KIDNAPPED

"Why kidnap Anna?"

Cecil explained: "To use her as leverage."

"Leverage against me," said Ben. "But... why? I hold no political
office. What the hell do they hope to gain by kidnapping a girl not even
twenty years old?"

"They plan to try her for treason, among other charges. And hang her."

"Treason?" Ben almost shouted. "Anna is not a citizen of the USA. She's
a citizen of the SUSA. How the hell could she be tried for treason?"

Cecil shook his head and took Ben's arm to lead him off the tarmac, but
Ben could not be restrained. "We're talking about a criminal act here,"
Ben said. "An international act of conspiracy. We're talking about spies
and the kidnapping of a citizen of an internationally recognized
sovereign nation. I want Anna back, safe and unhurt." He paused. "You've
got seventy-two hours."

Ben turned away and walked toward a line of military vehicles. He got
into a HumVee and drove off.

Cecil watched Ben leave, then turned to an aide. "Get all the members of
the emergency council together right now. We've got seventy-two hours
before God only knows what hell breaks loose. And if Anna isn't on her
way home by then ... a lot of people are going to pay a very heavy price....

"In blood."

2

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3

HATRED IN THE ASHES

William W. Johnstone

Pinnacle Books Kensington Publishing Corp.

http://www.williamjohnstone.com

4

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022

Copyright Š1999 by William W. Johnstone

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher,
excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this
book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed'' to
the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any
payment for this "stripped book."

Pinnacle and the P logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

First Printing: February, 1999

10 9 8 7 65 4 3 2 1

Printed in the United States of America

5

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even
though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits
who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray
twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.

Theodore Roosevelt

6

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
events, is entirely coincidental.

7

Prologue

If we accomplished nothing else, Ben thought as he stared out of the
window at the clouds below him, at least Bottger is dead ... we've seen
the last of that bastard. But we lost a lot of good men and women doing it.

The Rebels had suffered their first major defeat in years at the hands
of Bottger's troops... and had lost hundreds of troops. But the Rebel
spirit was not that easily crushed, and Ben had quickly rebuilt his army
with raw recruits and seasoned veterans pulled in from the SUSA. He had
changed the structure of his army into brigades: ten large brigades,
four battalions to a brigade, and one lone battalion-19 Batt-commanded
by Thermopolis, the ex-hippie turned warrior. Therm and his people kept
track of everything, from troop movements to who needed toilet paper. 19
Batt was comprised of some of the strangest people to be found in any
army anywhere. Most of Therm's people wouldn't know military protocol
from Adam's off ox, but they all did their vitally important jobs and
did them superbly. Ben had no complaints about 19 Batt. For the

8

most part he left them alone and let them do things their own way ...
even though Dan Gray, the commander of 503 Brigade, a former British SAS
officer and a stickler for military discipline, cringed and muttered a
lot under his breath every time he got near the longhaired,
bead-adorned, bandana-wearing members of 19 Batt.

Ben just smiled at the Englishman.

The Rebels had won the battles and the ambushes and the final
confrontation with Bottger's troops in Africa, and now they were
returning home to America to face the growing threat of another civil
war on home soil.

The government outside the SUSA just would not stop their campaign of
hatred against the SUSA. Just would not or could not understand there
were millions of people who did not wish to live under a crybaby, whiny,
ultra left-wing, liberal form of government. Those who refused to
knuckle down and kiss the ass of big, constantly intrusive government
chose to live in the Southern United States of America-the SUSA: The
individualists, the freethinkers, the law-abiding, those who accepted
responsibility for their own actions and deeds. Outside the SUSA were
those types who wanted the government to take care of them from cradle
to grave, people who blamed someone or some thing for every mistake they
made, who would never take personal responsibility for their own actions.

"Oh, it wasn't my fault or his or her fault that convenience store was
robbed and the clerk killed," those who lived outside the SUSA whined.
"Oh, no, not at all. You see, here's where the fault lies-the homecoming
queen wouldn't date the young man, and he got upset about his rejection
and decided to vent his rage against an uncaring society by robbing that
store. So it really wasn't his fault, and it's terribly unfair for you
to blame him. Don't you see?"

Or: "He didn't have enough orange juice in his diet during his formative
years and that created a chemical imbalance in his brain. That's what
caused him to rape

9

and torture and murder that little neighbor girl," the ultra liberals
sobbed and moaned.

Or, the left wingers would squall: as they stomped on hankies and flung
snot in all directions: "He watched too much violence on TV and in the
movies. That's what made him kill all those people," OOOh.

"And the availability of all those terrible nasty evil guns!" the
liberals would piss and moan. "Oooohhh," The left wingers would go
through another box of tissue, wiping tears away. "We must pass more
legislation concerning gun control. We must immediately gather up all
the guns in the nation, and that will solve all the problems."

Or: "He was spanked as a child for torturing animals, and that
traumatized the poor dear. It wasn't his fault he opened fire on a
schoolyard filled with kids. Oh, no, not at all. You see, he read all
those nasty, right-wing books by that horrible, evil gun nut from
Louisiana. That's what it was. That's why he did it. I think the FBI
should launch an immediate investigation of that writer."

Now, Ben and his team were on their way home.

Ben pushed his thoughts away for a moment and looked up as Jersey, his
bodyguard, brought him a fresh mug of coffee. He took the coffee and
thanked her. She smiled at him and returned to her seat, and he buckled
his seat belt. The air was a bit turbulent.

She should be married, raising a family, Ben thought, not knocking
around the world with me. The whole team should be married and settled down.

He looked around at his team, seated a few rows away from him:

Corrie, Ben's radio tech, a very pretty and highly intelligent young
woman. Beth, the team statistician, quiet and studious, very attractive
and shapely and smart. Cooper, Ben's driver, a young man who could take
a screwdriver and have a worn-out engine humming like new. Anna, Ben's
adopted daughter, in her nineteenth year of life on

10

this war-torn planet. A beautiful young lady who would soon be going
through the most brutal training ever dreamed up by humankind to become
a Rebel Scout.

They should all be settled down, Ben thought. But he knew they would
never leave him, not voluntarily. And to tell the truth, he didn't want
them to.

Ben looked out the airplane window again. A few more hours and they
would be home, back in Base Camp One, the capital of the SUSA. Hell of a
name for a town, Ben thought, but it had been called that for years and
no one seemed at all anxious to change it.

Ben frowned as he thought of the growing troubles outside the SUSA.
Conditions were worsening hourly. He had spoken with Cecil Jefferys-the
President of the SUSA- just before leaving South Africa. Cecil had told
him he wasn't sure just who was running what was left of what used to be
called the United States of America. The Congress of the United States
had met in secret session and invoked their slightly altered version of
The Emergency Powers Act.

"Where is the President, Cece?" Ben had asked.

"The official word is he's very ill and not receiving visitors."

"That might mean he's dead."

"It might, Ben. But I think it means he's being held prisoner in the new
White House."

"Then just who is running the country-the vice-president?"

"No. No one knows where he is. It just came over the news that his
helicopter went down somewhere over Michigan. The VP is missing and
feared dead."

"Do you believe any of that, Cece?"

"Only that the VP is dead. I believe that. But I don't believe his
chopper crashed."

"His crew was working for the other side ... whoever that might be."

"That's what we believe."

"Cece ... you're holding back, ole' buddy. Who is really running the
country?"

11

Cecil's sigh was audible. "We think it's the senator from California."

"Which senator?" Ben had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Not that it would make much difference. They're both socialist to the
core."

"Claire Osterman."

"Oh, shit! Sugar Babe, herself. That bitch."

Sugar, as she was called (presumably because she just loved everyone who
agreed with her left-wing politics) hated Ben Raines above everyone else
on the face of the earth, or in the pits of Hell. She had once publicly
stated during a press conference-when she was the lieutenant-governor of
California and before the Great War tore the world apart-that the world
would be a much nicer place if Ben Raines wasn't in it. Furthermore, she
stated, his writing was awful, the characters much too macho for her
delicate sensibilities. (Sugar was, Ben thought, about as delicate as a
tractor.) In her opinion his books, along with all the privately owned
guns in the nation, should be banned. Later, when away from the press,
she had added that Ben was a rabble-rousing, right-wing, gun-loving,
politically incorrect son of a bitch.

Ben had called her a ten dollar a night whore selling five dollar pussy.

She had later become one of President Logan's advisors. Ben had thought
that typical of Logan's administration- hiring as many flakes and kooks
and left wingers as he could. Ben had lost track of Sugar after Logan
was killed with a briefcase filled with explosives-handed to him by a
member of one of Ben's Zero Squads. (They were called Zero Squads
because that was the odds of their returning alive from an
assignment-zero.) Now Sugar was a senator, and still praising the
government's confiscation of all privately owned firearms above a .22
caliber or a 20 gauge shotgun. And absolutely none of those nasty,
horrible pistols would be left in the hands of law-abiding, taxpaying
citizens, Oh, heavens no! Positively not! How unthinkable! Tsk, tsk.

12

And the people who lived outside the SUSA, most of them, dutifully
handed over their weapons to the federal agents who came calling. Yes,
sir, master, I'll bow down and kiss the ass of Big Brother ... you just
mark the spot and I'll get down on my knees and give you a great big
sloppy smooch.

Ben stirred in his seat, and his frown deepened as his thoughts grew
darker. In his opinion-and in the opinion of millions of others-people
like those had helped to destroy America. The Great War just nailed the
lid on the casket, that's all. All their pie in the sky, half-baked
ideas about how best to educate kids had led to teachers being unable to
maintain discipline in the classroom. Schools had turned into war zones,
with metal detectors, students cussing teachers, sometimes physically
attacking them. Many teachers lived in fear for their lives, and not
just in the classroom. Many had their car tires slashed, received
threatening phone calls at home, and much worse. And what type of
punishment did the punks who attacked the teachers and threatened them
receive? In many instances, very little. In some instances, no
punishment at all. They certainly didn't get their butts whipped. Oh, my
goodness, no. That might traumatize the poor little dear, and we
certainly don't want that. Were charges brought against the punk, and
was he or she hauled off by the cops and sentenced to a term in some
juvenile detention facility- what back in Ben's youth had been called
reform school? Not very often. "My goodness gracious me," whined the
left wingers, "we couldn't have that. Oh, my, no. Certainly not. After
all, the teacher wasn't hurt that much." Sometimes the teachers wouldn't
even report the incident.

"Shit!" Ben muttered. But he knew the kids were not entirely to blame
for their behavior. Many parents couldn't or wouldn't instill or
maintain discipline at home, for a variety of reasons, not many of them
valid to Ben's way of thinking.

At times like these, Ben's thoughts usually drifted back to his own
youth ... a period when life was supposed to

13

have been much simpler ... a statement that nearly everyone Ben's age
knew was total, absolute bullshit. Times weren't that much simpler. Kids
had peer pressure on them then ...just as much as the next generation
did. As far as the violence on TV and in the movies causing violence in
youth, Ben placed no credence in that unproven theory, whatsoever ...
that was just more horseshit from the mouths of whiny liberals.

Ben lectured often at the SUSA's many colleges ... and his lectures were
well-attended, the auditoriums always filled to capacity. The students
were well aware that all of Ben's theories about government had proved
to be correct, and they wanted to meet and hear the man himself ... for
Ben was that rare commodity: a legend in his own time.

"We went to the movies and saw our western heroes kill dozens of bad
guys and hundreds of Indians," Ben told the students. "We watched
captives being hideously tortured on the screen. We saw and heard
Christians being fed to lions and nailed to crosses, whipped to death,
drawn and quartered. We watched our western heroes beat people half to
death with bullwhips, and watched gangsters and cops shoot it out in the
streets. Did that provoke us to pick up guns or knives and shoot or stab
our classmates, or attack our neighbors or our teachers or stick up a
store? No, it certainly did not. I'm not saying those things didn't
occur, but they were so extremely rare they were aberrations.

"We had-at home, in the schools, and in society-a sense of order and
discipline. We had, and did our best to maintain, such now old-fashioned
and out of date qualities as honor, morals, ethics ... a code of
conduct, if you will. Old-fashioned and out of date outside the borders
of the SUSA, that is."

Ben believed that young people needed discipline. They want it, whether
they admitted it or not. And the young people of the SUSA both loved and
respected Ben Raines.

In the SUSA everybody served in the military; the entire nation was an
armed camp. There were weapons for everyone

14

of age in every household in the SUSA, plus emergency gear, and plenty
of ammunition. If war broke out, every resident knew his or her job
assignment.

Anna left her seat to come back and sit with Ben. She fixed her pale,
blue eyes on him and said, "You've been sitting alone and speaking to no
one for hours, Daddy Ben. What's the matter?"

Ben smiled at her. "Nothing really, Baby. Just doing a lot of thinking,
that's all."

"We going to have a fight in America?"

"Looks that way ... it sure looks that way. Unless I can somehow talk
some sense into the heads of the powers that be outside the SUSA."

Before Anna could ask another question, Corrie walked back. "Pilot just
got a flash from home, Boss. National elections have been suspended
indefinitely. Martial law has been declared in some sections of the USA.
Those sections that are considered sympathetic to us, that is. And it's
official-the vice-president is dead. The president has been declared too
ill to work. The country is being run by a coalition ... a decidedly
left-wing coalition."

"Headed by?"

Corrie shook her head. "That we don't know for sure, but the word is
it's going to be Harlan Millard."

Ben sighed. "God help us all if that's true. That is the most liberal
left-wing son of a bitch ever elected to congress. Any info on who else
is on this coalition?"

"Not yet, Boss."

Ben thanked her, and Corrie returned to her seat. Anna studied her
adopted father's face for a moment, then asked, "You know this Millard
person?"

"Not personally. But I know all about him. He's been around for years
spewing his left-wing garbage. He's big government all the way. He had a
radio program long before the Great War and wrote a syndicated column
that was carried by a number of newspapers. Then he was elected to
congress. He's one hundred percent pure socialist, and real trouble for
anyone who believes in capitalism."

15

"This coalition... they have the military behind them?"

"They have the newly formed military behind them. We saw this coming
months ago. The new military is nothing like the old armed forces. It's
much smaller, and made up of thugs and bullies and people who have been
brainwashed against everything the SUSA stands for. But it's a
well-trained army, and they'll fight. We can't underestimate them for a
minute. That would be a very bad mistake."

"Larger than our army?"

"Oh, yes. By several hundred thousand, I'd say."

Anna was silent for a moment. "A lot has happened in the year we've been
gone, hasn't it?"

"Yes. And none of it good ... at least, not for us."

"So we fight, right?"

"I guess so, Baby. Looks that way."

Anna kissed Ben on the cheek and returned to sit with the team, leaving
Ben alone with his thoughts again, and his thoughts were turning darker
and darker.

"Why can't those outside our borders leave us alone?" he muttered.
"We're not bothering them."

It was a question Ben had asked many times. He knew the answer, but it
was like calculus to the unfamiliar: he did not understand the why of
it. Why does one nation always want to meddle in the affairs of other
nations? Why is the SUSA so hated ? We don't bother our neighbors living
outside our borders. We had trade agreements with them, and were living
up to our end of the contractual terms.

Ben sighed. Another civil war. A dirty little war to once more be fought
on American soil. How many more bloody conflicts before the issues of
sovereignty, states rights, morals, honor, ethics, fair taxation, and
the rights of the law-abiding were finally settled? Or would they ever
be settled?

Never, Ben thought, not as long as left-wing liberals have anything to
do with the running of the country and the making of laws.

Ben felt the airplane change course ever so slightly. They were on the
last leg of the long flight home. Home. It

16

would be good to get back, regardless of what might be taking place
outside their borders, it would be good to sit in his favorite chair
with Horowitz playing a Chopin polonaise or nocturne in the background
while he read the newspapers.

Ben especially enjoyed reading the newspapers from outside the SUSA's
borders. They were filled with the same old tired crap they had
contained before the Great War ... only this time few issues were
published without some mention of the SUSA or some highly inflammatory
or derogatory piece about Ben Raines.

Ben got a big laugh out of the reporter columns and the letters to the
editors. Nobody seemed to be able to grasp the philosophy of the SUSA.
Some thought it was communistic, others thought it was socialistic.

They were both wrong.

The SUSA was a experiment in living that worked to the satisfaction of
the millions of people who lived there. It had a philosophy of
government based on the old Constitution of the United States and The
Bill of Rights, with a healthy dose of common sense all mixed in.

More importantly, it worked for several million people. And those men
and women were willing to fight for their right to live in the SUSA ...
and die.

"And a lot of us are going to do just that," Ben muttered. "There might
not be a government of any sort left when the smoke clears-anywhere in
North America."

17

Chapter One

Cecil had a very worried look on his face when Ben stepped off the plane
and the men shook hands. Ben smiled, gripped his longtime friend's
shoulder with a big hand, and squeezed. "You look as though you're
carrying the weight of the world around, Cece."

"And you look disgustingly healthy and tanned, Ben. God, but it's good
to see you."

"And you look the same, Cece," Ben said with a grin. "Of course, you
always have a nice tan."

That brought a smile to the black man's lips, then a big booming laugh.
He punched Ben lightly on the shoulder. "The liberals would frown on
that remark, Ben. You're not being politically correct."

The two walked across the tarmac toward the terminal, Ben's team and
Cecil's security people all around them yet far enough away so the men
could talk privately in low tones.

Even in the SUSA, at Base Camp One, the capital of the fledgling
breakaway nation, security around Ben and Cecil was tight.

18

"I gather that there have been no hostile moves against us to date?" Ben
asked.

Cece shook his head. "Not yet, Ben. Just some small probes at our
borders. Nothing major. But intelligence says it's coming. All signs
point to it."

Ben nodded his head. "And here we go again."

"Big time, Ben. Both Sugar Babe Osterman and Harlan Millard hate you ...
intensely. They have both stated publicly that you're a traitor to the
democratic way, and must be captured and tried as such ... taken alive,
if possible."

"Fuck 'em," Ben said.

Cecil laughed at his longtime friend. "They have both sworn to bring the
SUSA back into the Union," he added.

