ben told the man. "You tell
these people food is on the way. It will be handed out in an orderly
fashion. If they try to breech our lines, we will open fire."

"The people are starving, General!" Stan Travis shouted the words. "You
can't shoot starving people!"

"Get this son of a bitch out of here!" Ben ordered.

Stan was led away without protest. He knew better than to offer any
resistance.

Ben turned to the local. "Tell the people to clear the runway. We have
planes coming in. Tell them I want about fifty volunteers, men in good
physical shape, to help unload the ships that will be docking very soon."

The interpreter climbed up onto the truck and took the microphone. The
speakers howled in feedback and the scared locals looked wildly all
around him. The volume was adjusted and he received a nod to go ahead.

Whoever the interpreter was, and Ben never did find out, for as soon as
the man finished speaking, and got a chance, he jumped down from the bed
of the truck and disappeared into the crush of humanity. But he had done
his job. Within moments, the mobs had settled down and were backing up.

"That was close," Anna said.

"Too damn close," her adopted father replied. "Cor-rie, tell the troops
to keep gently pushing them back. No rough stuff, just be firm. We've
managed to round up a dozen English-speaking locals, they'll assist.
We've got to get these runways clear of people and trash."

Ben turned to a Rebel SEAL. "How did the port look to you, Chief?"

"As far as we could tell without going in there, General, the harbor is
clear. Of course, there is no harbor

127

127

master and the tugs are long gone. It's all up to the captains if they
want to chance it."

"We'd have smash-ups for sure. Hell, there wouldn't be a dock left. How
about small boats?"

"Plenty of those."

"We'll off-load that way. Corrie, tell the ships to anchor as close in
as possible. Set up defensive lines at the port ASAP and get the trucks
down there ready to receive supplies." He turned to the SEAL. "Can you
find us a good distribution site in the city, Chief."

"No problem, General."

"Now we have to find people to captain the small craft . . ."

"We'll take care of that," a Scout quickly volunteered.

"Have at it," Ben told her.

The SEAL looked dubiously at the female Scout, but said nothing. He knew
the females who made the spec ops units had no slack cut for them
because of gender: they could either cut it, or they were washed out.
There was no such thing as preferential treatment in the SUSA, civilian
workplace or military. No quotas, no such thing as affirmative action.
If one was qualified to do the job, they got hired. If they weren't,
they hit the boards.

"Found a CP for you, boss," Cooper said, walking up with a group of
Rebels. "It's in the old main terminal building. Just right."

"Okay, Coop, thanks." Ben looked slowly all around him. The crowds had
almost disappeared, only a handful of diehards remaining. Ben's eyes
narrowed as Stan Travis walked up with a small group of reporters.

"Travis!" Ben barked at him. "I have a word of warning for you. Take it
to heart. If you ever, ever, interfere with me again, I will not
hesitate to shoot you stone dead on the spot. Do you understand that,
mister?"

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William W. Johnstone

"\es, sir," the reporter said. But he could not keep the hate from his
words.

"You better understand it. I don't have the authority to order you home,
but I can damn sure banish you from this column, and I will, mister, I
will."

Ben turned away and began the walk over to the main terminal building,
his team with him. He knew he had not heard the last from Stan Travis.

129

The small boats began bringing in food, including fifty pound sacks of
rice and dried beans, later that afternoon. There were only a few
instances of trouble, and the Rebels, with the help of some ex-Guinea
army personnel who had volunteered to work with the Rebels, quickly
handled it without any bloodshed.

Ben was impressed with the work of the ex-military personnel and told
his people to see about making them into some sort of militia or police.
When asked, the men quickly agreed, and the first steps toward order
were taken. The rebels outfitted them with uniforms and weapons and radios.

"The people are really in pretty good shape, except for the miserable
diet, or lack of one, they've been forced to endure," Dr. Chase told
Ben, over a glass of bourbon in Ben's CP the next evening.

"Supplies holding out?"

"Oh, yes. We're fine there. Those countries in Europe who agreed to help
with this project have really come through."

"I just wonder how long they'll continue coming through after the
reunited states start putting the pressure on them?"

"You think that will happen?"

"I think it's a possibility."

130

Chase shook his head. "I'll argue that with you, Ben. If the reunited
states tried to halt a humanitarian mission such as this one, there
would be a howl from every capital around the world."

Ben smiled at his long-time friend. "You're probably right, Lamar. I
just don't trust those people. I have a very deep-seated dislike for
liberals."

Lamar finished his bourbon and stood up. "I have a very deep-seated
dislike for politicians in general. Bastards thrive on bureaucracy. I
think if a kid of mine said he wanted to grow up to be a politician I'd
drown him."

Ben sat for a time after Lamar had gone. The gangs the Rebels had been
pushing slowly southward could not keep running. They had to stop, turn
around, and make a stand somewhere. Unless . . . Ben frowned. Well, that
was a possibility. If Bruno was behind the gangs to some degree he just
might allow them to cross over into his territory and use them for
cannon fodder, thereby saving his troops. The more Ben thought about
that, the more he felt that might be the case.

Ben picked up the just decoded communique from Base Camp One and reread
it. Mike Richards's people had been busy and had done well. Paula
Preston was indeed working for the new government of the reunited
states. Her parents had been lifelong, highly dedicated workers in the
left-wing of the democratic party. And Paula had been in lock-step with
their socialistic ideology ever since she had reached the age of
comprehension.

They had trained her well.

But if she was such a dedicated worker, and so trusted, why the hell did
her masters (that was the way Ben viewed people who gave their hearts
and minds to the left-wing) leave her in North Africa? What the hell was
the point in that?

"Oh, shit!" Ben muttered, sitting straight up in his

131

131

chair. "Of course. That has to be it. It was so obvious I didn't see it."

They must have known that Ben and his Rebels were planning to come here.
Must have known that the Rebels had been gearing up for this mission for
a couple of years.

But that didn't necessarily mean the leak came from Ben's HQ. Those
working on the mission back in Base Camp One had known of it for just as
long, setting up supply lines, lining up ships and planes, working out
logistics, and doing the hundreds of other things that went with such an
operation.

But that still did not explain the "why" of Paula being left over here.
Mike's people had found that other state department personnel who had
survived the Great War had been either brought back Stateside by their
government or managed to find their way back.

So what was the real story behind Paula's staying?

As much as Ben hated to even entertain the thought, his mind kept
returning to one conclusion: Bruno Bottger.

But would an avowed socialist work for a fascist? Really give her heart
and mind to such a philosophy?

"Sure seems as though that happened in this case," Ben muttered.

"Ike on the horn, boss," Corrie broke into his thoughts.

Ben walked to the radio and picked up the mic. "Go ahead, Ike?"

"Ben, we're doing a lot of good work with the people, but the gangs keep
running away toward the south. It's almost as though they want us to
follow them."

"I think they do, Ike. I think Bruno is behind this whole damn scenario."

"They're not going to be able to flank us, Ben. Not

132

in any strength. We've got eyes in the sky every moment. They'd pick it
up. So what's his plan?"

"What's your estimate of the gang strength, combined?"

"A hundred thousand or so, and that's probably figuring on the low end."

"I agree that's low. Say . . . the equivalent of seven or eight divisions."

"All right."

"That's a hell of a buffer zone, Ike. Especially with long-range
artillery laying back and giving them support."

Ben could almost hear Ike sigh. "Well . . . that's the way I had it
figured, Ben. But what is the point of Bruno allowing us to get all
these hundreds of thousands of people well and healthy . . . Oh, shit!"
he suddenly said.

"That's right, Ike. He's got people scattered throughout the starving,
hundreds, maybe thousands of infiltrators, ready to rise up and take up
arms when we do butt heads with the bastard. He's had several years to
recruit, promising them all sorts of things in return for their support."

"And we have no way of knowing who they are so we can flush them out."

"That's right."

"We'll be fighting on two fronts."

"If we're both right in our assumption. But I could be way off base.
It's still pretty early and things are iffy at this stage."

"Well, hell, Ben. Even if the gangs are not affiliated with Bruno, we've
still got to fight them at some point. And with that many of them, we'll
be held up and sure to take casualties."

"Unfortunately, you're right."

"Any word on the ringer?" He meant Paula.

133

133

"Ike, I think she's working for Bruno."

"Son of a bitch! How do you figure she got hooked up with him?"

"Through the people who ramrodded the reunification of the States back
home."

There was a long pause from hundreds of miles away as the full impact of
what Ben had just said struck home to Ike. "Ben . . . are you serious."

"Yes, I am, Ike. I ..." He cut his eyes to Jersey, who had just been
handed a slip of paper and had stiffened as she read it. She motioned to
Ben to cut it short. "Back in a few, Ike. I think we may have a little
trouble here."

"Okay, Ben. Take it easy."

"What's up, Jersey?"

"Intel says something's in the wind. There is some unusual movement
among the locals in the city and we've got several hundred people all
moving toward the airport in small groups."

"Any sign of weapons?"

"All of them carrying bundles about three feet long."

"My, my," Ben said with a grin. "You don't suppose they're going camping
this late in the evening, do you?"

"I kinda doubt it, boss."

Ben glanced at Corrie. She nodded. "Everybody's on alert."

Ben picked up his CAR and looked around the large room. Cooper had set
up his squad automatic weapon and had placed extra two hundred round
magazines close by. Anna and Beth had taken up positions at the rear of
the room, facing away from the runways. Corrie picked up her CAR and
smiled at Ben.

"Rock and roll," she said.

"Indeed we shall," Ben replied, just as the first sounds of gunfire
reached their ears. "Cut the lights."

The room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

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William W. Johnstone

"Groups of people swarming all over the airport," Corrie spoke calmly.
"One large group attempting to cross the runways."

"They won't make it," Ben said softly, just as Rebel .50 caliber machine
guns opened up.

Portable lights set up all around the area clicked on and the harsh
beams showed dozens of men either lying very still in darkening pools of
blood or flopping around in twisted pain on the runways.

"Fools," Ben muttered.

A face filled with hate suddenly appeared in a window and Ben leveled
his CAR and squeezed the trigger. The face dissolved in a spurt of blood
and shattered bone. Another face took its place and Ben's CAR bucked in
his big hands. The top of the man's head splintered apart and gray
matter splattered.

Cooper's bi-podded SAW began yammering and a line of figures went down
in boneless sprawls as the 5.56 rounds stitched them from left to right
in the center of the body.

"It's heavier than anticipated," Corrie shouted over the rattle of
battle. "A large contingent of reinforcements coming in from the north."

A man suddenly shoved a weapon through the smashed window near Corrie
and without changing expression she one-handed lifted her CAR and pulled
the trigger. The 5.56mm rounds took the man first in the throat and then
left a hole-pocked, bone-splintered, and bloody trail from his chin to
the top of his head as the CAR rose on full auto.

"Asshole," Corrie was heard to mutter.

A grenade sailed through a smashed window and without hesitation Anna
scooped it up and hurled it back outside. "Hit the floor!" she shouted.

Ben and team hit the brass-littered floor just as the grenade exploded
outside the CP, waist-high about

135

135

three feet in front of a group of charging infiltrators. The shrapnel
shredded living flesh and the torn bodies were flung around like puppets
with a madman manipulating the strings.

Witfi their ears still ringing from the concussion, Ben and team rose to
their boots and once more took their positions. But the attackers had
shifted their attack away from the small cluster of buildings-which
included Ben's GP-and seemingly were concentrating on attempting to
overrun Rebel positions around the airport.

Bad mistake on the part of whoever was in charge of the enemy operation.

Ben and his team could hear the battle raging all around them, but for
now, their part of the airport complex was quiet except for the moaning
of the wounded outside.

"My God!" came the call from outside. "Is it all right to come in there?"

Ben recognized the voice as belonging to Stan Travis. "Come on. Stay low
and get on the floor as soon as you enter the building."

Jersey jerked open the door and Ben could almost see her smile in the
darkness as Marilyn Dickson came crawling in on all fours. He braced
himself for what he was sure was going to be a very caustic comment from
Jersey.

She didn't disappoint him.

"Damn," the diminutive bodyguard said sarcastically. "Looks like a
big-assed crab crawling in."

Stan Travis came crawling in right behind Marilyn, then Ford McLachlan,
and finally came Paula Preston, bringing up the rear.

"Four big-assed crabs," Jersey said.

"Your people told us this area was secure!" Marilyn squalled indignantly.

"Funny thing about war," Ben said calmly. "Things

136

can and often do change very quickly. Get over against that wall to your
left, people. And stay down. You'll be reasonably safe."

"You mean it isn't over?" Marilyn asked.

"I doubt it, lady," Ben told her. "It'll probably break loose again in a
few minutes."

Ben cut his eyes, which were accustomed to the dim light, to Paula. The
woman did not appear to be frightened or upset. Ben had him a hunch that
Paula would stand up to a spitting cobra and face it down. She was one
hell of an actress, probably trained by the CIA at The Farm down in
Virginia . . . years back.

Paula felt his eyes on her and met his gaze with a level gaze of her own.

She knows I'm onto her game, Ben thought. Hell, it was only a matter of
time before she figured it out. It just might get real interesting after
this.

"Here they come!" Corrie called. "They've split their forces. I just got
a flash from Lieutenant Scott. They took a prisoner and the prisoner
blabbed. They're after you."

"My, my," Ben quipped, seating a fresh magazine into the belly of the
CAR. "All this great big fuss over little ol' me. I'm flattered."

Ben could hear Marilyn's snort of derision at that. Marilyn shrieked as
a burst of automatic gunfire shattered what was left of some of the
windows and splintered the wall behind her, sending bits of plaster and
wood raining down on her head.

"I believe they're really going to get serious about it now," Anna said.

"I think you're right, baby," Ben told her, and that got him a sharp
look from Marilyn. "She's my daughter, Ms. Dickson," Ben explained the
familiarity.

"Your daughter!" Marilyn blurted.

"Yeah, lady," Anna told her. "But right now, we don't have time to
explain our family tree."

137

137

"Daughter?" Ford muttered. "I didn't know that."

"I didn't either," Stan said.

"But she's just a child!" Marilyn exclaimed. "She couldn't be over
eighteen years old!"

"Yeah; something like that," Ben agreed.

"Something like that?" Paula got into the conversation. "You mean you
don't know how old your own daughter is?"

"Not really," Ben admitted.

"That's disgusting!" Ford said.

"Well, I can come within a year or so," Ben replied, keeping one eye on
the outside for any sign of movement while he had a good time putting on
the reporters.

"Where is the child's mother?" Marilyn asked.

"Damned if I know."

"You mean you deserted her?" Paula asked.

"Well, not exactly."

"You . . . you beast!" Marilyn said.

Anna started laughing softly and the civilians cut their eyes to her dim
shape. "We had them going there for a while, didn't we, General Ben?"

"We sure did, baby."

"Heads up!" Jersey put an abrupt end to the game. "Here they come."

"Stay out of the way, you people, and get belly down on the floor," Ben
ordered the reporters. "And stay there."

Bullets ripped through the shattered windows and tore into the walls.
The reporters hugged the floor as Ben and team returned their attention
to the attackers, coming in human waves out of the darkness.

"I think they're serious this time," Ben muttered, raising the stock of
his CAR to his shoulder.

Then conversation was impossible as gunfire roared.

138 Seventeen

A piece of torn-off wood or plaster slammed into the side of Ben's
helmet and the force of it knocked him a half step to the side. He shook
his head to clear it and looked up just in time to see a man trying to
climb through the remains of the window. Ben gave him a quick burst of
5.56 rounds at very nearly point-blank range, the lead taking him in the
upper chest and shoulders. The attacker screamed in pain and fell back,
his weapon, an AK-47, Ben observed, dropped inside the room.

Another man climbed partway into the room and Anna shot him in the face,
knocking him back outside into the gunfire-sparked darkness.

Jersey was staying busy with her CAR, spraying the movement-filled night
with pain and death.

Beth cussed and stuck the muzzle of her CAR into a man's face just as he
leveled his weapon, preparing to give the room a burst. The 5.56 rounds
dissolved the attacker's face into a mass of blood and he was dead and
cooling before he hit the outside ground.

Cooper was rapidly clearing his perimeter of all living things with his SAW.

Corrie was firing her CAR from the hip and talking into her headset at
the same time, steadily receiving reports from all over the airport.

139

The attack broke off as suddenly as it began, the darkness-shrouded
enemy running away, disappearing into the night.

"Hold positions," Ben ordered. "No pursuit."

Corrie instantly relayed the orders.

After a few seconds, Ben said, "Give me some prelims on casualties."

"Checking now," Corrie said. "Be another minute or so."

"Is it all right to get up now?" Ford asked from his position on the floor.

"Not yet," Ben told him. "A couple more minutes."

"But you're standing up," Marilyn protested.

"I never got down there."

Marilyn muttered something under her breath, too low for Ben to hear,
but he had a pretty good idea of the content. He smiled in the darkness.

"Half a dozen wounded, no dead," Corrie reported. "We have a number of
prisoners."

"And we won't get a damn thing out of any of them. Okay, people. You can
get up. But don't go outside and stay ready to hit the floor again."

"Why won't you get anything out of them?" Marilyn asked, brushing
herself off.

"Because they don't know who they're working for," Ben replied.

"What do you mean?" Stan asked.

"Just that. They're mercenaries. Only the people at the top know who's
paying them."

Vehicles were being pulled around to Ben's CP, headlights on bright,
illuminating the area all around. The bright beams picked up dozens
sprawled in death and several trying to crawl away, too seriously
wounded to stand up. Rebels were already moving among the dead,
gathering up weapons and ammo. The weapons would be given to the newly
formed police of the city. The bodies of the dead would be tossed into
the beds of

140

trucks, trucked away and stacked up in a field away from the city, and
buried in a mass grave at first light. The wounded would be taken to the
MASH tents and treated. Then they would be turned over to the civilian
police. What happened to them after that was of absolutely no concern to
Ben.

But it was to the press. "What will happen to the prisoners?" Ford asked.

"After we've treated them, they'll be turned over to the local police."

"And then?" Marilyn asked.

"I don't know. This isn't my country. It's theirs. Ask them."

"I shall."

"You do that. And while you're doing that, ask who is paying these
mercenaries to attack us. And find out why they're so interested in
killing me." Ben turned away from her and met the eyes of Paula Preston.
He held his steady gaze on the woman until she dropped her eyes. "I'd
like to know. Wouldn't you, Paula?"

The question seemed to startle her. "Ah ... of course. Yes. Certainly."

"I thought you would." Smiling, Ben walked outside. He had planted the
seed. Now he would wait to see how his garden grew.

There were no more attacks against the Rebels while they were in
Conakry. The prisoners the Rebels captured that night knew nothing about
who was in charge beyond their immediate officers. The Rebel doctors
tended to their wounds and then turned them over to local authorities.
If the press ever found out what might happen to the prisoners, they did
not inform Ben as to their findings. Ben suspected the locals told the
press to go suck an egg ... or words something along that line.

141

Ben prepared to pull his 1 Batt out and continue south.

Next stop, the country of Sierra Leone.

Nick's 18 Batt was only a day's drive away from the west coast of
Africa, his doctors seeing to the needs of the people in Mamou and
Dabola, and Paul Harrison's 17 Batt a day's drive from Nick east at
Kouroussa and Kankan. Ike was a continent away in Somalia, in what he
described as the shithole of the world. There weren't that many people
left in Ike's sector, for a decades-long civil war, drought, famine, and
disease had just about wiped out the entire population of the country.
Ike reported that the wild animals were once more reclaiming the land.

"You sure you people wouldn't like to travel with Ike for a time?" Ben
asked the press, a hopeful note in his words.

"Thank you, no," Marilyn replied, speaking for the entire group.

"It was just a thought."

Ben and his 1 Batt moved out just as the rainy season struck the land
with full fury.

"Shhittt!" Jersey summed up the feelings of everyone as she stared out
the window of the big wagon at the silver torrent hammering at the
countryside.

"How long is this mess supposed to last?" Cooper questioned.

"Months," Beth informed them.

"Double shit," Jersey said.

"Well, we can take some consolation in the knowledge that it isn't that
far to Freetown," Ben said.

"The country is a mess," Corrie said. "Civil war still raging all over
the place. Same with Liberia, the Ivory Coast, and Ghana."

"It's going to be heads up time for all of us from now on," Ben warned
the team. "We'll be under threat of attack every hour of every day for
our food, our sup-

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plies, our equipment and our weapons. We're not going to be able to let
down for an instant, for any reason."

Anna muttered under her breath.

"What'd you say, Anna?" Ben questioned.

"I said, 'then why bother with it?' "

"Because it's on the way," Ben replied. "We can't very well avoid it."

"Well, we don't have to stop except to bivouac," Anna persisted.

"And that may be all we'll end up doing," Ben told her.

"Even with the press along?" Jersey asked.

"I think the press is going to get very weary of being shot at, Jersey.
And if several of them get wounded, or killed . . . well, we'll just
have to wait and see."

"Won't make any difference," Anna said. "If they see one hungry child or
sick person, they'll immediately start pissing and moaning and demanding
we do something."

Ben didn't reply, but he silently agreed with his adopted daughter, and
knew the team felt the same way. They'd been putting up with liberal
reporters for years and could just about predict their every move ... or
thought.

The reporters from the SUSA, on the other hand, realized that fate often
dealt good people a lousy hand in this card game called life, and
sometimes one just had to look away and keep on walking, for there
reaches a point in the human condition where any kind of help is only a
stop-gap measure; a Band-Aid on a sucking chest wound. Giving a tetanus
shot to a person who is dying of starvation is a waste of time, money,
and supplies. Realists understand that; idealists never will.

Beth jumped in verbally between Ben and Anna, before Anna could say
more. "This month we're going to have twenty days with rain-of the
monsoon type, remember-next month twenty-five days, and the next

143

two months it will rain every day. Isn't that something to look forward to?"

"You're a real bringer of joy, Beth," Cooper said, squinting his eyes,
trying to see through the deluge that hammered at the wagon.

"I do try!" Beth replied brightly.

"I roger that," Corrie said, then leaned forward. "Boss, flybys confirm
that the bridges connecting Lungi and Freetown have been destroyed."

"Damn!" Ben muttered. "How about the city itself? Are we getting any
last minute reports out of there?"

"Nothing since last week, when we intercepted that radio transmission
about Freetown being under siege and not being able to hold out much
longer."

Ben rode in silence for a few slow miles, the only sound the drumming of
the heavy rain on the roof of the big wagon. Finally he sighed and said,
"We'll bypass Freetown. We already knew that Lungi has been sacked and
looted so many times there is nothing left. Corrie, bump the Scouts and
advise them to avoid Freetown." He opened a map. "Where are the Scouts?"

"Waiting on the north side of the Little Scarcies River."

"The bridge still intact there?"

"Affirmative to that."

"Tell them to hold the bridge open for us and wait for us there."

"Yes, sir. A reminder that what is left of Kambia is a ghost town."

"Yes. I remember that transmission. Cooper, stay on this road, the Port
Loko highway. We're not going to get within a hundred miles of Freetown.
I'm not going to get us involved in some damn civil or tribal war if I
can avoid it."

"The press is going to love this news," Jersey warned.

"Fuck the press," Ben said. "I'm going to tell them

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William W. Johnstone

when we stop that if they wish to go to Freetown, they are certainly
free to do so ... on their own."

Cooper cut his eyes to Ben for a second. "They just might take you up on
that, boss."

"I sure as hell won't make any attempt to stop them."

The weather probably had much to do with it, but the column came under
no hostile fire on the way to what was left of Kambia. The column picked
their way through the ruins of the town, seeing no signs of life, not
even a dog or a cat, and continued south toward the Little Scarcies River.

"Nothing happening here, General," the Scout in charge of the detachment
told Ben when they arrived late that afternoon. The roads were terrible
and getting worse the further south they went. "We haven't seen anybody."

"As soon as we get some shelter up, you people will be relieved so you
can relax a bit. Thanks, gang."

"No sweat, General."

That evening, the cooks prepared only coffee and kept huge urns of it
hot all night. The Rebels, including Ben, ate field rations. There was
no point in cooking, for by the time anyone carried their trays or mess
kits away from the mess line, the food containers would be filled up
with water.

And the rain continued to come down in silver/gray sheets with no signs
of abating.

"Screw this," Ben abruptly said, when the column was only a few miles
from Port Loko. "Corrie, tell the Scouts to hold up and wait for us.
We're going to get out of this damned rain for a change."

Port Loko had been the scene of many battles, that was evident by the
bullet and shell pocked buildings, but there were enough structures left
standing to afford

145

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some welcome shelter from the rain and for the cooks to serve up a hot meal.

The Rebels took turns standing naked in the rain, soaping up and rinsing
off, then the welcome feeling of dry clothing, at least for a short
time. Then a hot meal. Even if the beef was canned, the potatoes were
fresh, the bread just baked, and the gravy hot and good.

But what bothered them all, even though it was mentioned in quiet
whispers, was the absence of people.

"Scouts report they found a boneyard," Corrie told Ben softly, after
moving to his side. "Just outside of town. Hundreds of skeletons. Men,
women, and children."

"Let's go take a look." Ben struggled into his poncho and picked up his CAR.

"All of them shot, General," the doctor said, standing up from his
inspection upon Ben's arrival. "You can see the slugs in some of the
skulls."

"Tribal warfare," Ben said softly, squatting down and sticking the
muzzle of his CAR into a gaping eye socket. He shook the skull and the
slug rattled about. "Probably. But I don't imagine we'll ever know for
sure. How many you estimate here, Doctor?"

"Five or six hundred, give or take a hundred. Hard to tell the way the
bones have been scattered by foraging animals."

Ben stood up. "Well, at least here we know what happened to the people.
Perhaps never the why, but at least the what."

Ben walked off, muttering about ignorance, butchery and barbarism. For
once, the press had nothing to say as they gathered around in the rain,
standing silently, filming the scene for their viewers back home.

146

At Port Loko Ben told the press about the conditions in Freetown. "Any
of you who wish may go to Freetown if that is your desire. I won't stop
you."

"You will provide escort?"

"No. I will not."

A silence greeted Ben's statement, then a few members of the press
protested. But the older hands said nothing. They understood that Ben
was under no mandate to provide them security. He had not asked for the
press and considering that, Ben and the Rebels had been very
accommodating thus far.

Four members of the press stood up, one stating, "We feel it is our
obligation to visit the city and report on the events here."

"Good luck," Ben told them.

The four press types took their crews and pulled out the next morning.
They were never heard from again.

From Port Loko, the column crossed the Rokel River and headed for
Moyamba Junction. The Rebels found a few people still in the town and
the doctors went to work. Ben and team, trailed by several members of
the press, walked around the town during a break in the rains. There
wasn't that much left to see in the battle-ravaged town.

"General," Stan Travis asked, as they strolled along.

147

"How many people would you estimate have died on this continent since
the Great War?"

"Stan, I have absolutely no idea. But I would guess several million at
least. Perhaps as many as ten times that number. I doubt that anyone
will ever really know. And we really don't know what has happened in
Asia, China, South America, or what used to be known as Russia."

"Do you plan to visit those areas?" Marilyn asked, in a surprisingly
civil tone of voice.

"Yes, if I live that long, Ms. Dickson. Of course, a lot hinges on what
happens back home."

"You're speaking of the reunification of the States, General?" Ford asked.

"Yes."

"Your section is the last holdout," a reporter Ben didn't know stated.

Ben smiled as they continued strolling along through the deserted town.
"The SUSA is a sovereign nation, sir. We have our own constitution and
bill of rights, both patterned after the original documents; indeed they
are almost identical-except ours give the law-abiding citizen a lot more
rights. We will not rejoin the Union."