"They can both kiss my ass," Ben replied. "Don't those two whiny left
wingers know we have the weapons and the delivery systems to nail the
lid down tight on everything outside our borders?"

"They don't believe you'll do it."

"Then they're both bigger fools than I originally thought. What the hell
is the matter with those two?"

"They claim you're bluffing. They say you won't harm civilians."

"I don't want to harm civilians. But I will if those civilians support a
regime that is trying to destroy everything we've built."

"They're talking about the kids, Ben."

"I know it, Cece. And I especially don't want to harm any kids. What are
they going to do, hide behind the kids? Use them for cannon fodder?"

"In some instances, I think the answer would be yes. We know that
rabble-rousers are working among many of the people outside the SUSA,
urging them to be ready to march on our borders when they get the word."

"Any idea when that word will come down?"

"Not a clue. But it's my belief that it will be very soon. I think you
can safely bet on that." He glanced over at

19

Ben as they walked. "Are you still planning to use chemicals to stop them?"

"Yes. It's the most humane way to go. You have the factories running
around the clock?"

"For several weeks, now. We've got enough chemicals to stop a major
invasion. The no-man's-zone around our borders has been enlarged, and
it's mined. There are patrols on our sides of the zone twenty-four hours
a day, plus eyes in the sky."

"We've got to be stretched pretty damn thin, Cece. Our borders run for a
couple of thousand miles."

"Sure we are. And even with the addition of the arriving brigades we'll
still be thin. When the mass infusion starts they'll be pouring across
by the thousands. Perhaps hundreds of thousands of them."

"You have any better idea than mine, Cece? If so, I'm damn sure open for
suggestion."

Cecil shook his head. "No, Ben," he said slowly. "I don't. I wish I did."

"So do I. Believe me, I do. But if we're attacked, our borders will be
defended. Non-lethally, if they're civilians who try to cross-unless
they shoot at us. By armed force, if Millard and Osterman use their army
against us. I can't see that we have any choice."

"We don't, unless you want to consider rejoining the Union under their
conditions." Cece laughed at the sudden and very startled expression on
Ben's face.

"I hope you're joking, ole' buddy."

"I hope you know I am."

"I had to ask ..." Ben paused and smiled. "Just to get your attention."

"You damn sure got it with that remark. Oh hell, Ben, if we're to
survive we've got to be ready to fight, and if we're outnumbered, as we
damn sure will be, there can't be any rules of engagement. We hit hard,
and we fight to win. If Osterman and Millard want to call that dirty
fighting, fine with me."

20

"Arrange a meeting with Osterman and Millard, Cece. That is, if they'll
meet with me."

"Us, Ben. If they'll meet with us."

"I don't trust these people, Cece. They just might agree to a meeting
with a killing in the back of their minds. If they feel they can take
out both of us, they damn sure will try it."

Cece nodded his head in agreement. Ben had never trusted the left wing
... with good reason. Cece could recall only a very few times when they
had kept their end of any agreement with the Rebels.

The men had reached the terminal area, and a door was held open for
them. Ben returned the smardy given salute from the uniformed Rebel, and
both men stepped inside the building. Cece said,?You want to go home and
rest for a time, Ben?"

Ben shook his head. "No, let's hash this out right now. I think time is
working against us. Besides, home is just an empty house."

Cece experienced a wave of sadness at that remark. One of the most
powerful men on the face of the earth was in reality a man alone. The
one woman Ben had truly loved was buried in a lonely grave in the far
northwest. Cece understood that it had been a hopeless romance from the
very beginning. Fate often had a dark sense of humor when dealing with
the living ... and kismet had dealt Ben a lousy hand.

For all his aloneness, Ben was not an unhappy man. Just a lonely one at
times.

The men went into a secure office-one that was electronically 'swept'
periodically-and Cecil ordered coffee and sandwiches brought in.

Ben's team and Cecil's security people took up positions outside the office.

Ben pulled the phone over to him and looked at Cece. "White House number
still the same?"

"It hadn't been changed a few days ago. But we don't know who is running
things."

21

"We're about to find out." Ben picked up the phone and a Rebel
communications tech immediately answered. "Get me the White House, please."

"Right away, General."

This office phone system was manned-personed, for all the gender
sensitive types-by Rebel security, who had been briefed that Ben might
be using this office.

It took only a few seconds for the tech to come back. "They want to know
who is calling, sir."

"They know damn well where this call originated. Tell them it's Santa
Claus. I need some advice. I just caught one of my elves fucking Mrs.
Claus."

Cecil choked on a swallow of coffee and the tech began stuttering, not
sure how to respond.

"Jesus, Ben!" Cece finally managed to gasp.

Ben grinned at Cece, and told the tech, "Tell whoever that is on the
line to stop being so goddamned officious and get whoever's in charge of
that liberal lash-up on the horn, and do it damn quick before I lose my
temper."

"Yes, sir!"

"Ben Raines on how to win friends and influence people," Cece muttered,
wiping coffee spots from his shirt front.

A couple of seconds later a very prissy man's voice came over the line.
"We do not like threats or vulgarity, General Raines."

"You have my totally insincere apologies," Ben said, punching the
speaker phone button so Cecil could hear what was going on. "Who is this?"

"I am Clarence Adams, senior advisor to Madame President."

"Madame President? What happened, did the president have a sex change
operation?"

"That is not amusing, General Raines. President Altman had to resign due
to health reasons...."

"I just bet he did," Ben said. "Where is he now?"

"In the hospital. He is gravely ill. What do you want, General Raines?"

22

"I want to know what the hell is going on with you people. Do you have a
clue?"

"I don't care for your attitude, General. Not one little bit."

"So you don't know nothing about birthin' no babies, huh, Adams?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You must not be a Clark Gable fan, Adams. You never saw Gone With The
Wind?"

"What? Oh, yes. Of course. Ha, ha. How amusing. President Osterman is
unavailable at this time, General. She's in conference with members of
CREW."

Ben and Cecil exchanged glances. Cece shrugged his shoulders. "What the
hell is CREW, Adams?"

"The Committee to Rid the Earth of Want."

"Want what, Adams?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. I'm getting confused. Who elected Sugar Babe to the
presidency?"

"There was no time for an election. The nation could not go leaderless.
Congress appointed her with the blessings of the new supreme court."

"What happened to the old supreme court?"

"It was dissolved."

"By whom?"

"Congress."

"They have the power to do that?"

"They do now."

Again, Ben and Cece exchanged glances. Cecil arched an eyebrow.

"Are you people operating under the guidelines of the Constitution?"

"We have a new constitution and bill of rights," Adams said very smugly.

Ben was silent for a moment. He sighed and said, ?Why doesn't that
surprise me? And who drew up these documents?"

"A group of patriots."

23

"Oh, I'm sure of that. All of them patriots to the core, right, Adams?"

"One hundred percent, General. Dedicated Americans who want to see this
nation emerge from the chaos of war with a new vision for all people."

"I'm overcome with emotion. Excuse me for a moment while I puke."

"How crude!"

"Oh, do forgive me, Adams. I'm sure you're a man of fine sensibilities."

"Quite right, General. Now, Is there anything else? I'm really very busy."

"Tell Sugar Babe we need to talk."

"I must insist you refrain from using that ridiculous nickname, General."

"Why? She's had it all her life."

"It is not befitting a lady of her stature."

"Horseshit."

"I beg your pardon, General?"

"I said horseshit, Adams. She has no stature with me."

"She is the President of the United States."

"I'm not a citizen of the USA, Adams. I'm a citizen of the SUSA. We are
a separate and sovereign nation, recognized as such by the United Nations."

?Wrong, General. Very wrong. You cannot secede from the Union. What you
did was an act of treason, and it will be treated as such."

Ben's chuckle held no humor. "I suppose the new supreme court handed
down that decision?"

"Yes. Just a few days ago."

"Goody for them. Now let me tell you something. As far as I'm concerned,
your new supreme court is an illegal body, and their decisions are not
worth a bucket of buzzard piss. And if you people have plans to use
force against us, I can guarantee you a nationwide bloodbath. And you
can quote me verbatim to Madame President Claire Sugar Babe Osterman."

24

"You are making a serious mistake by threatening us, General Raines."

"I'm not threatening. Just stating a fact, Adams. If you start a war
with us, you're going to get a bellyful of it."

"I shall relay your message to Madame President."

"You do that, Poopsie."

The connection was broken. The phone hummed in Ben's ear. Ben replaced
the phone in the cradle and looked at Cecil.

"What do you know about this Adams person, Cece?"

"I believe he was an aide to Osterman when she was in congress. Ben, you
sure let the hammer down on him."

"I got his attention."

"And now?"

"I'll start assigning troops to sectors as soon as they land ... and
wait. That's all we can do for now. I won't make the first hostile move.
Where are we the most vulnerable along our borders?"

"Hell, Ben, pick a spot, west or north. We don't have enough people to
defend our borders."

"We will after we mobilize the Home Guard. But I don't want to screw up
anyone's planting or harvesting, or severely cut into their income.
Schedules are going to have to be worked out very carefully."

"I'll get people on that right now."

Millions of people lived in the former states that made up the SUSA, and
everybody of age was in the Home Guard. It was an awesome force, for
many of them were combat veterans, and all were solid believers in the
Tri-States philosophy of government. They would fight to the death
defending their right to live under the laws of the SUSA ... and to
co-exist peacefully with the USA. If the USA would only let them.

Cece read Ben's mind. "They're never going to let us live in peace, are
they, Ben?"

"Someday, Cece. After we kick their asses so hard their teeth rattle
from the impact."

25

"And you think we're going to do it this go-around?" "We're going to
give it the old college try."

Cece was worried to the bone about the troubles facing the SUSA, and
fearful of the outcome. He knew the Rebels would be outnumbered in any
armed conflict, but that was only part of what was troubling him. It was
good, decent Americans looking down a gun barrel at other good, decent
Americans that troubled him-and Ben.

And while both knew that many of the men and women they would be facing
in Osterman's armed forces would be no more than the dregs of
society-punks and thugs and men with very checkered pasts-it was the
civilians that Osterman's people would whip into frenzy against the
SUSA, urging them to get involved. They would be sure to get hurt and
killed, and that bothered both men.

But they also knew they had but two choices in the matter: surrender or
fight. And neither man was about to take surrender under consideration.
That was out of the question-unthinkable.

Ben sat quietly, deep in thought, while Cecil made half a dozen quick
phone calls. After a few moments, Cecil finished with his last call. He
poured a fresh cup of coffee from the carafe and leaned back in his chair.

"Do we unveil our little surprise for the folks, Ben? The men and women
we've been training are at a razor's edge and raring to go."

Ben shook his head. "Not yet. I want to keep the wraps on that for a
while longer."

"I thought you might say that. But I want to ease back on the training
just a bit. We've been pushing them awfully hard."

"All right. Stand them down for a few days. I sure don't want them
over-trained until they lose their edge. When the balloon goes up,
they're going to get all the combat and pressure they want."

26

"You know that Osterman doesn't have much of an air force, Ben."

"I can assure you she won't have any when our people get through," Ben
said, accompanying that with a very nasty smile like that of a hungry tiger.

Cecil cautioned his friend-"If she's stupid enough to start trouble with
us-"

"She'll start it, Cece. If for no other reason than she hates me more
than God hates sin."

"Even if she knows she can't win? Even if she knows all she'll
accomplish is to destroy North America?"

"All that, Cece. And more. She's power hungry. Has been all her life.
And she professes to hate guns ... but for years before the Great War
she had a concealed carry permit. Packed a .38 in her purse. But was
instrumental in leading the fight to disarm Americans."

Cecil nodded his head. "I remember all that now. Didn't you and Sugar
Babe lock horns on a talk show once?"

Ben laughed as the memory of that came flooding back. "We sure did. I
enjoyed that hour program more than I could ever explain. I verbally
backed that left-wing bitch into so many corners she thought she was in
a maze. She's hated me intensely ever since."

"And then the Great War came," Cecil said softly. "And nothing mattered
much for several years."

"That's about the size of it, Cece. Nothing mattered much except for
staying alive."

"That and your dream of a better society for those who had a modicum of
common sense."

Ben smiled, drained his coffee mug, pushed back his chair, and stood up.
"And we turned that dream into hard reality, didn't we, ole' buddy?"

Cece stood up and nodded his head in agreement "We sure did, Ben. But
it's taken a lot of sweat and blood and cost a lot of lives to keep it
alive."

"It's going to cost a lot more before we're through. Get ready for that."

27

"I know," Cece replied in a low voice. "And I think everyone in the SUSA
realizes that, too." "Let's get ready for war, Cece."

"Again," Cecil said.

"Yes," Ben said. "Again."

28

29

Chapter Two

A week passed with no word from those in power outside the borders of
the SUSA. Then Beth stuck her head into Ben's office one morning and
said, "Madame President Osterman on the horn, Boss."

Ben looked up from the mound of paperwork on his desk. "No kidding?
Finally. I bet this is going to be a delightful conversation." He
punched the record button on a tape recorder and picked up the receiver.
"Good morning, Sugar," he said cheerfully. "And how are you this morning
in the great state of Indiana?"

"I'm fine, Raines," Claire replied. "Let's dispense with the small talk
and get right down to business, shall we?"

"Suits me, Sugar."

"Will you stop calling me Sugar, Raines? I detest that nickname, and
have all my life."

"No."

"No? No, what?"

"I won't stop calling you Sugar, Sugar."

"Well then ... fuck you, Raines."

"Thanks, Sugar, but I think I'll pass. Frankly, my dear, you're just not
my type."

30

She cussed Ben, loud and long. Madame President Claire 'Sugar Babe'
Osterman knew all the words and got them all in the right places.

When she paused for breath, Ben asked, "Are you quite finished, Sugar?"

"You're an asshole, Raines!" Then she let him have it again, putting
together another long string of profane words.

"I guess you aren't finished," Ben muttered. "Please, do continue."

"I'm going to see your little private kingdom destroyed, and you in
prison, Raines. You're a traitor."

"And you're going to do all that if I don't do what, Sugar Babe?"

"Dissolve your government, disband your army, and swear allegiance to
the United States. The Southern United States is going to rejoin the
rest of the states, and this nation is going to be healed."

"Forget it, Sugar. That isn't going to happen. The SUSA is here to stay."

"No way, Raines. You're going to be nothing more than a small dark blot
on history."

"Sugar, don't start trouble with us. Let's see if we can't work this
out, come to some sort of agreement. I see no reason why we can't
co-exist peacefully."

"I see lots of reasons, Raines. You've always been nothing but a
troublemaking rabble-rouser. You've been stirring up hate and discontent
for years. Your damn trashy books started all this. You went on
television and radio talk shows and openly supported the militia
movement and all those wacky survivalist groups. You're just another
loudmouth, right wing gun nut. You advocated the carrying of firearms.
You hated the government and you hated the IRS. You certainly fanned the
flames of a tax revolt, and your words got a lot of people hurt and
killed and put in prison. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you didn't
have something to do with starting the Great War. It's certainly
something you would do."

31

"Are you through, Sugar?"

"No, I'm not, Raines. You're a jerk, and nothing more than a common
criminal. You-"

"Oh, shut up, Sugar!"

That shocked the woman into momentary silence. Then she started sputtering.

"You're wrong on a lot of counts, Claire," Ben said. "I never hated the
government, and I never hated the IRS. We have to have some sort of
method of collecting taxes, and we certainly have to have a government.
Without government we'd have anarchy. Without taxes we couldn't have a
government. It was all the government intrusion into private lives that
got me up on a soapbox. I didn't hate the IRS. Those people were just
taking orders from the damned politicians. It was the way taxes were
collected that burned my butt ... and you people wouldn't fix it. And I
knew that once people were free to carry guns- with a permit and only
after firearms training-many of them wouldn't. And I was right. We've
proved that here in the SUSA."

Claire began stuttering and sputtering once more.

"Goddamnit, Osterman, shut up and let me finish!"

"You're finished, Raines!" Madame President shouted. "You and your
barbaric nation are finished! Believe that if you believe nothing else."

She slammed the phone down, breaking the connection and leaving Ben
holding a buzzing phone.

"Her temper sure hasn't improved any," Ben said just as Anna walked into
the office.

"Whose temper?" the young woman asked, sitting down in a chair in front
of the desk.

"Madame President Osterman."

"Oh, her. Yes. I went over to the main library yesterday afternoon and
did some reading up on that female barracuda. She's a communist, I think."

"Socialist, Baby," Ben corrected.

"So what comes after socialism, Daddy Ben? Communism, that's what. Look
it up in the dictionary ... I did."

32

Ben smiled at the young woman. "You're right, of course, Anna. But
Madame President would be appalled and very, very angry should anyone
accuse her of being a socialist or a communist."

"You mean she isn't aware of her political leanings?"

"I don't think so, Honey. I believe that most ultra liberals don't
understand that they're flirting with a dangerous form of government."

"Then they're stupid people," Anna said bluntly, in her usual style.

Ben again smiled at his adopted daughter. She was absolutely
breathtakingly beautiful, with her blonde hair and pale, pale eyes.
"I've known many extremely intelligent people who were ultra liberal,
Anna. Not only that, or perhaps despite that, they were very decent,
caring, and well-meaning people ... as are most, I believe."

?Then why do they embrace socialism, if they're so damn smart?"

"That's a question I can't answer. I've debated government with many of
them countless times. As far as I'm concerned it's like arguing with a
stump, and I'm sure they feel the same about me."

"But they don't care one little bit about the rights of those who are
politically their opposites, do they?"

"That does appear to be the case."

"Then to hell with them. They can have their own way of life outside the
SUSA, and we'll have ours here."

"But they don't want us to have that, Anna."

The young woman fixed her pale, icy eyes on Ben. "Then we kill them,"
she said very softly.

Ben lost his smile as her words echoed away. Anna's philosophy of life
was very simple: I will harm no one who is not attempting to harm me. I
will live honorably and decently, without lying, cheating, or stealing.
I will leave you alone, if you will leave me alone. But if you try to
force your will on me, if you try to steal from me, I will kill you.