"Under any conditions, General?" Alex Marsh asked. It was the first
question he'd asked since Ben got all over his case miles back.

"We are a separate nation, Mr. Marsh. We intend to remain that way."

"The United States of America might use force in order to preserve the
Union, sir," another reporter said.

"They might, indeed," Ben replied, never stopping his walking. "But when
they do it will be the end of America as any of you know it."

"Is that a threat, sir?"

"That's a fact, son. A fact."

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William W. Johnstone

* * *

Within twenty-four hours, newspapers all across the reunited USA hit the
streets with the glaring headlines: GENERAL RAINES PROMISES WAR IF USA
USES FORCE AGAINST SUSA.

SUSA THREATENS WAR AGAINST AMERICA

WAR TALK BETWEEN SUSA AND USA DEEPENS TENSIONS

WAR LOOMS ON HORIZON

"Horseshit," Ben said, after hearing the news. "The only way there will
be a war is if the reunited states start it. We won't."

"You think the reunited states really want a war with us?" Anna asked.

"Some politicians do. But they won't be the ones to fight it. They never
are. Cecil says a recent poll shows the people outside the SUSA fairly
evenly split about it... which sort of surprises me. You would think
after suffering through the worst war ever fought on American soil and
several years of all sorts of deprivation, the last thing any of them
would want would be more war. It shows how much the rest of the nation
hates the South . . . and how much they hate me."

"And our way of life," Beth added.

"Oh, yes. Let's don't forget that. They hate it because we have full
employment, almost zero crime, a laidback way of life,
easy-to-understand laws, a workable healthcare system, no bureaucracy .
. . and that's just hitting a few points." Ben laughed aloud as the
column rolled along through the rain.

The Rebels had passed through towns of varying sizes and had seen few
signs of life. The old festering tribal hatreds and years-long civil war
had just about wiped out the population except for the towns along the
coast, which the Rebels had decided to avoid. Rebel analysts

149

had concluded that at the present rate, the country would be finished in
a few more years.

Ben studied a map for a few moments, then folded it and stuck it back in
a map case. "We've got to be resupplied with food, water, and medical
supplies. But Liberia is out of the question for flights in or out or
for docking facilities along the coast. The country's been torn apart by
civil war for a decade or more. Fly-bys show the old international
airport at Monrovia unusable. Docking facilities are nil. Warlords have
been controlling the country for years and have wrecked it. That's why
we're taking the northern route, and will link up with Nick Stafford and
his 18 Batt. We'll crawl along the top of the nation until we reach the
border of Cote d'lvoire, the old Ivory Coast. That will probably be the
most stable country we'll find anywhere. And won't that be a relief."

"Then we travel south to Abidjan?" Cooper asked.

"Right. We have no choice in the matter. It's our best bet for a port
and they have a good airport."

"But getting through Liberia is going to be a tad hairy, right?" Jersey
asked.

"I think you'd be safe in saying that."

Ben spat out a mouthful of mud and wiped his muddy face with an equally
muddy hand. All in all it was a futile gesture.

"Shit!" he cussed, then wiped a sleeve across his face. That helped.

Ben's 1 Batt had linked up with Nick's 18 Batt between Foya and Kolahun
and within minutes had come under attack from a large force, pinning
down the Rebels and splitting the columns. The roads were a mess: tanks
bogging down every few miles, trucks getting stuck along with them.
Everyone in the column was

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William W. Johnstone

soaked through and through, with mud all over them. Several thousand
highly pissed-off Rebels were in no mood to fuck around with anybody.

Ben was under a deuce and a half filled with supplies, on his belly in
the muddy road, his team left and right of him.

"How many damn people hit us?" Jersey asked. "The two columns together
must be five miles long. That's a hell of a force."

"Somebody's throwing everything they've got at us," Ben said, raising
his voice to be heard over the hammering rain and the yammer and clatter
of weapons on full auto.

Cooper cut loose with a burst from his SAW and out of the corner of his
eyes, Ben saw three or four figures fold up and go down.

"Stupid bastards," Cooper said, his words just audible over the sounds
of weather and battle.

"18 Batt just dragged a wounded prisoner in," Corrie said, working her
way close to Ben in the mud. "They say the man is nothing but skin and
bones. Doctors say the prisoner is suffering from malnutrition. The
prisoner says all they want is food."

"Tell the doctors the bastards might be hungry, but they're still strong
enough to pull a fucking trigger," Ben replied.

A wide grin split Corrie's mud-streaked face. "I will relay your message."

"You do that."

A long burst of gunfire kicked up mud and water and small stones very
close to the truck, flinging the debris into Ben's face. Ben wiped his
face and cussed, then out of sheer frustration, he leveled his CAR and
gave the brush and jungle close to the road a full magazine of 5.56
rounds. He doubted he'd hit anything, but the

151

action made him feel better. He ejected the empty and fitted a full
magazine into place. He waited.

"Nick's 18 Batt coming under what appears to be a suicide charge,"
Corrie said. "They're holding."

A couple of minutes later, the sounds of battle faded, leaving only the
drum of rain. "Maintain positions," Ben ordered. "No pursuit. Scouts out."

Five minutes ticked past without a shot being heard. Corrie said,
"Scouts report the enemy has withdrawn. They left their wounded behind."

"Ask the Scouts how the dead and wounded are fixed for ammo."

"Scouts report all weapons and ammo were taken by the enemy."

"They're low on ammo as well as food," Ben said, crawling out from under
the truck. "Bet on it. This was a desperation attack."

Ben began walking toward the front of the column, his team slogging
along with him on the muddy road, the mud clinging to their boots in
great globs, making their feet appear to weigh fifty pounds each.

"The enemy," Ben said, "at least this bunch, don't have rockets. We
didn't sustain a single rocket hit. Corrie, ask Nick if they received
any grenades."

"Not a one," she quickly reported.

"Whoever they are, they're out of nearly everything. Okay. Let's get
this show on the road. There's a village or town just up ahead. We'll
patch up the prisoners and leave them there. The Scouts should be near
the town now."

"They're stuck in the road just outside of the village," Corrie
reported. "Both vehicles mired up to the axles."

"Wonderful," Ben said wearily. "All right. Tell them we'll be along as
quickly as possible. How about our wounded?"

"Two dead. Five wounded."

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William W. Johnstone

"Let's get moving." Ben stamped his feet, trying to dislodge the
clinging mud. "If at all possible."

It wasn't much of a town, but most of the buildings were still standing
and the doctors quickly set up shop and began working on the wounded . .
. Rebel wounded first, then the enemy. That was a Rebel rule, adhered to
hard and fast, without exception.

The Rebels played by no rules other than their own. They were bound by
no convention or treaty. Just another reason why so many around the
world, who had studied the Rebels, did not want to tangle with them.

Ben stuck his head inside a small house and almost burst out laughing.
Marilyn Dickson and Paula Preston were sitting on the bare floor in a
side room, out of sight of the male reporters, who were behind the
house, naked, soaping as they stood in the rain. Both of the women were
covered head to feet with mud.

"Enjoying the trip, ladies?" Ben asked.

Marilyn solemnly lifted her right hand and gave him die finger.

Ben laughed at her and walked on.

"Hoity-toity bitch is human after all," Jersey remarked.

"I think she is, Jersey."

Ben turned into the building Lamar Chase had set up for a hospital.
Lamar looked up from his inspection of a case of some sort of medicines,
carefully packed against breakage. "We lost one of our people, Ben. The
other four will make it. But we're going to have to hole up here for a
couple of days."

"Suits me, Lamar. How about the prisoners?"

"A couple of them will make it. The others died."

"Other than their wounds, what about their physical condition?"

"They're very malnourished. I don't know what they've been living on,
but it hasn't been very nutritious."

153

153

Finally out of the rain, Ben rolled a cigarette.

"Don't smoke in my hospital, Raines," Lamar warned.

Ben ignored him and lit up.

"Asshole," Lamar said.

"You smoked for forty goddamn years, Lamar, and smoked more cigarettes
in a day than I do in a month. So shut up about it."

"The older you get the more difficult you are to get along with, Raines.
You're becoming an insufferable prick."

"So sue me."

Lamar gave him the middle finger and walked off to see to the patients.

"Two rigid-digits in one day," Ben muttered. "Must be something in the air."

"Some raggedy-assed people in what's left of field clothes approaching
the town, boss," Corrie said. "They're under a white flag and do not
appear to be armed."

"Probably part of the bunch who attacked us. All right, let's go see them."

Raggedy-assed is right, Ben thought, as he approached the group,
standing under the awning of a building at the edge of the small town.
Their clothing was tattered and torn, and most wore some sort of sandals
made from old tires.

"We need food," one of the men said, speaking in near-perfect English,
only slighdy accented. "We are hungry."

"And what will you do after I've given you food?" Ben replied. "Go back
to making war on your own people?"

"What we do is none of your business," the man said, his tone a bit more
harder and demanding. "This is our country, not yours. You were not
invited here."

"That's right. And we're only passing through. We

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William W. Johnstone

help whenever we find sick civilians. But we won't help either side of
warring factions."

"We can take all the food and all your guns, if we want to." The man's
eyes had turned hard and mean.

"You can try," Ben said softly.

The man pointed a ringer at Ben. "This is the only warning you will get.
Share with us or die while you sleep!"

"Hit the trail," Ben told him. "If you don't understand that, it means
carry your ass on away from here."

The man's face suddenly became a mask of rage, and for one quick moment,
Ben thought the guy was actually going to try to jump him. The man
fought his temper under control and managed a smile. "Soon we will be
the best-equipped and best-fed army in the country. Then we will march
on the capital and seize power. And you will all be dead, your flesh
eaten by animals and your bones scattered."

"Fuck you!" Ben told him, using the words that are almost universally
understood.

"You have made the greatest mistake of your life," the guerrilla told
Ben. "But you will not have long to regret it."

Ben yawned in his face.

The guerrillas wheeled around and marched off through the rain into the
tangle of brush and jungle.

"They'll be coming at us soon," Ben said. "So let's get ready to meet them."

"Ah . . . look, boss," Jersey said, cutting her eyes.

Ben looked. The guerrilla leader was standing at the edge of the forest,
giving him the middle finger.

"Must be my day for it," Ben muttered.

155

"If they do attack us," Nick said to Ben later on that afternoon. "They
have got to be just about the dumbest bunch in Africa."

"Dumb and desperate, Nick. Little men with big ideas."

Tanks now encircled the town. Two battalions of Rebels were dug in,
waiting to throw their considerable firepower at the enemy.

"What's the latest from the other battalions?" Nick asked, after
unwrapping a stick of gum and chewing for a moment to soften it up.

"Just like us. They're all reporting more and more hostile encounters
with guerrilla groups the further south we go. I'm betting the going
will get slower and slower from this point on."

"You think Bruno Bottger is behind this bunch making noises at us?"

Ben shook his head. "No. I think this bunch is a holdover from the early
days of the civil war in this country. They've been having at each other
since before the Great War."

Nick looked at him. "You think they even know there has been a worldwide
war and collapse?"

Ben chuckled at the thought. "Hell, Nick. The pos-

156

sibility is remote, but they might not know. I hadn't thought about that."

Lamar Chase strolled up and stepped out of the rain to stand under the
awning with the two men. "Our people are going to make it. Only one of
the prisoners is still alive and I don't hold out much hope for him."

Ben glanced at the chief of medicine, surprise in his eyes. "One of the
medics told me his wounds were not that severe."

"The medic was right. It isn't his wounds alone that are killing. His
entire system is shot-to use a non-medical explanation. He doesn't have
the strength to fight off this latest attack on his body. But don't
waste your time feeling a bit sorry for him; I sure as hell don't. All
the man does is lie there and cuss us all."

Nick stopped chewing his gum. "Why, Dr. Chase?"

"We're capitalists, he's an avowed Marxist-this entire bunch attacking
us, or threatening to attack us is. One of those goddamn People's
Liberation Army groups, or some such shit as that."

Ben grunted his disgust. He knew from long experience that anytime some
group used the "Peoples"-what-ever in their name, they were more than
likely communist.

Chase looked out at the pouring rain. "They'll hit us tonight, won't
they, Ben?"

"In all likelihood, yes. I don't believe they have the strength or the
firepower to launch another daylight attack. Today was a desperation
move on their part; hoping to take us by surprise."

"The prisoner told me we can expect a lot more of this as we move across
this nation."

"He's probably right, Lamar. But we'll be two battalions strong as we
roll-or slip and slide, as the case may be-across what's left of this
country and into Cote d'lvoire. According to intel there isn't a
guerrilla group

157

157

in the country strong enough now to do us much damage. But they'll sure
try."

Cooper came running through the rain, sliding to a halt under the
awning. "We found another mass grave, boss, about a thousand meters
behind the town. The rain washed away the thin covering of dirt over the
bones."

"Men, women, and children?" Nick asked.

"Yes, sir," Cooper said.

Lamar shook his head in disgust. "Centuries-old tribal hatreds. It's
pathetic."

"Maybe something good will come out of it, Lamar," Ben opined.

"I'd like to know what," the doctor demanded.

"The animals are making a comeback. That's something."

Lamar stared at Ben for a moment to see if he was serious. He was. The
doctor walked off into the rain, back to his makeshift hospital,
muttering under his breath.

Ben smiled as he watched his old friend walk away, a heavy security
guard around him.

"Boss, we've got everything at our disposal trained to bang," Cooper
said. "You really think this ragtag bunch will attack us tonight?"

"I do, and they will. Bet on it. They've got to have our supplies or
they'll die. They have no choice in the matter. It's going to be short
and savage and bloody. They'll be fighting to the last round they have.
When it comes, don't let up."

"It'll be this way all across this screwed-up country, won't it?" Cooper
asked.

"I'm afraid so, Coop. And as I have warned, worse the further south we go."

"You want to go view that mass grave?" Cooper asked.

Ben shook his head. "No. I don't. I imagine we'll be

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William W. Johnstone

seeing a lot of mass graves before we butt heads with Bruno. And then
when we've kicked that bastard's ass, we'll be uncovering mass grave
sites all over the country he's occupied. And you can tattoo that on
your arm." Ben looked up as the rain diminished somewhat. "Come on,
gang. Let's walk the town."

With two battalions ringing the town, any attack the guerrillas
made-without benefit of mortars, heavy artillery, or rockets-would be
nothing more than a suicide charge on their part.

But he knew the guerrillas would try. And he also knew diey would fail;
probably the Rebels would wipe them out right down to the last man.

Ben walked the lines of defense, stopping to speak to Rebels often, even
if it was nothing more than to say hello. It was a great morale booster
for the troops, and besides, Ben enjoyed doing it. But every time he did
it, he always felt a litde sad afterward. He used to know every man and
woman in his command; could call them by name. Now he didn't even know
everyone in his own battalion.

It always flung him back in time a few years, back to when the
government thought they'd wiped out all diose who believed in die
Tri-States philosophy of government; back to when Ben and a handful of
others took to the hills and die mountains and die swamps and the plains
of America and challenged die might of big government.

And they had won. By sheer determination and cussedness and the belief
they were right, diey had defeated die forces of what had become a
left-wing government

Now look at the Rebels, Ben diought, as he strolled along in the light
rain. The most feared fighting force on the face of die eardi. And the
SUSA the most pro-

159

ductive and stable government anywhere in the world. And the most hated.

The tour of defenses completed, Ben walked back to the small building he
was using as a CP and sat down. He cleaned his CAR and his sidearm, and
busied himself for a time filling spare magazines. Darkness would come
soon, and with it, a suicide attack.

"Scouts report movement in the brush," Corrie called. "Enemy appears to
be getting into position for an attack."

"How many of them?"

"At least several hundred."

"No surprises?"

Corrie knew what he meant. "Nothing but light arms."

"Claymores in place?"

"Affirmative."

Ben glanced at the open door; or rather, where the door used to be.
About an hour until dark. "Pull the Scouts in."

"Scouts returning. No dead, no wounded."

Ben nodded. Any hits would have been rare among the Scouts, for Rebel
Scouts were among the most highly trained of all Rebels. They could move
through any type of terrain with the silence and stealth of ghosts,
usually leaving behind them a trail of dead enemy troops, throats cut in
silent kills. The Scouts were not a large force, but they were highly
effective, and among the most feared of all Rebels.

Both of Ben's grown kids, Buddy and Tina, had been Scouts, working their
way up through the ranks, before taking command of a battalion.

And Ben suspected that in another year or so, Anna would join the
legendary Scouts. She had already dropped a couple of hints to that
effect. Ben would not stop her if that was her choice, but neither would he

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William W. Johnstone

ask that any slack be cut for her. That's the way it was not only in the
Rebel Army, but in the Tri-States itself. You pulled your own weight and
didn't ask for favors. If you couldn't cut it, you admitted it and
backed away. There was no stigma attached to it; you were just assigned
to another job.

"Scouts back home," Corrie said.

"Everybody take turns taking a leak," Ben ordered. "Then everybody
button up. It's gonna get real hairy pretty damn quick. How about the
clinic, Corrie?"

"Secure as we can make it."

"The press?"

"We put them in with Chase and his medical people."

"Good enough." Ben looked around the room he and his team would defend.
"Positions, everybody. Let's do it."

Ben and Cooper took the rear of the house. Anna was at a side window,
Beth at the other side. Jersey at the front, facing the outer circle of
the Rebels' perimeter. Corrie would stay with the radio unless things
got real dicey.

Ben took a sip of water and munched on a candy bar. Jersey stuffed
several sticks of gum into her mouth. Anna was cold as an ice cube ...
as usual. Combat was her forte, and she made no apologies for it. Corrie
was busy yakking softly with someone. Beth waited, no expression on her
face. Cooper was behind his SAW, waiting.

A few tentative shots came from the brush and jungle. The Rebels did not
bite. They waited.

"Give them about a minute of mortar fire, all the way around," Ben
ordered. "High explosive and willie peter. That should give them
something to think about."

The brush and jungle around the encircled town began erupting in flashes
of fire and white phosphorus. Screams of pain from badly wounded and
burned men shrieked out of the drizzling rain. Several wounded and

161

161

bloody men ran screaming out of the brush directly into the close kill
radius of a Claymore. The blast shredded the men into a mass of bloody
chunks and stilled their agony forever.

Ben had ordered the main guns on the tanks dropped to their lowest
elevation. "Give the jungle some HE and anti-personnel rounds from the
tanks, Corrie," he ordered.

The ground began trembling as the main guns began pouring out the
rounds. Some of the anti-personnel rounds contained small grenades which
either burst on contact or in midair. Other HE rounds were filled with
shards of steel; both rounds were highly lethal ... as the guerrillas in
the brush and jungle found out. The 120mm rounds were cutting trees in
two and sending the guerrillas running in all directions. Many of them
made the mistake of running toward the Rebels. That was the last mistake
they ever made as the dug-in Rebels opened up with everything at their
command . . . which was plenty.

Within minutes the outer ring around the town was littered with the dead
and the dying and what was left of the guerrilla force was fading back
into the jungle. They had had enough, and Ben did not believe they would
be back.

"Hold positions," Ben ordered. "We'll count the dead in the morning.
Stay heads up, but I think it's over."

The Rebels stayed on alert all during the long night, but no more
attacks came. When dawn broke, they began counting the dead. Ben stopped
them at two hundred and fifty dead.

"We've broken the backs of the guerrillas. Take the weapons of the dead,
scoop out a grave for the bodies, and shove them in.

"It's over here."

162 Twenty

The column moved slowly across the top of what was left of Liberia. The
route was yoyoish: north to Voin-jama, south to Zorzor and Gbarnga, then
north to Ganta, then south to Saklepea and Tappita, then east to Tobli.
They finally crossed over into Cote d'lvoire and brought the column to a
halt in Toulepleu, where they were met by a small contingent of army
troops. Since the engagement with the guerrilla troops, several weeks
past, the Rebels had encountered no more trouble.

A smiling army colonel walked up to Ben, saluted smartly, then extended
his right hand.

Ben returned the salute, then took the hand while the colonel's men cheered.

"It is so nice to see a friendly face, Colonel," Ben said.

"Welcome to our country, General Raines. We have been following your
progress with much interest. Following as best we could, that is."

"Well, we only had a couple of minor run-ins with guerrillas in Liberia."

"The People's Army of the Democratic Front? Or some such nonsense as that?"

"That's the one."

"A pack of idiots, the lot of them. Collectively, they

163

have managed to destroy their country and cause us no small amount of
grief in the process."

"We saw very few people on our way across Liberia, Colonel."

"Many fled the fighting." He shook his head. "But many more were
slaughtered in ethnic cleansing. Isn't that such a polite way of
describing genocide, General?"

"But it's politically correct, Colonel."

Both men started laughing at that and a new friendship was born on a
rainy afternoon.

"Come," the colonel said. "We can start our journey to the capital in
the morning. Right now, let's get you and your people setded in and fed
and rested."

"And while we're doing that, you can bring me up to date on what Bruno
Bottger is doing."

The colonel cussed for a moment. "That bastard!" he spat out the word.
"He sent people into this country in an attempt to subvert our political
process. We hanged them all."

Ben looked at the man and smiled.

"Those we didn't shoot," the colonel added.

"They've managed, in the face of great adversity, to correct many of the
woes that faced their country for several years," Ben said to Dr. Chase
that evening. "Also, just before the Great War, many of the French
businesspeople returned. And that helped."

"I wonder why they moved the capital from Yamoussoukro back to Abidjan?"
Nick asked.

"Probably 'cause no one could pronounce it," Cooper said from across the
room.

"Go back to reading your girlie magazines, Cooper," Jersey told him.
"This is an intelligent conversation. That lets you out."

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William W. Johnstone

Cooper gave her the bird and she returned two of them.

"All right, children, calm down," Chase chastised the pair.

"You're a fine one to talk," Ben told him.

"I'm older," Chase popped right back. "That gives me special
privileges." He smiled, pushed back his chair, and said, "And with that,
I bid you all a good night."

His security people were waiting just outside the door, and they trailed
along a few steps behind him.

"I don't think we've got much to fear in this country," Ben said. "But
nonetheless, we'll post our own guards to augment the one provided by
the good colonel." He smiled. "I'll sleep better."

His team all laughed at that. Everybody in the Rebel army knew that Ben
Raines required less sleep than anyone; he had been that way all his
life. Just a few hours' sleep was all he needed. And despite being
middle-aged, he could keep going far beyond many men half his age. His
team knew, too, that Ben never slept deeply. Any unnatural sound would
wake him instantly.

The colonel did not try to hide any illness or hunger as he and his
security force led the column south toward the capital. Whenever Ben
signaled for a halt, whether for an hour or for several days, he never
hesitated.

"With the addition of the medicines and food you are providing, maybe we
have more than a fighting chance to make it," he confided in Ben one
afternoon. "We've been spending most of our resources on defense . . .
fighting to keep the communists out of our country."

"And you've done a good job of it," Ben complimented the soldier.

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"At the expense of our people. I will tell you a hard truth, General. We
are almost out of everything. The fight with General Field Marshal
Bottger-or whatever that bastard is calling himself now-has just about
wiped us out. When we heard the news about your coming to Africa, the
entire country rejoiced. I must warn you that once we reach the capital,
there will be a holiday and a parade in your honor. I hope you do not
take offense at us for doing so."

Ben clasped the man's shoulder with a big hand. "Colonel, that will be
wonderful."

The colonel sighed with a relief that Ben did not fully comprehend.
"That is a load off my mind, General." He looked at Ben for a moment and
with a straight face said, "We were afraid you would be offended.
Americans are such strange people with very weird customs."

No liberating army ever received such a welcome as the Rebels received
in Abidjan. The people turned out by the thousands, lining the highways
and streets. They were dressed in their finest and their sincerity
touched even the most hardened Rebel.

"We've made another friend in Africa," Ben radioed to Cecil after the
parade and a short first meeting with the president of Cote d'lvoire.
"Not that you didn't know that already."

"He contacted me, Ben," Cecil replied. "I told him you would assess the
situation and we'd start trade talks after I talked it over with you.
The parade and holiday was already planned long before you reached the
country. The president at first wanted to cancel the event, thinking you
might take it the wrong way."

"It was wonderful, Cec. It touched us all. You've started the surplus
grain ships moving this way?"

"That's affirmative, Ben. They should dock within a

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William W. Johnstone

few days. I ordered them loaded as soon as I spoke with the president. I
knew you would approve."

"I certainly do, ol' buddy. Get some businesspeople moving this
direction ASAP to assist in the rebuilding of this nation. This is an
important port and we want to always be welcome here."

"Will do. A flight will be leaving within 48 hours. I've spoken with the
French and they pledged their full support. They're working with us in a
way they never worked with America before ... at least not in my memory."

"You're the politician, Cec. I'll leave all that up to you and your
cabinet. I'll just fight the wars."

"I think you're getting the better end of it," Cecil said wistfully.
"How about our little surprise? You ready for them yet?"

"Not yet. Keep them under wraps until I bump you. Is everyone fully
trained and combat ready?"

"You bet. Rarin' to go."

Thousands of miles away, Ben chuckled. "Won't that set Bruno's fascist
ass on fire?"

"I certainly hope so. Literally as well as figuratively. What do you
have on tap for tomorrow?"

"Meeting with trade people. Which is why I want some help over here.
What the hell do I know about oil-palm kernels and coffee, cocoa, and
bananas?"

Cecil was still laughing when he signed off.

Many of the younger Rebels spoke French, since in the SUSA school
system, the studying of foreign languages was a requirement, not an
elective subject. In the SUSA, kids began taking foreign language
courses in the early grade school years. Since Cote d'lvoire was one of
the French-speaking countries in Africa, the troops got along easily
with the residents.

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By the end of the first week, the Rebels had been completely resupplied
and the Ivoirians were unloading emergency food and medical supplies
from the recently docked freighters sent by the SUSA, the French,
Germans, Britons, and a few other aligned countries.

Back in the States, Cecil reported that the government of the newly
reunified states was furious with the Europeans for aiding the Rebels.
The reunified states were unable to send anything in the way of aid
since they were just barely producing enough to feed themselves.
Instead, the politicians were stressing the importance of being
politically correct, teaching sensitivity training, enforcing new and
highly restrictive gun-control laws, kissing the butts of criminals, and
all that other important stuff that liberals love to jam down the
throats of everyone ... or stick up the ass of citizens, whichever
orifice would accommodate the foolish babblings of the reunited states'
left-wing nincompoop politicians.

Ben toured the city of Abidjan and was impressed. It was clean and
functioning. The streets and highways were well maintained, considering
the country had been all but isolated for years.

After being resupplied, Nick and his 18 Batt left the city and headed
back north, to travel the far north of Cote d'lvoire just south of
Burkina Faso. Paul Harrison's 17 Batt was traveling through Burkina
Faso, and Ben had been warned that his troops would find death,
sickness, desolation, and civil war there. Many of the refugees had
tried to settle in Cote d'lvoire but had been driven away; the country
could just barely feed their own-and the several million refugees who
had fled across the borders and been allowed to stay-on very meager
rations. Cote d'lvoire just could not handle any more.

"It was a hard and cruel thing for us to do," the

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president explained. "But our own people's safety and security must come
first."

"I fully understand that," Ben told the president. "What about Ghana?"

The president waggled his right hand from side to side in a very
European gesture. "They are doing not quite as well as we here in Cote
d'lvoire. But they are surviving and resisting that son of a whore
Bottger's advances. They will be very grateful for the medicines you
bring and the doctors to see the sick. Ghanaians are still a very
friendly people. I doubt you will experience any trouble."

"Togo?"

The president frowned and shook his head. "Togo is a no-man's land, and
has been for years. It is a country ripped apart by civil war. All we
really know about Togo is that it is a place to avoid if one values his
life."

"But unfortunately for us . . ." Ben trailed that off.

"I know. You must go. And it is a fine and noble mission you are on. You
and your people will be in all our prayers, General Raines."

Ben smiled. "We'll take all the help we can get, Mr. President."

It was only about a hundred kilometers from Abidjan to the Ghana border;
the roads were in good shape and the column made good time. When they
reached the border, Ghanaian border guards were waiting to escort them
to the capital of Accra. Doctors were waiting with the border guards and
after a brief conference with Dr. Chase, the convoy rolled on. To save
time, the medical supplies would be off-loaded in Accra and the Ghanaian
military and civilian doctors would then spread out across the country,
seeing to the sick and the needy.

The column stayed on the coast road and the towns

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and villages they rolled through were in good shape and the people
appeared to be in pretty good physical shape.

"We won't tarry long here," Ben told his team. "Cote d'lvoire and Ghana
are working closely together to reach some sort of normalcy. The supply
ships have docked and are being off-loaded as we speak. Everything is
orderly and without trouble. Togo is where the fighting starts."

"Why don't we just avoid the damned country?" Anna asked.

"Personally, I wish we could, but we can't," Ben told her. "We're going
to help the civilians where we can, and fight the various guerrilla
factions when it can't be avoided. Luckily, Togo and Benin are small
countries. We'll stay along the coast, avoiding the interior. But
Nigeria . . ." He shook his head and sighed. ". . . That's where we're
going to get bogged down and have to start slugging it out."

"When will we be able to resupply by ship?" Cooper asked.

"Good question, Coop. I don't know the answer. Maybe in Cameroon.
Certainly not before then. But the other battalions are making do with
air drops and landings when the airports are useable. So shall we. Hell,
we've had it easy compared with some of our people."

"So quit your bitchin'," Jersey told Cooper.

"Who's bitchin?' " Cooper cut his eyes to Jersey. "I'm asking a
question, that's all. Go back to daydreaming about men and close your
mouth, will you?"

Cooper was safe to pop off to Jersey as long as he was driving, and he
knew it. However, Jersey had a long memory . . .

"Save your fighting for when it's needed," Ben cooled the situation.
"And believe me, it's going to be needed."

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William W. Johnstone

The pair ignored him, as he knew they would, because their quarreling
was all in fun. They'd been picking at each other for as long as the
team had been together.

"You got a fat mouth, Cooper," Jersey said.

Cooper pursed his lips and made loud kissing sounds.

Jersey feigned gagging.

Ben smiled and the convoy rolled on.

"Where's all the lions and elephants and apes and stuff?" Cooper asked.

"Mostly in the interior, Cooper," Beth answered. "We might get to see
some animals in Nigeria. Right, boss?"

"It's a good possibility," Ben replied.

"Cooper thinks he's going to see Tarzan come swinging out of the trees,"
Jersey said.

"I can be Tarzan, my precious desert blossom," Cooper replied. "You can
be my Jane."

"What a disgusting thought," she popped right back.

"Can any of you visualize Cooper in a loincloth, swinging through the
trees with chimpanzees?" Corrie said with a laugh.

"Now you're hurting my feelings," Cooper said, doing his best to
maintain a wounded expression.

"Cooper," Jersey said, "I don't believe your feelings could be hurt with
an axe."

Ben tuned the kibitzing pair down to a low murmur in his mind and stared
out the window. He knew the closer the convoys drew to Bruno Bottger's
territory, the fiercer the fighting would become. The easy run for the
Rebels was about to come to a halt.

Abruptly.

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Ben and his 18 Batt spent exactly one day in Ghana's capital, Accra,
before pulling out and moving on, heading for the war-torn country of
Togo. Ben had been advised in Ghana that when the column reached the
border, the good roads would vanish. The Rebels would find bridges
blown, highways reduced to rubble, and civil war raging all around diem.

"Togo and Benin have been at each other's throats since the Great War,"
Ben said aloud, as die column neared the border. "Their forces have
killed each other off in record numbers. When Lome was sacked and burned
the capital was moved to Togoville. The Ghanaians retaliated by
destroying Porto Novo so the capital was moved up-country to some place,
which we will, hopefully, avoid."

"Abomey," Beth said.

"That's it."

"It's about seventy-five or so kilometers from the coast," Beth added.

"Thank you," Ben said.

"Scouts report a welcoming committee of sorts waiting for us at the
border," Corrie said. "About fifty or so strong. No tanks. No mortars or
machine guns that the Scouts can see. Just light arms."

"Slow the column. Tanks up and spearhead," Ben

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ordered. "We'll give those at the border something to think about."

The main battle tanks soon rumbled past, the commanders talking with the
advance party of Scouts on another frequency. At a hand signal from Ben,
Cooper gunned the engine and pulled in behind the last MBT.

"This is not going to make our security people happy," Beth said,
twisting in the seat and looking behind her.

"They'll get over it," Ben replied.

"The border guards ran away," Corrie said. "Scouts are taking down the
barricades now."

"I thought the sight of the MBTs might have a sobering effect on them,"
Ben told her.

The column rolled on across the border and entered the country of Togo.
The roads immediately became cracked and bumpy, in many instances the
hard surface missing altogether.

"Lome just a few miles up the road," Corrie said. "What's left of it,
that is."

"Says here," Beth said, reading from a very tattered tourist brochure,
"that Lome is a city of half a million. And it was West Africa's
financial capital. The way to say good-day in Mina-which is spoken by
about a third of the population-is Sobaydo. "

Drizzle from the gray skies abruptly changed to a torrential downpour,
sheets of slashing silver slowing the column down to a crawl as the
roads worsened.

The team rode in silence for a few minutes. On the roof of the big wagon
the hammering rain was making normal conversation all but impossible.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the rain tapered off to a quiet steady fall.

"Scouts nearing the city," Corrie reported. "Seeing signs of some
habitation. The few people they're seeing

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look like walking dead . . . near starvation. Scouts want to know if
they should locate a CP for you?"

"Yes," Ben said softly. "We came here to help the people. So let's try.
And have the Scouts check out the airport and port facilities, if any.
Corrie, we'll pull the column over now and wait for a report."

Ben unassed himself from the wagon and walked back to where Chase's
vehicle was pulled over, motioning for the chief of medicine to get out
and join him. The men walked over to what remained of some sort of small
business and stood under a sagging awning.

"I've ordered a halt here, Lamar. Do what you can for the people."

Lamar stared at Ben for a moment. "Band-Aids on a sucking chest wound, Ben."

"I know. But at least we'll leave remembered as helping when and where
we could instead of as some conquering army."

"We're going to need a hell of a lot more food than we're carrying."

Ben sighed. "I know. Two cargo ships are paralleling us a few miles off
shore. They're filled to capacity with supplies. If at all possible,
they'll dock."

"All right, Ben. Find my people a secure location."

"Will do."

The city of Lome had been looted and savaged and shelled and fought over
numerous times and finally burned. There wasn't a hell of a lot left.

Engineers started working on the airport and promised to have one runway
opened ASAP. The port had been wrecked, with dozens of small craft
having been sunk in the harbor. Emergency supplies would have to be
off-loaded at sea and brought in by small boat. A very slow process.

The people who remained in the ruins of the city were a pathetic lot,
sick and starving and existing with-

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out hope. They had been eating rats and snakes and just about anything
else that walked, crawled, or flew ... including, in some cases the
Rebels found, each other.

As soon as word spread about the Rebels being there to help, not to make
war, the refugees began pouring in from the countryside. And it took
less than twenty-four hours for that news to spread.

Lamar Chase's makeshift hospitals were soon very nearly overwhelmed,
many of those brought in were near death, and far beyond any medical
help. They were given shots to ease their suffering and placed under
whatever shelter could be found to get them out of the rain and to die
in peace and some sort of comfort . . . young and old alike.

Surprisingly, there was very little trouble from the gangs that roamed
the countryside. They stayed far away from the ruins of the city.

"They know better than to start trouble with us," Ben told Cecil one
afternoon. "They know they're directly responsible for all this human
misery and know I've ordered them shot on sight. And I will do so,
cheerfully. How is the press outside the SUSA reporting all this?"

"They're not saying much, Ben. We're intercepting the reports from the
press traveling with you and they're filing human interest stories. I
think many of them are seeing a side of the Rebels they didn't know
existed."

Ben chuckled, but it was without mirth. "Yeah. When they first showed
up, they looked at us, and treated us, as if we were a bunch of
blood-thirsty pirates, second only to Attila the Hun."

"One screw-up and they'll be right back looking at us in that manner."

"Would that bother you?"

"Not one little bit." Ben signed off just as Dr. Chase walked in.

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"Scouts report the gangs are gathering about halfway between here and
Notse, waiting for us," Corrie said. "At the junction."

"What strength?"

"About five hundred so far, but several thousand are in position to move
in very quickly."

"What junction?" Chase asked.

"The bridges over Lake Togo have been destroyed. We're going to have to
head north, then take a secondary route into Benin. What kind of arms,
Corrie?"

"Light arms, mostly. A few heavy machine guns. But Scouts report they do
have some mortars."

"Ammunition is going to be critical for them," Ben said. "Unless Bruno
is supplying them, and that is something we must always take into
consideration. Personally, I think he is supplying them, using them for
cannon fodder in the hopes they'll get lucky with some ambush. All the
other batt corns are reporting the same thing: small bands of guerrillas
constantly harassing them. There is too much of a pattern developing
here for it to be coincidence."

"Then we've going to have to contend with the threat of ambush from here
on in," Chase said.

"Every day, Lamar. I told you it would get worse the further south we went."

"So you did, Ben. So you did."

"And there is something else: we're going to have to be constantly alert
for guerrillas to be mixed in with the civilians we stop to help. And .
. ." he sighed, ". . . no matter how careful we are, some civilians are
going to get caught up in the cross fire, and get hurt or killed."

Lamar's sigh matched that of Ben's. He opened his mouth to speak, then
obviously thought better of it and closed it. He shook his head in
frustration and walked out of Ben's CP. He paused in the door and looked

176

back. "We'll have done all we can do with what we have in another day
and a half, Ben. I'm shutting down a couple of outlying clinics now.
We'll be ready when you give us the signal."

"How many people? ..."

Lamar cut him off abruptly. "They're dying, Ben. There is nothing we can
do for about forty percent of them except make them comfortable and ease
the transition into death. Babies are dying because their mothers are
dry and can't nurse them. Why in God's name do people continue to have
babies in the middle of a fucking famine when hundreds of others are
starving to death all around them?"

Ben did not offer any reply, knowing that in all probability, Lamar was
not finished.

"You give the orders you have to give, Ben," Lamar said. "And you don't
feel guilty about it. You are not obligated to carry the ills and the
woes and the goddamn stupidity of the people who inhabit this world on
your shoulders, and by God, neither am I. Good night."

"Anybody got anything to add to that?" Ben questioned his team.

"The Lord helps those who help themselves," Anna said, laying aside an
oily cleaning rag. She closed the bolt on her CAR and walked out the
door, hurrying to catch up with Dr. Chase.

Ben smiled, very thinly. "Corrie, advise the company commanders we'll be
pulling out in about thirty-six hours. We'll have done all we can do here."

177

"Every battalion meeting resistance," Corrie said, as the column put
Lome behind them and were advancing north toward the junction at Notse.

"It's begun," Ben replied. "Cooper, pull over so Corrie can establish an
uplink. When that's done, Corrie, ask what type of uniforms the enemy is
wearing and if there are any whites leading the groups."

The column waited until the portable dish could be set up and Corrie
could check with each battalion. "No standard uniforms, boss," she
finally reported. "Some are wearing ragged remnants of uniforms but most
are in civilian clothes. There are a few whites who seem to be in command."

"Bruno's advisors," Ben said. "He's either sent some of his own officers
up to train and take command, or he's hired mercenaries. Probably the
latter. All right, Corrie. Thanks. Let's get this show back on the road."

The column rolling once more, slowly on the nearly nonexistent highway,
Ben said, "Bump the Scouts and assess the situation at the junction."

"Scouts report a slow troop build-up all around."

"So this is not going to be an ambush?"

"Doesn't look that way."

"And they're being obvious about it," Ben questioned.

178

"No longer making any attempt to conceal their movements."

"Odd," Ben muttered. "They have no tanks, no artillery, only a few
mortars and machine guns, and they're setting up to go head to head with
us. That makes no sense."

Ben opened his map case and carefully went over a map of the region.
There was no other route open to them. Ben could not ask for reports
from eyes in the sky because the helicopters were all grounded because
of the unpredictable weather. Anyway, most of those assigned to Ben had
been forced to return to Ghana because there were no other safe landing
areas for them to refuel and have maintenance done.

It was all ground work for the Rebels now.

"When we get within range of the junction," Ben said, "we'll set up
artillery and pound the crap out of the enemy positions. But we'll be
alert for any flanking movements or an attack from the rear. I think
that's what they've got in mind. Just as soon as the Scouts report us
able to fight our way through the junction, we'll make a run for it and
smash through. If my hunch is right, we'll catch those attempting to
flank us and come up behind us flatfooted and can put some breathing
room between us."

"One hour until we can be in any sort of effective range," Beth
reported, doing some calculations without being told.

"Good enough. Let's keep our fingers crossed that I'm right about this.
Corrie, tell the Scouts they're going to have to act as FO's."

"Right, boss."

"My company will face north with the artillery, the others will set up
left and right and take up rear guard positions."

"Advising now," Corrie replied.

179

"It's a pretty good bet that those coming up from behind and flanking
will be lightly armed. They're having to move too fast over lousy
terrain to be carrying anything heavy. Maybe a few mortars, but that's
all. When we stop, I want every mortar and Big Thumper we've got ready
to bang ASAP."

Corrie was talking to the company commanders even as Ben was speaking.
The team had been together so long each member could practically sense
what the other would do. With Ben and Corrie, it was almost as if they
were hooked into some sort of invisible mental link.

"Forty-five minutes," Beth said.

"Scouts reporting heavy concentration of enemy build-up nearly complete
at junction. They're dug in tight."

"In a few minutes, they're going to wish they'd dug those holes a lot
deeper," Ben said.

"We have movement behind us," Corrie said. "Scouts who dropped back
report a large concentration of troops moving slowly. Maintaining
distance. Their vehicles are old, and of various makes, but chugging
right along. Scouts have counted fifty trucks, most of them
deuce-and-a-halves. All filled to overflowing with troops."

"Say a minimum of seven hundred and fifty troops coming up behind us."
Ben smiled. "Tell my XO to take over, Corrie. And alert my company we
will be falling back to engage the enemy . . . sort of."

Corrie hesitated.

Ben chuckled. "Load us up with rocket launchers and claymores and
several Big Thumpers. Cooper, there is a small town just up ahead the
Scouts have checked out and found deserted. That will be perfect for an
ambush. You pull off there. Get on with the orders, Corrie."

"Ten-four, boss."

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William W. Johnstone

Corrie ordered the column on, with no break-off other than Ben's
company. She was asked if she wanted several of the tanks with the
column to join Ben in the ambush.

"No," Ben said. "We'll handle this. The rest of the column has their
orders. Carry them out."

Cooper cut off the road and parked the wagon behind what remained of a
building. The other vehicles peeled off and ducked in behind buildings
or crashed through the brush and vegetation around the town and disappeared.

"Some of those trucks will have to be winched out when this is over,"
Ben said, unassing himself from the front seat of the wagon. "And we'll
probably lose half a day or more doing that. But what the hell? Nobody
here has any pressing engagements elsewhere, do they?"

The team laughed at Ben's sometime odd sense of humor and began
unloading weapons from the supply truck that always followed Ben's
vehicle. Anna took her Big Thumper, Cooper his SAW. Corrie, Beth, and
Jersey swapped their CARs for regulation M-16's with bloop tubes. Ben
pulled out his old M-14 and a rucksack filled with magazines. Then they
quickly followed Ben into the deserted old remains of what had once been
a store and took up positions. A rusted old soft-drink sign was still
attached to the front of the building, above the front awning. It
creaked on rusted braces in the warm light wind.

The monsoonal rains had not yet begun their daily pounding of the earth
and only a very soft drizzle was falling.

Within a very few minutes, the Rebels had all taken up positions in and
north and south of the town. The vehicles were hidden and the brush and
other vegeta-

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tion that had been smashed or driven down by the heavy trucks pulled
back and secured in place.

The village appeared to be deserted, just another civilian casualty of war.

It was a death trap for the unsuspecting.

"Enemy column's ETA twenty-five minutes," Corrie said.

Ben nodded his head and rolled a smoke. "Tell the people to grab a quick
smoke if they want to. Piss now if they have to. Smokes out in five
minutes and everybody in position."

Ben rolled a cigarette, lit up, and asked, "Corrie, Scouts are certain
the enemy convoy has no recon working forward?"

"Positive, boss. They're rolling along pretty sure of themselves."

"Somebody fucked up," Ben muttered. "They didn't do their homework;
didn't study the tactics of their opposition. Bad mistake."

"They won't make another one," Jersey said, chomping on a wad of gum.

"Very true, Jersey," Ben said, after blowing a smoke ring and watching
it disappear in the wind that silently sang through the glass-smashed
windows. "If we're careful and don't spring the trap too soon. Corrie,
tell the troops north of the town to be sure and knock out the first
several vehicles. The commander of this force will almost certainly be
in one of those vehicles. And we don't want to give them a chance to
radio what's happening. Lots of 'if s' involved here."

"Enemy convoy has increased speed," Corrie said. "Fifteen minutes."

"They're getting anxious," Ben replied. "Bad move on their part. Shows
another sign of lack of professionalism. They're going to roll right
into this."

"They won't roll out of it," Anna said grimly.

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Ben looked at his adopted daughter. Anna was as cold as ice, as usual.

Ben cut his eyes to Beth, looking at him. She shrugged her shoulders and
smiled knowingly. Anna was a warrior, pure and simple, through and
through, but one who would always pick the right side, Ben was sure of
that. Her years of struggle to survive as a child against the evil of
the forces of the nearly overwhelming numbers of warlords and gangs back
in her home country had seen to that.

Anna had laid out a long belt of 40mm grenades, filled with
anti-personnel grenades. She sat back and waited.

Ben checked his old M-14, known affectionately as a Thunder Lizard, and
slipped the fire selector to full auto. It was a punishing weapon to
hold and fire at full auto, but it laid down a devastating field of fire.

Cooper had his SAW bi-podded, an extra canister of ammo nearby.

Ben's team was ready.

"Ten minutes," Corrie said.

Ben took his position by the window-or what was left of it-nearest the
south wall. He stayed well back from the window, in the shadows, and
would remain there until the ambush was sprung.

All around the battle-scarred little town, the Rebels waited, silent and
motionless.

"Five minutes," Corrie said softly.

The rain continued to fall, but it had been reduced to only a drizzle.

Finally the Rebels could hear the truck engines as the enemy convoy
approached the town.

"Showtime," Cooper said, pulling back the bolt on his SAW, chambering a
round.

The Rebels in town would let the first fifteen or so trucks in the
convoy roll on through. The Rebels in

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position on the north side of town would start the ambush. At the first
yammer from machine guns, the first crump of grenades, the first whoosh
from a rocket launcher, the entire stretched-out company would open up
on the unsuspecting convoy. And the quiet, gray-sky, drizzly day would
turn into a death trap.

"Play with the big boys," Ben muttered, his eyes following the first
truck as it passed through the town, "and you're very likely to get your
nose bloodied."

Jersey was the only one of the team to have heard the quiet words, she
cut her dark eyes to Ben and smiled.

Ben winked at her.

Then the enemy convoy stopped before the first truck could clear the
northern edge of the small town.

"Crap," Ben muttered. "Now what?"

"What is the matter?" a white man yelled, jumping from the fifth truck
in the packed-up-close column.

"The engine is overheating!" came the shout from the lead truck.

"I don't give a damn if it blows up," the white officer yelled. "We're
too close now to stop. If the engine fails, we'll leave the truck and
spread the men out among the other vehicles. Now get that goddamn thing
moving."

"All right, all right! Keep your fucking pants on, will you?" came the
insolent reply.

"The officers certainly have a great deal of respect for each other,
don't they?" Jersey whispered.

Ben smiled his reply.

"Now what's wrong?" the first white officer yelled after a few seconds.
The enemy column had not moved. The waiting Rebels could hear the sound
of a grinding starter.

"The truck won't start. I told you the engine was overheating. Now it's
locked up, I believe."

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William W. Johnstone

"It isn't locked up, you idiot. Oh, never mind. We can't wait. Push ..."

The sound of an engine bursting into life cut off his words as the lead
truck's motor roared.

"Finally. Roll it, roll it!"

The truck's engine died. The sound of it was so clear it was heard up
and down the street.

"Oh, good God!" the officer yelled impatiently.

The starter began grinding.

"Hell with it," the officer shouted. "Everybody out and the second truck
push that vehicle out of the way. We're wasting too much time. Move it,
goddamnit, move it!"

"Colonel!" another voice entered the conversation. "Colonel!"

"What is it?" the now identified commander shouted.

"Something is very wrong here."

The colonel paused for a heartbeat, looking slowly all around him. He
shook his head and yelled. "What are you talking about?"

"There are tire tracks leading left and right off the street. They
disappear into the brush and jungle."

"Tire tracks?"

"Yes, sir. From heavy trucks. Colonel, they're all up and down the
street. Just look, see for yourself."

"Now it gets interesting," Ben muttered. "I hope everybody is on their
toes."

"I don't see any damn tracks!" the colonel yelled. "Where are they?"

"You're looking at the hard pack in front of that old store. Move left
or right where the earth hasn't been packed down by years of parking.
You'll see them. It's all very strange."

"The man is an idiot," Ben muttered. "I would have put the tracks
together immediately."

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"Oh, very well. I'm looking." The colonel began walking slowly south,
mumbling about a waste of time.

Ben lifted his Thunder Lizard.

"By God!" the colonel yelled. "I see them. It's probably just ..." He
paused. His training as a soldier finally kicked in and jogged his
brain. "Oh, shit!" he shouted. "Ambush!" he screamed. "Ambush!"

Ben shot him and the gates of Hell swung open, inviting all who would
enter to step right up.

186

The colonel was slammed back by the heavy rounds from Ben's M-14. He
fell on his back in the mud and did not move. Anna cut loose with her
Big Thumper and the two trucks that were parked directly in front of the
old building exploded in flames and death and the screaming of wounded
men. Cooper shifted the muzzle of his SAW and opened fire on the third,
parked south of the burning trucks, before the soldiers who were under
canvas in the bed could leap out and run for their lives. The 5.56
rounds hammered out pain and death. The others in Ben's team sent
grenades from their bloop tubes into the parked enemy column at almost
point-blank range.

The Rebels lying in wait north of the town did not have to have a signal
to know what had happened. They were moving instantly, working closer to
the north edge of the town, throwing up a defensive line left and right
of the highway.

The jaws of the death trap had been sprung and the dangerous, predatory
beast caught in the snare could not free himself and had no place to run
even if it could. Those caught could do nothing now except die.

From front and back and both sides, the Rebels hammered out death by
bullet, grenade, and rocket. Many of the trucks caught on fire and the
fumes from the

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fuel tanks exploded. The ammunition and mortar rounds they were carrying
exploded and lead and shrapnel was flying in all directions. The din was
deafening and the smoke teared the eyes. The wounded were screaming and
the sergeants and officers were yelling orders which could not be heard
five feet away and conditions were so confused and disorganized no one
would have paid any attention to them if they could be heard.

The Rebels methodically picked off any of the enemy who tried to flee
the scene of destruction and death. Ben ended a burning man's race with
death with one round from his M-14. The man was enveloped in flames from
his feet to his hair and was running in blind agony.

The smell of burning and cooking and charred human flesh and hair was
thick in the damp air, clinging close to the ground, offensive even to
those who were long accustomed to the smell of death.

The carnage seemed to go on for hours, when actually it lasted less than
five minutes. Five minutes to snuff out hundreds of lives. Ben was
reminded of the old saying: "You pays your money, you takes your chances."

The ambush was almost one-hundred percent effective. Perhaps twenty or
twenty-five men escaped into the brush and jungle, running in sheer
panic to escape the death trap.

"No pursuit," Ben ordered, his voice strange in his head after the
yammering of combat.

Automatically, Ben ejected the nearly empty magazine from the belly of
his Thunder Lizard and slipped in a full one, clicking it into place. He
walked to the door and looked out through the swirling smoke, staring
impassively at the sprawled bodies and those few who were wounded and
trying to crawl away. A few were crying out for help in English, others
were calling out

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in a language Ben did not understand, but he was reasonably certain the
vocal content was the same.

Ben slung the M-14 and pulled his canteen out, unscrewing the cap and
taking a long drink of water. He was conscious of eyes on him. He
searched the death scene until he found the man who was staring at him.

"Water, please," the man called.

Ben walked over to him and knelt down. The man must have taken at least
eight or ten rounds in the chest and belly; he was soaked in blood. Ben
pulled the wounded man's canteen from his web belt and unscrewed the
cap, holding it to the man's lips. Water to a man gut-shot is dangerous,
but what the hell? Ben thought. This guy will be dead in a few minutes.
The blood staining his lips was pink and frothy-lung shot.

"You are the devil, Ben Raines?" the man gasped out the question.

Ben smiled. "That's me."

"You live up to your reputation, General." Then the man closed his eyes,
shuddered once, stiffened, and died.

Ben placed the canteen on the ground next to the man and stood up. "I've
been called worse," he said to the dead man, then turned and walked away.

Some of the Rebel deuce-and-a-halves were able to back out of the brush
and jungle without getting stuck in the soft earth. Rebels were already
using them to wench out trucks that were mired up.

"How many people did we lose?" Ben asked, as Cor-rie walked up to stand
beside him.

"None. Five wounded. None of them seriously."

"We lucked out again."

The rest of Ben's team joined him and stood watching as the dead were
unceremoniously dragged off the road and tossed into ditches. They would
not be buried. The wounded-those the medics thought might have some

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chance of making it-were patched up and carried to huts and houses. The
dying were given a shot to ease the pain and left alone to wander off
into that long sleep.

Several times Ben heard the whispered words among the wounded: "That's
the devil himself over there."

Ben ignored the comments and walked away, over to where his own wounded
lay, being treated. Their wounds were not serious, certainly not
life-threatening, and all five would be up and ready for limited duty
within a few days. He chatted with the wounded for a few moments, then
walked on.

"The animals and the carrion birds are sure gonna have a fine time here
when we leave," Jersey remarked.

"That they will," Ben replied. "But I don't believe the dead will notice."

"Those enemy troops at the junction have fled, boss," Corrie reported.
"Running away in all directions."

"Somebody caught up in the ambush kept their cool and was professional
enough to get off a radio message. With the element of surprise gone,
those at the junction wanted no part of us. Good. Just maybe we can get
out of this country without another fight."

"I wouldn't bet any money on that," Anna said, standing nearby.

"No," Ben replied. "I don't think I would, Anna. We're going to have to
be heads up at all times from now on. Corrie, how many of the enemy
trucks are serviceable?"

"Maybe half a dozen."

"Load all the collected weapons, ammo, and what supplies we can salvage
from the ambush into them. Let's get out of this damn place ASAP."

His team knew what he meant: the awful smell of deadi hung everywhere
and clung to everything; especially the odor of burned human flesh. And
the after-

190

noon rains had not yet come to wash and cleanse the earth. It was time
for a lunch break, but no one wanted to eat here.

"Corrie, tell the companies ahead of us to hold up at the junction; wait
for us. We'll be pulling out of here within the hour-hopefully."

"It'll be about forty-five minutes, boss."

"That's even better. Damn, this place stinks!"