Well, Ben thought, Anna's philosophy isn't that far off from those of us
who live in the SUSA. She just doesn't mince words

33

about how she believes, and what she'll do ... and she doesn't bluff
about it-ever.

"Daddy Ben," Anna said, "why didn't the people fight when the government
here in America started to turn socialistic?"

"We tried, Baby. But we couldn't get organized under one leader and a
set of agreed upon goals."

"Why not?"

"Oh ... a lot of reasons. Squabbling, for one."

"Squabbling?"

"Anna, there were several thousand groups in America under various
names-militia, survivalist, constitutionalist. You name it, and we had
it. But none of them-most of them, I should say-couldn't or wouldn't
cooperate with each other. A group in Idaho, for example, didn't like
the leader of the group in Illinois, or the group in Texas didn't like
part of the philosophy of the group in Florida, or the group in Arkansas
didn't like the name of the group in New York, or the militia in
Michigan didn't want to be called survivalist like the group in Kansas.
It was a mess."

"How many people were involved in the various groups?"

"Thousands. Men and women of all ages and all backgrounds, education,
and vocation. We just couldn't get organized. And the government. Oh,
boy ... they were spending millions of taxpayer dollars a year
investigating and infiltrating the various groups. Government agents
snooped around the various chat rooms on the Internet. Agents kicked in
doors in the middle of the night and terrorized entire families, killing
family pets, puppies and kittens, for no real reason...."

"Why?" Anna asked, her eyes narrowing to slits from undisguised anger at
the thought of that type of government sanctioned terrorism.

"Oh, some asshole member of the community turned in a person's name for
having what the press liked to call an 'arsenal' of weapons, or because
they were a member of some militia or survivalist group. Many of those
kick-in-

34

your-door-and-kill-the-family-pet agents were a bunch of sorry ass
pricks. I asked an agent one time if his mother had any children that
lived. Sure pissed him off."

Anna laughed. "Were you arrested for saying that?"

"No. But the government had been investigating me for years, anyway.
They knew all about me. As one of my friends said, I was 'one looked-at
fellow'."

"So you had to be very careful?"

"I should have been, but I wasn't all the time. I aired my opinion of
the left-wing, ultra liberal assholes in government whenever and
wherever I felt like it."

Anna laughed at Ben's expression. Ben almost always frowned whenever he
thought of liberals. "But you had liberal friends. You told me so."

"We didn't discuss politics-ever. The subject was taboo. But in the last
few years before the collapse, I had no friends who voted the liberal
ticket and espoused ultra liberal views. None."

"You walked away from them?"

Ben shook his head. "No. They walked away from me. I was coming under
too much heat from the feds. There was a lot of misinformation being
spread about me ... none of it good."

Corrie stuck her head into Ben's office. "Small numbers of federal
troops have been moved to what appear to be staging areas along our
borders, Boss."

"Small numbers?"

"Scouts and intel are saying company size. Does that make any sense to you?"

"In a way, yes. If they spread out, we've got to spread out, too, in
order to keep an eye on them." Ben was thoughtful for a few seconds.
"But what if many of those so-called troops being deployed are really
civilians dressed in cammies? What would that point to?"

By now Ben's entire team was all in the office. Beth said, "A diversion,
perhaps?"

"Yes," Ben said. "To spread us out as thin as they can and then hit us
with a hammer blow where we least expect

35

it, pouring troops across our borders. And not just troops- as many
civilians as they can muster after promising them all sorts of wild pie
in the sky nonsense. Corrie, get eyes in the sky up ASAP-every available
chopper and spotter plane we can get into the air. I want our borders
surveyed."

"Right away."

Ben picked up the phone. "I'll brief Cecil and arrange a meeting. I
think we'd better bump the country up to a higher readiness alert, too.
All leaves canceled immediately. Everybody back to their unit."

"I wonder why that Sugar Babe person called here last week if she
intended to pull something like this all along?" Anna asked.

"My guess would be to offer me the deal she and her buddies had worked
out. If I took it-fine. I didn't Madame President Sugar Babe knew all
along I wouldn't, so her conscience is clear to start a war with us."

"I guess I'd better get the wagon serviced as soon as it gets here,"
Cooper said.

"It might not arrive before the shooting starts," Ben cautioned. "I
think we'll be up to our rear ends in fighting before that particular
ship gets to port."

"Here we go again," Jersey remarked. "It never stops, does it?"

"No," Ben replied. "And this go-around won't end it, either."

"Still predicting worlds of gloom and doom, Raines?" Doctor Chase, the
Rebel Chief of Medicine, spoke from the doorway.

Ben looked up at his old friend. "Must be important to get you away from
that torture chamber you call a hospital, Lamar. What's on your mind?"

"Casualties, Raines. At a dozen places along our northern border. I just
got that word."

Ben leaned back in his chair. "They're probing, Lamar. Trying to find a
weak spot. How hard were we hit?"

36

"A couple of dozen wounded. No dead ... yet," he added. "Most of our
people suffered only minor wounds."

Ben picked up his private line, stilling the ringing. He listened for a
moment, then spoke a couple of words and hung up. He looked at Lamar.
"Federal troops probing at spots along our western borders, too. Couple
of wounded, nothing serious. It's started, folks. Let's get geared up.
Corrie, call Colonel Conners. Tell him to get ready to take the wraps
off of our air force and get ready for some action." Ben smiled. "Let's
see how Sugar Babe likes this little surprise."

37

Chapter Three

"Ben Raines and his followers have control of millions of acres of
valuable farm land in the SUSA!'' The speaker shouted into the microphone.

The crowd nodded their heads in agreement and muttered words of
discontent for their own station in life and condemnation toward Ben and
the Rebels. Most were out of work, and blamed Ben and his followers for
their own inability to earn a living. That didn't make much sense, but
the SUSA was an easy target.

"Ben Raines is running a dictatorship down there," the speaker shouted.
"He must be stopped, and the land returned to true Americans."

The crowd cheered and applauded.

"But the government can't do it by itself," the speaker told the crowd.
"They need your help. After all, it's your country. It doesn't belong to
Ben Raines and his Rebels."

The crowd mumbled words of anger. One man called out, "How can we help?
We're not armed. The Rebels are, all of them, from what I've heard."

"We're not asking you to fight," the speaker replied. "That is up to the
army. And they'll back you all the way.

38

That is a promise. We're asking you to settle on the land. Homestead it,
stake your claim on what is clearly public lands. The supreme court has
ruled on that. It is public land. It belongs to you!" He reached in his
pocket and pulled out several sheets of paper, holding them up for all
to see. "Here is that ruling ... and it was a unanimous decision by all
nine justices. The land is there, just waiting to be settled. The land
now occupied by Ben Raines and his Rebels was taken illegally. Those
people are traitors! They have no legal claim to the land they now
occupy. It belongs to you."

There were dozens of speakers holding forth all over that area of land
under the rule of Osterman and her party ... land still referred to as
the United States of America. The speakers were working day and night,
holding meetings all over the battered and torn nation, organizing
thousands and thousands of men and women, readying the eager and very
willing civilians to march on the SUSA. What did the civilians have to
lose, really, except their lives-and that very real possibility wasn't
brought up by the government organizers. The men and women had no jobs,
(there were very few jobs to be had outside the SUSA) and their future
looked very bleak indeed.

That part of North America still called the USA was recovering very
slowly from years of internal political struggle and anarchy. There were
some factories operating, but not many. There were some farms producing
crops, but not nearly enough. Trains and planes were rolling and flying,
but not very efficiently, and almost never on time.

Ben's people who dealt in such matters, working out of 'Think Tanks' in
the SUSA, estimated that the USA was operating at about thirty-five to
forty percent of its potential. That meant that millions of people were
out of work. This wasn't entirely the fault of the people ... not
really. Much of the blame for the lack of progress in the nation could
be placed on the government. When what was left of the battered USA
began once more to stagger to its feet, the government came roaring in
with rules and regulations.

39

The government sent 'experts' all over the nation to assess the
situation and make recommendations ... but only after four committees,
eight sub-committees, and sixteen sub-sub-committees studied the
proposals and recommendations. When the rebuilding could finally begin-
under government supervision, of course-a certain percentage of the
workers had to be comprised of various minorities, a certain number had
to be women. Work could not begin until and unless those numbers were
met. And no ant mound, birds nest, fish pond, squirrel den, or
three-warted, purple-crested, four-toed titty-varmint could be
disturbed. Another committee had to be formed to oversee all those rules
and regulations. When all that was settled, it was often determined that
not enough transvestite cross-dressers were being employed. And if some
man dared to mention to one of the women that she looked nice that day,
the woman immediately filed a lawsuit for sexual harassment.

Conditions were improving outside the SUSA, but only at a snail's pace.

The citizens of the SUSA began preparations for a prolonged civil war.
Factories operated around the clock, seven days a week, producing
everything from bullets to canned beans. Underground storage
facilities-which were located all over the SUSA-were inspected and
restocked. Millions of rounds of ammunition were distributed throughout
the SUSA, along with cases of emergency rations and sealed, five gallon
cans of water. The citizens of the SUSA were preparing to fight to the
death for their homeland.

Personal weapons were checked out very carefully and kept within arm's
reach. Vehicles were checked out, and fuel tanks kept full at all times.
No one drove anywhere without checking to make sure the trunks of cars
and the beds of trucks were stocked with emergency gear.

Harlan Millard and Madame President Claire Osterman

40

did not fully understand just how dedicated the men and women of the
SUSA were to preserving their way of life. But they damn sure were about
to find out.

"Another couple of weeks and we'll be as ready as we can ever be," Ben
reported to Cecil and various other heads of government in the SUSA.

Ten days had passed since Rebel patrols along the borders of the SUSA
had first been involved in skirmishes with troops of the USA. There had
been no more gunshots exchanged across the borders, but the numbers of
those malcontents massing at the borders facing the Rebels and the home
guard were increasing daily.

?You really think this will turn into a full-blown civil war, Ben?"
Secretary of State Blanton asked.

"Yes, I do, Mister Secretary. And then into a bloody, nasty guerrilla
type action that will continue for years. It was heading toward the
latter in the months just before the Great War came along and hammered
us all into a long period of submission and confusion."

"There are good, decent people in Osterman's administration," the former
President of the United States said softly. "I know many of them."

"Of course there are," Ben was quick to agree. "But they've fallen in
lockstep with the party line. As usual. Nothing ever changes. Not even a
war that came very close to wiping out civilization could change it. And
I find that disgusting. It was disgusting a decade ago, it's disgusting
now ... even more so."

Homer Blanton smiled. "You never did fully understand all the
machinations of politics, did you, Ben?"

"I hope I never do, Homer. Because-as Anna would put it-politics sucks."

Blanton laughed and pushed back his chair. Standing up, he said, "There
are times when I would certainly agree with her assessment, Ben. Well,
I've got to get back to the office for another meeting. See you, Cecil,
Ben."

41

"Who are you meeting with now?" Cecil asked.

"Some official from what is left of the Mexican government. They want
our help in restabilizing their country. They're having trouble with
their neighbors to the south."

"Hell, we can't even get along with our own neighbors," Ben said. "Wish
them good luck, and maybe sometime in the future we can give them some
help."

"I wasn't prepared to give them even that much hope," Homer said.

"That is probably the best way to go," Cecil said. "This civil war we're
facing could last for a long time."

The Secretary of State looked at Ben. "You feel that way also, Ben?"

"Yes, Homer, I do. This conflict we're facing could go on for years ...
in one form or another."

"You're not very encouraging, Ben."

"No, not at all. This is a civil war looking us smack in the face.
American against American. I hate the very thought of it."

The Secretary of State nodded his head in agreement. "I know, Ben. I
know." He checked his watch. "Well, I'm late for my meeting. I'll talk
to you both later on today."

One of Cecil's aides entered the office just as Homer was leaving.
"There's a reporter here to see you, Mister President. From The Capital
Review. His name is Thomas Manning. He doesn't have an appointment."

"How the hell did he get across our borders?" Cecil asked. "They've been
closed for days."

"I didn't ask, sir."

Cecil and Ben exchanged glances. Ben said, "I've heard of this Manning
person. Read some of his articles. He's pretty much middle of the road
in his reporting. He's one member of the press I'd trust... I think,"
Ben added.

Cecil shrugged his shoulders. "All right, then. Show the gentleman in,
Don. I don't have anything else in my appointment book until this
afternoon."

Ben stood up and pulled his beret from his pocket. Cecil held up a hand.
"No. You stay, Ben. Please? I know you

42

don't like reporters. But this might well be our last chance to get our
points of view out to those living beyond our borders."

"All right, Cece." Ben continued to stand while Don showed the reporter in.

Manning was a young man, clean-cut in appearance. Ben and Cecil guessed
him to be in his late twenties to early thirties. That meant he would
have at least some very vivid memories of the hard years after the
collapse of the world's governments.

Manning pulled up short for a moment at the sight of Ben Raines. He had
studied the life and viewpoints of President Jefferys, and believed him
to be a fair man. General Ben Raines was quite another story. Manning
had listened to other members of the press discuss Ben Raines many
times-cuss him, mostly-and Thomas had never heard anybody say anything
good about the general.

To his credit, Manning had done his best to research the life of General
Raines, both during his years in college and since becoming a
journalist. That had proved almost impossible, since nearly all records
had been destroyed in the chaos that followed the collapse of
government. He had found copies of some of Ben's old books and read and
studied them. He was able to pick out some threads of Ben's philosophy
from his writing. Adding that to what he had heard about the man from
members of the press who did not openly despise him, Thomas had a pretty
good idea that Ben believed in a small government, not the bloated
intrusive bureaucracy the US government had been before the collapse.
Manning tried his best to be a good and fair reporter, but he was very
much aware that writing anything good about President Jefferys, the
SUSA, and especially Ben Raines could get him investigated by federal
agents. He had been warned to "knock off" writing that Jefferson, of the
founding fathers, had believed in a very small, weak government.

Manning introduced himself to Cecil, and the men

43

shook hands. "Do you know General Raines, Thomas?" Cecil asked.

"No, sir. We've never met." To tell the truth, the sight of Ben Raines
just about scared the crap out of Thomas. The general had the coldest
eyes Thomas had ever seen. Ben Raines was middle-aged, he guessed, with
a lot of gray in his hair. He appeared to be in excellent physical
shape, his face deeply tanned. Big hands and thick wrists. "Sir,"
Manning said, shaking hands with Ben.

Ben nodded his head and pointed to a chair in front of Cecil's desk.
Manning promptly sat. Hell, he was afraid not to.

"Relax, Thomas," Cecil said with a smile. "We don't bite ... I promise
you we don't."

"Yes, sir," the young reporter said. "I mean ... I'm sure you don't.
Won't." Thomas got flustered, and felt his face grow hot. Cecil laughed
and Ben smiled ... sort of.

"How about a cup of coffee, Thomas?" Cecil asked.

?Yes, sir. That would be very nice. Black with one sugar.''

"Coining right up."

Thomas was aware that Ben was studying him closely through those cold,
expressionless eyes. It was disconcerting. He tried to keep his gaze on
President Jefferys, but he could not keep his eyes from shifting over to
meet Ben's.

Damn! Didn't the man ever blink? It was like staring into the eyes of a
big timber wolf.

Thomas almost jumped when Ben suddenly asked, "How did you get across
the border, Thomas?"

"I ... well, I just drove across, General."

"Where?"

"From Kentucky into East Tennessee. I crossed over on a county road. It
looked as though it hadn't been used in a long time. It was a gravel and
dirt road. It would probably be impassable during a heavy rain."

"Before you leave, show us exactly where you crossed," Ben said. "If you
don't mind."

"Not at all, sir. I'll be glad to."

44

An aide came in with a pot of fresh coffee. Cups were filled and the
aide quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Has your traveling through the SUSA surprised you in any way?" Cecil asked.

"Very much so, sir. I was astonished, to tell the truth. Everything is
so neat and clean, and the people are so friendly."

"Now that you're here," Ben said, "what can we do for you?"

"Talk to me, General. Tell me what it would take to avoid a civil war."

"That's easy, Manning-"

"Call me, Tom ... please."

"All right, Tom. All Claire Osterman and Harlan Millard have to do is
back off and leave us alone. It's that easy."

?They are determined to reunite this country, General.''

"It won't happen," Cecil stepped in. "Were a free and sovereign nation,
recognized as such by dozens of nations around the world."

"You don't know Osterman and Millard."

"Oh, I do, Tom," Ben said. "They both started out as liberal
Democrats-well-meaning but misguided ... to my way of thinking. Then
something changed them, and that something was power. It can happen to
any member of any political party. They begin to think of themselves as
gods, all-knowing and above error and human frailties. They feel this
need to dictate to others, to intrude in the lives of other people. It
gets worse ... do you want me to continue?"

Manning smiled. "No, General. I've done my homework on your philosophy
of government and your opinion of liberals--just one of the reasons I
was more than a bit apprehensive about entering the SUSA."

"No reason to be apprehensive, Tom," Cecil told him. "You're safer in
the SUSA than in any other place on earth."

45

"Really? What if federal troops launch an attack while I'm here?"

"You'll still be reasonably safe," Cecil assured him. "We could fly you
out of here to any place you chose to go."

"Will there be any safe place if Osterman orders an attack on you?"

Ben smiled. "Sure. Outer Mongolia, for one. Diego Garcia, for another.
South Africa is reasonably secure now."

"But nowhere in America?"

"That's about the size of it. If Sugar Babe wants a war, and attempts to
invade our nation as she has threatened to, the SUSA will damn sure give
her a war. And I'll make sure it touches every part of the USA."

The reporter met Ben's steady gaze for a few seconds, then averted his
eyes. He could not stare into those cold, deadly eyes for very long. He
had noticed that Ben's eyes could hold high humor, but when discussing
the fate of the SUSA, those eyes turned cold and mean.

"We don't want a war, Tom," Ben said, softening his tone. But his eyes
did not change. "And I mean that. But the old Tri-States philosophy of
government will not be destroyed. Not now, not ever. Its time has come,
it's here, and it will endure. As long as there is one person alive who
believes in our form of government, those attempting to destroy the
concept will have a fight on their hands. Believe it, young man, believe
it."

Tom did. On his drive through the SUSA, he had talked with dozens of
people of all races, creeds, and colors, gently moving the topic to
government. The people Tom spoke with were one hundred percent
Tri-Staters, and there was not a doubt in Tom's mind that they would
fight to preserve their way of life and form of government.

"I believe it, General. But what will happen to both nations should war
start?"

"They will probably be devastated. When it's over perhaps your
government will have learned a hard lesson, and then we can both rebuild
and live in peace."

"Do you think war can be averted?"

46

Ben shook his head. "Not with a bunch of damn left wingers running your
government. Not a chance. Those bastards and bitches won't be satisfied
until they control the lives of every citizen in the nation."

"Can I quote you on that, General?"

"You sure can, Tom. My comments won't come as any surprise to Osterman
and Millard. They know how I feel."

"I've never known any other form of government, General ... except for
President Altman's brief term in office."

"Do you have any idea where Altman is?"

"He's seriously ill. In the hospital."

"And you really believe that?"

"Don't you?"

"No."

"Then where is President Altman?"

"He might be dead, Tom. I hope not. But Millard and Osterman just might
have had him killed."

47

Chapter Four

Tom Manning asked a few more questions and then left after agreeing on a
time to meet with Cecil the next day. It was clear to Cecil and Ben that
Tom did not believe Claire Osterman and Harlan Millard had anything to
do with President Airman's sudden disappearance from the public view.

"He's young, Ben," Cecil said. "He received his higher education in the
terrible years just after the collapse. His education was liberal all
the way. I'm surprised he turned out as fair thinking as he did." Cecil
stared at Ben for a few seconds. "Are you listening to me, Ben?"

"Yes, Cece. I just had an idea." He moved around the desk and picked up
the phone, punching out a number.

Cecil noticed the tight smile on Ben's face and sighed. His old friend
was up to something.

After a moment, Ben's son, Buddy, commander of the 508 Brigade, came on
the line. Ben put the phone on speaker so Cecil could hear both sides of
the conversation.

"Yes, Father?"

"Son, get with intelligence and find out where Altman is being held ...
if he's still alive. Then pick a team and

48

get him out and bring him here. I didn't say you go, boy ... pick some
of your best people and send them. Is that understood?"

"Oh, yes, Father. Understood perfectly. Quite clear."

"Fine. Get it done."

"Yes, sir."

Until his promotion to brigade commander, Buddy Raines had been CO of
the Scouts-the elite of the elite in the Rebel army: a deadly and highly
trained combination of the old Special Forces, SEALs, AF Commandos,
Marine Force Recon, and FFL and SAS. They did the difficult immediately.
The impossible took just a little more planning and time ... but it was
accomplished.

After Ben had hung up Cecil said, "You know, of course, that Buddy will
lead the team?"

?Probably. I figure about a week and Altman will be here, providing he's
still alive. And that's certainly in doubt."

"And you plan to do what with Altman, if he's still alive and the team
can bring him back?"

"Propaganda, Cece. We'll get him well, if possible, then videotape him
live, telling the people what actually happened in the USA's capital."

Cecil chuckled at Ben's words. "That will certainly irritate Madame
President and her coalition."

"Yes, indeed it will. They'll all have a hanky-stomping snit."

Cecil laughed loudly at that and at the expression on Ben's face. Ben's
opinion of liberals was indescribable ... which was probably for the
best. ?But will it serve to change the minds of any people living
outside the SUSA?"

Ben shook his head "No. Not many. Certainly not the hard core,
left-wing, liberal whiners and weepers, those who want something for
nothing, and those who want the government to tell them how and when to
do everything. But it will damn sure make me feel a lot better."

"And make the war looking us in the face easier to stomach," Cecil added.

"That, too, ole' buddy. Certainly that." Ben stood up

49

and stretched. "I'm going to take a run out west, Cece, talk with
Colonel Conners and surprise him with a promotion while I look over our
air force. Want to come along?"

"Oh, God, I wish I could, Ben. I've got a solid wall of meetings
scheduled for the remainder of this week, and for all next week."

"That's right. I forgot. The governors and mayors and Home Guard
commanders are coming in. Well, have fun, Cece. I'll think about you."

?I'm sure you will, Ben. Every waking moment. Have fun. Now get out of
here. I've got more meetings to referee."

"I'm gone, Cece."

Ben's team-Jersey, Beth, Cooper, Corrie, and Anna- were waiting for him
in the parking lot. Ben's personal, special built, armored vehicle had
not yet made it back by ship from Africa. Cooper was driving Ben and the
team around in a van.

"You people all geared up for our trip?" Ben asked.

"Sittin' on ready, Boss," Jersey answered for the team. "Where is this
place?"

"On the border of West Texas and New Mexico, Jersey." Ben paused and
looked at his team. "All of you pack survival bags in case of trouble.
Including a couple of full canteens."

"You mean in case of a plane crash, Boss?" Cooper asked.

"In case we have to jump, Coop. That's wild country out there."

Jersey grimaced and rolled her eyes at just the thought. Jumping was not
on her list of favorite things to do. "Gangs operating out there, Boss?
Hell, there's nothing there!"

She was right about there being nothing there. The area south of I-10
and west from Highway 385, all the way over and down to the Mexican
border, was deserted.

"Some of the punks we ran out of the cities settled in that area," Ben
replied. "They sometimes raid into Mexico, and otherwise live off of the
cattle that are running wild in extreme southwest Texas now. So far,
they haven't

50

given any of our military people very much trouble. They almost always
hide when patrols come into the area."

"The towns out there, Daddy Ben?" Anna asked.

"Almost completely deserted. What residents were left moved east a long
time ago."

"What's the number of punks out there, Boss?" Beth asked.

"Several thousand, at least. That's just a guess. We'll clean it out one
of these days ... if this civil war we're facing doesn't destroy
everything we've built over the years."

"And it might?" Anna asked.

"It might, Baby. It just might. There might not be a USA or a SUSA when
it's over."

The plane, a twin-engine prop cargo plane, roared its way west. It was a
bumpy ride and getting bumpier. Cooper was moaning about getting ready
to die from being airsick, and Jersey was urging him to go ahead and
croak; she was tired of listening to him complain.

The pilot kept trying to find an altitude that wouldn't rattle
everyone's teeth, and kept flying lower. Ben carefully made his way to
the cockpit.

"Sorry about this, General," the pilot said, raising his voice to be
heard over the violent hammering the plane was taking. "But we're
running into one hell of a storm. And it's getting worse. Heading north
is out of the question. I'm going to head southwest for about a hundred
miles and then cut north, approach the base that way. I think it'll be a
smoother flight."

"You're the boss. Just keep me informed."

"Will do, sir. Sir? Everybody'd better get in their 'chutes ...just in
case."

Ben nodded his understanding and returned to his seat, ordering each
team member into parachutes on his way. He buckled himself in, too. This
was just about the roughest

51

flight he could remember. They roared and slammed and hammered their way
south.

Jersey had stopped needling Cooper and was looking a little worse for
wear herself.

Ben heard the left engine falter and cough, then an explosion.

"What the hell was that?" Cooper shouted, looking around, wide-eyed.

"Left engine, Coop," Jersey told him. She looked out the window and
paled. "It's on fire!"

"Shit!" Ben muttered.

The pilot worked frantically for a few seconds to extinguish the flames,
but for some reason, which would probably never be known, he could not.
He grabbed his mike and shouted, "Everybody out! We're going down!"

"Move!" Ben shouted to his team. "Grab your gear and get out of here!"

Ben literally tossed Jersey out the door and physically shoved the
others out. He made his way back to the cockpit and shouted to the crew,
"Get your asses out of here, people, before that wing blows!"

"After you, General," the pilot said. "With all due respect, sir, will
you please get the fuck out of here?"

"I'm gone," Ben said, and made his way to the door. He stepped out into
nothing, remembering the old line from jump school: "That first step is
a son of a bitch." He did not have time to see if the crew made it out.
The winds were tossing him all over the place. He got his chute opened,
and the canopy filled with air. He could not see any of the others.

There was a brilliant flash in the sky ahead and above him, and Ben knew
the plane had exploded. He fought his chute; the winds were carrying him
fast, first in one direction and then the other. Ben was afraid his
shroud cords would get twisted and tangled, but he didn't have much time
to worry about that. The ground was coming up fast-what he could see of
it. The storm was blowing dirt and sand all over the place, limiting vision.

52

Ben hit the ground hard and was dragged for some distance, being bruised
and bounced over rocks. He finally got to his feet and managed to get
his chute collapsed; he was cut and bleeding in a dozen places, but he
was alive.

He couldn't see more than fifty feet in any direction because of the
blowing sand and dirt and debris. He staggered on until coming to an
upthrusting of huge rocks. He slipped into nature's circling of stone
and squatted down, hoping he would not meet a rattlesnake. He didn't,
and the rocks afforded him some protection from the howling winds. He
waited.

Gradually, the storm blew itself out and the winds calmed. Ben
cautiously stepped out of the rocks and looked around. Wild country. The
sky was dark with ominous looking clouds, and Ben was unsure of the
directions. He opened his equipment pack and checked his CAR and then
his compass. He was facing west, and what appeared to be mountains
loomed some distance away. There were several mountain ranges in this
part of Texas, and he was not sure what range he was looking at.

"Well," he said, "I can't just stand here waiting and hoping somebody
will come along."

He took a sip of water from his canteen and started walking toward the
mountains. The sky was beginning to clear from the west. He walked for
about half an hour until he stumbled onto an old dirt road.

"It's got to lead somewhere," he muttered, and began following the old road.

The storm had produced very high winds but not much rain, and Ben's
boots kicked up pockets of dust as he walked along. He hoped the clouds
would stick around, for it was summer and this was dry country ...
nothing like the Sahara Desert, but damn sure desert enough.

Ben walked on, taking his time, for it was hot, and his BDUs were
already damp from the sweat. After about an hour of walking, he reached
a paved road that ran north

53

and south. He tried to visualize a highway map of west Texas, but since
there were no highway markers he really had no idea where he was or what
was to his right or left.

"Hell with it," Ben said, and started walking toward the north. He
thought he could see mountains far ahead of him, but again, because of
the clouds and gloominess, he couldn't be sure of that.

One thing he could be sure of was that it was damn hot, and he knew he
had to conserve his water.

Another hour of walking and he came to a twisted and almost unreadable
road sign. He could just make out the lettering: FORT DAVIS 10.

He tried to recall what he knew, if anything, about Fort Davis, and
quickly gave that up. He could not remember anything about the place
except that it was some sort of historical site and that there was, or
had been, some sort of huge observatory close by. He couldn't recall the
name of that, either. Well, he thought, I'll know in a few hours, I suppose.

He walked on.

An hour later he had put some distance behind him and had not seen any
signs of human habitation; no smoke, nothing. But Ben knew that if any
of the town was left there would more than likely be some gang members
living there ... existing there might be a better way of putting it.
Knowing how punks operated, he figured they would probably be holding
slaves, men and women and kids- more women and young girls than men-they
had taken captive in some of their raids.

Then Ben heard the very faint sounds of engines. He looked around him.
There was no place to hide. He was out in the open, exposed.

Then he realized the engine sounds did not appear to be getting any
closer. He spotted the dust from the vehicles off to the east-more than
one vehicle, traveling north to south at a pretty good clip. He rummaged
around in his rucksack and found his compact but very powerful binoculars

54

and scanned the terrain off to his right until he picked up the
vehicles. Dune buggies, at least six of them. Looked like two men per
vehicle. Ben stepped off the road and into the shallow ditch. He
squatted down, out of the line of sight of the occupants of the dune
buggies, and stayed there until the engine sounds had faded away.

He stepped out of the ditch and away from the road. He would have to
stay off the road and in the scrub brush from now on until he reached
the town ... what was left of it. He wasn't sure what he could do if the
town was full of punks. He had a full magazine in the belly of his CAR,
and two extra magazines in his emergency pack. He had a full magazine in
his sidearm and two extra magazines in a pouch on his web belt. And he
had his knife.

He had emergency rations for several days-if he was sparing with
them-and two canteens of water, one of them about two-thirds full. He
had a small container of water purification pills, a tiny first aid kit,
and two extra pairs of socks ... and that was about it.

He knew he had jumped with a small walkie-talkie, but that had been lost
somewhere along the way, probably when he was dangling several thousand
feet in the air. Maybe it had been jarred out when his chute had opened.
Hell, he didn't know. He just knew it was gone, and there sure wasn't
any point in worrying about it now.

He walked on.

Ben had been in much worse spots and survived; he wasn't particularly
worried about his current situation ... or really about the gang members
in the area. He was much more concerned about the fate of his team ...
and Anna. He thought he had seen all their chutes open, but he couldn't
be sure. Where the winds had taken them was quite another matter. They
could have landed several miles apart.

Another hour of walking put Ben in sight of the tiny town of Fort Davis.
He squatted down and rested while he studied the town through his
binoculars.

55

He could see no signs of life, and no signs of smoke from cook fires.

Ben clicked his CAR off safety and rose from his squatting position.

"Let's do it," he muttered, and headed for the tiny town.

56

57

Chapter Five

Ben slowly worked his way close to the seemingly deserted town,
utilizing what sparse cover nature provided. That was a great deal more
than first met the eye, for in the years since the Great War hardy scrub
brush had flourished on both sides of the road.

Ben made his way to the rear wall of a building on the edge of town and
squatted down. He took a sip of water and caught his breath; the heat of
West Texas could quickly drain a person not accustomed to it.

The windows in the small building he was crouched behind had all been
smashed years before, and Ben could tell by the utter silence that no
one was inside the structure. Still, to stay on the cautious side he
waited for a few moments before standing up and looking inside.

The interior looked as though a bunch of hogs had taken up residence,
the floor covered with trash. Ben slipped inside, kicking at the debris
to check for rattlers. He looked out a window that faced the town ... or
rather, what was left of the town. Ben thought he had come through Fort
Davis, some years back. He just couldn't be sure. He had traveled
through, passed by, or fought in

58

hundreds of towns all over America, and in dozens of countries.

Ben looked around the room, checking to see if there was anything he
might be able to use. There was nothing but filth and trash, that he
could see, and he was not about to grub around on the floor checking any
further.

He stood by the window for several moments, staring out at the town. No
movement, no smoke, no sound except for the faint whispering of the wind.

The town was deserted.

Ben slipped out of the trashed interior and made his way up the street,
keeping to the rear of the buildings. He inspected each building that
had not been gutted by fire, entering through the back. The old hotel
was only a burned-out shell. Indeed, most of the buildings in the small
town had been destroyed.

Ben prowled around for an hour, looking for anything he might be able to
use. He found a one quart military-type canteen in a pile of rubble, and
with a cord he found in the same pile he fashioned a sling and moved on.
He thought he remembered a creek close by; he'd wash the canteen out
there and refill his own, for one was nearly empty. In this heat, a
person needed to drink lots of water.

There were several dozen old cars and trucks in the deserted town, all
of them stripped, rusted old hulks. Several of the vehicles had the
motors missing ... everything that could be used had been taken from
them. Ben ceased his prowling and sat down in the shade of a wall. There
was nothing useable left in the town. Ben rested for a few minutes,
rolling a cigarette and smoking it while sitting in the shade. Since the
Great War and the collapse, Ben had been rolling his own.

Ben began thinking about food. He had enough emergency rations for a
couple of days, but he would save those for harder times. There were
cattle all over West Texas, descendants of the many herds that had
flourished on ranches before the Great War, but the number had lessened
as he had approached the town. He figured the

59

punks had been living off the cattle, and the cattle had grown wiser
over the years and now stayed away from the old town. The cattle were
now wild, and very wary of humans. He would kill a cow later on, he
decided, and have a steak for supper.

Ben moved on until he located the creek and carefully washed out the
canteen he'd found. Then he filled it and the canteen that was almost
empty and dropped in a couple of purification tabs. He washed his face
in the cold water and felt better.

Ben visualized a map of Texas. Several towns were located to the south,
each about thirty miles away. I-10 was to the north, about thirty or so
miles. The area from Fort Stockton west to the Mexican border was wild
country, inhabited by gangs of punks and Mexican bandits ... and Ben was
right in the middle of it-alone.

The crew had radioed their position a couple of minutes before Ben's
team had jumped. Ben had jumped about three minutes later. The plane had
just begun a slow turn to the north when the engine blew. That would
have put them between the Davis Mountains and Old Highway 90, Ben
thought, but it was miles west of his present position. He figured his
team would head east toward settled country once they got together.
Knowing how efficient Beth was, she would be sure to have a map with her.

Ben was in a jam, and knew it, but was not particularly worried about
it. There were gangs of hard core criminals operating all over this
area, and they had vehicles. Ben would ambush a punk and take his
transportation when the opportunity presented itself.

He had seen no signs of any recent visitation by humans in his present
location, so where the hell were the gangs living? To the south of his
position, probably, in the two towns about thirty miles away. But the
dune buggies he had spotted earlier had been coming from the north ...
where had they been? There was no indication they had been here, so then
where?

60

"Prowling around, I guess," Ben muttered. "Maybe looking for the plane
that went down."

Ben checked his emergency pack. He had a lighter and a small box of
all-weather matches. No worries there. He rose to his boots. He was
getting hungry, and it was past mid-afternoon; time to look for supper
and then a place to hole up for the night and cook his steak.

Ben had started out in search of cattle when he heard the faint sounds
of voices. He quickly moved away from the creek and into some scrub
brush nearby. He waited, his CAR ready to bang. The voices drew closer,
the words now distinguishable.

"I know damn well I seen somebody."

"And I know damn well you didn't," a second voice contradicted in an
irritable tone. "Who the hell could it be? Don't nobody ever come up
here no more. Man, this place has been picked over clean dozens of
times. There ain't nothing left to take that's worth a shit for nothin'."

"I don't give a damn 'bout that. I seen somebody, Billy. I know I did."

"We bes' be worryin?bout fixin' our buggy and gettin' the hell out of
here. Man, we got a long ways to go."

"That buggy could be a problem fixin'. We might gonna have to walk outta
here, man. Unless just bad gas is all it is."