A medic walked up. "General, the one white who survived the ambush wants
to talk to you. He's hard hit and probably isn't going to make it."

"All right. Lead the way."

The officer looked to be in his early forties and had been hit twice in
the chest and twice in the belly. The doctor attending him met Ben's
eyes and shook his head, then walked away. Ben knelt down beside the man.

"An honor, General Raines," the dying man whispered. "You are truly a
worthy foe. You might even be a match for Field Marshal General Bottger."

"How many damn titles does that nut have?"

The officer smiled: a bloody curving of the lips. "Whatever suits him at
the moment, General Raines. But he pays well and while he might be just
slightly insane, he is a brilliant field commander."

Ben didn't argue that. He knew Bruno Bottger's tactics well and knew he
was not a commander to take lightly.

"Then you are not one of Bottger's regulars?"

"No. I'm Austrian by birth. A professional soldier by the grace of God."

"You'll fight for whoever pays you the most money." It was not a question.

"That is correct. Politics does not interest me at all."

"How many men can Bottger field?"

"Several hundred thousand regulars and several hun-

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dred thousand natives who joined him after he arrived on this shithole
of a continent."

Ben smiled faintly. "Does he have an air force?"

"Yes. Jet fighters. Not that many but he has training programs and
factories working around the clock as we speak. All of the south of
Africa is his new homeland, so he'll be ready for you and your Rebels,
General."

"I'm sure he will be. What happened to the people of South Africa, the
white population especially? And I'm talking about all the whites south
of here?"

"They fought us. We killed off most of them. Pity, they were good
fighters, too. There are still many of them left, but they're disarmed
and helpless. They know that if they oppose us, they die. It's just that
simple. Once you disarm a nation, the citizens are virtually helpless."

"Yes. That's what the liberal politicians in the United States tried to do."

"But you and your people, among others, rose up and fought them."

"Tooth and nail."

"You were better organized, General. Despite the efforts of government
enforcement agents. Oh, I followed your exploits carefully. I always
admired your courage and tactics."

The man's voice was growing weaker.

"You will face growing resistance the further south you go, General."
The dying officer coughed up blood and for a moment, Ben thought he
wasn't going to be able to continue. He fought for breath and settled
down. "And then from the Congo River south you will meet Bottger's
legions. And he will stop you eventually. Oh, you might push him back a
hundred miles or so. Two hundred miles, perhaps, if you're very, very
lucky. But this is one fight you cannot win. But you will be a

192

very worthy foe for him, and he will respect you for that."

Ben said nothing. He waited.

"You might be able to strike some sort of deal with him, General. Have
you given that any thought?"

"No."

Again, the dying man smiled that bloody grimace. "No? I thought not.
Widi you, it is all or nothing, correct?"

"Something like that."

"I would keep a deal in the back of my mind, General. I really would."

"I don't make deals with thugs."

"So I have heard, General." Weakly, the man lifted a bloody hand and
saluted Ben. "Good-bye, General Raines. I'll see you in Hell."

The officer closed his eyes and died without a shudder or another word.

"Could be," Ben said, rising to his boots. "It sure wouldn't surprise me."

193

Ben's company joined the others at the junction and cut east toward
Abomey. On the way to the border, Scouts reported seeing patrols of
enemy soldiers, but there were no further attacks against the column
while they rolled through Togo.

At the Togo/Benin border, the column halted. There were no border guards.

Ben got out and walked toward the raised barrier at the crossing,
joining a group of Scouts.

"Looks as though no one's been here for a long time, General. No
cigarette butts, no discarded ration containers, no nothing. It's strange,"

"Corrie, is Nick meeting any resistance?"

"Nothing," she reported. "He's waiting at the border crossing at Ouake.
It's deserted. No signs of life."

"Paul's 17 Batt?"

"They're still in Burkina. About seventy-five miles from the border of
Nigeria. They're reporting no trouble."

"Mike's 16 Batt?"

"Waiting at the Mali/Niger border. Taking a break. No trouble."

Ben was silent for a moment. He rolled a smoke and lit up. A couple of
minutes passed before he spoke. "Get

194

a link set up, Corrie. I want a report from every battalion."

The portable satellite was set up and Corrie spent the next half hour
talking over hundreds of miles. Then she reported to Ben.

Ben sat for a moment by the side of the road, which had been swept for
mines and cleared. "For several days, every battalion stretched across
Africa was under either full attack or hit and run actions. Then
suddenly, nothing. We know there are small patrols out watching our
movements, Scouts from every battalion have seen them. It's a
coordinated effort; you can bet with certainty they are not acting
independently of each other . . ."

The rains came thundering down in a gushing torrent, preventing Ben from
finishing his thought. Tents and tarps had already been set up and
Rebels scrambled for cover. Ben and team, Dr. Chase with them, ran for
the squad tent that had been set up for him. Corrie set up her equipment
on a folding table and sat down. Portable generators were cranked up and
the coffeepot was filled up and turned on.

"Tell the cooks to set up and get busy," Ben ordered. "We're going to be
here for at least the night."

Ben did not have to order guards out. That had been done within seconds
after the column had halted. Now tanks began moving into position around
the camp and several hundred yards away from the center of the
encampment, perimeter bangers were being strung and claymores carefully
placed.

Within minutes, the camp was as secure as human hands could make it.

"Scouts are five miles inside Benin," Corrie said, raising her voice to
be heard over the drum of heavy rain on the canvas above their heads.
"Nothing. And the road just stopped. They're facing brush and forest."

"Shit!" Ben cussed. "We're going to be forced to cut

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south and take the coast road. Exactly what I didn't want to have to do.
Or else cut north for a hundred or so miles and take the highway over to
Savalou. If we're attacked by any kind of force along the coast highway,
we could be in serious trouble. We could be forced back, or surrounded
on three sides with the Atlantic at our backs and no place to run. We
would then have to be evaced by sea, leaving all our equipment behind.
And that just might be what the guerrillas have in the back of their
minds and to hell with Bottger's orders."

"But we don't know for sure, right?" Dr. Chase asked.

"We sure as hell don't, Lamar."

"About fifty or so civilians approaching from the Benin side," a guard
called. "About a third of the bunch are kids."

"Check them out carefully for weapons," Ben said, walking to the flap
and pulling it back.

"Time to go to work," Lamar said, rising from the camp chair.

"Get a translator in here," Ben ordered. "Pump them for information."

For once Lamar didn't argue with Ben about bothering his patients.

Ben walked out seconds behind Lamar and looked up the road, Benin side.
He knew after only a glance there was nothing to fear from this bunch.
They were some of the most emaciated looking people he had yet seen in
Africa. And he also could tell, even from this distance, that several of
the kids being carried in the arms of their mothers were dead.

Ben stepped back into his squad tent and returned to his portable desk.
Anna remained at the opening of the tent, looking at the pitiful sight.
Ben studied her in the dim rainy light. There was no expression on her
lovely face. She had not only seen it all before, she had lived with it
for years, struggling for survival in the old

196

country, before Ben picked the little waif out of a lineup of street
hoodlums and took her under his wing.

Anna stepped out of the tent and slogged away through the mud, heading
away from the border crossing. Ben thanked Beth for the mug of steaming
coffee she placed in front of him and turned on the lamp, powered by the
portable generators. He opened a map case and selected a map.

He suppressed a groan as he studied the route along the coast. Then he
laid the map aside and shook his head. They would not take it. Too
risky. They would head north to Savalu, then south to Dassa-Doume,
northeast to Save, and enter Nigeria that way. If, and it was a big If,
the bridge over the Oueme River was intact. If it had been destroyed? .
. . Well, they would find out in a few days, or a week, it all depended
on the roads.

"Refugees coming out of the brush by the droves now," Cooper called from
the flap of the tent. "Several hundred of them."

Ben again walked to the open flap of the squad tent and looked out into
the rainy afternoon. Cooper was sure right about the numbers of people:
hundreds of them, probably about a third of them children.

Ben turned away from the open flap, then hesitated for a couple of
heartbeats before looking back. Something had caught his eyes, something
that aroused suspicion in his mind. But what? Ben looked more closely.
He could see nothing in the knot of ragged people that would present a
danger.

The knot of ragged people.

The knot of ragged people . . . that thought nagged at him. Yes, that
was it. Why were they all so bunched up? He'd never seen starving, sick
people so tightly bunched.

"Something is wrong here, Coop," Ben said. "I don't

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really know what it is, but something is very wrong about that crowd of
people."

"They sure are bunched up tight, boss," Beth said, peering around Ben
from inside the tent.

Corrie had heard the exchange and was alerting the company.

To the untrained eye, it would appear that nothing was happening within
the compound. But plenty was happening. Tanks were slowly swinging their
turrets and gunners were taking their places, manning .50 and 7.62
machine guns, inside and out of the massive MBTs. Rebels were quietly
pulling back bolts on their weapons, chambering rounds. Cooks were
laying aside large spoons and ladles, removing huge pots from the fire,
and moving closer to their weapons.

"If my bread burns, I'm gonna be pissed," one cook mumbled irritably.

"Give that stew another stir or two," another cook called from across
the mess tent. "I don't want it sticking."

Ben had cleaned his M-14 and put it away, back into its hard-shell case.
Anna had seen what was going on and slipped in the back flap of the
tent. She handed her adopted father his CAR and a canvas magazine pouch.

"This tent is likely to be shot all to pieces," Ben said. "Everybody
back out of here and head for good cover. I'm pretty sure the center of
that knot of refugees is filled with guerrillas."

"Gonna be a lot of dead civilians," Cooper muttered.

"I hate people who use innocents for cover," Anna mumbled darkly. "They
are sorry excuses for human beings."

"I agree, baby," Ben said. "Now get your butt out the back of this tent.
Move!"

Ben and team exited out the back and circled around,

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William W. Johnstone

away from the border crossing. They took cover in a ditch that was half
filled with water.

"Shit!" Jersey said, bellying down in the muck and the water.

"You could always come live with me, my pretty little horned toad,"
Cooper said. "And we could retire from the army and raise little Indians."

"Horned toad!" Jersey exclaimed. "I can't believe you called me a horned
toad. \bu have sunk to a new low. Cooper, have you ever seen a horned toad?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Come to think of it, you remind me of one."

"Handsome devils, aren't they?"

Jersey made a gagging sound and dropped the subject. Cooper just could
not be insulted.

The refugees had crossed the border and were still all bunched up. The
Rebels at the crossing were herding them toward the MASH tents. But the
MASH tents had been evaced of all medical personnel and those civilians
who had been lined up had been pushed aside, the Rebels getting them out
of harm's way as best they could.

"Combat boots," Anna remarked from her position next to Ben. "I can see
some of those in the center of the refugees are wearing combat boots."

"We can't do a damn thing until they break from the civilians and open
the fight," Beth bitched.

"Steady," Ben cautioned in a low voice. "They've got about fifty or so
yards to go before they can do anything. If they broke free now, the
damage they could do to us would be minimal."

"It's gotta be a suicide team," Cooper said. "Nothing else makes any sense."

"I have to agree with Cooper," Jersey said. "Will wonders never cease."

"They're all clear of the old checkpoint now," Corrie

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said. "They'll be near the center of the compound in a few seconds."

Ben could see those fifty or so guerrillas-perhaps more than that-in the
center of the frightened refugees, now pushing them into a faster pace.
One woman carrying an obviously starving child fell and those behind her
moved to one side to keep from stepping on the woman.

Suddenly there was a burst of shouting from the center of the refugees
and about seventy-five men leaped from the now disorganized groups and
began running in all directions, frantically pulling weapons and
grenades from under their ragged coats and shirts.

The men and women and children who made up the refugees began screaming
in fear and shouting in their own tongues and running in all directions,
preventing the Rebels from opening up with any type of effective fire.

"Select fire and pick your targets carefully!" Ben shouted, pulling
himself up onto one knee in the muddy ditch. "Watch for human bombs.
This is a suicide run."

Anna reached up and grabbed hold of Ben's web belt and pulled him back
down into the cover of the ditch. "That wasn't too smart, General Ben,"
she chided him. "You trying to get shot up so you can go back home?"

Ben glanced at the young woman and smiled. "Thank you, Anna. I have been
properly chastised."

"Look out!" Corrieyelled, just a second before a half-dozen guerrillas
jumped into the ditch.

One landed beside Ben and Ben clubbed him with his CAR. The clubbing
seemed to have no effect on the man. The guerrilla's eyes were
wild-looking. Ben jammed the muzzle of the CAR into the man's open mouth
and pulled the trigger, blowing out the back of the man's head and
splattering Jersey and Cooper with blood and brain and bits of bone.

200

Another guerrilla had wrestled Anna down into the ditch and was trying
to drown her in the foot or so of water. The man suddenly screamed and
lost his grip on her throat, both hands going to his belly. He arched
backward and Ben could see the upward rip in his belly where Anna had
used her razor-sharp knife to get the man off her.

In the split second Ben observed all this, Anna came sputtering to her
knees in the muddy water, the obscenities flying from her mouth. "I lost
my fucking weapon!" she shouted, and began groping in the water for her CAR.

Ben did not have time to see if she located the weapon. Another
guerrilla jumped on his back and rode him down. Ben could not understand
why the men were not using their weapons, but didn't have time to
contemplate that question. He reached up and grabbed the man's neck and
twisted and jerked, throwing the infiltrator off him.

Corrie turned at just that second and shot the guerrilla fighter in the
head with her 9mm. Things had gotten so close-in pistols were more
practical than rifles.

Somewhere in the circle that made up the Rebel compound there was a
terrific ground-rattling explosion and seconds later a bloody part of a
man's shin and ankle and booted foot landed near the edge of the ditch.
One of the guerrillas, rigged as a human bomb, had set himself off.
Parts of the man had dropped all over the compound. Ben did not have
time to assess the damage done, if any, but judging from the sound of
the explosion, the man must have had a massive amount of explosive wired
to his body.

Ben had pulled his 9mm from leather and holding his CAR in his left
hand, not wanting to lose it in the muddy waters of the ditch, was
picking close-in targets and pouring the lead to them. He did not have
to look far for the

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enemy, for they were all around him, with more guerrillas pouring out of
the brush all around the compound.

Those who had been hidden in the brush, probably in tunnels, didn't get
very far, for they were running smack into claymore kill zones, the
deadly anti-personnel mines set up all around the compound. Those lucky
enough to escape the claymores were running into machine-gun fire from
Rebel posts set along the outer defense perimeter. But enough guerrillas
were making it through.

"It's gonna get nasty," Ben panted the words.

"It's done got nasty, boss!" Cooper yelled, pulling himself off a dead
guerrilla he had killed with a knife.

"Enemy troops approaching from the road!" Corrie yelled. Her headset was
still working, although it was twisted and the microphone dangling. "I
can hear but can't communicate," she added.

There was no time for Ben to worry about who might be coming up or down
the road, for half a dozen guerrillas were making a suicide run toward
the ditch, one of them very bulky around the chest and waist. Ben
suspected the man had wrapped explosives around himself. Even at a
distance of many yards, Ben could tell the man was hopped up on
something: a powerful local brew or some sort of dope to give him
courage. Didn't matter which, he was running straight for Ben and his team.

Ben leveled the 9mm and started putting rounds into the running man. Ben
put round after round into the bomber, but the slugs didn't seem to faze
him. Finally one of the slugs must have hit the detonator, for the last
thing Ben would remember for a long time was a tremendous flash of light.

Then . . .

Nothing.

202

Ben awakened with a terrible headache. Throbbing. Some little man was
inside his noggin beating on a bass drum. Ben opened his eyes. He was
lying on the ground, and the ground was wet. Come to think of it, Ben
was wet all over. Took him awhile to understand it was raining. Ben
tried to sit up and when he did, his head felt like it weighed a ton and
would fall off his shoulders at any moment. He did not try to get up;
just sat on the wet ground and let the rain pound on him for a few more
minutes.

During that time he looked around him. He did not know where he was. And
that was not all. He did not know who he was.

An,d that frightened him.

Then memory started returning to him in tiny fragments, snatches of
sudden remembrance, bursts of recollection. The fight at the border.
Infiltrators among the scared and sick and starving refugees.

Ben suddenly was very thirsty. He tilted his head back just a bit-he
didn't want it to fall off-and swallowed some of the rain, a few drops
at a time. Tasted good.

Then he remembered he was wearing a canteen. He felt for his canteen.
Gone. So was his web belt and with it, his pistol and knife. He reached
up and felt of his head. His helmet was gone and there was a cut, a long

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gash really, running down the side of his head from the top to just
above his left ear. Must have been a hell of a piece of shrapnel that
hit him, traveling at about nine hundred or so miles per hour, give or
take a few hundred mph.

He looked around him. No familiar landmarks. He was nowhere near the
border and the compound.

The compound. It must have been overrun. But that would have taken one
hell of a large force. So ... knowing that because of the monsoonal
rains and lack of bases for fuel and maintenance, Ben had no eyes in the
sky to pick up on troop movement, Bruno moved his guerrilla forces up to
the border, scattered them all around, probably in tunnels, and waited.

Ben looked down at his feet. At least he still had his boots. But what
the hell happened to his web belt, his battle harness? He didn't know;
might never know. He looked at his watch. The date couldn't be right. He
blinked, looked at it again. Almost an entire day and night had passed.
Impossible. But there it was. Almost to the hour.

He'd been out for twenty-four hours.

Ben was suddenly hungry. Ravenous.

He felt in his right-side cargo pocket, found a candy bar and ate
several bites. Then he got immediately sick and puked it up.

Concussion, he thought. And a bad one. Or maybe his stomach just
rejected the richness of the chocolate.

He struggled to his feet and swayed for a moment. He fought back the
feeling and spread his feet. The swaying stopped. Ben's sense of
direction had always been superb and that much was still working ... he
was reasonably certain of that. He felt sure the border was . . . that
way, he concluded, turning and facing the west. He started walking, very
slowly, still slightly unsteady on his feet.

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A hundred yards on and he saw the first of what he knew in his heart
would be many, many dead. It was a Rebel sergeant who had been with Ben
for several years. Ben carefully knelt down and first removed the man's
dog tags, sticking them in his pocket. Then he took the sergeant's web
belt, which still had a holstered 9-mm pistol hooked to it and two full
magazines for the pistol, two canteens, a small first-aid kit, and a
sheath knife. He went through the man's pockets and found two survival
bars, a compass, and a small waterproof container of matches.

Ben stowed them in his cargo pockets and walked on. There was nothing he
could do for the man.

After walking for about another three hundred yards, he rested for ten
minutes, then forced himself to move for another several hundred yards.
During his second rest stop, he noticed a body in a depression in the
earth about fifty feet away. Animals had been eating on it. He wondered
if there were hyenas around? He had no desire to tangle with a pack of
hyenas. Ben walked over to the body. Another Rebel. Ben knelt down and
forced himself to remove the battle harness from the man. He tried to
keep from looking at what was left of the man's face. Birds had pecked
his eyes out and something had eaten out the softness of throat.

Ben didn't know the man's name, but he had been a medic and still had
his first-aid kit with him, the strap looped over one shoulder. Ben took
that and the man's holstered pistol and spare magazines. The medic had
two ration packs in a rucksack. Ben slung the rucksack and removed the
man's dog tags. Now he had two pistols, four canteens, a well-stocked
first-aid kit, and something to eat. He pulled the man's poncho from him
and then moved away from the body and walked on for about a hundred
yards until he found some thick brush. He took a stick and poked around
under the brush,

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not wanting to come nose to fangs with a large venomous snake . . .
something Africa has plenty of.

When nothing slithered out, Ben crawled in. He was very very tired but
wondered if he should sleep. A moment later, that decision was made for
him. He didn't wake up until four the next morning.

He crawled out of the brush, stiff and sore, and stood in the silent
pre-dawn hours. Then he squatted down and using a flashlight that had
been hooked onto the sergeant's battle harness, rummaged around in the
first-aid kit until he found a bottle of aspirin. He shook two out and
then ate one of the candy bars. This time he kept it down. Then he took
the aspirin and walked on. He had to change direction because of a swamp
and several yards later, literally stumbled onto the dirt road that he
knew paralleled the main highway. About two miles separated the two. Ben
guessed it was a logging road.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered. He sat down on the side of the old
highway and took a drink of water and wished for a hot cup of coffee and
a smoke. In that order.

The sky began to lighten and Ben found himself looking at a dead man.
Another Rebel. Ben took the man's dog tags and batde harness. He did not
have a rifle, but did have two full magazines for his 9mm in a web
pouch. He also had a rucksack filled with food, grenades, a small gun
cleaning kit, and several packs of cigarettes. Ben sat by the dead body
and smoked.

Then he walked on as the sky changed from silver gray to full light. He
passed several more dead Rebels and stopped at each one to remove the
dog tags. The bodies had been stripped of everything except underwear;
even their socks had been taken.

Ben's head had stopped throbbing, and he was experiencing only a slight
ache. He knew he was going to

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have to stop and clean out his wound sooner or later, and that was not
something he was looking forward to.

The carrion birds were beginning to circle ahead of him, off to his
right, and Ben knew he was not far from the ambush site. Ben found what
appeared to be a path through the brush and took it, reaching the main
highway. He stayed in the brush for several minutes, listening and
watching. He could detect no sight or sound of human life, but he could
smell the unmistakable odor of the dead.

Staying in the brush, Ben cautiously made his way toward the border
crossing. As he rounded the curve, now only about a hundred yards from
the east edge of the Rebel encampment, he braced himself for what his
eyes would soon see and his mind be forced to register.

Still in the brush, Ben came to a halt at the almost unbelievable sight
in front of him: what appeared to be hundreds of naked or near naked
bodies lay swollen and bloated everywhere. They had been stripped of
everything the guerrillas might possibly use. The vultures were feasting
on the bodies, flies covered what the carrion birds had ripped out and
not eaten.

Ben was forced to sit down on the edge of the road for a moment in an
attempt to regain his composure. Many of the dead had been with him
since the beginning of the dream of a new nation.

Now they were gone.

He willed himself to rise, to walk slowly toward the horrible scene. On
the way he picked up a large stick and began whacking at the buzzards.
Some of them were so bloated from eating dead human flesh they could not
fly. They just waddled away a few yards and stared at Ben balefully.

Many of the vehicles were gone, taken by the guerrillas. Just about as
many had been burned, destroyed during the fighting, which must have
gone on for hours,

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perhaps all day, the Rebels fighting to the last person. Wisps of smoke
still drifted out of the hatches of many of the tanks. The commanders,
or the last person alive, knowing the tracks had been blown off,
disabling the MBT, had pulled the pins on grenades, killing themselves
and destroying the interior of the tanks rather than let them fall into
enemy hands.

Ben stood for a moment, literally trembling with rage at the awful sight
that lay all around him in the African morning.

He forcibly willed himself to calm down.

He pushed personal survival ahead of his emotions.

He began slowly walking the encampment, checking each bloated body,
gathering dog tags, looking for anything that the enemy might have
missed that he could use to survive . . . and Ben was going to survive.
Somebody was going to pay for this, and when Ben found them, they would
pay the ultimate price. He would write their names in their own blood
across Southern Africa.

As he walked, turning over bodies when he was forced to do so to make a
visual, Ben found small articles that the enemy had missed; articles
that he could use in his own quest for survival and revenge.

He found ration packets that were still sealed, first aid, supplies,
bottles of pills that the Rebels had to take every day to ward off local
diseases. He picked up 5.56mm rounds as he walked, putting them in his
pockets; the same with discarded magazines. Even though he did not have
a rifle, he'd get one. Somewhere.

Ben picked up several small bottles of water purification tablets. They
would be indispensable when he started out on his own. A mess kit, a
tiny one-cup coffeepot, heat tabs, waterproof containers of matches, an
entrenching tool, a machete, a small camp axe.

He walked on.

A numbness, a deadness of soul, began to overtake

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him as he beat away the carrion birds and looked into the face-if the
body had a face-of the dead. He soon realized he could not take all the
dog tags. There were hundreds of dead. He emptied his pockets of the
weight he did not need, leaving the metal identification tags and neck
chains scattered on the muddy ground.

And he cursed the knowledge that he did not have the means to bury his
friends.

He found signs where larger animals had dragged off bodies into the
brush, and he cursed again.

He could not find Dr. Chase. He could not find any of his team.

But he knew that meant nothing. They might have been dragged off into
the brush to be eaten later. They might have been taken prisoner. They
might have been badly wounded and staggered off to die alone in the mud
and jungle as Ben had done, he supposed. He still had not been able to
figure out exactly how he came to be several miles from the encampment.
Maybe he never would. To hell with it. He had more important matters
confronting him to worry about that. He was alive, and he intended to
stay alive.

He found a walkie-talkie under one of the trucks and a fresh battery
pack. But he could not find a rifle.

In a rucksack, he found several pairs of clean socks that would fit him.
But he could not find a rifle.

In another rucksack he found clean underwear that would fit him. No rifle.

Then in a burst of remembrance, he recalled that just before he was hit,
Anna had dropped her CAR into the muddy waters of the ditch and up to
the time he was dropped into blackness, she had not found it. Maybe? . . .

He located the ditch and began carefully searching the muddy, bloody
water, pushing his hands deep into

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the muck. Then he smiled as his hands touched metal. Found it!

He pulled out the CAR and stepped out of the ditch, walked to what
remained of a tent. Enough was left to provide him some shade. Then, he
took down the CAR and carefully cleaned and oiled the weapon, then
reassembled it. It worked just fine. Ben was back in business.

He slung the weapon and once more began prowling the encampment. He
found a pup tent, ground sheet, and blanket. He continued to pick up and
carefully wipe off each 5.56 round he saw. A couple of grenades. An
unopened package of flashlight batteries. Other small but important
items that could help keep him alive. He found a small hand mirror;
probably from a woman's kit.

He found a roll of toilet paper and continued his prowling among the dead.

He did not attempt to count the dead. There were too many. Ben's 1 Batt
had been destroyed. He would have to rebuild, and he sure as hell
planned to do just that.

He found signs that the enemy had used rocket launchers in their attack.

He kicked a carrion bird away from a woman's body and beat the ugly
flesh-eating bird to death with his heavy stick. He did not dare use his
rifle or pistol for fear the shot would be heard by the enemy.

Ben noted that the civilians who had been used to hide the first wave of
attackers were dead. Men, women, and children.

He returned to the tent lean-to and began putting together a pack. Then
he hefted it. Heavy, but he could carry it.

Then he steeled himself and opened his head wound. He almost lost
consciousness but managed to maintain some degree of alertness, albeit
through a cloudy haze

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of intense pain. He inspected the wound with the tiny mirror, cleaned it
and closed it as best he could, then bandaged the gash. He gave himself
a shot of antibiotics and then sat for a time, letting the waves of pain
dissipate while he gathered his strength.

Ben ate a portion of a ration pack, took two more aspirin, and began
filling magazines with the rounds he'd found. After a few minutes, he
realized he was once more hungry and finished the ration pack. That's
when he smiled and knew he was getting better.

Ben made one more walking tour of the carnage and found about fifty more
5.56mm rounds that he'd missed. He knew there were many, many more in
the churned up mud, but he didn't want to take the time to grope around
hunting for them.

Besides, he had things to do.

And people to track down and kill.

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Ben headed north, choosing that direction for several reasons. He did
not want to plunge deeper into enemy territory by heading east, and he
had a strong suspicion that his was not the only Rebel battalion to have
been hit by Bruno's guerrilla forces. If the latter was true, Ike would
stop the advance for a few days, and Ben just might, might, be able to
hook up with Nick's 18 Batt, which was a couple of hundred kilometers
north of Ben. That was a long shot, but Ben felt he had no choice in the
matter.