"All the way back to Marfa? You're crazy as a goddamn road lizard. Shit,
that's damn near thirty miles. Walk? Fuck you. I ain't walkin' no thirty
miles."

"Well if we can't fix the buggy, how'd you think we're gonna get
back-flap our arms and fly, you asshole?"

Ben knelt in the brush and listened to the gang members argue back and
forth. It was not a serious argument, probably something the two did often.

Ben tried to pinpoint their location, but could not stand up for fear of
being spotted. He could not see through the brush ... all he could do
was guess at the distance and location, and that was not good enough to
chance a shot.

61

"Billy, why don't you just rear back and pucker up and kiss my ass?"

"Sonny, you mark the spot, 'cause you look like all ass to me."

Both men started laughing and moved closer to Ben.

"I sure hope that movement I seen was a woman," Sonny said. "I could use
me some pussy;"

"I still don't believe you seen anything. You seen a cow, was what you
seen."

"Fuck you, Billy."

"If I was to let you, I can guar-un-damn-tee you'd never go back to girls!"

"Horseshit!"

Ben could now see the two men moving toward him as they laughed and
talked about women. Both of them were carrying M-16's. Ben smiled at that.

"Harris said he heard on the short-wave that there was about to be
another civil war in America."

"Between who?" Billy asked.

"Ben Raines and his Rebels is about to face off with the federal
government, so Harris said."

"I hope so. I hope somebody finally kills that damn Ben Raines and nails
his stinkin' body up on a wall and takes pictures of it so's we can all
see it. I'd like to use it for target practice. I purely hate that son
of a bitch."

"I got my reasons to hate that bastard as much as you do."

Ben stood up, the CAR set on full auto. "Now what did I ever do to you
boys?"

"Shit!" Billy hollered. He lifted his M-16 and Ben shot him, the burst
of 5.56 rounds taking him in the belly and chest and knocking him back.
He landed on his side in the brush and jerked his legs as the pain
enveloped him. It took only a few seconds for the agony of his wounds to
intensify, and Billy howled in pain. "Oh, goddamn you, it hurts, it hurts!"

Sonny dropped his weapon and lifted his hands into the

62

air. "Don't shoot!" he hollered. "I quit. Jesus Christ, man. Please
don't shoot me. I ain't done you no harm."

"Help me, help me!" Billy screamed. "I don't want to die. Help me."

"I've always heard that a little pain is good for the soul," Ben said.

"Fuck you!" Billy screamed.

"Oh, I don't think so," Ben said with a frown. "You are definitely not
my type."

"Good God!" Sonny squalled. "You're Ben Raines!"

"How very astute of you," Ben said.

"Haw?" Sonny asked.

"You are correct. I am."

"What are you gonna do with me? I ain't done you no harm, Ben Raines."

"I don't know. Turn you loose, probably. That is, if you behave yourself."

"I can't hardly do nothin' else. You got the drop on me, for sure."

Ben smiled. "Yes, I do. Now then, you take off your ammo belt and toss
it over to me. Carefully, now."

Sonny removed his makeshift battle harness and tossed it to Ben.

"Very good," Ben told him. "Now take off your friend's ammo belt and
toss it over here."

"It's all bloody!"

"Do it, damnit!"

"Yessir, yessir. OK. Don't get all pissed off." Sonny gingerly removed
Billy's belt, which contained a half dozen magazine pouches, and tossed
it over to Ben. Sonny wiped his bloody hands on his dirty jeans and
stood looking at Ben.

Billy had ceased his moaning and thrashing about. He was either dead or
unconscious. Dead, Ben hoped. That would certainly simplify matters.

"Where's your vehicle, and what's wrong with it?" Ben asked.

"Parked right down yonder," Sonny said, carefully

63

pointing. "Behind that old grocery store. I don't know what's wrong with
it. It just quit runnin'. Bad gas, I think. It got to sputterin' and
buckin' and stallin', and then just stopped cold. If you ain't gonna
kill me, why would you just turn me a-loose?"

"You're not going to be able to do me much damage. You're a long way
from your camp."

"Shore am. The headquarters is a good twenty miles south down to Mar
..." Sonny realized that Ben had tricked him, and abruptly closed his
mouth. He gave Ben a very dirty look.

"Marfa, huh? Well, it's a nice little town. I remember going through
there a couple of times."

"Yeah? Well, it ain't very nice no more. It's all junked up real bad."

"How many men does this Harris person have, Sonny?"

Sonny hesitated.

"You want to live, Sonny?" Ben asked, raising the muzzle of his CAR.

"Whoa! Shore, I want to live. I was just doin' some head figurin',
that's all it was. I ain't real good at figurin'. The big war come when
I was in grade school, and I ain't got much in the way of schoolin'."

"What happened to your parents?"

"The gas got 'um. I run all the way home and they was dead on the floor."

Ben was about to feel a bit sorry for the man. "You were on your own
after that?"

"Naw. My grandparents took me in. Damned old bastard and bitch." Ben's
moment of sympathy began to wane. "They made me work in the garden and
gather eggs from the henhouse, and all that other funky farm shit."

Sonny paused and Ben asked, "So? It was a hard time after the collapse
... all over the world. Still is. People had to work. You got enough to
eat, didn't you?"

"I reckon so."

"Your grandparents died?"

"You could say that. I set the house on fire one night.

64

They made me mad's, why I done it. I didn't know they was gonna burn up
in it... but they did. Tough break for them. But hell, they was old. And
real crotchety, too."

Ben lost all vestiges of sympathy for the dickhead standing in front of
him. "I can tell you're all broken up about it."

"Yeah? Well, she was a good cook, but still a bossy ole' bitch. I
couldn't do nothin' to please her."

"What a sad story. Poor, poor you. Almost brings a tear to my eye."

Sonny realized then that Ben was being sarcastic. ?You go right straight
to hell, Raines! I ain't tellin' you nothin' else, you bastard!"

"I really don't need any more from you, Sonny. Now move out. Take me to
where your buggy quit."

"What about Billy?"

"He's dead. Move."

Sonny glanced down at his friend. "Huh? He is, is he? Well, he wasn't
much, no way."

"Your grief is touching."

"Yeah? Well, what the hell do you want me to say? He's dead, he's gone,
he won't be back, not now, not ever no more. That's it. Me and him was
pals, sort of. But we sure as shit wasn't butt-fuckin' each other."

"I certainly hope not." Ben's reply was given very, very drily. "Pick up
the ammo belts and move."

"I ain't no queer, General. I like women."

"Fine, Sonny. Move."

Ben slung the two M-16's, and they started out. As they walked toward
the far end of town, Ben pondered the situation. He couldn't understand
how the two gang members had gotten into the town without his noticing
them, or hearing the noisy dune buggy. "You boys sure must have your
buggy mufflered down to a whisper."

"We do, General. It runs as quiet as a grave. When the damn thing does
run, that is. Me and Billy didn't like them loud straight pipes. Most of
the others do, though." They

65

walked on for a few hundred more yards. Sonny pointed. "It's right over
yonder, see it?"

Ben spotted the buggy parked behind a gutted old store. "Keys in it?"

"Sure. We didn't figure there was no one gonna steal it. Hell, it won't
run."

"Good point," Ben muttered, walking over to the buggy, Sonny ahead of
him. "Battery up?"

"Sure is. That's a good battery."

"Get it running and I'll give you a canteen of water and some food, and
you can hoof it back to your gang."

Sonny stared at him for a moment. "You really mean that, General?"

"I said it, didn't I?"

"You got a deal. But I ain't promisin' nothin'. It's bad gas, I'm sure."

Ben pointed to the three five gallon gas cans secured to the rear of the
buggy. "What's wrong with that gas?"

"Nothing, I don't reckon. But we got it all from the same storage tank."

Ben looked at the engine. It was old type, without all the computer
panels of the newer model engines. "Take the breather off and pour some
gas into the carburetor. See if that will do the trick."

Sonny worked for over an hour, finally removing the fuel line and
blowing it out. It was filled with trash. The line was reinstalled, and
the engine cranked up and ran smoothly.

Ben pointed toward the cargo space. "Take one of your canteens and a
food packet and start walking, Sonny. And Sonny?"

He looked at Ben. "Yes, sir?"

"If I ever see you again and you're running with a gang, I'll kill you.
Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I sure do. What about Billy?"

"You want to dig a hole for him?"

"I reckon not."

"Then take off and don't look back."

66

Sonny didn't stick around for any further conversation after that. He
took his newfound freedom and a canteen of water and a food packet and
started hoofing it quickly away from Ben Raines, heading south,
following the old road. Ben stood by the idling buggy and watched him
until he was no more than a tiny dot in the distance. Then he began
inspecting the cargo area of the dune buggy.

Several full canteens of water. Ben would empty and wash out the
canteens, then refill them with fresh water and purification tabs.
Several packets of food, which Ben looked at dubiously. He would eat the
contents only if he was very, very hungry ... like starving.

With the addition of Billy and Sonny's weapons and ammo belts, and the
scattered boxes of military ammo in the cargo area of the buggy, Ben was
well supplied. Enough weapons and ammo to start his own private war ...
which was what he had in mind.

What the punks didn't know-no one knew it outside of the Rebels-was that
there were hundreds of underground storage facilities all over what was
once called the United States ... some very small with only food and
water, others huge with fuel tanks. They were always masterfully
concealed in the most unlikely places.

There was a well-stocked storage vault near Alpine, with fuel and food
and water and clothing and weapons and medical supplies. That just might
be where Ben's team had headed. Ben would go there and stock up. He
hoped that's where Anna and the others had gone.

Ben didn't trust Sonny boy, not one little bit, so just in case Sonny
had concealed himself along the highway, waiting to see what direction
Ben took when he left, Ben headed north on Old Highway 17 when he pulled
out. He drove for a few miles, then pulled over and waited for about
fifteen minutes before heading back south. He found a road, of sorts,
that led him to Highway 118, and he headed for Alpine, about thirty
miles away.

Ben smiled as he drove along. There was only one little

67

hitch about the underground storage facility: Ben couldn't remember
exactly where it was.

He knew approximately, but not exactly. Oh, well, he thought, I'll find
it. I hope.

He hoped his team had reached the storage site and were waiting for him
in the town, provided the town was not filled to overflowing with
punks-which it probably was.

Well, he'd deal with that problem when he came to it. He checked his
watch. That would be in about fifteen minutes.

Ben laid his 9mm on the seat beside him. He had no idea what he would be
facing when he reached the town.

But he would be as ready as he could when trouble came.

68

69

Chapter Six

Ben pulled off the highway about a half mile from town- off the short
bypass-and tucked the buggy behind what was left of a frame home. The
front porch had collapsed and most of the roof was missing. Part of one
side of the barn was still standing; the rest of the structure had
fallen in.

Ben had decided he would wait until dark before checking out the town
... what was left of it.

He sat on the ground in the shade of the ruined home and ate out of a
ration pack and sipped water. The hard landing and the bouncing and
bruising from being dragged on the ground earlier that day was beginning
to tell on him. He ached all over. Ben took a couple of aspirin from his
tiny first aid kit, and then wished he had a cup of hot coffee. That
luxury would have to wait for a while. He rolled a cigarette and smoked
and waited for the sun to set.

Ben heard no sounds of vehicles as he waited. A few birds were singing,
and once he caught a glimpse of a lone coyote trotting across the field
behind the barn. Other than that, he heard no sounds of life.

70

As the physical pounding he'd taken finally caught up with him, Ben
dozed for a time. He awakened just as the sun was beginning to set, and
just to be on the safe side, he took the keys out of the dune buggy. He
stood up and stretched several times, getting the kinks out of his
joints and muscles. His cuts were minor, and he had put iodine on
them-all he could do for the time being. He stood and sniffed the air. A
light, hot breeze was blowing from the direction of the town, but he
could detect no odor of wood smoke. Again he wondered if the town were
deserted. All indications were that it was.

"Well, time to find out one way or the other," Ben muttered. He picked
up his CAR and headed out just as dusk was wrapping a dark, silent, and
very warm cloak over the land.

Ben worked his way slowly toward the town. He did not encounter or hear
any dogs as he walked, and he thought that very strange. Once he heard
the deadly buzz of a rattlesnake off to his left and quickly changed his
direction, giving the snake a wide berth.

"It's all yours, Mister Rattler," Ben muttered into the gathering
evening. "You'll get no argument from me."

The town was dark when Ben reached the first street. Not a lamplight or
candlelight was showing anywhere. And not a sound reached Ben's ears. He
looked up at the faint outline of the buildings of Sul Ross University
and wondered how much of it was left. How much valuable knowledge had
been destroyed by punk assholes?

He walked on, first cautiously standing outside and listening and then
carefully inspecting the interior of each home on the first block with
the tiny beam from his small flashlight. He found nothing to indicate
that anything human had inhabited the buildings in a long time.

"Why did the punks abandon this town?" he questioned softly. Then the
answer came to him: Water. More to the point, the lack of it.

Ben recalled doing some research years back, and remembered that this
area drew water from very deep

71

wells. It took powerful pumps to bring it up. When the pumps quit
working, the punks hadn't had enough know-how to maintain and fix them.
So the town was abandoned.

Ben prowled around for another few minutes, then returned to the house
on the edge of the town. He would get a good night's sleep and inspect
the town more carefully and locate the cache of emergency supplies in
the morning. Then he would make plans about what to do next.

He knew he had to prowl around and find an old road map so he wouldn't
be blundering around and getting lost on the back roads. This county, he
remembered, was the largest in Texas. It was bigger than the state of
Connecticut.

Ben walked right down the center of the highway back to his buggy. He
took two more aspirin, a good slug of water, wrapped up in an old smelly
blanket from the cargo area (he hoped it wasn't filled with fleas and
lice), sat down in the front seat, and promptly went to sleep.

The sounds of engines brought him awake just after dawn. He was stiff
from sleeping in the front seat, and sore from the battering his body
had taken the day before, but he came wide awake instantly and was
alert, reaching for his CAR.

Ben guessed there were two dune buggies, maybe three, no more than that.
The buggies did not stop at the old ramshackle home where Ben was parked
in the rear. They cruised on slowly by and headed into town.

Ben got stiffly out of the buggy and stretched a couple of times, then
did a few deep knee bends and duck-walked around the buggy to warm up
and loosen his muscles. When his morning toilet was done, he took up
position inside the house-in the front room, facing the highway. He did
not want any shooting ... not now. He wanted to gear up from the
emergency cache before facing any real trouble.

72

His breakfast was a packet of crackers, a high-energy bar, and a few
sips of water. He waited and watched and listened. The minutes ticked past.

He heard the sounds of the returning buggies and tensed, the CAR ready
to bark. His worry was unnecessary. The three dune buggies, two men to a
vehicle, rolled on past and picked up speed, finally roaring out of sight.

Ben relaxed and exhaled, then got to his feet and walked out the rear of
the house. He squatted down by his buggy and rolled a smoke, enjoying
his first smoke of the day but wishing mightily he had a great big cup
of hot coffee to go with it.

He knew there was coffee cached with the other emergency gear nearby ...
if he could just find the damn bunker.

Ben slowly relaxed and smoked his cigarette. He ate another high-energy
bar and chased it down with sips of water. Ben waited a few more
minutes, then cranked the dune buggy and headed into town. As he drove
he wondered what had happened to all the dogs and cats. Without a supply
of water they would leave, of course. He hoped they all made it to fresh
water ... then pushed the alternative out of his mind.

Ben drove the town for a few minutes then headed out to the small
airport and the cache of the much needed emergency supplies-if he could
find them. He sure as hell planned to give that search his best shot.

The local airport was a mess: junked cars and trucks littered the
runway, and the few buildings had been looted and gutted many times by
vandals.

Ben knew the emergency cache was located at the airport. That was where
the Rebels placed them whenever possible. Ben had briefly glanced at the
list of emergency supply bunker locations in West Texas before pulling
out, and had noted that the bunker in Alpine was located at the airport,
just off the main hangar. The problem was ... the hangar was gone.

Ben started looking around for the concrete slab where

73

the hangar used to be. It should be located off to one side, dug out
inside a smaller building, and then carefully covered with timbers and
plywood and earth, or with plywood and tile over the timbers.

He hunted for several minutes before locating several slabs, all of them
about the same size. "Oh, wonderful," he said. "This is just great."

Ben walked around all the slabs stomping at the ground, trying to find
some spot that didn't sound just right. He could find nothing out of the
ordinary. "Well, shit!" he said, kicking at what he thought was a small
piece of wood lying on the ground. He almost broke his toe on the
object, and came very close to losing his balance.

Ben hopped around on one foot for a moment, cussing. Then it dawned on
him what he just might have hit. Ben looked around for something to dig
with. He found a piece of board and went to work. He soon had one end of
a timber uncovered. It lay under one corner of a rotting piece of
plywood. "All right," Ben said. "I found you."

He worked for an hour, scraping off the dirt and uncovering the cache.
Using a piece of rope he'd found in the cargo area of the buggy, Ben
rigged a hoist for the supplies and then stepped down into the hole.

He began stripping off the heavy protective covering from the crates.
The first several crates contained boxes of field rations. Ben checked
the date they'd been manufactured: Years back, but this type had an
indefinite shelf life; they were still good. Ben began smiling as he
uncovered crate after crate of gear: ammo, grenades, clothing, water,
flashlight batteries, first aid kits, tire repair kits ... just about
anything anybody could think of to aid survival.

But now Ben faced another problem: how to haul what he needed. The cargo
area of the homemade dune buggy wasn't large enough to carry very much.
Then Ben had an idea. He stepped out of the hole and carefully checked
the tires on the buggy. They were in excellent shape; almost new. Ben
didn't know where the punks had gotten the tires ... stole them from
somebody, he was sure. He

74

shrugged. Their loss, his gain. He checked the rear of the buggy: a
trailer hitch.

Ben had seen a piece of a trailer back in the barn of the place he was
hiding out. No tires on it, of course, but with any kind of luck Ben
just might be able to find some flattened tires that someone had
abandoned and repair them with the kits found in the cache of supplies.
Maybe. He put several tire repair kits and a hand pump in the buggy,
added a few other things he might need, then rested for a moment.

He drove back into town and began carefully prowling. The few stores
that once carried tires and other automotive supplies would have long
ago been looted. Home garages just might produce something.

He spent the entire morning prowling and came up with four tires and
rims that might work. Ben drove back to the home on the edge of town and
went to work. Two hours later he had the tires up-they were holding air,
and on the trailer. He backed the buggy up and hooked up the small
two-wheel trailer. Ready to go.

Before he got halfway to the airport, one of the old tires blew out. Ben
replaced the tire, cussing and muttering under his breath, and continued
on. He would have to be constantly on the lookout for tires, for age had
taken a toll on the rubber and they wouldn't stand up to much hard
traveling over the really lousy roads.

Ben loaded up as much as he felt the tires would hold, and headed for a
spot in the town he felt none of the punks would be interested in the
university.

It was a mess. The buildings had been looted, the books
destroyed-naturally, that would be the first thing the punks did. Punks
would never understand that knowledge was the first step toward great
power. Most of those with a bent toward thuggery were afraid of knowledge.

Ben cleaned out a spot in an old classroom and began prowling the
college grounds, inspecting each building. He found a coil of thin cable
and clamps and hooks and about fifty feet of rope that was in pretty
good shape. There

75

was a small but very good tool kit with the supplies in the emergency
cache, so Ben wasn't looking for tools.

He found a pocketknife in a pile of debris in one of the dorm rooms, an
old portable radio. With new batteries (something he now had plenty of)
he might be able to bring in some station and get some news ... good or
bad, depending entirely on whether the station was under restrictive US
federal control (now almost exclusively broadcasting hard left-wing
propaganda) or in free Rebel territory. There were some restrictions on
what might be put on the air in the SUSA, but not when it came to news-
then it was one hundred percent truth: no statements edited to the point
where context or content was twisted, no slant by commentators.

Ben continued his prowling of the town, and in a pile of debris on the
floor of a home he found a folder containing state and county maps. The
paper was brittle, and he had to be careful handling the maps, but they
were readable. He found little else he could use. Just after noon, he
stopped his searching and made ready to pull out.

Ben carefully concealed the bunker-still more than three-quarter filled
with supplies-and loaded the old trailer. Just as he was about to crank
the engine of the buggy, he heard the faint sounds of approaching vehicles.

Ben quickly pulled into what remained of a small hangar and waited.
There was nothing else he could do ... he was caught in a one way in,
one way out, situation. The vehicles were definitely heading in his
direction.

He clicked his CAR off safety and waited.

76

77

Chapter Seven

The six vehicles-three dune buggies, a car, and two pickup
trucks-stopped several hundred yards away from Ben's location. The
occupants, two to a vehicle-at least that many, Ben couldn't be sure at
that distance-stayed in their vehicles.

"Come on, boys," Ben muttered. "Let me see how many I'm up against."

After hiding the buggy Ben had grabbed a rucksack containing full
magazines for his CAR and six grenades. He didn't want to start anything
with the vehicles so close together: he wanted one of those pickup trucks.

The vehicles started forward. Then several veered off, forming a wide
circle. Their intention, Ben felt, was to completely surround the area
where the buildings were located.

"They've got a strong suspicion I'm here," Ben whispered. "So come on,
boys." Then he smiled, recalling an often used line from western movies
and books. "It's a good day to die."

The punks didn't want to get too close to the buildings that remained at
the old airport, though. As strong as they

78

were in number, they were being very cautious in dealing with Ben. Maybe
they want to take me alive for ransom or torture, or both, Ben thought.

The truth was, the punks were scared of Ben. Stories about him were
legend ... and most of them were true. In battle, Ben offered no quarter
and expected none. And it was known worldwide that Ben Raines hated
punks and would not hesitate for a second to shoot one.

Ben waited in what was left of the old hangar with the patience of a
born warrior. He had good cover all around him, plenty of ammo, and he
was ready for a fight.

"Come out of there, Raines!" The command was shouted from off to Ben's
left. "If we have to come in and get you, you gonna get bad hurt or die,
man."

Ben smiled grimly and his eyes changed, hardening and narrowing. He made
no reply as he thought: Stop yapping about it and just do it, punk.
Let's get this action started. I have miles to go and things to do.

One of the punks fired, the bullet slamming into a pile of debris a
dozen yards behind Ben. Another of the gang fired, this time from behind
Ben. Ben could not tell where that slug came from, or went. He did not move.

"Maybe he ain't really here, Slick," another voice shouted. "We don't
know for sure."

"He's here, Willie," Slick called. "He couldn't have gone in the
direction Sonny said he did. Sonny forgot about that road bein' blocked.
Raines just tried to pull a fast one, that's all. But it didn't work,
and we got him in a box."

"You wanna open the lid on this box, Slick?" another voice called.

Slick didn't reply, and Ben smiled again.

"That's what I thought," the voice called. "Ain't none of us real
anxious to lift the lid on this box."

"It's just one man, Benny," Slick finally called. "We can take him if
we're careful."

"And that's exactly what I plan on bein,' " Benny said. "Real careful."

79

"Come on out of there, Raines!" Slick shouted. "We got food and water,
and you ain't got nothin'. Don't play the fool here and get yourself
dead. If we have to we'll blast you out. Think about that."

"Blast away, boys," Ben muttered. "But do something besides run your mouth."

The punks all opened up and Ben hit the dusty concrete floor of the
hangar and stayed there until the shooting stopped. They must have
burned a hundred or so rounds of ammo and accomplished nothing.

Ben rose to a kneeling position and looked out through the jumble of
rubble he was crouched behind. One of the punks was running toward the
hangar. Ben took him down, the burst of 5.56 rounds from his CAR turning
the punk around twice. He dropped his weapon and fell to the ground,
screaming in pain, both hands holding his perforated belly.

"You bastard!" yet another voice yelled. "You rotten bastard. We'll get
you for that."

"Yeah, yeah," Ben whispered. "Same old crap. Stop yapping and come on
and do it."

"Get him!" Slick yelled. "Open up and keep the bastard pinned down. Move
in. Now!"

The lead started howling and bouncing around and off the piles of rubble
in what was left of the hangar. Ben again went belly down on the floor
and shifted position, crawling over behind the rusted hulk of an old
car. Some of the lead came uncomfortably close and Ben stretched out on
the floor, peering out from the rear of the junked vehicle.

"Go!" Slick shouted.

Two of the punks jumped out from behind rusted hulks of vehicles and
began running toward the hangar. Ben blew a full magazine in their
direction. The twenty round burst cut the legs out from under one and
stopped the other cold and dead as the lead ripped into his belly and chest.

The area around the old hangar was silent for a couple

80

of minutes except for the punk with his legs crippled, thrashing around
on the ground and screaming in pain.

Ben waited, a fresh mag in the CAR.

The screaming stopped, and the day was quiet.

Slick called, "We got grenades, Raines. We can blast you out, man."

"Then do it," Ben muttered. "I don't think you've got them. But I sure do."

No grenades were lobbed in his direction. One of the punks cussed Ben.

Ben grinned.

The punk with the ruined legs had ceased his wild howling and now lay on
the ground, moaning in agony. "V all got to help me, Slick," he called,
his voice filled with pain. "I'm hurt really bad."

"Sorry, Dave," Slick called. "Can't do it. Raines would cut us down and
then we'd all be in trouble and Raines would get away. Try crawlin.' "

"Man, shit! What are you talkin' about? Hell, I can't crawl! Both my
legs is busted. I hurt really bad. The bones is all busted. I can feel
them grindin' around when I try to move. Y'all got to come help me."

No one answered Dave, and he began cussing his friends.

When Dave paused for breath, Slick called, "There ain't no need to feel
that way, Dave. We're all stuck here. Can't nobody move."

Dave had become too weak and out of breath to say anything. He moaned
his reply.

Another punk worked up his courage to make a try for it. With a yell, he
jumped from cover, running for the protection of a building to Ben's
left. "I'm comin' to help you, Dave!" he shouted. "Hang on, buddy."

"I bet you won't make it," Ben said, lifting his CAR and squeezing the
trigger. He gave the punk half a magazine, waist high, and the running
man dropped his weapon and tumbled to the ground, face first. He rolled
over once, screamed, jerked several times, and then was still.

"This ain't worth shit, Slick," one of his gang called. "I

81

mean, what the hell, man! Raines is cuttin' us down fast. Let's get out
of here."

"Fuck you," Slick replied. "Get on the CB and call for the boys to come
help us."

"The CB ain't worth shit here, Slick. We're out of range. We're on our own."

"Some of our people will be along. You can count on that, Rollie."

"The hell we can!" Rollie called. "They think we're headed in the other
direction, remember? That's what you told them when we left, 'fore we
run into Sonny."

"I want Ben Raines," Slick said. "Think about it, boys. You too, Marcie ..."

Marcie? Ben mused.

"His people will pay a lot of money to get him back," Slick called. "And
if we kill him, the Rebel movement will fall apart. Either way we win.
You all know I'm speakin' the truth."

None of the remaining gang members spoke for a moment. When one did
speak, it was a female. Marcie, Ben supposed.

"I guess you're right, Slick," she called from Ben's left. She sounded
young. She was behind cover very close to the old hangar, probably
hiding behind that pile of junk about twenty or so yards away. "You
people helped me when I needed help. I'll stick with you."

"OK, Marcie," Slick shouted. "Thanks for stickin'. How 'bout the rest of
you?"

The others, one at a time, finally agreed to stay and finish the
fight... one way or the other. But some of them did so very reluctantly,
especially the female.

Dave had stopped his moaning, and was still. Passed out from the pain,
probably, Ben figured. And that was too bad, for the hollering of
wounded was always very demoralizing and usually caused enemies to do
foolish things.

"Come on, you assholes!" Ben finally yelled. "Pack of yellow-bellied
scum. What's the matter ... Eight or ten to

82

one is not good enough odds for you? What a pack of chicken-shits!"

"Hey, fuck you, Raines!" one of the punks called. "You ain't so tough."

Ben laughed, loud enough for all of them to hear. "Is that the best you
can do? Not only are you yellow, you're all a bunch of dumb asses!" Ben
immediately dropped belly down to the floor after saying that,
anticipating a hard burst of fire, and he was right: they all opened up,
spraying the lead around.

Ben lay on the floor, listening to the lead bounce around and cringing
whenever a round came close. Finally, the firing stopped. Ben slipped to
his knees and waited in silence, hoping one of the gang members would
get impatient and screw up. He did not have a long wait.

"Give me some cover fire!" one of the punks yelled. "Right now!"

Ben slipped to another spot and peeked out through the rubble in time to
see a man running toward the hangar. Ben put him down with one short
burst. The punk fell to his knees and stayed in that position for a few
seconds, the front of his shirt bloody. Then he toppled over on his
face, and was still.

"You boys keep it up," Ben called in a taunting voice. "I figure in
another hour you'll all be dead or dying. I have the time. I can wait."

"Goddamn you, Raines!" Ben recognized the voice of Slick. "We're gonna
get you. You can count on that."

Typical punk response, Ben thought. "You're sure doing a lousy job of it
so far, Slick."

"Huh? How come you know my name?"

"I possess all sorts of magical powers, Slick. I learned them while
visiting the priests who live in dark caves in the mountains of Tibet.
It was there I learned all about the true mysteries of life."

After a moment, Slick shouted, "What the hell are you talkin' 'bout,
Raines? You talkin' goofy, man. You ain't makin' no sense a'tall."

83

"He's needling you, Slick," Marcie called. "Trying to make you mad
enough to do something stupid."

The girl's got some sense, Ben thought. Maybe she isn't a totally lost
cause. Then he cautioned himself: Forget it, Raines. Don't start getting
soft now. This sure as hell isn't the time or the place for charity.

Acting on sudden impulse, Ben moved to the rear of the hangar, just in
time to spot a shadow of movement behind the rusted hulk of an old
pickup truck. He lifted his CAR and waited. A head popped up for a few
seconds, and that was all the time that Ben needed. A short burst of
5.56 rounds took the top of the man's head off, from the eyes up.

"Bobby?" another voice called. "Answer me, Bobby?"

"Bobby's dead," someone said. "Jesus Christ, man. Raines blowed off the
entar top of his head. They's brains and stuff all over the damn place."

"Shit!" Slick hollered.

"You seem to be losing gang members, Slick," Ben called. "Unless my
addition is wrong, that's six down so far. Pretty soon it'll be just you
and me-or maybe not, since you don't seem to have the balls to do
anything on your own."

"You son of a bitch!" Slick screamed. "You'll pay hard for that remark,
Raines. I'll hurt you bad for that, you bastard."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Ben taunted him. "All mouth and no balls, that's
you, Slickie Boy. Not a hair in your crack, is there? I had you pegged
right, Candy Ass."

Slick cussed Ben for a full minute without stopping, calling him some
very interesting combinations of names. The other members-those not too
hurt to talk-tried to calm him down, but Slick wasn't having any part of
it. "I'll cut a hole in your belly, Raines, and pull your stinkin' guts
out an inch at a time, you rotten piece of shit. I'll pull your
fingernails and toenails out just to hear you scream. I'll gouge out
your eyes and cut out your tongue. I'll-"

"Oh, shut up, you silly asshole!" Ben shouted. "You're

84

not going to do anything. You don't have the balls to do anything, you
yellow piece of shit."

That did it. Slick lost what little control he had left. "Get him!" the
gang leader screamed. "Kill that son of a bitch!"

The remaining gang members left cover and charged the hangar.

Ben stopped one with a short burst, spinning him around and putting him
on the ground on his butt, both the punks' hands holding his punctured
belly.

Ben missed the second punk clean. The gang member zigged when Ben was
sure he was going to zag. But he did succeed in forcing the punk to hit
the ground and scramble on his hands and knees like a big bug for cover.

The third craphead made the front of the hangar and came screaming and
firing at where he supposed Ben to be. He was wrong. Ben stepped out
from behind cover and gave him a short rip of 5.56 slugs, catching the
punk in the side, shoulder, and arm and slamming him into a pile of rubble.

Ben caught a piece of a ricochet on the side of his head that caused his
world to darken and spin momentarily. He staggered back against the old
junk car he'd been using for cover, and felt the blood pour from the
cut. He shook his head, and the blood flew. His vision cleared just in
time for him to see a wild-eyed punk jump into the small cleared space
and lift his Uzi, a wide grin on his face.

Ben leveled his CAR and gave the grinning punk some lead to the belly
and chest that completely wiped the smile from his lips and sent him
sprawling to the floor, wide-eyed in death.

Ben ejected the nearly empty magazine from his CAR. Before he could slip
a full magazine home a gang member scrambled over the mound of debris
and jumped onto Ben's back. Ben flipped him off and gave him a jump boot
to the side of the head, directly on the temple. The punk lay still,
blood leaking out of his nose. His body convulsed for a few seconds,
then was still.

Ben jammed home a full magazine and spun around as

85

the sounds of a vehicle pulling away reached him, tires spinning and
howling on the tarmac.

Ben wiped the blood from his head with his shirt sleeve and caught his
breath. It looked as though there were two people in the dune buggy.

"Come back here, you bastard!" Marcie screamed at the rapidly
disappearing buggy.

Ben stepped out of the hangar, using what was once the side door, now
minus the door. Marcie turned and blew some lead in Ben's direction. Her
burst missed Ben and knocked holes in the side of the hangar. Ben
returned the fire and the woman jumped for cover.

Ben pulled a grenade from a side pocket of his pants and jerked the pin
free. He lobbed the grenade toward the pile of rubble. The mini-bomb
landed in the rubble and blew, sending crap flying and caving in one
side of the pile, collapsing the junk onto the woman.

Ben squatted down for a moment, until his breath leveled out. He wiped
more blood from the side of his head and stood up, quickly stepping to
the protection of the side of the hangar.

The airport area was quiet except for the moaning of several wounded
punks. Ben ignored them for the moment. There was no sound at all coming
from the pile of rubble where Marcie had taken refuge.

Ben stepped back inside the hangar and gathered all the full magazines
from the dead. He picked up the weapons and laid them on the ground
outside, then gathered all the spare magazines and ammo he could find
from the dead and wounded and piled them with the others in front of the
hangar.

For the moment, he ignored the moaning and pleading and begging for help
from the wounded. The Rebel philosophy was: You tried to kill me,
partner. I don't owe you a damn thing. I'll get around to you when I get
the time ... if I get the time. So for now, just shut up.

Ben had fixed a compress for his head wound. The bleeding had just about
stopped. He took two aspirin and

86

walked over to the pile of rubble to see if the woman was still alive.
She did not appear to be hurt much. Pinned under a mess of rubble, she
was doing some serious cussing, all of it directed at Ben.

"You have a really filthy mouth, girl," Ben said. He could not see her
from the waist up, but he could sure hear her, loud and clear.

"Go fuck yourself!" Marcie said.

"Would you like to try working yourself out of the mess that is covering
you?"

"Ah ... no, I guess not."

"Then watch your mouth."

"Yes, sir."

"That's better. When I get this crap off you, Marcie, if you have a gun
in your hand, I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

"I understand you. Real clear. I don't have a gun, Ben Raines. I lost my
rifle when the grenade exploded, and I can't get to my pistol."

"That's good. Just don't try to move around, this crap might shift. I'll
get you out of there."

?I don't believe I have any pressing engagements today.

Ben smiled. "You have a better vocabulary than most gang members I've
encountered."

"My life is a long sad story."

"I'm sure." Ben's reply was drily given. He worked steadily for a few
minutes, clearing away some sort of twisted metal framework and cutting
his hand while doing so. He said a few cuss words and sucked at the
small cut for a few seconds.

"What's the matter, Ben Raines?" Marcie asked.

"I cut my hand. Nothing serious."

"That's good. Man, you sure played hell with the gang."

"A couple got away, including Slick."

"That figures. I've noticed he talks tough as hell when he's got a gang
behind him. Alone, there isn't much to him."

Ben pulled the last bit of debris from the woman and

87

noted that she had been telling the truth: she was unarmed, except for a
sidearm in a flap holster, the flap secured.