About five miles north of the ambush site, Ben found two more Rebel
bodies in a ditch. They had managed to get this far before collapsing
and dying from their wounds. Ben left their weapons and took their ammo
pouches and rucksacks, which contained food packets and grenades and
other small items. He walked on. He would inspect the rucksacks when he
stopped for a rest period further on up the road. He did not want to
tarry anywhere close to the bodies, for they were badly bloated and had
been eaten on by small animals and carrion birds. Their faces had been
gnawed and pecked and torn at so badly Ben could not recognize either Rebel.

Ben came to a small village, stopping a couple of hundred yards from it,
ducking into the brush, and squat-

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ting for a time, inspecting the tiny settlement. He could detect no
signs of life. Staying off the road and in the brush, Ben approached the
village cautiously. His caution was needless, for the village was deserted.

Ben prowled what was left, and found nothing that he might use, which
was just as well, for he was overloaded as it was. He walked on.

The road north was a secondary road, not paved, and in very bad shape.
That was yet anodier reason Ben chose to head north: the road was fine
for walking, but would have been hell on vehicles.

Ben stopped to rest, choosing a spot deep in some thick brush, after
poking around in the brush with a long sturdy walking stick he had
picked up just north of the ambush site. When nothing growled,
slithered, or came charging out, Ben crawled into the brush and prompdy
went to sleep, for he was still in a very weakened condition.

He awakened two hours later, and ate part of a ration pack. He took
another antibiotic pill and crawled out of die thicket, walking back to
the road, about a hundred yards from where he had rested. He headed north.

He walked at a leisurely pace, for he was in no condition to push
himself physically. Ben figured he was making about four miles an hour,
and he stopped whenever he felt fatigued. Several times that day he
turned on the walkie-talkie but could receive nothing. The silence came
as no surprise.

The afternoon rains came, and Ben slogged on: a solitary figure on a
lonely road.

With about an hour of daylight left, Ben came to an-otfier tiny deserted
village. He chose die hut furthest from the road, almost in die brush,
and spread his ground sheet and blanket. Then he ate part of a ration
pack while he brewed a cup of coffee in the tiny one-cup pot, using a
heat tab. When the coffee was brewed, Ben

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enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Then he carefully cleaned his
CAR, his pistols, and in the last rays of light, went through the two
rucksacks he had taken from the dead Rebels in the ditch.

Another roll of toilet paper, which was a good find. Water purification
tablets. Malaria pills, another good find. Several more grenades. Ration
packs. Half a dozen full magazines of 5.56mm rounds.

Ben put the contents of both rucksacks into one, and then carefully
buried the empty rucksack. He did not want a team of guerrillas to find
it, put two and two together, and be on his trail. He was in no shape
for a fight. Yet.

Ben slept soundly and well, awakening about two hours before dawn. After
seeing to his morning toilet, and then standing outside the hut and
listening for several minutes, Ben brewed another cup of coffee and ate
a small breakfast. He took another antibiotic pill and packed up,
carefully smoothing out the dirt floor of the hut, obliterating all
signs of boot tracks. Outside the hut, Ben sat down and changed socks,
carefully rubbing his feet for several minutes and sprinkling a bit of
foot powder between his toes. Then he laced up his boots and once more
headed north.

At noon, he came to the river and was relieved to find the old bridge
still standing. But he did not immediately cross it. He squatted in the
brush and watched the bridge for half an hour. There was no movement,
foot traffic, bicycle, or motor vehicle. When he was sure there were no
guards on the bridge-something he found very strange-he hurried across
and then rested on the other side; the jog across the bridge had tired
him. While he was resting, the wind changed, bringing with it the
unmistakable odor of death. Ben followed the scent to its source. He
found about a hundred ci-

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vilians, men, women, and children, lying in a depression in the earth.
They had been lined up and shot.

"Centuries-old tribal hatreds," Ben muttered. "Ethnic cleansing. No
wonder I haven't seen any people."

He walked on, even though he was very tired. He wanted to put a couple
of miles between himself and the stench of rotting human flesh before
sitting down to rest and eat a bite.

When he could no longer smell decaying human flesh, Ben struggled out of
his pack and sat down just off the road. He ate a high-energy bar and
sipped some water, taking another antibiotic pill after eating, then he
picked up his pack and moved back into the brush. The rains were due to
begin at any time, and Ben just did not feel like slogging through the
mud and pouring rain.

He found a place that was nearly surrounded by thick head-high brush and
strung up his lean-to under the low branches of a tree. He laid out his
ground sheet, covered his blanket with another piece of a ground sheet,
and crawled under the cover and promptly went to sleep.

The heavy rains awakened him once, but after looking around him and
seeing and sensing nothing, he went back to sleep. He woke up with about
an hour of daylight left, heated up water, then dumped in the contents
of a soup packet. While he ate his soup and lunched on crackers, he
heated up a cup of coffee and enjoyed that with a cigarette. Then he
took his malaria tablets and crawled back into his blankets. He was
asleep in a few moments.

The sound of voices woke him.

He couldn't understand the language, but instantly guessed they were not
friendly. He looked at the luminous hands of his watch. 0430. He had
slept the night through and felt good. Ben knew he was well on the

215

way to full recovery. He wasn't there yet, but he was getting closer
each day.

Then he heard the sound of a vehicle and was out of his blankets faster
than a snake, speed-lacing his boots. He picked up his CAR and moved
silently through the brush to within a few yards of the road. The
vehicle was a HumVee-a Rebel HumVee. But it had come from the north, not
the south. He knew that really proved nothing, but he had a suspicion
that Nick's battalion had come under heavy attack. He hated to think
that Nick and his 18 Batt might have suffered the same fate as Ben's 1
Batt, but it was something that had to be considered.

Ben wanted that HumVee. For one thing, he was tired of hoofing it, and
for another the HumVee might be radio equipped with the gear necessary
to up-link with a satellite and talk to everyone. The walkie-talkie Ben
had was an old squad type with a very limited range.

"What the hell is the matter?" a very authoritative and demanding voice
yelled. "And speak English, damnit. Stop all that gibber-jabber."

"We lost his trail, Captain," one of the men spoke out of the darkness.
"About two miles back. But we know he's a Rebel by his boots."

"It just might be that bastard Raines," the obviously white voice said,
softening in tone. "He was not identified with the other dead. The son
of a bitch has more lives than a room full of cats."

"Many got away, Captain," he was reminded. "They vanished into the brush
and can move like ghosts. Those who pursued them never returned."

"I know all that," the captain snapped. "All right. Get in. We'll
backtrack to where you lost his trail and pick it up again at first light."

Now or never, Ben thought, raising the CAR.

He took the two enlisted men first, then shifted the

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muzzle and shot the officer, one of his rounds taking the man in the
side of the head. Ben slipped out of the brush and inspected his
morning's work. The two enlisted men were still alive, but not for long:
the rounds had taken them in the chest and throat. Ben picked up their
weapons and laid them on the hood of the Hummer, out of their reach. He
moved over to the officer and knelt down. The man was dead. Ben removed
the man's web belt, which had a pistol attached to it, and laid it
beside the weapons he'd taken from the enlisted men. One of the enlisted
men was dead and the other had lost consciousness.

Ben dragged the bodies, one at a time, off the side of the road and into
the brush. Then he quickly broke his own camp and stowed his gear into
the Hummer. He was delighted to see a case of field rations behind the
front seat and other gear piled in the back. There were four full
five-gallon fuel cans in the cargo space in the rear.

Ben got behind the wheel, cranked the engine, and sighed with
satisfaction. The fuel tank was full. He dropped the Hummer into gear
and moved out. He was back in business.

Ben drove for ten miles, then at a crossroads, pulled off the road and
parked behind what had once been a store and a residence. The sky was
beginning to lighten and he wanted to inspect the gear in the Hummer.

He sat for a few minutes behind the wheel, knowing he was grinning like
a schoolboy and couldn't stop. Hell, he didn't want to stop.

He unassed himself from the Hummer and did a careful inspection of the
old store and adjoining building. Both were deserted and showed no signs
of having been occupied for a long time. There was nothing left in
either building; they had been looted many times.

Behind the store, sitting on the back step, Ben heated

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a cup of coffee and while that was heating, ate a full ration pack and
could have eaten more. He was rapidly regaining his strength. Pulling
the bodies off the road had not sapped him as he was afraid it would. He
took his daily medicine, then drank his coffee and smoked a cigarette
while he watched the sun break the horizon. Then he began his inspection
of the interior of the Hummer.

One of his bullets had punched through the thick plastic of the rear
side door and penetrated the radio. It wouldn't even turn on.

"Well, so much for that," Ben muttered. "I can't have everydiing I
wished for."

Then he began rummaging through the other gear. A full case of field
rations on the seat, another on the floorboards. Ben didn't have to
worry about anything to eat for a time. A five-gallon sealed can of
drinking water, with the date it had been factory sealed stamped on the can.

"Issued for his white troops only, I'll bet," Ben muttered, but he was
glad to see the full can of water. It would last him for a long time if
he was careful, and he certainly intended to be careful.

Ben found blankets and a tent. A portable stove and several cans of fuel
for it. A rucksack filled with grenades. Then he smiled when he found a
Heckler & Koch HK11A1 machine gun, chambered for the 7.62 round. This
weapon could also take the 5.56 round and the lighter old Russian 7.62
round by replacing the barrel, bolt, and feed mechanism. But there were
no spare parts for the weapon so this machine gun would take only the
heavier 7.62 round. Which suited Ben just fine. There were five full
one-hundred round cans of belted ammo in the Hummer.

"Playtime is over, boys," Ben said. "The Eagle is back in business."

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Eagle had been Ben's code designation for a long time.

Ben found the tool kit and removed the front panel from the radio. The
bullet, or as it turned out, bullets, had made a mess of the radio. It
was beyond useless. Ben removed it from its brackets and carefully hid
it with some junk in the old store. Removing the radio would lighten the
load in the Hummer by about fifty pounds.

Ben found some clean socks and some dirty underwear. He kept the socks.
He found a pair of new boots that were several sizes too small for him
but he kept them anyway. He just might run across a Rebel who needed
some boots. He found a map case and inspected it. The maps were far more
up to date than the ones the Rebels were using. He found roads he didn't
even know existed. More importantly, he found enemy troops' positions
and hidden food and fuel depots clearly marked.

"Thank you very much, Captain," Ben said, carefully folding the maps and
slipping them back into the waterproof case. "You've been a great help."

Ben laid several grenades on the seat beside him and stowed the rest. He
squatted down and drank some water, while planning his next move.

Which was easy enough. "Keep moving on," he muttered. He was bound to
run into some Rebels sooner or later.

He once more tried the frequencies on his walkie-talkie. Nothing. Which
was what he expected.

Ben cranked the engine and pulled out onto the road. Might as well keep
going, he thought. It isn't as though I have a lot of choice in the matter.

With a full tank of fuel and the extra cans, Ben knew he could travel
about five hundred or so miles, give or take seventy five. But now that
he had the locations of hidden fuel depots clearly marked on the maps he
had,

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as long as he could evade the enemy, he just might keep going for a
long, long time.

Of course, he might round the next bend in the road and run smack into
an enemy patrol.

"Pays your money and takes your chances," he muttered, and drove off
into the unknown.

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Ben stayed on roads that ran along the border with Togo, and ran through
no towns that were on the map. He passed through tiny villages and saw
perhaps a total of a hundred people, all of them looking as if they
might fall over dead from starvation or disease any moment. Ben did not
stop. There was no point. There was nothing he could do.

By midmorning, the dirt road came to an end, intersecting with the main
highway between Savalou and Djougou. Now it would get dicey.

Ben backed up and into the brush. He got out the map case taken from the
officer he'd shot and rummaged through the papers, finally finding a map
of Djougou. A population of thirty thousand before the Great War. No
telling what it was now. It might be only a few hundred or a few hundred
thousand. But there was a fuel depot there and he would need fuel.

Ben smiled. He felt an old familiar recklessness take him. He just might
be able to bluff his way in and out. Hell, what did he have to lose?

He studied the map again. He was about a hundred kilometers from
Djougou. The road appeared to be in fair condition, so he should reach
the small city about 1500 hours, right in the middle of a driving
monsoonal rain. That would work to his advantage ... he hoped.

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"Okay, Raines," he muttered. "Let's have a go at it."

Just before the compound was overrun, Ben had changed into regulation
BDUs, and given his tiger stripe fatigues to the laundry crew to be
washed. So he was wearing the same type of field clothing as Bruno's
officers. The collar insignia denoting rank was different in the two
armies, so Ben was going to have to depend on his age and good deal of
bluff to get through any checkpoints he might run into. Ben was very
good at intimidation, so he wasn't too worried about dealing with
inexperienced enlisted men and junior officers. He just hoped he didn't
run into some field-sawy senior sergeant along the way. He didn't feel
there was much danger of that, since senior sergeants seldom manned
checkpoints.

It was a needless worry. Ben did not run into a single checkpoint on the
way to Djougou. About fifty kilometers from the city, the rains came
thundering down and Ben drove on into the small city without a hitch.

Ben had memorized the way to the fuel depot, but naturally he got lost
in the twisted street. He came up on a group of young soldiers, several
whites and several blacks. Ben brazenly stopped and waved one over.

"Sir!" the young soldier said in perfect English, coming to full brace
in the rain.

"The fuel depot," Ben barked. "Where is it?"

The young soldier gave good instructions and added, "But you might have
trouble getting someone to assist you, sir."

Ben fixed the young man with a hard look. "Do you really think that I
will have very much trouble?"

The young soldier took a deep breath. "Ah . . . no, sir. No, sir. I
really think not."

"Thank you," Ben told him, returning the salute. "Carry on."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

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Ben filled up at the depot, swiped four more full five-gallon cans of
fuel, stowed them in the rear cargo space, and was gone from the small
city, having done it all in just about twenty minutes.

"It just takes a little bit of nerve, that's all," Ben said, leaving
Djougou behind him. "And a lot of blind luck," he added.

About fifteen miles north of Djougou, Ben ran into his first checkpoint.
It was manned by two tough-looking African soldiers, both of them
wearing some sort of tribal marks cut and tattooed into their cheeks.
They were both surly and arrogant-acting. Ben pulled his sidearm from
leather and held it in his right hand, out of sight. The 9mm was on full
cock and ready to bang. He unzipped the thick upper plastic of the door
and peered out at the men.

"Yes?"

"Get out of the vehicle," one ordered.

"I don't think so," Ben told him.

The man lifted his rifle and Ben shot him in the face, the man dying
without a sound. The second guard whirled around and Ben put two 9mm
rounds in the man's chest. The guard sat down hard on the muddy ground
and looked at Ben, a very surprised expression on his face. Then he
toppled over face first in the mud.

Ben couldn't leave the two where they were. Any enemy tracker with half
a brain would know Ben was heading north. He scrambled out of the Hummer
and laid both dead men across the wide hood of the Hummer. He looked up
and down the highway. No vehicle in sight. Ben pulled back out on the
road and headed north, feeling just a bit conspicuous with two dead men
lying across the hood. About a mile up the highway, he came to a nearly
overflowing and fast-running creek. He stopped on the bridge and dumped
the bodies into the water. They disappeared from sight. Ben got back

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into the Hummer and continued on his way, knowing with a sick feeling in
his stomach that if Bruno's men were working openly here, Nick's
battalion had been overrun and scattered.

How many more of Ben's battalions had suffered the same fate?

Ben was afraid to even guess.

Bruno had carefully suckered Ben and his Rebels on, lulling them into a
sense of false security. He had used the rainy season to finish moving
massive numbers of troops north and had probably had the tunnels dug and
supplied long before Ben and his battalions had sailed from the States.

Ben had always said he could never afford the luxury of selling Bruno
short, and damned if he hadn't done just that.

And Ben's people had paid the ultimate price for his own short-sightedness.

The Rebels' years-long unbroken stretch of luck had run out.

Ben's face had tightened with rage with those thoughts, his big hands
gripping the wheel turning white-knuckled.

He willed himself to calm down. Take it easy. Anger wouldn't solve
anything now. He had to keep a cool head. He forced himself to find
something positive to think about and concentrate on that.

Miles went past in a torrent of warm rain and worsening highway. Ben had
to slow his speed. He did not want to break down now. He drove on a few
more miles. Where in the hell were the people? Where had they gone? Had
Bruno's horrible plans of massive genocide reached this far north? Could
any human being actually be that callous?

Ben was a long-time student of history. He knew the answer to that
question the instant it formed in his brain.

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Hitler was Bruno's idol; Bruno considered Hitler to be the greatest man
who ever lived.

Yes. Bruno was perfectly capable of killing millions of people, and
that's what he had done. He had used old tribal hatred among the African
people to practice massive genocide. And those who carried out Bruno's
orders had aligned themselves with the Nazi bastard. So the Rebels
weren't just up against several hundred thousand of Bruno's troops. They
had walked right in and placed themselves against about a million
troops- more or less.

Well, there was only one thing Ben could do about that: survive.
Rebuild. Plan. Be smarter than Bruno. Be meaner than Bruno.

And the latter was something Ben could damn sure do.

Fifteen miles up the highway, Ben came to half a dozen burned out
Hummers and deuce-and-halves and several Rebel tanks. His worse fears
were being confirmed: Nick's battalion had fought one hell of a fight,
but had finally been overrun by sheer numbers.

Ben didn't stop. There was no point. The scene before him told it all in
silent volumes.

Ben steeled himself and drove on.

He had not faced the thought that his team might be among the dead, and
he refused to do so now. His team was as slippery as quicksilver. If
there was just one chance in a million that they survived, they did.
That was something that Ben had to keep believing. He had to.

He drove on through the monsoonal rains. Came to another battle site.
More wrecked and burned out Rebel tanks and trucks. Rotting bodies,
bloated and eaten on by wild animals and carrion birds.

Ben kept his eyes on the road and drove on.

The bodies had been stripped of everything, right down to their
underwear. It was obscene.

225

225

Ben began looking for a place to hide for the night. It would be dark in
about an hour. He came to what was left of a village and slowed, giving
it a visual. He finally stopped and backed up, pulling in behind some
falling down huts and houses. The rain had actually picked up in volume,
limiting vision to only about a hundred or so yards. The fat raindrops
were hammering out and flattening the tire tracks of the Hummer.

Ben took a chance and walked out onto the highway, looking at the
village from the road. The huts he had parked behind completely shielded
his vehicle. There was no danger of being spotted from the sky. Ben had
not seen an enemy plane or helicopter since the fight at the border.

He found a dry spot in the hut directly in front of his Hummer and
settled in for the evening. His thoughts were dark and ugly as he fixed
his supper.

All right! Ben finally calmed himself down enough to think rationally.
All right. Enough of this. Now think, Raines, damnit, think.

Not everybody was killed. Perhaps no more than forty percent of the two
battalions had been hit.

So where did the survivors go?

Did they run off into the brush and jungle to form small hit-and-run
guerrilla groups?

Maybe.

Were they captured?

That was a possibility that certainly had to be considered.

If they were captured, where were they being held?

Ben smiled, a cruel curving of the lips.

He damn sure knew how to learn the answer to that. But the person he
questioned was not going to be very happy about it.

He ate his supper, heated his coffee, took his daily

226

medication, and smoked a cigarette. Then he went to bed.

Tomorrow he would take a prisoner and learn the truth. One way or the other.

The soldier looked up at Ben through very frightened eyes. He had never
seen such a savage look in all his life. One instant he had been
standing guard at an intersection, the next instant something had struck
him on the head and now he was trussed up like a pig awaiting slaughter.

And who was this savage-looking man squatting beside him, holding that
razor-sharp knife?

"You speak English?" Ben asked.

Ben had dumped the sentry into the back of the Hummer and driven twenty
miles up the road before pulling off into the brush and hauling the
soldier out for questioning.

"Yes, sir."

The sentry had been careless. Over-confident. Too sure of himself. The
few victories had filled him with a false sense that all was well.

All was not well.

Ben Raines was alive and on the warpath.

"How many prisoners did you people take? And you'd better give me a
straight answer when you open your mouth." Ben held up the knife. "The
thumb on your right hand gets cut off first."

The soldier believed him. There was not a doubt in his mind kept this
barbaric-looking man meant every word. So great was his fright, the
soldier peed in his underwear.

"We took some prisoners. But not very many. They were transported south
to a prisoner of war camp."

"How far south?"

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227

"Several hundred miles."

"Will they be tortured?"

"Certainly not, sir! Those are orders from the General Field Marshal
himself. All Rebel prisoners will be treated fairly and humanely. I have
seen those orders with my own eyes. I swear it."

Ben believed him. Bruno had sense enough to know that if Ben learned any
of his people had been tortured, Hell would be a luxury vacation spa
compared to what Ben Raines would do ... and Bruno knew even if Ben was
dead, that crazy ex-SEAL, Ike McGowan would do the same, and if those
two were dead, Dan Gray, that nutty Englishman, the former SAS officer,
would take up the slack, and so on down the line.

What Bruno did not really understand was: scratch one Rebel, and they
all bleed.

"Give the exact location where they're being held."

"I don't know the exact location, sir. I swear before God and my
mother's grave, I don't know."

Ben believed him. The soldier was too young and too frightened and there
was a ring of sincerity in his words.

"How many battalions were hit?"

"About half of them, I think, sir. But I don't know for sure. I do know
that many of the attacks failed and we lost a lot of native soldiers.
The main thrust of the attacks were concentrated in the west. We were
ordered, at all costs, to either kill or capture General Ben Raines. He
. . ." The solider's mouth dropped open and he paled under his tan. He
had suddenly realized just who was questioning him. "Oh, my God," he
gasped. "You're General Ben Raines."

"That's right, boy. I'm the devil in person."

The soldier's eyes were suddenly filled with fright. He, too, had heard
Ben referred to as the devil. And he obviously believed the rumor.

"And whether I send you right straight to hell with

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this knife," Ben held up the big-bladed knife, "or let you live, depends
on you."

"How do you mean, General?" The soldier's voice was filled with panic.

"On whether on not you tell me the truth."

"I swear to God, General. Every word I have spoken was the truth. I
would not lie to you. I am not that big a fool."

"Perhaps not. But you would lie to save your life, wouldn't you?"

"Who wouldn't, sir?" the soldier replied honestly.

Ben chuckled. "Good reply. Now tell me everything you know about the
number of prisoners taken, where they are held, and anything else you
know that I need to know." Ben held up the knife. "And don't lie."

229

The soldier could tell Ben little else, and he did not believe the young
man was lying to him.

"You'll be able to free yourself from these ropes in a few hours, if you
work at it," Ben told him.

"Yes, sir."

Ben left the young man trussed up on the dirt floor of the hut and drove
off toward the south, deliberately allowing the soldier to see what
direction he was taking by circling around and driving past the door of
the hut. Ten miles down the highway, he cut off onto an ill-defined old
logging road and circled around, almost getting stuck half a dozen
times. He returned to the highway an hour later and fifteen miles north
of the hut and headed north toward Natitingou, Nick's last known
reporting site. But as he approached the town, Ben could not go a mile
without seeing signs of a terrible batde.

There weren't so many Rebel bodies, but dozens of vehicles and several
tanks and APCs.

The soldier Ben had questioned had told him that standing orders were to
carry off and bury their own dead, leaving the Rebels behind as a form
of intimidation to any locals who might get it into their heads to come
out of the brush and fight Bruno's forces. Ben guessed that made sense,
in a weird sort of way, since

230

Bruno's people had killed millions already, and those few natives left
were slowly starving to death or dying of disease and most were too sick
or weak to fight off a gnat.

About twenty miles south of the town, Ben cut off the main highway onto
another highway that angled toward the northeast, but not before
stopping at a wrecked deuce-and-a-half and finding one full five-gallon
can of fuel somebody had overlooked. He topped off his fuel tank and
drove on. The bed of the transport had been filled with dead Rebels,
stripped down to their underwear. They were so bloated it was impossible
to make out their features.

But where in the hell were the hundreds of Rebels who had escaped the
battles?

In the brush and jungle, living off the land, hiding out until they
could regroup, probably. They would stay well away from any highways.

But would the survivors head back west, or head east? Neither, he
finally concluded: they would make their way north. Some among them
would have managed to establish and maintain communications with other
battalions during the fight, and would know that not all battalions had
been hit. They would try to connect with those battalions.

Ben came to a sliding halt at a tiny village about forty miles
north-northeast of the highway he had exited. His eyes had found a
graveyard filled with makeshift crosses. He parked the Hummer behind a
falling-down hut and walked through the drizzle to the graveyard. He
could see dog tags hanging from the rickety crosses, the markers held
together with rope and twine and strips of cloth.

The first dog tags he looked at belonged to Nick Stafford. The commander
of 18 Batt had died fighting beside his people.

231

Ben walked through the graveyard, looking at the dogtags; he knew many
of the people who were buried there. Several doctors. Nick's XO.

Ben shook his head and walked back to the Hummer, wondering who had
buried the fallen Rebels.

He didn't know and probably never would.

"Shit!" Ben said, filled with rage. He pulled back onto the highway.

The town of Kerou was nearly deserted, except for a few old men and
women who were barely clinging to life. But Ben found an old fuel dump
on die outskirts of town and topped off his tank, after he had searched
for nearly an hour among the hundreds of barrels to find one tihat was
half full.

It was dark when Ben finished at the dump and he drove about five miles
outside of town and made camp in the burned-out ruins of what had once
been a nice home.

He had seen no signs of Bruno's forces and the fuel depot appeared to
have been used up and deserted. That could possibly mean that Bruno's
people, when they pulled out, had no intention of returning.

But which direction had they gone?

Ben had him a hunch they headed back toward home.

He didn't know why he felt tihat way, but the hunch was strong.

But not so strong that he could afford to let down his guard and become
careless.

"Shit!" Ben said, as he poured a cup of coffee and dumped in the
contents of a sugar pack from his accessory pack. His thoughts were of
Nick. A damn good battalion commander, well liked and respected by his
troops.

Cold in the ground.

"Valhalla just got another good soldier," Ben muttered.

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Sleep was elusive for Ben that night. He managed a couple of hours and
was on the road just before dawn. He was flagged down about halfway
between Kerou and Banikoara by a priest and two nuns, all three wearing
the rags of their faith.

"You might kill me for asking this," the priest said, before Ben could
say a word. "But I am not afraid of death. I know you do not shoot
wounded men ... or so I have been told. We have a badly wounded soldier
in that hut over there." He pointed. "Can you spare just a little medicine?"

"I'm an American," Ben told the priest. "My name is Ben Raines."

The jaws of all three religious people dropped open. They crossed
themselves. The priest said, "Yes. You fit the description. Are you
aware there is a great reward out for your capture?"

"No. But that doesn't surprise me any. Take me to him. Sorry I can't
give you a lift. The vehicle is packed with supplies."

"It's only a few hundred yards, General," a sister said. "Follow us."

The Rebel was hard hit and dying. Ben felt it was some sort of miracle
the man was still alive. For the first time, Ben was able to hear some
of what had happened.

"Don't bother changing bandages or giving me anything, General," the
Rebel sergeant told Ben. "It would be a waste of precious supplies. I've
had it and I know it. Just listen if you will."

Ben nodded his head.

"I prayed to God some officer would come along so I could tell my story.
I guess God answered my prayers."

"I guess He did," Ben said.

"We never really had a chance, General. They came at us by the
thousands. First it was suicide squads all mixed in with refugees. Then
they came at us in what

233

233

seemed like thousands; may have been thousands. It was hand to hand most
of the time. Artillery was useless, so were mortars. Everything was
close up."

The sergeant paused for a moment to catch his breath. Ben waited.

"But we must have killed hundreds of them, General. Hell, I know we did.
There were bodies stacked up like cans of beans in a grocery store.
Still they kept coming. They'd climb over the dead and keep coming. It's
. . . like they were all popped up on something. Maybe some local dope.
I don't know. General? Is 18 Batt finished?"

"Nick's dead. I found his grave among others."

"Yes, sir. I saw him fall. We were among the last to get hit. Between
the two of us, we must have killed at least a hundred. How about your
battalion, sir?"

"We were overrun, Sergeant. We took a lot of casualties."

"Your team?"

"I don't know. I prefer to think of them as missing."

The sergeant closed his eyes and smiled. "But we gave them hell, didn't
we, sir?"

"We sure did, Sergeant."

The sergeant never opened his eyes again. An hour later, he died
peacefully in his sleep. Ben had never left his side.

Ben rose to his boots. "I have a shovel in the vehicle. I'll get it."

"No need," the priest said. "We have locals waiting about a mile from
here. In the bush. We'll see to his burial. The locals won't come out as
long as you are here. They're afraid of you."

"I'm not here to hurt them, Padre."

"I know that. But they don't."

"Can I leave you anything? I can spare some food."

The priest smiled and shook his head. "No. Thank you. But we'll make it.
You have a long way to go. The

234

sergeant said something about a 17 Batt just across the border in Niger.
The bridge is still standing at Malan-ville. And my people tell me it
isn't guarded."

"Any word on where Bruno Bottger's Nazis went?"

"They pulled out. Where, I don't know. But except for roaming patrols,
they're gone."

"I guess I'd better go. I still have not been able to make radio contact
with any of my people."

"The sergeant didn't have any type of communications equipment with him
when we found him. Sorry."

"I am, too, Padre." The men shook hands, Ben nodded to the nuns, and got
back on the road.

Banikoara was a burned out town, with the stench of death hanging
everywhere. Ben soon discovered why that was: part of Nick's 18 Batt had
made a last stand in die town, and Bruno's troops had thrown everything
they had at the Rebels, finally overrunning them after what must have
been a fierce hand to hand battle.

The bodies of Rebels littered the streets. And they had all been
stripped of everything, right down to their underwear, and some had even
been stripped of that.

Ben stopped at every shot-up and disabled vehicle until he found one
that had two full fuel cans. He filled his tank and stowed the second
can in the cargo space of the Hummer and left the city of the dead
behind him.

He cut over to the main highway at Kandi, no more than a wide spot in
the road, with few stores and the remnants of one hotel, the Baobab
2000. Ben saw a few people, but they showed no great interest in him and
he had no desire to stop and exchange pleasantries with them.

It was a hundred kilometers from Kandi to Malanville on the border.
Halfway to the border, Ben pulled over at what remained of a lone store
set in the middle of

235

nowhere and tucked the Hummer inside the store. Doing that was easy:
half of the back wall was missing.

Paul Harrison's 17 Batt had been working just across the border in
Niger. Paul's last report was that the capital, Niamey, was in ruins and
he was moving on and would wait for Ben's column to line up south of his
at a town with the unpronounceable name of Dogondouctchi.

Ben had a hunch that 17 Batt had met the same fate as his 1 Batt and
Nick's 18 Batt.

He wondered how many other battalions had been hit by Bruno's forces,
and how many Rebels had been lost?

He would know something for sure in the morning, but in his heart, he
already knew.

Ben found the first of many dead bodies of Rebels he would see that day
just past the bridge over the Niger River at Malanville ... or rather,
what was left of them. They were from Paul's 17 Batt. They might have
been part of a Scout team, but Ben couldn't be sure: the bodies had been
stripped and were unrecognizable. Every weapon, every piece of usable
equipment, every uniform had been taken.

Ben drove on toward Dosso. There he connected with another highway that
would take him Birni Ngaoure, change routes again, and into
Dogondouctchi. Ben figured the mileage at just about a hundred and
seventy-five kilometers from the bridge over the Niger.

He used a siphoning pump that was in the tool compartment of every Rebel
vehicle to top off his gas tank from a shot-up Rebel deuce-and-a-half he
found in the ditch and drove on. Ben did his best to keep his eyes from
the naked bloated bodies in the cab of the truck. But he couldn't keep
the smell from his nostrils.

On the outskirts of Birni Ngaoure, Ben found the

236

first signs of what a fierce battle Paul's 17 Batt had waged with
Bruno's troops. The town had been destroyed by mortar and towed
artillery, the heavy bombardment finally aiding Bruno's troops in
overrunning and killing what Rebels were left in the besieged town.

The sergeant the priest and nuns had found had been correct: the Rebels
must have taken a terrible toll on the enemy troops, fighting right down
to the last person standing, or able to pull a trigger.

And written on the bullet-pocked wall of a building were these words,
scrawled in indelible ink: 17th HAD IT. 16TH UNDER HEAVY ATTACK. 15TH
OVERRUN. 14TH HOLDING BUT NOT FOR LONG. It was signed Lieutenant James
Preston and dated.

Ben had met Lt. Preston several times.

Ben shook his head and walked back outside just as the rains came
ripping down. He drove on into the town. A dead town. Not one person
could be found . . . at least not alive.

Ben looked into a bullet-pocked HumVee and saw a walkie-talkie on the
floorboards. He almost turned away from it, thinking certainly it was
useless, or booby-trapped, it was in such an obvious place.

Ben fashioned together several long sticks and backed away from the
Hummer, crouching behind part of a wall. He began poking at the
walkie-talkie, moving it around, turning it over. Nothing happened.
Somehow the enemy troops had missed spotting the radio.

Ben retrieved the radio and put it on the seat beside him in his Hummer,
then topped off his tank with a siphoning pump. Then he drove away from
the town, stopping a few miles outside of town by the banks of a river.
He got out, extended the antenna and keyed the talk button.

Nothing.

Ben looked at the walkie-talkie and grimaced. "Try

237

turning it on, Raines," he muttered in disgust. "That always helps."

"This is Eagle," he said, after setting the frequency. "Anyone out there
interested in talking to an old bird whose wings have been clipped just
a little?"

Ben came very close to weeping from relief when a voice came back. "You
bet, Eagle. Keep your location to yourself. Too many radios in the wrong
hands ..."

Then the frequency was jammed up with voices as Rebel communication
techs came on, all trying to talk at once. Ben leaned back against the
side of the Hummer.

"Well," he said to the waters of the river and the rain that drenched
him. "At least we're still in business."

238

It would have been useless to set the walkie-talkie on scramble, for
Bruno's people were surely monitoring and with the stolen Rebel
equipment could listen to every word. Ben and the radio tech-wherever he
was- talked in nonsense and baby talk until both knew the approximate
location of the other. The location was determined by using the first,
second, third and fourdi letter of each word spoken, depending on how
the word was positioned in the sentence and then spelling them out. That
was something the Rebels had worked out years back.

It shocked Ben to learn he was talking with the communications people of
Jim Peter's 14 Batt, located some hundred miles to the east.

So where were 15 and 16 Batt?

The tech hundreds of miles away did not reply, and from the silence, Ben
knew.

Wiped out.

Where was Jim Peters?

Dead.

Buck Taylor of 15 Batt?

Badly wounded.

Mike Post?

Dead.

239

Dead.

Jackie Malone of 12 Batt?

Badly wounded.

Greenwalt of 11 Batt?

Dead.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Ben exploded in plain English.

"Nobody else got scratched, General," the tech replied in kind. If the
Commanding General wanted to talk without using the code, the tech sure
as hell wasn't going to tell him he couldn't.

"Calm down, Ben," Ike's voice took the place of the tech. "Save your
anger. You'll need it later. I have your location. Sign off for now.
I'll talk to you later. Check in now and then. Hang loose."

Ben was left with a hundred unanswered questions, but Ike was right. No
point in getting this close to linking up only to have some roaming
patrol of Bruno's close in on him.

Ben made a camp, fixed something to eat, heated some coffee, and was
rolling a cigarette when several dozen Rebels came walking up the road,
as nonchalant as if heading for a church dinner on the grounds.

"Howdy, General!" a sergeant called, waving. "Damn, but it's good to see
a friendly face. We intercepted your transmission and put the code
together. Hell, we were only about half an hour away."

They had rations of their own and a dozen or more vehicles hidden away
in the bush, about two miles away. That was good news. But then they
dropped some really good news on Ben.

"We've been talking in bursts with dozens of other Rebel units scattered
all around," the sergeant said. He was the sergeant major of Paul
Harrison's battalion. "Maybe three hundred or so, with plenty more
Rebels in small teams all over the damn place. But they must

240

be without any type of communications except for squad radios."

"I have one of those in the Hummer," Ben said. "We'll try to contact
them in a minute. What have you heard, Sergeant? How bad is it?"

"It's bad, General." He hesitated. "Almost all of your 1 Batt was wiped
out. Maybe a hundred/hundred and fifty got away into the bush and jungle."

"Any word on my team?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Dr. Chase?"

"Not a peep, sir."

"Then you know about those battalions that got hard hit." It was not a
question.

"Yes, sir. We lost some fine people."

"That we did, Sergeant Major. That we did. Ther-mopolis and his HQ Batt?"

"They didn't get attacked."

"Get the short-range walkie-talkie out of my Hummer and let's start
getting this new brigade organized."

"New brigade, sir?" a young Rebel questioned.

"Yes. You people are now part of my new 1st Brigade. Get cracking."

"Yes, sir!" The young Rebel was wearing a grin a charge of C-4 couldn't
dislodge as he rose to retrieve the walkie-talkie.

By the time darkness began covering the land, slightly more than four
hundred Rebels had been located. He had again spoken with Ike, who had
told him there had been no word about Dr. Chase and his doctors from 1
Batt or Ben's team.

Buck Taylor, commander of 15 Batt, and Jackie Malone, commander of 12
Batt had been seriously wounded. Jackie had already been airlifted out
and had undergone emergency surgery and was on her way back to the
States. A rescue team was bringing Buck out now.

241

241

Ike confirmed that they had lost at least six battalion commanders and
at least five thousand troops-that number would probably go much higher.

One of the Rebels who had joined Ben just before dark shook his head at
Ike's assessment and said, "Try about fifteen thousand dead-at least."

Ben looked at the Rebel for a couple of heartbeats. "Go on," he prompted.

"I talked with a guy from 16 Batt who had talked with one of the
survivors from 14 Batt. 14 Batt got hit hard. They lost probably two
thirds of their people. A couple more people from 14 Batt confirmed that."

Ben passed that word along to Ike.

"13 Batt got creamed, too, General," another Rebel said. "My cousin's
with 13 Batt . . . communications. And that was my job with 15 Batt. My
cousin stayed on the radio until they were overrun. His last words to me
was, 'God help us all. They've wiped us out.' "

Ben passed along that information to Ike, and then signed off. He sat
for a few seconds in silence, then asked, "What about the artillery with
the battalions? Did the enemy haul it off?"

All the Rebels gathered around smiled at that. One said, "Yes, sir, they
did . . . some of it. But most of it's gonna be worthless to them. When
we saw it was nearly over for us, and we were going to be overwhelmed,
we either booby trapped the barrels to blow or destroyed the breech.
They got a lot of vehicles and weapons, but damn litde else."

SOP for the Rebels.

"Not many officers got away, right?"

"No, sir. Practically none of them. A few got captured. Most died fighting."

"All right. Sergeant Major, post the guards and set up a relief
schedule. The rest of you get some sleep.

242

We'll be moving out as soon as those few survivors from the south join
us tomorrow."

"Where will we be heading, General?" a Rebel asked.

"I don't know," Ben replied honestly. "Not yet. But we're not whipped.
If any of you are thinking that, put it out of your minds. We're going
to regroup and come back meaner than ever. It'll take us a while to get
re-supplied and get used to the new reorganization. A couple of months
probably. Ike's got every available ship loading around the clock and
heading this way. We just had a setback, that's all. Now get some sleep."

After the camp had settled down for the night, Ben sat off by himself,
drinking coffee and thinking. Out of nineteen Rebel battalions, he had
lost seven or eight. But he wasn't sure how many troops had been killed.
It would take several weeks for the final numbers to be tallied.

Bruno Bottger had won the first round, but the fight was a long way from
being over. The Rebels surely suffered a bloody nose and a black eye and
some bruises. But Bottger had not destroyed the Rebel spirit. If
anything, in the long run he had probably strengthened it. For Ben knew
his Rebels. And sadness over their losses would soon be replaced by a
cold vengeful anger. The Rebels wouldn't come in as great numbers as
before, but they would come back with revenge on their minds.

And when the two armies finally did meet head to head on the
battlefield, Ben had a couple of little surprises in store for Bruno
Bottger.

But that was in the future. There was a lot of work to be done before
that happened.

Ben crawled into his blankets and went to sleep. Tomorrow he would start
rebuilding his army.

243

"That's everybody who would answer our calls and a hundred more who just
straggled up or down the road and found us," the sergeant major told Ben
at mid-morning. "I'm sure there are more Rebels out in the bush, but
they don't know we're here."

"All right. Once we get reformed and spread out again, they'll find us.
Get the column lined out. We're heading for Niamey. We'll get the
airport cleaned up and ready to receive traffic. We have to start
somewhere. Might as well be there."

There weren't nearly enough vehicles to comfortably carry all the
troops, but the Rebels managed without complaint, packed in the beds and
hanging onto the sides and riding on the fenders and running boards.
Many had to be left behind. But as the convoy made its way slowly toward
Niamey, they came upon Rebel vehicles that had suffered only slight
damage. Ben left crews working on those vehicles after making certain
the trucks had enough fuel to make the trip back to pick up those left
behind and then on to Niamey.

Paul Harrison's last report was that Niamey was in ruins, and he sure
had pegged that right. Part of the city was still burning. Bruno Bottger
had adopted a scorched-earth policy. Ben and his troops arrived at the
airport at midafternoon-in the middle of a downpour-and immediately
began clearing runways. Some of the trucks turned around and headed
back, to pick up those that could not make the first run to the city.

Ben did not attempt any communication with Ike. They had agreed that if
Ben came under attack on the way, he was to get on the radio. If Ike
didn't hear from him, Ben had made it and help would be on the way by
noon of the next day. Either landing or circling. So the Rebels didn't
have time to waste.

Wrecked vehicles were shoved off the runways by deuce-and-a-halves while
other Rebels formed lines and

244

walked the lengths of concrete, picking up debris. The electricity had
not worked in the city for years, so there were no runway lights. But
the transport planes would be bringing in portable generators with the
first flights. At dark the Rebels stopped working and ate some supper.
To a person they were not in the best physical shape; many of them were
near exhaustion. But the runways had been cleared and the planes could land.

They began landing at noon the next day. The first half-a-dozen planes
contained troops, and Ike was the first one off. He ran over to Ben and
the two men grabbed each other in a bear hug.

Ike finally pulled back and wiped his eyes. "Tell your people to stand
guard, Ben. They must be worn out. My people will off-load the planes.
\fou got any coffee?"

Ben laughed. "No. We used the last of it this morning."

"I can fix that in a hurry."

The next two planes brought in cooks, doctors, and supplies. They were
followed by more huge cargo planes, packed with supplies and weapons.

A pot of coffee made for Ben and Ike, and huge vats of coffee made for
the troops, handed out with sandwiches that had been quickly made by the
cooks within minutes of landing, Ben looked at Ike.

"All right, Ike. Give it to me straight, and don't pull any punches."

"Greenwalt, Gomez, Peters, Post, Harrison, and Stafford, all dead.
Taylor and Malone badly hurt and on their way back to the States." Ike
stuck a stub of a cigar into his mouth and chewed it for a moment. "We
lost between fifteen and twenty thousand Rebels, Ben. It will be weeks
before the final numbers are crunched. 11, 12, and 13 Batts were almost
totally wiped out. The other battalions that were hit suffered at least
fifty percent losses . . . some higher."

245

245

"How many officers and senior sergeants made it out?"

"Only a handful of each."

"Well, we're looking at a complete reorganization. How about Bruno and
his people-where are they?"

"They pulled out, heading south. Ben, we must have killed a hundred
thousand of Bottger's people. I'm serious. We destroyed the equivalent
of five full divisions. I don't have to tell you how Rebels fight."

"We didn't hurt him, Ike. He used African troops for cannon fodder. I
doubt if he lost a hundred and fifty of his own people. And we've still
got the gangs of punks between us and Bottger."

"And what's left of his African army."

"Yes. What does Cecil have to say?"

"He's speeding up the training at our bases. It's about all he can do.
He let out a whoop when I told him you were still alive and on the warpath."

"My team and Dr. Chase?"

Ike shook his head. "We've got them MIA, Ben."

"Well, if any team can make it, my team can. And that old crotchety
bastard, Lamar Chase, is hard to kill. I'll say no more about it." Ben
shook himself like a big shaggy dog. "Ike, get on the horn and advise
all Batt Corns to hold what they've got. No further advance. I want
teams of Scouts out right now, penetrate as deep as they think is safe,
burrow in, and keep their eyes wide open. I want Indian talkers with the
Scouts and the same with communications at all times. That ought to
thoroughly confuse those Nazi sons of bitches."

Ben took a bite of sandwich. "I figure we'll stand down for two to three
months, Ike. It'll take that long for fresh supplies to reach us and for
the troops to get used to the new reorganization. And that will put us
just about out of the rainy season." Ben looked at his

246

long-time friend. "We're going to brigades, Ike. Ten of them. It's past
time for it."

"I agree, Ben."

Ben forced a smile. "It's my army, I can designate a brigade to be any
strength I damn well please."

Ike laughed and clasped his friend on the shoulder. "I'll get right on
it, Ben."

After Ike had left, Ben sat for a long time, staring out the broken window.

His thoughts would have caused Satan to cringe.

247

Ben was up long before dawn, as was his usual custom. He dressed and
walked down to the mess tent, pulling a mug of coffee from one of the
huge urns. These cooks were new to Ben, and he to them, and they were
just a bit in awe of him. He ignored the quick and curious stares (one
does not stare directly or for very long at the commanding general of
the Army) and took his coffee to one of the folding tables that had been
set up, choosing one in a far corner of the big tent.

Ike came in a few minutes later and filled a tray to overflowing with
food and sat down across the table from Ben.

Ben smiled at the food piled on the serving tray. "Not too hungry this
morning, hey, Ike?"

"I am kinda off my feed, Ben," Ike replied in all seriousness. "The
strain, I guess."

Ben shook his head at the amount of food the ex-SEAL could consume and
sipped his coffee. "I'm sure that's it, Ike."

"Have you settled on brigade designations yet, Ben?"

"Yes. To keep the confusion down to a minimum we'll start with 501 and
run through 601. Unless you've got a better way and I'm sure open for
suggestion."

Ike shook his head. "Sounds good to me. You checked with communications
this morning?"

248

"No. You?"

"No. I'm the 502nd Brigade?"

"Yes."

"Were you advised about the refugees lining up outside the airport
during the night?"

Ben looked up from his rolling of a cigarette. "No. How many?"

"Only a few at first. It's up to about a thousand now. But they're very
subdued and not causing any trouble. They're a, well, really pitiful bunch."

"I can imagine. We'll do what we can for them. That's part of the reason
we're here."

"We'll have planes coming in every twenty minutes starting at first
light." Ike suddenly pushed his tray from him. "Aw, shit, I'm not
hungry. I haven't been able to eat since the attacks. I fill up my tray,
take two bites, and lose my appetite."

"The attacks weren't your fault, Ike."

"I keep tellin' myself that, Ben. But I just can't convince myself of it."

"We'd all better be glad Bruno didn't push the offensive. I still can't
understand why he didn't. He damn sure had it all going his way."

"Maybe he was afraid of getting flanked from the east, Ben."

"I don't think so, Ike. If you have swung around, using 2 through 10
Batts, Bruno could have poured more troops in behind you and had you all
in a box. The rest of the battalions sure couldn't have done you any
good. He probably didn't count on taking us by as much surprise as he
did and just didn't have an adequate number of troops in position.
That's my guess. But who knows why that crazy son of a bitch does anything?"

Rebels were beginning to arrive at the tent, picking up trays and
forming a line. Both Ben and Ike left the table to give the troops more
room and walked outside. A runner from communications walked up.

249

"About three hundred or so Rebels have been located," she said. "Thirty
or so from each of the battalions that got hit. They're spread out over
a five/six hundred mile stretch. Teams have gone in now to lead them out
and trucks are ready to roll at their signal."

"Thank you," Ike said. The runner backed off and entered the mess tent.
"They'll be more showing up, Ben."

"But only a few more," Ben said softly.

"You can't know that for certain, Ben."

"You're an eternal optimist, Ike. But I hope you're right."

"I'll get things rolling, Ben."

"See you later, Ike."

Ben got him another mug of coffee from the mess tent and returned to his
temporary CP. He sat down behind a folding table and turned on the lamp,
the electricity provided by huge generators that hummed all around the
airport. He began mapping out the new brigade designations and all the
other many details that went along with that. The Rebel army did not
have to call and wait for artillery support, or combat engineer help . .
. each battalion, and now brigade, carried all that with them. The same
with armor.

Ben noticed the shadow entering the room, but paid it no mind. The
security that Ike had put around him was so tight a flea could not get
through it.

"Hi, General Ben," the familiar voice said. "Good to see you?"

Ben jerked his head up from his work.

Anna stood in front of the table, smiling at him.

"I'll tell you what I remember about the fight," the young woman said.
She had taken a long soapy shower and was dressed in freshly laundered
BDUs. Her short-

250

cropped blond hair was clean and shiny with health. And she was on her
second plate of food. "Just a tremendous explosion. When I woke up, it
was night and I was facedown in a ditch. I didn't know it at the time,
but I was about a mile from the camp. I was in some sort of daze and my
head hurt something awful. I had lost my rifle but I still had my
sidearm. It was real quiet. I mean, not a sound. I sat there for a time,
trying to get things straight in my mind. Then I must have passed out. I
woke up just about the time it was getting light in the east. I felt
better and my head didn't hurt so bad. I knew about where I was. I went
back to the campsite and just stood there for a time. I don't know how
long. Maybe an hour. Maybe longer. I just couldn't believe what I was
seeing. General Ben, there were bodies everywhere ..."

"I know, baby. I was there the next day. You didn't see any of the team?"

"No. There was no one left alive. I don't know what happened to the
team. We were all in the ditch fighting when I ... well, whatever it was
that happened to me."

Ben pointed to his cot. "There's your CAR. I went back and fumbled
around in the ditch until I found it."

"All right! Still works okay?"

"It works just fine. Go on. What did you do after leaving the area?"

Anna finished her coffee and Ben poured her another mug. "I didn't leave
immediately. I walked around the entire camp, trying to find Jersey and
Cooper and Beth and Corrie. They weren't among the dead. I looked at so
many dead people I got numb. But there were no enemy dead. And I know we
killed hundreds of them before we got overrun. Well, until I got knocked
goofy. I learned later the bastards carried off

251

their dead and left ours stripped to rot under the sun and be eaten by
those damned big birds.

"Anyway, I found a full canteen and some field rats and took off
walking. Turned out I was walking the wrong way for several miles. I
guess I was still in some sort of daze after seeing all those bodies of
friends. About two hours after leaving the area, I found two dead Rebels
in the brush. I took one of their weapons and all their ammo and
canteens and whatever else was in their rucksacks. I didn't inspect
either one until later. Turned out they were full of food and grenades
and other survival stuff. It was a lucky find. I finally got my bearings
and started heading north. Two days later I hooked up with two guys from
Nick Stafford's 18 Batt. They were heading south. One of them was badly
wounded. He died the next day. And me and G.A.- that's his name-we just
kept on walking . . ."

"GA. is here now?" Ben asked.

"You bet. He's a squad leader. Was," she corrected. "He's got his shit
together, too, believe me. I don't think I would have made it without him."

"Does he have a last name?"

"Armstead."

Ben wrote that down on a pad. G. A. Armstead didn't know it yet, but he
was about to become a platoon sergeant. "Go on, Anna."

"There isn't that much more to tell. We found other Rebels along the way
and hooked up with them. Then we found two trucks that had been
abandoned. I don't know why. Fuel tanks were full and they ran just
fine. So we piled in and kept traveling north. Here I am."

"And I am glad to see you. You go get outfitted now then get some rest.
I'll see you at lunch."

She leaned over the table and kissed her adopted father on the cheek and
with a smile, was out the door with the boundless energy of the young.

252

Ben leaned back in the chair. If Anna made it clear, there was a chance
the others in his team did, too. He could only hope.

Ben finished the prelims on the upgraded brigade and walked over to the
communications shack, giving the recommendations and wants to the
officer in charge to be transmitted to Cecil, back at Base Camp One.

The 501st Brigade was now official.

Ben grabbed a Hummer and drove over to the tarmac, watching the huge
cargo planes come in. They were circling in the sky like huge
prehistoric birds. The Rebels had cut the waiting time for them down to
ten minutes, then it was touch down, unload, and back in the air again.

Most of the huge cargo planes would head back to a port to await the
arrival of ships from the States. The ships were sailing at flank speed
to get to a western port to unload much needed supplies: carrying
everything from cases of underwear to tanks.

Ben drove over close to the MASH tents. The doctors were seeing refugees
as fast as they could, and still the lines stretched as far as the eyes
could see. The hopeless cases were placed in the rear of the tents,
under tarps rigged up to give them some shade from the sun and shelter
from the rains . . . the men, women, and children lay on blankets on the
ground, most without make a sound of complaint, human skeletons waiting
to die.

The fires from the destroyed city of Niamey still smoldered and burned
in the distance. The airport was some 12 kilometers from the city.

Ike drove up and got out of his Hummer, walking over to stand by Ben's
side. "Just talked to Cecil. Five hundred new troops are on the way over
from the States. Five hundred more in a few weeks. We'll incor-

253

porate them into all brigades, moving some seasoned troops around."

"Any more stragglers?"

"Several hundred, Ben. I told you there would be more. And there will be
more still to come. And no, there is no word about your team and Dr.
Chase. I'm sorry."

"I am too, Ike. But I won't start putting together a new team until I'm
certain-one way or the other."

"You've got Anna back. That's a good sign."

"I think so."

"Well, I drove out to tell you that Buddy is on his way in, with a
couple of other batt corns. Excuse me, brigade commanders. Be here in
about two hours."

"Thanks. The new designations will take a little getting used to. I
still slip myself."

"Forty battalions. A lot of batt corns, Ben."

"I know. A lot of lieutenants promoted to captains, a lot of captains
promoted to major, and a lot of majors promoted to Lt. Colonel. And I
haven't even begun a list yet. And I want some recommendations from you."

"I can work some up pronto."

"Good. Do that. This is going to take a lot of strain off us, Ike. I
should have done this a long time ago."

"I stopped by the MASH tents," Ike said, after a moment of silence.

"So did I."

"Ben, I never realized just what kind of monster Bruno Bottger is until
we got over here. He must have killed millions of these people."

"Yes. And enslaved many of those left."

"I wonder where the mass graves are?"

"I doubt if his people bothered. He's been over here for some time now.
The animals and birds ate what didn't rot and then scattered the bones."
Ben cut his

254

eyes. "You did notice the animals have made a dramatic comeback, didn't
you?"

"Yes, I did," Ike replied drily. "They seemed quite well fed."

"Now you know why."

"Intel says Bruno has set aside huge chunks of land for the animals to
live on. Absolutely no hunting allowed."

"Yeah? That's wonderful. Hider played the harmonica, too. But I still
don't have to like the son of a bitch."

255

Ben began meeting with Batt Corns, a couple a day, until he had met with
them all and lined out the new brigade designations. They handed in
lists of people they felt should be promoted. Ben had their files pulled
stateside-many files the Rebels carried with them had been lost during
the battle-and carefully went over them. Slowly he laid out the new
battalions, companies, platoons, and their leaders.