"OK. You're free."

Marcie rolled over on her back and stared up at him.

Ben was somewhat startled. Marcie was a beautiful young woman.

88

89

Chapter Eight

Ben stepped back several yards and watched as Marcie got to her feet and
climbed out of the jumble of twisted metal. She made no hostile moves,
and the expression on her face was not one of hate or anger.

She faced him, Ben maintaining several yards distance between them. "Now
what, Ben Raines?"

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "That's up to you, Marcie. I'm not going to
take you prisoner, if that's what you're thinking. I'm pulling out as
soon as I can get loaded."

"You mean I could just get into one of those buggies or trucks and leave?"

"Why not? I'm not going to shoot you."

"Where would I go?"

"Hell, Marcie, I don't know. Back to your gang, I suppose. Wherever you
want to go."

She ran fingers through her short hair-light brown, Ben noted, and
really in need of washing. Her heart-shaped face was smudged with dirt
marks, and could use a good scrubbing. She met Ben's eyes and grimaced.
"I'm a mess, right?"

90

"Nothing that a bar of soap and about an hour in a tub full of hot water
wouldn't fix."

She laughed at that, and Ben noticed that her teeth were very white and
in very good shape ... most punks teeth were yellow and rotted. "It
isn't my gang. And if you'll show me a tub of hot water and a bar of
soap I'll sure use them both."

"Slick's gang, then. Go back to them, if that's what you want to do."

"I don't want to. I've only been with them a few weeks, and never
planned to stay very long. And no, I'm not Slick's old lady, if that's
what you were thinking. I'm not anybody's old lady."

Ben stared at her for a moment, then made up his mind. "All right. Help
me load up one of those pickup trucks and we'll get the hell out of here
before Slick returns with his gang ... if that's what you want to do."

"Suits me. I'll go with you, and be glad to get away from Slick and his
idiots." She pointed to a vehicle. "That truck is almost new."

"Let's do it, then."

"How about the wounded?"

"You concerned about them?"

Marcie hesitated. "Well, not really. But I'd feel sort of funny about
leaving them here to die if we could help them."

"But you were all ready to kill me a few minutes ago."

"I've never shot anybody in my life. I swear it. When I shot at you it
was instinct. I thought you were going to kill me."

Ben nodded his head. "All right, Marcie. You look at the wounded and see
what you can do for them, if anything, and I'll start loading up. Then
we'll get gone from here."

Thirty minutes later, they were on the road.

"Both of Dave's legs are broken," Marcie said, munching on a high-energy
bar. "He's gonna be crippled the rest of his life, I bet."

"Probably. Unless he gets to a doctor."

91

"Doctor? Out here? Forget it. Nearest doctor is hundreds of miles away.
I haven't seen a doctor since I left Wisconsin. No, don't turn here.
Those roads are all blocked. Everything north and east is gang
controlled. We've got to go west ... I think I know a way west that will
get us clear. I think."

"How many gangs are operating out here?"

"Dozens of them. Some have four or five members, others have a hundred
or so. The main gang leader is a guy who calls himself Duane. He's got a
mob with him."

"And his territory is ... where?"

"We've got to go through it to get clear. He operates out of the town
that used to be called Van Horn."

"There was a time, a few years ago, when Texas was entirely clear of
gangs of punks."

"Not anymore, and you can believe that. Not in this part of the state,
anyway. Gangs are making a fast comeback all over America."

"Not in the SUSA," Ben said with a smile.

"So I hear," Marcie replied. "The life expectancy of a punk in the SUSA
is kinda short, isn't it?"

"Real short. You said you came from Wisconsin. Why did you leave?"

"I also said it was a long story."

"We've got time. We'll be lucky to average thirty miles per hour over
these old roads."

"OK. If you really want to hear this sad tale. Here goes. My parents
survived the gas and the gangs, and the really terrible times after
that. They schooled me at home until things started running halfway back
to normal. Then I went to public schools, such as they were ... are, I
guess would be a better word. They're still lousy as crap ..."

"Not in the SUSA." Ben had to say it.

"Yeah? Well, I heard about that, too. Anyway, I graduated high school
and went to college for a year. I was a few years older than many of the
kids-I'm twenty-four now-and my parents taught me to read when I was
three. I've been reading everything I could get my hands on ever

92

since." She cut her eyes toward him. "You mind if I smoke, Ben Raines?"

"Not at all. I smoke cigarettes. But it's a habit you should quit. It's
bad for your health."

"Then why don't you quit?"

"I don't want to."

She dug in a pocket of her military style, cargo-pocket britches and
held out a pack of cigarettes. ?You want one of these?"

"I thought those were outlawed outside the SUSA. Big Brother so decreed?"

?They are. But small cigarette factories are a big, thriving business.
People are growing tobacco in basements and flower gardens, and in the
woods, and God only knows where else. Big black market in cigarettes.
People are gonna smoke if they want to smoke."

Ben took a cigarette and lit up. It wasn't bad, but it sure as hell
wasn't smooth, either. Then he had a thought: The best tobacco land was
in the SUSA. Why not start bootlegging cigarettes across the border into
Left-wing Liberal La-La Land? That would piss off the left wingers in
power. He laughed, and Marcie looked at him strangely.

"The cigarette that bad?" she asked.

"Oh, no. Not at all. I just had an amusing thought, that's all. Go on
with your story."

"Well, I learned to read from books that were published long before the
Great War ... many of them published before the political correctness
crap came to be. I read about cowboys and Indians, not Western
Horsepeople and Native Americans. You know what I mean."

"Oh, yes, I sure do, Marcie. Firsthand."

"When I got to public school, high school, I began to notice the
textbooks were, well, different. History was not depicted the same way
as in the old textbooks I had read as a child. Putting it bluntly, it
was all screwed up."

Ben chuckled softly as they drove along. The liberals finally got their
way: they had officially changed history. He had known about this, of
course. He had reviewed the

93

textbooks. But Marcie was the first younger person he'd talked with who
would actually admit to noticing the change.

"According to the history books I was forced to study in high school and
during the year and few months I attended college, America was the
aggressor toward Japan during the Second World War. America was the
aggressor in every war we were ever involved in. Especially against the
Native Americans."

"There was right and wrong on both sides during the westward expansion
period in America. That's the only fair way to view it. The Indians
didn't 'own' the land in the European concept of ownership-no tide or
deed or other proof of ownership. They were just there. Some settlers
did try to make friends with the Indians, and did. Some wanted to kill
every Indian they saw, and did. The same philosophy held with the
Indians: some wanted peace, some wanted war. I know all about the left
wingers screwing up history. They screw up practically everything they
touch. Go on with your story."

"Well, about mid-year in my second year of college I'd had enough of it,
and I stood up in class and challenged one of my history professors on a
point. He got so angry I thought he would have a heart attack. I was
called into the office of some college official and bluntly told that I
was out of line, blah, blah, blah. Big long boring lecture. I told them
to go to hell and walked out."

"And your parents did ... what?"

"Oh, they got upset with me, not with the college. They're lifelong
Democrats-very liberal-and believe everything the party hands out, i.e.,
if the textbooks were changed there must have been a good reason for it.
Men and women who are much more learned than me discovered flaws in the
old textbooks and corrected them. I didn't buy it then, and I don't buy
it now. Wrong is wrong. Call me stubborn or hardheaded, or whatever."

Ben cut his eyes to the young woman. He felt she was telling him the
truth. Just a hunch on his part. "Marcie,

94

you're an intelligent person. How in the hell did you ever link up with
Slick and his gang of dickheads?"

"I drifted around after leaving home, spent about a year just wandering
and seeing the country. But I was afraid to try to get into the SUSA."

"Afraid? Why?"

"Because of all the press you people have received over the years.
According to the press, you have a really violent type of society. You
shoot people for the slightest infraction. Is that really true?"

Ben had a good laugh and then shook his head. "No it isn't true, because
of the type of people who live in the SUSA. Our code of day-to-day
living involves honor, ethics, decency, integrity. We're a society that
respects the rights of others."

"And if the people in the SUSA don't live up to those qualities?"

"They're in trouble."

"From the government?"

"Oh, no. Very rarely will the government take action unless they break
the law. The people they cheat, however-that's quite another story."

"They shoot the person who cheated them?"

"No ... I don't recall any shooting. But there have been several real
good ass whippings."

"And the police do?"

"Very little, if anything at all. They investigate, of course, but
almost always find that the man who got his ass whipped had many citizen
complaints already filed against him."

"What happens to the man who cheated the people?"

"Oh, he usually leaves the SUSA without being asked. For health
reasons," Ben added drily. "Marcie, you haven't told me how or why you
hooked up with Slick and his bunch."

"I wandered down this way and found myself lost and very much alone one
day. I was out of food and water. Some of the women in the gang found me
and felt sorry for me, I guess. Slick wanted to make me his old lady, but

95

he already had a woman. Mean bitch called Big Sadie. And she's big, too.
Not fat, just tall and tough. She could probably whip Slick."

"What's Slick's real name?"

"I don't know. Slick's all I've ever heard him called."

"I figure we're about ten or twelve miles from Marfa. Look on that map
on the dash and see if there's a way around the town."

"I know a way around it. I think I remember it. It's dirt but hard
packed, and we've had no rain to speak of. We should be able to make it
all right. That storm the other night was wind, mostly."

"Tell me where to turn."

"It's not far ... if I remember correctly. It'll be off to the right.
Watch for it, 'cause it's hard to spot."

"Anything on the road? Off of it, I mean. Old houses, maybe?"

"I think I remember a few old places. Awfully rundown, though."

"That's all right. We just nee$ a place to hole up for the night. You
keep ducking the question. Why did you leave home to wander?"

"Oh, that's easy to answer. I got into it with my folks. That's all. I
see things differently. And it was their way or the highway. I chose the
highway."

They rode in silence for a few minutes, with their own thoughts. Ben
believed the young woman's story. Her manner, personal appearance, and
vocabulary helped back it up. If one young person was rebelling against
the left-wing form of government outside the SUSA... might there not be
others? Ben felt there surely would be. It was something to think about,
and perhaps use in some sort of peaceful campaign.

Then Ben shook his head. Peaceful? Not likely, not with Harlan Millard
and Claire Osterman in charge. While Ben disliked both of them, he knew
they hated him with a very deep burning intensity, and had for many
years, since long before the collapse of government and the Great War.

96

Marcie broke the silence. "You're deep in thought, Ben Raines."

"Yeah, I guess I was. Thinking about the government outside the SUSA.
That always depresses me."

"I know that those in charge are determined to reunite America. They
hate the SUSA."

"They hate everybody who dares to stand up for their guaranteed
constitutional rights."

"Does that include my parents and my brothers and sisters?"

"You never mentioned them, Marcie, but yes, I guess it does, if they're
embracing the strict party line of Osterman and Millard."

"Embracing it? Hell, they're in bed with it one hundred percent-all the
time, all the way."

"What do your brothers and sisters do for a living?"

"One of my brothers helps Dad run the farm. My other brother is an
officer in the army. My sisters are married and living in a nearby town,
raising kids and preaching the party line to anyone who will listen. I'm
the youngest of five."

"What unit is your brother in?"

"Some sort of specially trained outfit. I really don't know for sure.
They're bully boys, I know that. My brother's been a bully all his life.
We're not close, never got along. He's an asshole."

Ben smiled. "You're the rebel of the family, then?"

"You'd better believe it. Always have been. I think my parents were glad
to see me leave, in a way. That's a terrible thing to say, isn't it?"

"Not if it's the truth."

"It's the truth. Slowdown. Here's the turnoff. Now we're going to see
some wild, desolate country."

Ben slowed and turned off onto the old road. The landscape was stark and
lonely looking.

"How far down this road until we come to one of those old houses you
mentioned?"

"Several miles. It's set off the road about half a mile.

97

Off to the right. I never got real close to it. Don't know what it's
like inside."

"Probably a mess. But we're going to find out in a few minutes. I'm
hungry and want a cup of coffee."

"I'd like to have a long, hot, soapy bath. Think you can arrange that?"

"I doubt it. How about a short wash in cold water?"

Marcie sighed. "That'll have to do, but I can dream, can't I?"

"All you want. We'll get out of this mess. Then you can have your hot bath."

She stared at the road for a moment, then said, "Can I live in the SUSA?"

"Of course. I think you'd fit right in. You seem to be a person who
thinks for herself and doesn't need the damn government telling her what
to do and looking over her shoulder and holding her hand twenty-four
hours a day."

"I definitely fit in that category. Look over there, Ben Raines. There's
the old house."

Ben slowed and turned down the dirt road. "I really hope there isn't a
gang of punks waiting for us there."

"Me, too. Anyone who tries to leave Slick's gang is killed. That's the
rule, and it's enforced. I've seen it. If they find me, I'm dead."

98

99

Chapter Nine

Ben pulled in behind the old home, tucking the pickup in close to the
back porch. The dirt road they had come in on was so hard packed they'd
left no tracks to give them away.

"I don't think anyone is home, Ben Raines," Marcie said.

"I think you're right. Let's check it out." He reached down to the
floorboards and retrieved her web belt and pistol and handed it to her.
"You'll need this."

She met his gaze, locked her green eyes with his for a few seconds.
"Aren't you taking quite a chance handing that to me?"

"I don't think so, but I'll know for sure in a few minutes, won't I?"

"I'll tell you now, General. I won't turn on you. You have my word on that."

"All right. Let's check out the house." Ben opened the door and stepped
out of the truck, deliberately putting his back to the young woman. When
he turned around, she was walking toward the back porch.

100

She paused and looked at him, question in her eyes. "You coming?"

Ben smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a full magazine for
the 9mm. He held it out to her. "You'd better replace that empty mag in
your sidearm with this full one, Marcie. You might need it."

She looked startled for a couple of seconds. Then a slow smile moved her
lips. She laughed softly and stepped toward him, taking the full clip.
"Interesting way you have of testing people."

"Ben."

"All right." She ejected the empty from the butt of the nine and slipped
home the full mag. "Ben it is."

He stepped up onto the old steps leading to the once-screened in porch.
The screen was nearly gone, now, ragged hanging in shreds. "Wait for my
all clear."

"I'll do it."

Ben was a cautious man. He had removed the keys from the truck's
ignition. He pushed open the back door and stepped into what had once
been the kitchen. The floor and the old table were covered with dust and
litter and rat droppings. Ben walked through the house. There had been
no one there for a long, long time. Ben wasn't sure he wanted to stay in
the house, but decided it wouldn't take long to clean out one room and
then they could spend one night. He called for Marcie. He heard her
footsteps as she walked through the kitchen and up the short hallway.

The young woman stuck her head into the room. "I think we're alone here."

"I believe so. Let's get this room cleaned up and have something to eat."

Ben awakened once during the night. Something had jarred him awake. He
lay in his sleeping bag and listened. A few feet away, Marcie was
sleeping soundly. Ben looked at his watch. One o'clock. Whatever sound
had awakened him was not repeated, and he drifted back to sleep.

101

He awakened at four thirty and slipped from the bag. After his toilet,
Ben prowled around the outside of the house, CAR in hand. Nothing was amiss.

He used a couple of heat tabs to fix coffee and took a cup into Marcie.
They ate a cold breakfast of field rations and then smoked and talked
softly in the dark silence of pre-dawn.

"So when we get out of this mess," Ben said, "you're not going back to
your parents' home?"

"No. Like I said, I think I'll move into the SUSA. I ought to be able to
find some sort of work."

"No doubt about that. Jobs are going begging there."

"Why?"

"Our economy's booming. We have the strongest currency of any nation in
the world. But we need a few million more people to fill all the jobs
that are available."

"There should be lots of people who would be more than willing to come
into the SUSA if a good job is waiting for them."

"Oh, there are lots of people who think they want to live there, Marcie.
We get hundreds of inquiries every day. But only about two out of every
ten could make it in the SUSA. A person has to possess an uncommon
amount of common sense to make it in our society."

"And those who don't have a lot of common sense? Or don't use what they
have?"

"Some of them get hurt. A few have gotten killed. A very few, thank God.
Most either straighten up their act or pull up stakes and leave before
they're asked."

"You say thank God. Are you a religious man, Ben?"

"I certainly have a very strong belief in God. And so do a large
percentage of people who live in the SUSA. We have a lot of different
faiths there."

"Is church mandatory? That's the word that's being passed around outside
your borders. A person is required to attend some church."

Ben had a good laugh at that. "No, Marcie. Church attendance is by no
means required of any resident of the

102

SUSA. I heard that silly rumor. It's just part of the massive
misinformation campaign started by the USA's liberal press and kept
alive by Osterman and Millard."

Marcie glanced out the window-minus the pane. Silver was beginning to
streak the eastern sky. "Be light soon."

Ben glanced out the window. "Yes, you're right. We'll pull out when it's
full light ... and that won't be long. When we're on the road and reach
some high elevation, I want to try the CB and scanner in the truck. And
the dash radio."

"They all work. Sometimes something will come over the radio. The AM
stations. Not the FM."

"Music?"

"Sometimes. Mostly it's talk from the USA stations. A lot of it's
propaganda."

"I've heard some of it. Much of it's directed against us." He laughed
softly. "Osterman and Millard and their left-wing cohorts are really
afraid of us, Marcie. And that tells me we're doing something right."

"But they think they're right."

"Yes. But they want power, total control over peoples' lives. That's
something we don't have and don't want in the SUSA. It would be rather
difficult to have total control when the entire population is armed. The
gun control crowd-the left wingers-have always been afraid of an armed
population."

"They sure hated the militias and the survivalist groups. I've read a
lot of old books written about that."

"The liberals hated them because they were afraid of them. The liberals
were taking us to the left, and toward the end, just before the
collapse, the militias and survivalist groups were ready for armed
intervention. And I would have joined them in the fight," Ben added,
getting to his feet. "Let's pack it up and get rolling. I want to check
out those radios."

Marcie had helped Ben transfer the gear from the trailer to the bed of
the pickup, and she was still amazed at the

103

amount of material that had been stored right under their noses.

Rolling up the sleeping bags, she asked, "These caches are all over the
country?"