A few days drifted into a few weeks, and still he had heard no news,
good or bad, about his team and Dr. Chase and several of his medical
staff. But he refused to give up hope, for stragglers were still coming
in all up and down the line, in tiny groups of two or three and
occasionally the lone Rebel.

Ben interviewed each of them, seeking news of his team and of Dr. Chase.

One of the last Rebels to come wandering in had news.

"They were all hit, General," the tired Rebel said, holding a mug of
coffee between his dirty hands. His clothing was nearly in rags. "And
hit pretty hard, but still able to function. The only one I didn't see
with some sort of wound was Dr. Chase. He was helping Jersey get away
from the battle. Several doctors were with them, and they were all
bleeding and limping. We were

256

all being pushed back, just about a couple of minutes before being
overrun. I'm pretty sure your team and some of the doctors got away. I
was the last man standing in my squad when I cut out. I'm not ashamed to
say I ran."

"No one is blaming you for that," Ben said. "And no one in their right
mind ever will. Which direction did my team take?"

The Rebel took a sip of coffee, his brow furrowed in thought. "North, I
think, General. But they could have turned in any direction outside the
camp. Those of us who got away scattered like wild geese without a leader."

Ben smiled and patted the man on the shoulder. "Glad to have you back,
Sergeant. Oh, by the way, you're a lieutenant now." Ben saluted him.
"You owe me a dollar. Now get out of here and get checked out."

The stunned Rebel walked out of the CP in more of a daze than when he
came in.

Ben looked at the mound of paperwork on his desk and grimaced. He shoved
it aside and stood up. Time for a break.

He waved aside his driver and decided to walk. He had been sitting
behind the desk for several hours and needed to get the kinks out of his
muscles. Security fell in behind him as he strolled the area.

He paused to let a dozen huge flatbed trucks rumble by, each one loaded
with a tank or an APC. The trucks had been to some port, where ships
were coming in daily, bringing thousands of tons of supplies and
instruments of war.

Ben figured another six weeks and everything would be lined out, the
brigades ready to march.

He walked over to die runway and watched several planes land, each one
bringing in fresh recruits from the States. The young men and women just
out of AIT. "Going to be a hell of a culture shock for you, boys and

257

girls," Ben muttered. "Leaving the peace and order of the SUSA for this
place."

"Move, damnit!" he heard one of the sergeants shout at the new troops.
"Get your asses in gear. We got a war to fight. Move like this in combat
and the ants will be eating your eyes."

One of Ben's security people chuckled and Ben smiled and turned to look
at him. "Does that bring back memories, Corporal?" he asked.

"Sure does, sir. I landed in Europe some years ago, fresh out of AIT.
And scared shitless."

"I hope you learned to stay scared."

"Bet on that, sir. Bet on it."

Staying scared and cautious was the only way to stay alive in combat.

"PUFFs comin' in, sir," another of his security team said.

Ben turned and looked. Half a dozen Spectre gun-ships were lining up for
landing. The planes were flying birds of death, equipped with all sorts
of weapons: chain guns, cannon, fifty-caliber machine guns, rockets.
When they began circling an enemy position, a single Spectre could spew
out enough firepower to wipe out anything within an area the size of
several football fields, from an altitude of five thousand feet.

Many still called them: Puff the Magic Dragon.

And Ben was keeping several very deadly secrets to himself. And would,
until his troops began the assault against Bruno's new homeland.

Bruno Bottger was in for a very large and deadly surprise.

Ben walked on, coming to the MASH tents. The line of refugees seeking
medical aid was much smaller now, but the lines of dying behind the
tents was not. It was a sight that no one, not even the most hardened of
combat veterans could ever really get used to seeing.

258

Ben turned away and began walking toward the center of the massive
encampment. With the addition of the new troops from the States, his
brigade, the 501st, would be up to full strength. A few more weeks and
all the tanks and artillery would be ashore and in place. Then he would
have to shake it all down and line it all out before he could take to
the road.

The other brigades were ready to roll, but Ben's 501st had incorporated
many-if not most-of the survivors from the eight battalions that had
been hard hit by Brunos surprise attack. It was taking some time, but
Ben knew they were right on schedule. It was not something you could
rush. Not when each person's life depended on the man or woman next to them.

The several-mile walk had gotten the kinks out of Ben's muscles, and he
felt much better. He turned away from die scene of organized chaos and
began the walk back to his CP, and the stacks of paperwork that awaited
him there.

"If Bruno had any kind of air force we'd be in trouble," Ben muttered.
But he knew-and that was confirmed fact-that Bottger really had no air
force to speak of, with the exception of helicopter gunships and a few
fighters-no bombers. Bruno had concentrated on building up a mighty army
of ground troops . . . and he had damn sure done that. And Ben knew
better than to sell Bruno's people short. They were excellent troops.
The Rebels were going to be outnumbered twenty to one when they began
their offensive.

But then the Rebels were always outnumbered. That was nothing new.

Back in his CP, Ben settled down to wade through more paperwork. He
missed his team all the time, but this was when he missed Beth the most.
Bedi could cut through paperwork in one tenth of the time it took Ben.

259

And this was something he couldn't hand over to Thermopolis. The
ex-hippie turned warrior had his hands full with all the hundred of
details with the new brigade designation.

Ben sighed and stood up to get another mug of coffee. It was then he
noticed Anna standing in the door to his office, smiling at him.

"What are you so happy about?" Ben asked.

"Search helicopters found the team and Dr. Chase and those doctors who
fled with him. They're all alive."

260

Ben ignored his Hummer and ran over to the como shack, almost scaring
the communications specialist half to death when he burst into the room.

"Where are they?" Ben asked. He calmed himself. "My team, Dr. Chase?"

"About three hours away, General." The tech stood up and pointed to a
spot on a wall map of Africa. "They were spotted right there."

Ben stared and shook his head. "Never more than twenty-five miles from
the original battle scene all the time. I'll be damned."

"Yes, sir. Your team was all hard hit. They couldn't be moved."

"But they're all going to make it?"

"According to the medics on board the choppers, they're all up and
walking around, General."

Ben patted the soldier on the shoulder and smiled. Then he stepped out
of the building and sat down on the lowered tailgate of a pickup truck.
He exhaled a couple of times, then slowly built himself a cigarette.
Anna came running up, accompanied by half a dozen other Rebels, all of
them original members of Ben's old 1 Batt and survivors of the battle.

Ben held up a hand. "They're all okay. Be here in a few hours. That's
all I know. We'll all have to wait."

261

261

The knot of Rebels was all grins as they walked away. Anna stayed,
plopping down on the tailgate beside Ben. She looked disapprovingly at
the cigarette in Ben's hand.

"Don't say a word about it," Ben warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"I'm sure."

"So when the team gets here, we'll be ready to shove off, right, General
Ben?"

"In about six weeks, Anna."

She unwrapped a couple of sticks of gum, stuck them in her mouth, and
chomped for a few seconds. "That will put us out of the rainy season,
right?"

"Just about."

"And then we can start kicking Bruno Bottger's ass, right?"

"That's the plan."

She hopped down from the tailgate. "I'll be at the airport."

"I'll see you over there in about an hour."

Ben finished his smoke and began walking toward the runways, his
security team falling in behind him. The area in and around the airport
had become a staging area, with hundreds of thousands of tons of
supplies stored and stacked everywhere and more coming in every day. Ben
looked up at the sky. Huge transport planes were circling, bringing in
more supplies and equipment and troops from the States.

In another week, Ben could start shaking down his new brigade and about
a month after that, they would be rolling south.

At the airport, his new XO, John Michaels, came running up. "Is it true,
General? Your team and Dr. Chase were found and all okay?"

"It's true. They'll be arriving here in about two and a half hours."

262

"All right!" He shook Ben's hand and walked away, smiling.

Ben sat in the shade of a deuce-and-a-half and waited. Occasionally an
unsuspecting Rebel would walk past, give Ben a startled glance, and move
quickly away. But the news of Ben's presence had spread quickly and most
at the airport gave him a wide berth.

Anna strolled up and sat down on the grass beside him. "General Ben?"
she finally broke the silence.

"Yes?"

"What's the final tally on Rebels lost in the assault?"

"Just over fifteen thousand."

Ben and Anna sat for a time in silence, watching the planes land and
take off. They watched as the final contingent of fresh troops from the
States deplaned stiffly after their long ride and line up on the tarmac.

"That new bunch fills us out, doesn't it?" Anna asked.

"That's it, baby. We'll start shaking down in a couple of days."

"And then?"

"We cross Nigeria and cut straight south, through Cameroon."

"I'll be glad to get this show back on the road. What about
transportation for us?"

"Our new wagon is due to arrive here in a few days. Built especially for
us in the SUSA. It's supposed to be state of the art."

"Cooper will like that."

"Captain's chairs for all of us, sliding doors for you people. Doors
that slide on ball bearings and can be kicked open easily in case of
emergency. Radios built in for Corrie with a permanent up-link so we can
talk to anybody, anywhere. Four-wheel drive on demand, custom-built from
the ground up. Armor-plated with glass that will stop a 7.62 round."

263

263

"You don't suppose they'll have to be sent back to the States for
treatment, do you?"

Ben laughed and ruffled the young woman's short hair. "I don't think so,
baby."

"I hope not." She stood up and brushed herself off. "I think I'll walk
around some. I'm too antsy to sit still."

"Have fun."

Ben dozed off there in the shade of the deuce-and-a-half, sleeping
lightly for twenty minutes or so. When he awakened, he rinsed his mouth
out with water from his canteen and rolled a smoke. A little while
later, he heard the whapping sounds of the helicopters coming and stood
up, walking over to the helicopter landing pads. He stood and watched
his team and Dr. Chase jump from the choppers.

No, they wouldn't have to go back to the States for any treatment. They
were all right.

Ben waited until they were all showered and dressed in clean clothing
and checked by the doctors at the hospital before visiting them all. He
had hugged them all at the airport before doctors had shooed them all
into ambulances.

"Well, gang," he told them, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the
table. "You tell me what happened, then I'll tell you my story. And
start with how in the hell we got separated. I'm at a loss there."

"I saw you get hit, General," Cooper said, after exchanging glances with
the others and receiving nods to go ahead. "We all did. It was a big
piece of shrapnel, I guess. Tore your helmet off and we figured took
part of your head with it. Blood was everywhere. We didn't have more
than a split second to look. The enemy was all over us. Then Anna got
hit and went down to her knees. When I looked again out of the corner of my

264

eye, she had gotten up and was wandering off, like she was in a daze . . ."

"I was, I guess," Anna said. "I don't remember any of this."

Jersey picked it up. "We were all hit by that time and down to sidearms
and throwing grenades. Then Dr. Chase and some of his medical people can
running up and dragged us out of there. I don't know what kept him from
getting killed, boss. He was yelling and cussing and calling Bottger's
troops a bunch of goddamn savages and he had a pistol in each hand and
his doctors were throwing grenades. We turned to look for you, and
damned if you weren't gone. You had just disappeared."

Ben chuckled. "I must have crawled off into that thick brush behind the
ditch."

"Whatever you did, we couldn't find you," Beth said. "Just about the
time we cleared the compound and made it into the bush, Bottger's troops
made their final rush and overwhelmed any who were left. We all had our
packs on and full rucksacks on a strap, plenty of water, so we just kept
walking. We were all hit, but none of us real bad, just bloody as hell.
And pissed off," she added grimly.

Corrie said, "Some of the doctors got minor wounds, but Dr. Chase didn't
get a scratch on him. That man must lead a charmed life."

"He'll tell you it's all due to clean living," Ben said.

"Damn right, I will," Lamar said, walking into the room. He had been
standing in the door, listening. "Well, now it's your turn, Ben. What
happened to you?"

Ben quickly brought them up to date and for a time the group just sat
there, drinking coffee and staring at each other.

Beth broke the silence. "We passed through several villages. The people
had all been killed."

265

Ben nodded his head. "Genocide. We figure Bottger's killed millions of
Africans, men, women, and kids."

Lamar cursed under his breath for a moment, then pulled out a chair and
sat down. "I like the new brigade plan, Ben. Not that you needed my
approval to do it, mind you." He grinned. "Good to see you, you old
warhorse."

The two friends grinned at each other for a moment, then Ben's grin
faded and he asked, "Sorry about your doctors, Lamar. The replacements
are just about all in from the States."

"They were good people. Take Bruno Bottger alive, Ben."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I want to castrate the son of a bitch with a very dull knife."

"Lamar!" Ben drew back in feigned shock. "You're turning into a vicious
man, you know that?"

"Screw you, Raines," the chief of medicine said, pushing back his chair
and standing up. "Let's just get this show on the road." He bent down
and looked more closely at the long scar on Ben's face, faded now with
healing and the sun. "Good thing that hunk of shrapnel hit you in the
head. That's the one place on your carcass that's the least likely to
get damaged, considering it's empty most of the time." He walked quickly
out of the room chuckling, before Ben could retort.

Things were back to normal.

266

Ben's team was declared fit to return to duty-limited at first-and the
team was back together. A few days after their return, Ben's personal
vehicle was brought in and Cooper and Corrie spent the next several days
going over it. Although it had less cargo space than their old wagon, it
was much more state of the art and much more comfortable riding. To
avoid standing out even more than it did, the big wagon was painted
olive green.

Rebel Scouts had penetrated deep into Nigeria and reported that
Bottger's troops were nowhere to be seen. They had pulled back and
appeared to have stretched out in small units, west to east from Gabon
over to Kenya.

And the Scouts also reported that millions in Nigeria appeared to have
died from Bruno Bottger's practice of genocide. They also warned to be
on the lookout for wild animals, who were making a fast and very
dramatic comeback. There were prides of lions seemingly everywhere one
turned. And while no Rebel Scout had been attacked by a lion, it would
be a bit disconcerting to come face to face with a large lion while
walking through the bush.

Ben called for one more meeting with his brigade commanders to map out
and finalize plans before the

267

ten brigades jumped off in their offensive against Bottger's army.

"First of all," Ben said, standing up to face the ten brigade
commanders, "let me say that both Jackie Malone and Buck Taylor are well
on their way to recovery. But their days in the field are over. They
will remain stateside and take over command of training bases. The
bodies of several batt coms who were killed during Bottger's assault
have been recovered and sent back to the States to be buried with
honors. The bodies of the other officers and men were buried with honors
near where they fell. Most were unrecognizable.

"All right, let's admit we took the worst beating we've ever suffered
and learn from it and put it behind us. I don't know what we could have
done to prevent it. Bruno just simply outfoxed many of us ... myself
included. But we'll all try to ensure something like that will never
happen again. But don't ever underestimate the intelligence of Bruno
Bottger. The man is surely insane, but brilliantly so.

"We've got a lot of green troops with us now. But I suspect by the time
we reach Bruno's first front, they'll be well on their way toward
becoming seasoned hands. At the very least the barfing at the sight and
smell of rotting bodies will have ceased. Once we hit Bruno's first line
of defense, nursemaid time for green troops will be over." Ben looked at
the nine brigade commanders, included among them his son, Buddy, and his
daughter, Tina. Tina sat beside the ex-mercenary, West. Someday, when
there were no more wars to be fought, they planned to marry.

"We're better equipped now than we've ever been," Ben continued.
"Practically everything we have is state of the art or has been
upgraded. Including one very large surprise I don't intend to show Bruno
until we get almost nose to nose."

268

The brigade commanders all smiled at that. Ben picked up a long pointer
and moved to the huge wall map. "All right, folks. Let's get down to it."

The ten brigades, numbering forty battalions, plus Therm's 19 Batt, were
lined up and ready to go. Scouts had prowled all over the country south
of the brigade line for a hundred and fifty miles, mapping out the best
roads and where bridges were still intact, and where there were no
bridges, the best place to ford the stream or river.

And they reported that while millions had died under Bruno Bottger
hideous plans of genocide, there were still thousands and thousands who
were in desperate need of help.

Dr. Chase had elected to stay with Ben's 501 Brigade. When Ben told him
what the Scouts had reported, the Chief of Medicine merely shrugged and
said, "We'll do what we can."

Meaning that in his opinion, unless the Rebels wanted to leave behind
men and equipment and be prepared to stay for years, teaching the people
the right way to deal with the land and keep it productive, Chase and
his people would fix them up now, and they would starve later anyway.

"I know, Lamar," Ben said. "But what else can we do?"

"Nothing," the doctor agreed. "But I don't believe for one minute Bruno
managed to kill off a hundred million people in Nigeria alone. That's a
lot of people to kill, Ben. Say he did manage to kill off ten percent,
and that's probably high, and say starvation and disease another
twenty-five percent. That still leaves sixty-five million people. Where
are they? What happened to them?"

269

Ben held open his hands. "I don't know, Lamar. I know only what the
Scouts report."

"Unless some terrible plague swept the land," Lamar mused aloud. "And
that is certainly possible. But it seems as though we would have heard
about it."

"The old tribal hatreds surfacing, Lamar. Beth told me this morning that
in Nigeria alone there are over two hundred and fifty tribes speaking
over four hundred dialects and oftentimes the tribes don't get along."

Lamar shook his head. "The Bible must be wrong. The Tower of Babel
surely must have been here."

Ben laughed as Lamar walked off, to make one final check of his medical
people before the brigade pulled out in the morning. Ben knew that
despite Lamar's crusty talk, the man felt deeply about helping the
people of this continent, and would work tirelessly to do all he could.

Ben walked to the door of his CP and stepped out. The convoy was getting
in position to roll out at dawn. The skies were no longer filled with
planes and the runways were quiet. The last generator would be loaded
just moments before the convoy pulled out and the airport would be dark
once again.

Ben wondered if it would ever be lighted again.

His team was lounging about outside, taking in the coolness of
approaching evening. It was the first evening in months that it had not
rained.

"All set to go, gang?" Ben asked, walking over to them and squatting down.

"Settin' on ready, boss," Cooper said. "I do like that new wagon.
Handles like a dream. It's got a huge V-8 diesel mill that packs some
power."

"What's the top speed, Coop?" Ben asked.

"Spec sheet says about sixty-five miles an hour. But we won't have to
worry about that on these roads."

270

"For a fact. Everybody used to the new brigade designation?"

"Five-oh-one leads the way," Jersey said with a grin.

"There you go," Ben returned the smile. He stood up and walked a few
yards away from the group, looking around at all the activity a bit
longer before returning to his CP. There he folded and put away the last
of his maps, zipping the waterproof case closed. He checked all around
the room. It had been stripped bare in preparation for tomorrow's move.

Ben decided to walk over to a mess tent for some chow and then hit the
sack. It was early yet, and going to sleep now would mean he would be up
hours before dawn, but so would half the camp, packing up the last of
equipment and supplies, striking the mess and MASH and the last of the
supply tents, and getting the troops ready to move.

Ben began the walk over to the mess tent, his team falling in behind
him. Now that his own team had returned to full duty, the security teams
that Ike had assigned him had returned to other duties.

"Maybe we'll get to see some lions and tigers this time," Cooper ventured.

"Lions, maybe," Beth told him. "Tigers, no. Wrong part of the world."

"Tarzan fought tigers here," Cooper insisted.

"Shut up, Cooper," Jersey said. "You'll strain your brain. With any kind
of luck, you'll be kidnapped by a gorilla." She frowned. "Although the
gorilla would probably turn you loose in a few minutes."

"You'd miss me terribly, my little love blossom," Cooper told her.

Jersey made gagging sounds. "There goes my appetite."

"You'll get it back by the time we reach the mess tent," Corrie said.

271

"Only if Cooper doesn't insist on sitting with us."

"I must," Cooper said. "The sight of your lovely face thrills me."

"Oh, God!" Jersey moaned.

Ben smiled and walked on. It was good to have the team back.

Ben was the first one up, as he knew he would be. He also knew that at
the first whisper of sound, Jersey would be up, wide awake. Ben dressed
quietly in the dark, gathered up his gear, and walked outside. He
smiled. Jersey was sitting on the side of her cot, pulling on her boots.
The other team members would only be seconds behind her.

At the mess tent, breakfast was not quite ready, but the huge urns of
coffee were ready to serve. Ben pulled a mug and sat down, his team
following suit. Ben looked up. To his surprise, Dr. Chase was walking
in, his security people close behind him. The doctor drew a mug of
coffee and sat down at the table with Ben.

"I went to bed too damn early," Lamar bitched.

"You just want to get on the road, you old vagabond. Admit it, you've
got ants in your pants."

"I'll admit nothing of the kind. I am a home-loving man, longing to be
around the hearth, with kith and kin."

"You also tell enormous lies, you old goat."

"There is nothing to compare with being insulted at this ungodly hour of
the morning."

"You just want to get deeper into Nigeria and see if you can find out
what happened to the people."

"I will admit there is some truth in what you say. But it was no more
than a lucky guess."

"Well, if no one slips and breaks a leg, you'll be able

272

to pack up what little is left to do and be ready to move on time."

"I should be so lucky."

"Yeah, you'll probably hold us up for three or four hours."

Lamar gave Ben a very dirty look. "I'm not going to sit here and be
insulted by the likes of you, Raines. I'm going to take my coffee and
return to my quarters. There, I'm going to take sandpaper to several
needles, break off the points, and await the time when you need booster
shots."

"You sure are a vicious old man, Lamar," Ben said with a smile.

"Wait until you need a shot. Then you'll see how vicious I really am."
But Lamar couldn't maintain a straight face and he finally walked off
laughing.

"All right, guys, let's grab something to eat," Ben told his team. "Then
we'll load up what's left and move to the head of the column before
traffic gets so bunched up we'll never make it."

Already, Rebels were beginning to line up at the serving area, where
mounds of scrambled eggs, bacon, pork chops, beef steaks, fried
potatoes, gravy, biscuits, fresh fruit and plenty of cold milk and hot
coffee were waiting to be consumed. And consumed it would be, with very
little scraps left. Whenever possible, Ben insisted on hot meals and
plenty of food for his troops, for there would be days, perhaps weeks
ahead of them, when everyone would be subsisting on field rations. But
this would be the last of the fresh milk for awhile. Powdered milk would
be available from here on in, but even ice cold, it did not taste as
good as whole, fresh milk.

Ben finished his breakfast and had another mug of coffee, while he was
waiting until his team was through. Beth had a huge thermos filled with
coffee, then it was back to the CP for a final check, load up, and pile in.

273

Cooper expertly guiding the big wagon through the seemingly impossible
unorganized maze of traffic to near the head of the column. There, the
team unassed the wagon and squatted or sat on the ground, out of the way.

Slowly the long, long line began to take shape. One by one the
generators that lit up the encampment ceased their humming and the
lights began winking out, the portable generators loaded onto trucks.
Miles of cable were rolled up. The mess tents were struck. The
encampment went dark.

Ben stood up and brushed off his clothing. "Let's mount up, gang. We've
got a long way to go. Nigeria is a big country, and it just might be
full of surprises."

274

The convoy passed through village after village without seeing one
living soul. It was baffling to Ben and frustrating to Dr. Chase and his
medical team, especially those who were assigned to the mobile research
lab which had joined Ben's 501 just before leaving Niamey.

Scouts had found a dirt/shell road that led to Ar-gungu, Nigeria. There,
the Rebels found wild animals and half-wild dogs prowling the streets,
and the streets were littered with hundreds and hundreds of
skeletons-men, women, and children.

"Not shot," Chase's doctors reported to him. "We can't find any evidence
of trauma."

"Get what samples of flesh still remain on die fresher bodies," Chase
ordered. "And run every kind of test you know how to run on them."

"Scouts reporting that Sokoto suffered the same fate," Corrie said.
"Skeletal remains everywhere. But we're getting radio transmissions out
of Jega. Desperate calls from Paula Preston."

"From w/io?"Ben blurted. "Paula? I thought she was dead."

"So did everybody else. Seems she's got a bunch of press types with her."

"How the hell did they get to Jega?"

275

"Don't know, boss. I can't make much sense out of anything she says."

"Well hell, that's normal, Corrie. Liberals never did make any sense . .
. even before the Great War."

Corrie ducked her head to hide her quick smile. "What do you want me to
tell her?"

"I know what I'd like to tell her. Oh, hell! Tell them we'll send rescue
choppers down to get them ASAP. Get out to the airstrip and stay put."

Ben stood for a few moments, leaning up against the big wagon. Sudden
and very dark suspicions began clouding his mind. He turned to Corrie,
but not before he noticed Dr. Chase looking at him very strangely.

"Corrie, where was Paula just before the assault?"

"Well . . ." Corrie hesitated. "Let's see. She and the rest of the press
had left us some time before and were traveling with another battalion.
I'm not sure which one it was now."

"Find out if you can, please."

"Will do."

"And find out just how the press managed to escape being slaughtered . .
. although I have a pretty good idea." He turned to Lamar. "It was a
plague that struck this land, Lamar. I'm sure of that. A man-made
plague, sent by Bruno Bottger."

That remark shook the doctor. "Germ warfare, Ben?"

"You bet. Bruno had to test the killing bugs somewhere. And he wanted to
get rid of all who opposed him. The bugs worked and he got rid of the
people."

"Monstrous!" Lamar stared at Ben for a few heartbeats. "But what has all
this got to do with Paula Preston?"

"She's tied in with it somehow."

"But she's a screaming left-winger, Ben. Our intel verified that."

276

"I know. But don't forget she's still tied in tight with Bruno. Our
intel verified that, too."

"Where the hell is Mike Richards when we need him?"

Ben smiled. "He's over in Addis Ababa making goo-goo eyes at dancing
girls or something like that. Is this place safe to bivouac near, Lamar?"

"Oh, yes. If it was a man-made germ that killed these people, and I'm
not convinced of that, it was short-lived. My people checked the safety
of the area first thing." The doctor hesitated for a heartbeat. "Just
don't drink the water until we've done a few more tests. I've passed
that word through the ranks."

"Thanks for telling me," Ben said drily.

"Oh, it wouldn't kill you," Lamar said brightly. "But it might give you
the shits." The doctor walked off toward the mobile research trucks,
chuckling.

Ben sat down on the fender of a deuce-and-a-half and rolled a cigarette.
It had been puzzling him for weeks why no trace of any member of the
press had been found . . . except those from the SUSA, they had all been
killed. That had been confirmed. But no sign whatsoever of the press who
lived and worked and were a part of the political movement outside the SUSA.

Now he thought he knew why that was.

And it was a terrible thought.

But one that really did not surprise him.

Ben shook his head and sighed. But no, he thought, not all of them were
guilty of collaborating with Bruno Bottger. He couldn't believe that.
But Paula Preston and Alex Marsh and Marilyn Dickson, yes, he was now 99
percent certain they were in some sort of cahoots with the man.

And the thought of it made him slightly ill.

Ben had known for years that he was probably the most hated man-in some
circles-in America. He

277

could live with that. So far he hadn't lost any sleep over it. But for
those left-wingers to hate him so much that they would get in bed with a
monster such as Bruno Bottger was beneath contempt.

But it looked as though they'd done it.

"Jesus Christ!" Ben muttered under his breath, the words too low for his
team to hear. "How far down can people sink?"

Pretty damn low, was his conclusion.

Ben's mouth was suddenly very dry from disgust and rage. He unscrewed
the cap from one of his canteens and took a sip of water. It helped, but
not much. He unwrapped a stick of gum and chewed it. His mouth lost its
bad taste.

". . . Used to be a fishing festival held here," Corrie was saying. "A
big event. Fishing around this part of the river was banned for the rest
of the year."

"I sure would like to see some lions and tigers," Cooper said.

"No tigers here, Cooper," Beth told him, for about the umpteenth time.
"Lions yes, tigers no."

"They were in all the Tarzan movies," Cooper insisted.

"Oh, shit, give up, Beth," Jersey urged. "Cooper has a mind like a steel
trap-one that is rusted shut."

"That locks in all my knowledge, my beautiful little sun-baked flower,"
Cooper responded.

"Stick it up your kazoo, Coop," Jersey told him.

Corrie walked up to Ben. "No survivors anywhere in the town, boss," she
reported. "Or for several miles around in any direction."

Ben nodded his understanding and stood up. "We'll have to wait for the
official report from the mobile research team, but I'm pretty sure it
was a man-made bug that killed these people."

278

"Then he could use it on us just as easily," Corrie stated softly.

"He won't do that," Ben told her. "He knows we've got nuclear capability
as well as massive stockpiles of nerve agents, and he knows we have the
delivery systems to annihilate him," Ben's smile was not pleasant. "And
he knows I'll do it. Corrie, tell security to bring Paula Preston,
Marilyn Dickson, and Alex Marsh to my CP immediately upon landing."

"Right, boss."

The two reporters and whatever the hell Paula Preston was were scared
and could not hide it. Alex Marsh was sweating and trembling, Marilyn
Dickson was bug-eyed with fear, and Paula kept blinking her eyes and
wiping the palms of her hands on a moist handkerchief.

"Interesting game you three were playing," Ben opened the dance.
"Fortunately for me, very unfortunate for you it didn't work out as
planned."

"Whatever in the world do you mean, General?" Marilyn managed to squeak.

"Yes. What are you accusing of us?" Alex asked, his voice breaking.

"Oh . . . consorting with the enemy and espionage will do for starters,
don't you think?"

"You can't prove any of those charges!" Marilyn blurted.

Ben smiled. "Not, 'what are you talking about?' Not, 'I didn't do
anything.' Just, 'you can't prove it.' That just about says it all,
doesn't it?"

"The Union must be restored!" Alex finally found his balls and shouted
the words.

"Even to the point of getting in bed with some low-life scum such as
Bruno Bottger?"

"You talk about someone being low-life scum?" Mar-

279

ilyn said. "You are one of the vilest men to walk the face of the earth.
You . . . you . . . filthy beast!"

Ben chuckled. That phrase reminded him of one of his favorite Cary Grant
movies, but he couldn't recall the name of it. "Very convenient of all
you press types to get away just before the assault. How'd you manage that?"

The three of them stood silent before him. They said nothing.

"Let me guess," Ben said. "Paula here had a radio. Set on a scrambled
dark frequency straight to Bruno. It's possible it's just a receiver. He
alerted you when the attack was to take place and you simply walked out
of camp and got clear. Maybe he even had vehicles waiting for you. I
don't know. But you sure as hell didn't hoof it from the attack site to
Jega."

The three said nothing.

"I don't know how many others are in on this with you, maybe none of
them. Maybe all of them. But nevertheless, they're all homeward bound as
I can arrange it. I can't risk spies wandering around our camps."

"You have no proof to back up any of these accusations," Marilyn said,
her words dripping with hatred.

"Oh, but I do," Ben corrected. "My intel people back home have now
directly linked you and Marsh here to the takeovers outside the SUSA and
the recent overthrow of the government. Paula here works for the
intelligence section of the state department. Always has. She's the only
real pro in the bunch. The rest of you are just whiny left-wing
liberals-of the worst type: the pukey kind."

"May we sit down, General Raines?" Paula asked.

"Certainly. I'll even have coffee or water brought in for you, if you like."

"That would be very nice. Thank you. Coffee for me."

280

"And for me," Marilyn said.

"Give me liberty or give me death!" Alex suddenly shouted.

"Oh, sit down and be quiet, you silly twit," Ben told him. "If you were
interested in true liberty you wouldn't be a fucking liberal looking for
big government to solve all your problems. At least know something about
history and politics before you start flapping that foolish mouth."

"Bring him a glass of water," Paula said. "Coffee makes him very nervous."

"Goodness, we certainly can't have that," Ben muttered.

With Paula and Marilyn sipping their coffee and Alex gulping at his
water, some of it running down his chin- or what passed for a chin-Paula
said, "I can't speak for the others. I'm not qualified to do so. I can
only speak for myself."

"Go ahead," Ben said. The entire conversation was being recorded by a
technician in the next tent, which butted up against Ben's CP.

"Bruno swore to us that he would never commit genocide. He said it was
all sorts of diseases that were responsible for the deaths of so many
people here in Africa."

"You've met him?"

"Yes. Many times since his arrival in Africa."

Ben cut his eyes to the reporters. "You two met him?"

"No," Marilyn said. "Only his emissaries."

"And you all believed him?"

"Yes," Paula said. "Up to a few weeks ago."

"What changed your mind?"

"Survivors of the germ attack. Something is wrong with the . . . germs,
or gas, or whatever it is he uses. Something is out of balance. I don't
know. I'm no scientist. But it drives people mad. Many of them have

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281

survived and are hiding in the bush, some in the cities. Thousands,
perhaps hundreds of thousands. It ... distorts their features. Makes
them bug-eyed. Their lips are enlarged, tongues are slightly swollen,
faces all puffy. Great open sores all over them. They're . . . hideous."

"Good ol' Bruno," Ben muttered. "Always good for a laugh." He cleared
his throat. "Then where we are, here in Argungu, might be filled with
these . . . people, waiting to come out of hiding and pounce on us?"

"I would imagine so."

"Oh, goody," Ben said. "That's just fucking wonderful. Excuse me. I feel
I just might need to alert my people now. I'll be back."

He was back in a few moments. Outside, the encampment had gone into
action. Ben sat down and fiddled with his empty coffee cup. When none of
the three before him would speak, Ben said, "Somebody better talk to me."

"Only a few people involved in the recent takeover back home know
anything about our alignment with Bruno," Marilyn spoke in a low voice.
She was crying, tears running down her face. "None of us knew Bruno was
. . . well, such a monster."

"I told you he was!" Ben said, suddenly very exasperated with the whole
situation. "I told you all about Bruno Bottger. All of you."

"We didn't believe you," Paula said, her misery very evident in her
voice. "I mean, well, we had to take into consideration who you are,
your reputation, and what you represent."

Ben just didn't feel like pursuing that line. He was suddenly very weary
of years of fighting the overt evil of the world and the covert evil of
a bunch of half-assed do-gooders back in the States.

"What are you going to do with us?" Alex asked.

282

Ben sighed. Shook his head. "I don't know. I probably should shoot all
three of you."

"We didn't know the assault was coming!" Marilyn almost shouted the
words. "As God is my witness, we didn't know. All we knew is that we
were contacted and told to get out; get ready to come to South Africa.
That we would be picked up and taken out of harm's way."

Lying, Ben thought. They're all lying. They knew. The rest of the
reporters probably did not know, but these three did. They knew all
along what Bruno planned to do. Or at least had a pretty good idea. The
other members of the press were being questioned. Ben would wait until
he talked it over with his intelligence people before making up his mind
what to do with these three. But he already knew he couldn't shoot them.
The liberal press outside the SUSA would have a field day with that.

"You three have just confirmed what I have suspected all along about the
left wing of your political party," Ben said softly. "I have long felt
that you people are totally ruthless; that you will do anything to gain
power. I felt that was true before the Great War, and I certainly feel
that way now. The end justifies the means, right? You people are much
more vicious than I have ever been. Back before the Great War, you used
government agents to harass and sometimes-and as the end
approached-oftentimes kill any citizen who attempted to break away from
your Orwellian dictates. Any citizen who formed a tax protest group, any
citizen who refused to pay more than what they considered their fair
share of taxes, any citizen who joined a militia or survivalist group,
any citizen who dared to loudly protest the government's giveaway
programs, any citizen who spoke or wrote too harshly about you liberal
cocksuckers was setting themselves up for all sorts of trouble. You
hated and feared the military, yet sent our young men and

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283

women all over the world direcdy into harm's way for 'humanitarian
reasons.' You goddamn liberals make me want to puke. Jersey!" Ben shouted.

She stuck her head into the tent.

"Get these assholes out of my sight and keep them out of my sight until
I decide what to do with them."

The trio gone, Ben sat alone for a time in the silent confines of die
big tent. He wasn't really all that concerned about the new left-wing
government outside the SUSA making any moves against the SUSA. The newly
self-appointed leaders of the left were fully cognizant that Cecil would
throw open the gates and introduce them to a taste of Hell if they tried
an assault against the SUSA. But he felt that another civil war in die
States would come in time. It was inevitable: the left just couldn't
leave well enough alone. They weren't content widi half a loaf; they
wanted the whole bakery.

He sighed. But that was in die future. Perhaps the near future, but not
somediing he had to worry about right at this moment.

"Boss," Beth stuck her head into die tent. "There are a bunch of, well,
people, I guess you'd call them gathering all around the edges of our
perimeter."

"Refugees?"

"I don't know what they are. They look like something out of one of
those old sci-fi movies. I mean, diey're really weird-looking."

"Survivors, if that's what you choose to call diem, of Bruno's germ
warfare." Ben stood up and picked up his CAR. "Well, let's go meet our
new enemy."

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Ben was accustomed to traveling with an oversized battalion and forgot
momentarily he was now commanding an oversized brigade. The encampment
was huge. Ben was, for a moment, lost. Then he got his bearings (with
Beth pointing the way) and was off and running.

Ben reached the outer ring of the encampment and slid to a halt. He
stood and stared at the people who were gathering around, pointing and
grunting and slobbering. Some of them were naked, others dressed in
rags. Still others were dressed in the skins of animals. "Good God!" Ben
said.

"Their bite might be infectious," Dr. Chase said, jogging up to stand by
Ben's side. "It might be more than that," he added. "It might be lethal."

"Wonderful," Ben said. "I think I'd rather be facing a horde of Night
People."

"What do we do, General?" a Rebel called.

"Nothing, yet," Ben told his people. "Pass that word, Corrie. Don't fire
on these people unless they attack us."

"Well, they're about to do just that," Cooper said, running up holding
his SAW. "They're working themselves up into some sort of frenzy."

Ben couldn't argue that. The mob of misshapen and deformed men and women
were jumping up and down and making all sorts of disgusting sounds.

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"Everybody into gas masks!" Ben shouted. "Drive them back with tear gas
and pepper gas. Get into masks and start tossing the gas-now!"

Within two minutes, the air was thick with choking, tearing, and
eye-burning gas.

"See if your people can grab a couple of those . . . poor bastards,"
Lamar said, his voice muffled through the mask.

Cor rie relayed the orders just as a few of the maddened natives rushed
the outer defense line and were clubbed unconscious. They were dragged
inside the line, tied hand and foot, and carried over to a MASH tent.

Lamar wandered off to oversee the testing of the survivors of Bruno's
experiment in germ genocide.

The mob dispersed, the hideously deformed men and women running and
crawling and staggering blindly away.

"They'll be back," Ben said. "And the next time, we'll have to shoot
them. So just get yourselves ready for that." Ben drove over to the
mobile field lab, one of the units parked behind a MASH tent.

"Pus," Lamar said to Ben. "And don't come any closer. Their brains are
filled with pus. Nearly all thought process has been virtually
destroyed. Except one: survival."

"Are they infectious?" Ben asked.

"Oh, yes. Not fatally so, but it would be a nasty wound and difficult to
heal. The wound would be much like the bite of some snakes and spiders:
the flesh would rot around the wound. These people are walking dead,
Ben. Killing them would be an act of mercy."

"Easy for you to say," Ben muttered under his breath, then turned and
walked out of the lab.

"Ben!" Lamar's sharp voice halted him on the steps.

Ben turned around to face the doctor.

"You have to look at it that way, Ben. Pass that word

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to the troops. It's an act of mercy. These people are much lower than
animals. Much lower. Animals are driven by instinct. . . and I believe,
some limited ability to think. These people cannot think, they cannot
reason, and they don't have millions of years of instincts to rely upon."

"All right, Lamar," Ben said. "I'll pass the word."

The troops didn't like the idea of shooting at insane people any more
than Ben did, but all realized they had no choice in the matter.

Ben walked over to where Paula, Alex, and Marilyn were being held under
guard. He stared at the trio for a moment, disgust very evident in his
gaze, then said, "I'm not going to harm you, so you can relax. As soon
as we can get to some sort of airstrip that will handle the traffic,
I'll put you on a plane and ship your butts back stateside. I'm sending
all the press back home. Thanks to you people, I don't know who to trust."

"We did it for our country," Paula replied.

"Your country?" Ben questioned. "No lady, you did it for power. You
people just can't stand the prosperity of the SUSA and the success of
the Tri-State philosophy of government. You people didn't seize control
of the government out of compassion for your fellow man. It was a power
grab, that's all it was. But I don't have time to discuss it now, and
really have no inclination to do so. For now, you people just sit tight.
We've got a little minor skirmish to handle here. We'll be on our merry
humanitarian way in the morning."

"After you've slaughtered these poor unfortunate survivors?" Alex asked.

Ben laughed at the young man, the mood more scornful than humorous.
"Jesus, you liberals really don't know up from down, do you? First you
send out frantic radio calls to come rescue you, then when we haul your
scared asses out of harm's way, you criticize

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us for doing the only thing we can do with the people who were
threatening you. I guess I should feel sorry for you. But it's rather
difficult to work up any sympathy for a bunch of people who crawled into
bed with the enemy and tried to have me killed."

Ben left the trio sitting in the tent. He closed the flap and turned to
the guards. "If they try to escape, let them."

The sentry in charge of the guard unit smiled. "Yes, sir. With pleasure."

Back at the easternmost edge of the defense line, a company commander
said, "If they rush us, General, they're gonna get slaughtered."

"Oh, they'll rush us," Ben replied. "You can bet on that. They're no
longer . . . human. You have to think of them in that light. Even though
what's happened to these people is not in any way their fault, it's all
come down to us or them. Keep that foremost in your mind."

"Yes, sir. If you say so, sir."

The buck always stops here, Ben thought, as he walked away to another
defense point. Well, my shoulders are big enough to take the load.

Ben walked the eastern perimeter, stopping to chat with troops along the
way. It was easy to see from the look in their eyes and the expression
on their faces that none of them liked what they were about to do, but
they would do it. They would do it simply because they had no choice in
the matter.

It started with a low rumble in the distance.

"What the hell is that?" a young Rebel asked. He was one of the new
replacements, fresh from the peace and tranquility of the SUSA.

"The crazy people," a platoon sergeant told him. "That's hundreds of
bare feet slapping the ground. Hold your fire until I give the word."

"Yes, Sergeant."

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Ben met the sergeant's eyes and the combat-experienced noncom arched an
eyebrow in a silent expression of, We'll see.

Ben checked his CAR and waited. This was as good a place as any to stand
and fight.

"Ah, General," the noncom said. "Wouldn't you like to back off a few
hundred yards?"

"No," Ben told him.

"Yes, sir. As you wish, sir." The noncom looked at Jersey and received a
hard look that said, Mind your own business, buster. That's the boss. He
can do whatever in the hell he wants to do.

The rumble grew louder.

The gunners behind .50 caliber and 7.62 machine guns chambered rounds
and waited.

"Are we going to face this all the way down to Bottger's territory,
General?" the noncom asked.

"Probably," was Ben's reply.

"Shit!" the sergeant mumbled and returned his attention to the front.

"Hundreds of them," Corrie said, after acknowledging a report.

Ben saw several Rebels cross themselves and mouth a silent prayer. He
turned around for a few seconds and met the gaze of one of the chaplains
traveling with the brigade. The man smiled and nodded his head.

"Get behind some cover," Ben told the chaplain. "The troops will need
you alive when this is over."

"And you won't?" the chaplain retorted.

Ben turned around and put his back to the man. Yeah, he thought, but I
have to give the orders, padre. I can't show any signs of weakness or
indecision. Like ol' Harry said, "The buck stops here."

"There are kids in that mob!" a Rebel shouted, looking through binoculars.

"Stand firm!" Ben shouted.

289

Several Rebels were openly crying as they lifted their weapons, silent
tears running down their tanned faces.

"There is no hope for these people," Ben shouted. "Their brains have
been destroyed. Rotted away. They cannot be cured. They're walking dead."

Then the mob was around the curve in the road, several hundred yards away.

"Jesus Christ!" the lookout called. "They're foaming at the mouth like
rabid animals."

"Fire," Ben gave the orders. "Fire, goddamnit, fire!"

The quiet afternoon blew apart.

290

Dozens of tanks and APCs opened up with their mounted machine guns. All
around the defensive ring, in the spots where the maddened natives were
attacking, hundreds of Rebels cut loose with automatic weapons fire. It
was carnage, a slaughter. Still the rush of the insane continued. Still
the Rebels cut them down.

The crazed mob almost reached the defensive line. Almost. But the deadly
fire chopped them down until the howling mob had been reduced to a
moaning mass.

"Cease fire," Ben called.

"What the hell do we do with the ones that are still alive?" the noncom
who had stood near Ben asked.

"Finish it," Ben said, a deadness to his tone. "That's all we can do."

The sergeant cut his eyes to Ben.

"Sometimes, Sergeant," Ben said, "my job sucks."

"Yes, sir," the noncom said. "Mine, too."

"Finish it!" Ben shouted the order. "Move out there and finish it."

"But, sir," a young Rebel fresh from the States said. "The kids? . . ."

"Finish it, goddamnit!" Ben roared.

Noncoms and officers began shoving very reluctant troops outside the
defensive line and pulling out sidearms to finish off the wounded.

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Ben stood behind the ring of tanks and trucks and hummers and watched.
He kept his face expressionless. Only his eyes moved. Lamar Chase came
up to stand by his side.

"It's the humane thing, Ben," the chief of medicine said. "They would
have had nothing in front of them except more madness and a slow, very
painful death."

"I want the chaplains to be very aware of that, La-mar."

"They know. I informed them. And they are ready to counsel the troops."

"Some of these kids are growing up pretty damned fast."

Lamar said nothing.

The commander of the Rebel Army and the chief of medicine stood in
silence, shoulder to shoulder, as the gunshot-filled minutes ticked
past. Ever so slowly, the gunshots began to diminish, until they became
only an occasional sharp crack in the afternoon.

"Get some of the trucks with scrapers on them up here," Ben ordered.
"Scoop out a grave for those . . . people. Be careful handling them. No
one with any open cuts should touch any of the bodies."

"Right, boss," Corrie said, her voice unusually soft.

"Only experienced troops handle the bodies," Ben added. "Order the young
replacements to fall back. I think they've seen and done enough for one
day."

"Right, boss."

"Lamar, why didn't this bug kill the animals, too; make them crazy?"

"Because it didn't reach very many of them, Ben. It's short-lived and
was concentrated in the cities."

"But the animals later ate contaminated flesh."

"Yes. But animals have a digestive system different from ours. They can
eat things that would kill us on the spot. Until we get our hands on a
sample of this

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bug and break it down, that's all I can tell you. All right, Ben?"

"All right, Lamar. Come on, let's walk the camp."

Many spots around the huge protective ring had not even seen any of the
maddened mobs. They had not fired a shot. Others had dozens of bodies
stacked up in front of them. Trucks with scrapers were moving out, to
gouge holes in the earth for mass graves.1"

Ben stopped and watched as a young replacement rushed off behind a
truck, a tad green around the mouth. Sounds of retching quickly
followed. "Corrie, tell the cooks to fix only coffee and sandwiches for
this evening. I doubt that many people will have much of an appetite."

"Right, boss."

"I hope this experiment of Brunos was confined to only a few areas," Ben
said. "I would really hate to have to go through this all the way across
Nigeria."

"I think this was the first one," Lamar ventured. "A test case. After a
fly-over and observing all the bodies, they concluded it worked and then
went for the cities."

"Bruno's troops must have run into this on their way back after the
assault," Jersey said. "Why haven't we intercepted anything about it?"

"I think they headed across the lower part of Niger and were picked up
by chopper. But only the white troops and a few ranking black officers,"
Ben added. "The local troops-those that survived the attack on
us-scattered. They might have run into some of these . . . people. I
hope they did. I hope they ran into large groups of them."

"Boss," Corrie said.

Ben cut his eyes.

"Paula Preston hit one of the guards on the head with a club and
escaped. The other guards let her go."

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"Good. I hope she runs into some of Bruno's handiwork. How is the guard?"

"He's all right. Got a sore head, that's all."

"How about Marilyn Dickson and Alex Marsh?"

"They made no attempt to escape."

"Paula's a pro," Ben said. "She figured the odds and decided they were
better if she broke and ran for it."

"But she was going back stateside," Lamar pointed out.

"To face a very uncertain future," Ben said. "Her masters might not
condone failure."

Lamar sighed. "Her masters. Interesting phrase, Ben. Whatever happened
to the old Democratic party that my parents belonged to?"

"It died when the left wing took over."

"I guess it did, Ben," the doctor replied. "Hell, I know it did. I saw
it happening, you saw it happening. Why did so many intelligent people
continue to vote them in?"

"Something for nothing, Lamar. No cares, no worries, no woes. Big
Brother will take care of any little problem you might have. Hungry? The
state will feed you and don't worry about working. Just be sure and vote
along party lines. That's all we ask. A subtle form of civilized
communism, you might call it. The state is almost everything to
everybody all the time. Hell, nobody has to make any choices. The state
does it for you. Nobody controls their own destiny. The state controls
it. Nobody has to think very much. The state does all the thinking for
you. You're right, Lamar. Many of us saw it coming, but couldn't do a
damn thing about it."

"They'll be coming after the SUSA next."

"Eventually, yes, I think they will. And they will be able to overrun us
by sheer weight of numbers. But when I see the end is near for us, I
will give the orders to leave North America a smoldering ash heap. And

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out of the ashes the strong will emerge and start all over. The
Tri-States philosophy of government will never die, Lamar. Too many of
us have seen that it works. Millions now see that a very limited form of
government is the best form of government. No, Lamar, the philosophy we
started will never die."

Lamar was silent for a moment. He finally sighed and said, "A smoldering
ash heap, eh?"

"That's right, Lamar. MAD. Mutually Assured Destruction. The liberals
don't think I'll do it." He smiled faintly. "They don't know me very
well. Because I will personally press the button that lets the birds
fly. I will never allow our people to be forced to return to that
degenerate, immoral, irresponsible, and undisciplined
do-your-own-thing-if-it-feels-good form of government. We've proven over
the years that millions and millions of good decent hardworking people
don't want it, and I'll be damned if they'll have to live under it
against their will. Not again. Never again."

"Seems as though I heard a form of this same little speech from you
about a decade ago, Raines," Lamar said with a smile.

Ben smiled. "I guess you did, Lamar. I think we were standing outside
the ruins of an American city."

"That we were." The doctor cleared his throat. "Well, I've got work to
do. I can't spend the rest of the day standing around listening to your
speeches. See you later, Raines."

"All right, Lamar. Corrie, double the guards tonight. Tell them to stay
heads-up. Tomorrow, we'll get the hell gone from this place. Early."

"Right, boss."

Ben walked off a few yards to stand by himself for a moment, as much
alone with his thoughts as he was ever allowed to be.

295

"There's gonna be a civil war back home," Cooper said. "Again."

"I think you're right, Coop," Jersey replied. "I think the folks back
home are looking at one. And it's just around the corner."

296

Ben was alone in his tent, working at his field desk, the gas light
bright against the darkness. Jersey and the others were outside,
chatting with some Rebels from the 4th Battalion who had walked by. He
heard an odd noise and let his right hand close around the butt of the
9mm Beretta on the desk. He turned just as Paula Preston was stepping
through the slash she had made in the rear of the tent. Her eyes were
wild and her left arm was a bloody mess.

"You're pretty good to get past the guards, Paula. Either that or
awfully lucky."

She grunted at him and slobber leaked from her mouth.

"Well," Ben said, "so much for Chase's theory about it not being fatal.
Some of the mob got to you, huh, Paula?"

She shook her head. "No," she managed to speak. "I got caught during . .
." She grunted and slobbered for a moment. ". . . No. Can't think
clearly. I found a wrecked helicopter outside Jega. A canister. I opened
it. Very stupid of me. It was the bug. Spilled on me. I thought for a
time ..." She coughed up blood and pus and yellow slobber and fought for
breath. "... I might be immune. About two hours ago I knew I was dying.

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But I had . . . one thing to do before I died." She lifted the knife.

"Kill me?" Ben asked with a smile.

She slobbered and nodded her head. "That's right."

"You'll never do it, Paula."

"We'll see."

"You hate me that much?"

"The country . . . must be made whole again. Under a central government."

"Hell, Paula, killing me won't accomplish that. The philosophy is too
firmly entrenched now. So why don't you just be a good girl and go on
back out into the bush and expire quietly?"

She screamed and jumped. Ben lifted the pistol and put a half a dozen
rounds into her chest, throat, and face. Paula fell to the floor, dead a
few feet from his boots.

Jersey and the others burst into the tent. "Jesus," Jersey said.

"How the hell did she get in here?" Cooper questioned.

"She got lucky," Ben said. "Check outside and see about the guards. She
might have killed one."

"What do you want done with the body?" Anna asked, just as Dr. Chase
jerked back the flap of the tent and stepped in.

"Dump it in the pit with the others," Ben said. "And get some room
deodorizer and spray around, will you? Stinks in here."

The miles-long column headed south, toward Minna, about two hundred
miles away. There was an airport of sorts there, and at Minna, Ben would
be rid of the reporters. They were grumbling and griping about being
sent back, but they were not doing it to Ben's face.

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Ben had told them about Paula, but he doubted that many believed him.
Not that he really gave a damn whether they did or not.

Ben had ordered the Scouts not to venture too far, now that those
infected were returning in droves to the towns and cities. Too much risk
involved for them.

"Why didn't they attack the Scouts when they were ranging out a hundred
or so miles from us?" Cooper asked, as they drove along.

"I don't know, Coop. Maybe those infected were still hiding in the bush.
I just don't know."

"Pride of lions crossing the road," the Scout's voice came through the
speakers. "Slow it up. They aren't in any hurry to get across. Hell, one
just sat down in the road to scratch himself. Big bastard. Halt the column."

"It's their country, now," Ben said. "That's about the only good thing
to come out of this tragedy."

"Look over there!" Anna said, pointing. "That's an elephant! There's
several of them!"

"They're just ambling along," Jersey said. "Without a care in the world."

"Let's just hope we don't run into an irritated rhino," Ben said.
"That'll really make your day."

"Are there any in this area?" Corrie asked.

"There probably are now. Animals can recover quickly if given just half
a chance."

"Okay," the Scout's voice came through the speakers. "He scratched
himself and wandered on."

Ben lifted his mic. "How close did you get?"

"Not too damn close, sir. This was a big pride. We watched them through
binoculars."

Laughing, Ben hung the mic just as Cooper moved out.

"There are gorillas in this country, too," Beth told them, reading out
of an old tourist pamphlet. "In the southeastern part of the country."

299

"Oh, boy!" Coop said. "I want to see one of them."

"Odds are you won't, Coop," Ben said. "They're secretive animals,
staying mosdy in the thick forests and high country. But on the off
chance that you do come face to face with a silverback, don't run. Just
stand very still."

"While the pee runs down his leg," Jersey said.

"Probably," Cooper agreed without argument.

"They'll chase you if you run?" Anna asked.

"So I've always heard. And usually catch you."

"Village just up ahead," the Scouts reported. "And there are more of
those damn crazy people waiting for us."

Ben lifted die mic. "Everybody button up tight," he ordered. "We're
going to roll right through this village and nobody stops for anydiing.
If diey get in your way, run over them." He hooked die mic and said,
"Shit! It's going to be a long trip down to Bruno's batde lines. Hang
on, gang, here we go!"