"Hundreds of them." Ben smiled at her. "The Rebels try not to leave
anything to doubt when it comes to survival. We plan pretty well."

She returned the smile. "I would sure say so."

When they were on the road, heading out on the old county road, Ben
turned on the dash radio and tried to find a station. He could find two,
both what used to be called National Public Radio, now no more than
hard-line propaganda outlets for the left-wing government. The news was
all about what the government was doing to help the people, and how the
people must work harder to help their government help them.

"Lenin would be so proud," Ben said, turning down the volume.

"Disgusting," he added.

"We've had a decade of that, Ben. Off and on. An entire generation has
grown from little children to teenagers listening to that crap."

"I'm glad you recognize it as crap."

"Oh, I always have. But many-a large percentage-of kids don't. The left
wingers have destroyed millions of books and hundreds of films-movies,
documentaries, TV programs-that glorified anything that was to the right
of their own screwed up philosophy of government. I was arrested once
for reading one of your books."

"Arrested?" Ben had known it was bad outside the SUSA, but he had not
realized it was that bad.

"Yes, I was detained until my parents could come to the police station
and get me. I was about eighteen or nineteen years old, I guess."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"Your books are banned. I mean, everything you've ever written.''

Ben nodded his head. "Yeah, I knew that. That started

104

several years ago. What I didn't know was that people were being
arrested just for having a copy of my work."

"Oh, The Watchers aren't that obvious about it."

"The Watchers?"

"That's what we call them. The people, civilians who are snitches for
the government. Every town has them. I know you've heard about them."

"Yes, of course we've heard of the block wardens. But I didn't know
there were that many of them."

"Oh, no one really knows who they are. Not officially. But after a time,
you can spot them. You can't prove it's them, but you know. They eat
better than other people, have a nicer home, a better car, dress nicer."

"Things really have gone to shit outside the SUSA," Ben muttered.

"More than you know. And it was all done very quietly and very slowly.
We didn't even know it was going on until everyone was in place and
reporting to their superior. There must be hundreds and hundreds, maybe
thousands, of these people, spread out all over America ... the USA, I
mean. Each little town has ten or twelve at least, snooping and spying
and taking notes on everybody else."

"It's worse than our intelligence people thought ..." Ben paused and
frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Unless our intelligence network outside the SUSA has been compromised."

"It's probably been compromised inside the SUSA as well," Marcie said.

"I doubt it. Outside, yes. But our people inside the SUSA, as well as
those returning from any operations work are polygraphed, PSE'd, or
both. It's those living and working outside the SUSA and reporting in
who've been compromised. How deeply is something I wouldn't even try to
guess."

"Don't underestimate those in power, Ben. Now don't get mad at me for
saying it, but I think underestimating them is what you've done."

105

Ben kept his cool and slowly nodded his head. "I think you're right.
That's exactly what I have done. Damnit!"

Ben chastised himself as they drove along. He had indeed considered
Osterman and Millard to be nothing more than lightweights with big
mouths and extremely left-wing ideas ... and he had held that opinion
for years. Now he had to admit to having been very wrong. Now his
mistakes were coming home to haunt him.

Ben drove for another few miles, then stopped in the middle of the dirt
and gravel road and tried the CB and the scanner, both mounted under the
dash. He could receive nothing. Either he was out of range or nobody was
talking.

A few miles later they reached what was left of an old bridge. They
could go no further-the bridge had been destroyed.

"The bridge was intact a few weeks ago," Marcie said. "I crossed it with
some of the women. We were just riding around talking."

"It's been blown," Ben said, standing beside the young woman on the
south side of the ruined bridge. "Dynamited, probably. Or C-4. Whatever.
It's back to the highway for us. You know another way around Marfa?"

She shook her head. "No. But surely there is one."

"We'll check those county maps I found."

"Why would someone blow up this old bridge? It's in the middle of
nowhere. Slick doesn't have any explosives. I know that for a fact.
Besides, he's too dumb to know how to use them. Duane and his people
don't know anything about us, and they sure as hell wouldn't know we
were heading this way."

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, Marcie. But standing here
staring at the wreckage won't rebuild it. Let's start backtracking."

Marcie checked the old maps while they drove back to Highway 90. "There
are several roads that will take us around the town, but I sure wouldn't
want to make a guess as to their condition."

106

"We've got to try them. If Duane and his mob have taken over Marfa, and
they're as large as you say, we don't have any choice in the matter."

"Biggest gang in West Texas. Slick was scared to death of them. He'll be
scared even more now, with his gang cut down considerably."

"Maybe he'll try to join the gangs."

Marcie shook her head. "No way. Slick told me he's tried to do that
several times. Duane wouldn't even consider it. Duane doesn't have much
use for Slick. Slick's bunch is made up of the losers from other gangs
in the area."

"But still you stayed with them."

"I didn't have much choice. If a woman joins up with Duane, there is
some sort of initiation she has to go through ... taking on the entire
bunch of guys, if you know what I mean."

"Typical punk shit," Ben said.

"You got it. And I didn't want any part of that. I was sort of between a
rock and hard place as to choices."

"I would say so."

They reached the highway, and before pulling out Ben again checked the
CB and scanner. Nothing. He pulled onto the concrete slab and headed
west. They had approximately three miles to go before reaching the
county road that wound around for miles and miles before eventually
leading to and ending on the highway at the west side of Marfa.

"If there is a road there must be houses on the damn thing," Marcie
remarked. "Ranches, I guess. Otherwise why would the county build it?"

"I suppose so. I don't know much about this part of the state. But I'll
sure make a bet there is one thing we won't find."

"And that is?"

"Water."

"But there must be creeks and springs around here."

"A few, probably. But I don't know where they are."

107

Marcie stared out the window for a moment. "Desolate," she finally said.
"Lonely."

"There used to be people living out here. We see old houses every so
often. But those who stayed after the collapse and our rebuilding were
relocated after the punks moved back in and it become too dangerous to
live out here. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of cattle are roaming around
all over the place. Look over there to your right at that small bunch-herd.

"Yeah, I see them. Some of the bulls will attack, too. I heard some of
the gang talking about people having been gored by attacking bulls."

"You want a steak for lunch?"

"I really just want to get out of this area and be safe for awhile."

"We'll make it, Marcie. I've been in a lot worse situations and made it
out."

"I haven't," she stated softly. "By now Slick's got every member of his
gang out looking for me ... including the women ..." She paused for a
few seconds. "Especially the women. And I know what's going to happen to
me if they catch me. Let's just say it won't be pleasant."

"I think I can imagine."

"Not a pretty picture."

"No, it isn't."

Ben found the gravel and dirt road leading off to the south, and took
it. Several miles later it seemed as if they had suddenly been
transported into a strange, desolate, and silent land. Beside him,
Marcie looked out the window for a time and shuddered.

"It's as if we're the only two people left on the face of the planet,"
she said.

"That'd be one way of getting out of this mess we're in." Ben grinned at
her.

She frowned for a second or two and then burst out laughing. "Yeah, it
sure would. Then we could start the human race all over, couldn't we?"

He smiled. "Well, it's a thought. But somehow Ben and

108

Marcie doesn't have quite the same ring as Adam and Eve."

"People would have thousands of years to get used to it."

This time it was his turn to burst out in laughter. "Yeah, I suppose
they would, at that. But I don't think it would work."

"Why?"

"You may have noticed that I'm a few years older than you."

"No more than about thirty, Ben."

"You're a good guesser. That's just about right on the money."

"That bother you? The age spread, I mean?"

"A few years ago it wouldn't have, but yes, I'm afraid now it does ...
would."

"Most men would have said, 'Oh no, not at all.' And then pulled off the
road to show me how much it didn't. But not Ben Raines. Are you always
this honest?"

"I try to be. That's another of the qualities that people who live in
the SUSA possess. I think it's a good one."

"Well, I'll tell you something. Right at the moment it sure as hell
doesn't do much for my ego."

Ben smiled and cut his eyes to her. "Well, how about this-You're a
beautiful young woman. And beneath two or three layers of West Texas
dust and dirt, you're sexy as hell. Does that make it better?"

"Yeah, I guess. But you sure are full of bullshit, you know that?"

"So I've been told, Kiddo. More times than one, I assure you of that.''

There had been a line of sexual tension drawing around them. It was now
erased and they both became more relaxed. Several miles rolled by before
Marcie broke the silence. She suddenly straightened up in the seat and
twisted around to stare out the rear glass.

"Is that dust back there, Ben?"

"Yes, I picked up on it a couple of minutes ago."

109

"I doubt it's Slick's people. This is right on the edge of their turf.
Unless they've made a very quick alliance with the gang out of this area."

"I doubt that. They're probably still licking their wounds and dreaming
of revenge. Duane's bunch, maybe?"

"More than likely it's the bunch out of Marfa. I heard some gang from up
north of the old Interstate blew into the town and ran the old bunch out."

"Well, we're going to find out in a damn few minutes. They're closing.
Is that an old house up ahead, off to the right?"

"Yes. I see it."

"Hang on, Kiddo. It's gonna get wild from here on in!"

110

111

Chapter Ten

Ben pulled in behind the house, tucking the pickup as close as he could
to the rear of the house. He and Marcie quickly unassed the pickup. Ben
jerked an M-16 and two rucksacks from the bed of the truck, tossing the
rifle and one of the rucksacks to Marcie.

"Take the right side of the house," he told her. He hesitated for a
heartbeat. "Unless you want to be taken prisoner, don't freeze up on me."

"I won't," she told him, her face pale. "If it comes to that. But how do
we know those people are unfriendly?"

Automatic gunfire suddenly knocked chunks of wood from the side of the
old home.

"It's damn sure come to that. Does that answer your question?"

"It does. I'll do my part, Ben."

"Head's up, Kiddo!"

Ben turned his attention to the men who had jumped from the car and the
pickup truck that had been following the car, and were now running
toward the old house. All of them were armed with what appeared to be
AK-47's and M-16's, or look-alikes of those weapons.

112

Ben gave one a short burst from his CAR, knocking the legs out from
under a man. He screamed in pain as his shattered legs collapsed under
his weight and he went tumbling to the ground. He lay squalling in pain,
hollering for someone to come help him. No one did.

"Hey, you behind the house!" a punk yelled. "We want that truck of
yours. Give it up and you can both walk out free. We won't hurt you."

Ben smiled. "Sure we can go free, dickhead," he muttered. "And I have
oceanfront property in Montana."

"Oh God, Van!" the wounded man yelled. "I hurt something awful. Y'all
got to help me."

"Hang on, Marvin," a punk yelled. "Stay calm. We'll get you in a minute."

Ben had worked his way under the house, which was set up on concrete
blocks, giving him ample crawl space. He hoped he would not come nose to
nose with a rattler during his journey toward the front of the old home.
He reached the area under the front porch and lay there behind a set of
concrete blocks. So far he had not been seen.

Ben spotted a man using the pickup for cover, and blew half a mag of
5.56 rounds into his legs and ankles. The man dropped his weapon and
flopped on the ground, screaming in pain.

"Where in the fuck did that fire come from?" someone yelled.

"I don't know," the man Ben now assumed was Van hollered in reply. "I
couldn't tell."

At the rear right side corner of the house, Marcie opened up with her
M-16, the lead slamming into and bouncing off the rusted hulk of an old
car that two of the punks were using for cover. Some of the lead went
under the old car, and one of the punks did a little dance as the
bullets tore up the ground around his feet.

"Holy shit!" he hollered after Marcie had ceased firing. "This ain't
worth a damn, Van."

113

"Just hold on, Mark," Van yelled. "We'll get 'em in time. We got 'em
trapped, man."

"You think," Ben said. He worked a grenade out of the rucksack and
pulled the pin, holding the spoon down. He drew back and side-armed the
fire-frag as hard as he could. It bounced on the ground once, then
rolled under the rusted old hulk of a car.

"Goddamn!" Mark squalled in terror as the grenade rolled between his
booted feet.

One second later it blew, scattering bits and pieces of Mark all over
the place.

"Jesus Christ!" another punk shouted. "Let's get the hell outta here, Van."

Van didn't respond immediately. A few seconds ticked by. "They can't go
nowheres, Johnny. They's still plenty of us, and just two of them. We'll
wait them out."

Ben had taken that time to crawl back to the rear of the house. He stood
up and brushed the dirt and cobwebs from him. He pointed to a stack of
bricks about three feet high. "Get behind that, Marcie. That's the best
protection around. I'll be inside the house, at the front."

"OK," she called just loud enough for Ben to hear. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"I never heard of any gang leader around here called Van. That must be
the new gang I told you about."

"Whoever or whatever they are, I'm going to lose patience with this
situation very soon. Keep your eyes open, your head down, and stay loose."

"Be careful."

"You bet. Careful ... that's me."

Just as Ben was settling into a spot by a front window frame-no glass,
of course-Van hollered, ?You assholes killed a friend of mine, you know
that? Mark was my buddy. We've been buddies for a long time."

Ben said nothing, and Marcie was silent behind the pile of bricks in the
rear of the house.

"I run this area around here. And you people is trespassing.

114

Anyone who passes through my territory has got to pay tribute."

Typical punk shit, Ben thought. Punks never change. Worldwide they're
the same. He remained silent, waiting for one of the dickheads to make
the slightest mistake.

Of course, there were many people who could have told Van from very
painful firsthand experience that the first mistake he'd made was
tangling with Ben Raines.

Others would have been very happy to tell him, if they could speak from
the coldness of the grave, that the odds were very, very good it just
might be his last mistake.

Ben waited.

"Where are they, Van?" a gang member called. "Why don't they do something?"

Before Van could reply another voice was added. "Somethin' real funny
'bout this, Van. And I don't like it none."

"What are you talkin' 'bout, Stacy?" Van called.

"These people are too damn cool. Too damn calm 'bout bein' in this
situation, that's what I mean."

"I agree," someone called from a ditch.

Another voice was added. "Maybe they're just stupid."

One more than I thought was alive, Ben silently mused. Now how many does
that make?

Before he could do some simple math, Van opened up with his weapon on
full auto, but he was spraying lead on the other side of the house, away
from Ben and Marcie. A full mag was burned, then another. Van hit
nothing except air, the side of the house, and occasionally, the ground.

"Idiot," Ben muttered.

Marcie did not give away her position behind the bricks by returning the
fire.

"I think I probably got one of them with all that lead," Van yelled.

"Then come on," Ben muttered. "If you think you did, show yourself,
punk. Check it out."

115

But Van had enough sense not to expose himself. "Get up there and see,
Red!" he called.

"Piss on you, Van," Red yelled. "I don't think you hit no thin'."

"I give you an order, Red!"

"You know where you can shove that order, don't you, Van?" Red challenged.

"Come on, guys," a punk called. "Let's don't start no arguing' 'mongst
ourselves. That won't solve nothin'."

"Either I run this outfit, or I don't," Van wouldn't let go of it. "I
give the orders, and by God I want them obeyed. You hear me, Red?"

"Whole goddamn county can hear you, Van. You hollerin' like a calf in a
hailstorm."

Van did not respond. Probably pouting, Ben thought with a small smile.

"I got an idea, Van," Red called.

"What is it?" Van asked sullenly.

"Burn 'em out of there. That old house ought to go up like dry kinlin'
wood."

"That's a good idea," Stacy yelled. "How 'bout it, Van?"

Van spoke up after a few seconds. "Yeah, I guess we could do that. If
that's what you want, it's OK with me. But how you gonna get close
enough to do that?"

Before Red could reply, both punks whose legs and feet had been shot out
from under them started hollering in pain and begging for someone to
help them.

Ben waited, ready to fire, but none of their friends made a move to help.

"I'm gonna work my way over to that field," Red called. "Come in from
that side. They's some cover over there and I can make it close to the
house. I'll get me some of them rags from the truck and tie 'em to a
stick. Light it and give it a throw. That ought to do it."

"Might work," Van said. "OK, Red. You can give it a try, and good luck
to you."

"Make 'em keep their heads down whilst I get over to that field, boys.
Lay down some lead for me."

116

"Goddamnit, will somebody hep me!" Marvin shrieked.

"Hush up, Marv," Van hollered. "We'll get to you soon as we take care of
these bastards in the house. Just be quiet. Can't none of us think with
you squealin' all the time."

"Oh, God, I'm dyin'," the other punk squalled. "I'm bleedin' to death.
Help me."

"Now!" Red called, jumping from behind cover. "Fire, boys, fire!"

Before he could run five yards Marcie opened up and nailed him. She
burned half a magazine, but she got him. Red turned around several
times, his chest and belly perforated with bullet holes. Then he slowly
sank to his knees, and after a few seconds fell over on his face and was
still.

"Shit!" Stacy shouted. "Come on, Van, let's get gone from this damn
place. This ain't worth a crap, man. We stay here and they're gonna get
us all."

"All right, Stacy," Van called after a few seconds pause. "You be right,
man. They's always another day. Let's get to the wheels and get out of
here."

"What about me?" Marvin screamed. "Y' all just gonna go off and leave me
to die?"

"We'll come back for you, man," Van called, with about as much sincerity
as a rattlesnake's smile.

"You a lyin' son of a bitch," Marvin yelled. "You ain't gonna do no such
of a damn thing. Neither of you. Goddamnit, don't go off and leave me!"

The punks were already running from cover, trying to make the vehicles.
Ben shot one, the 5.56 rounds stitching his legs, buttocks, and back,
and throwing him forward on his face. He died on the ground without
saying a word.

Marcie cut the legs out from under the man called Johnny, and he tumbled
to the ground. Her burst caught him running as hard as he could, and he
fell heavily, rolling and screaming. Marcie fired again, and Johnny was
silent in death.

"That's about it, Van," Ben broke his silence. "Just you and me now,
asshole."

"Hey, man, let's make a deal, OK?"

117

Ben laughed at him.

"You think that's funny, you prick?"

"I think it's hysterical, punk. What do you have to deal with?"

"I'm out here and you're in there. That's somethin', ain't it?"

"Not much when you think about it, Vanny boy. You're dead, punk. You
just don't know it yet. Best thing you can do is just lie down on the
ground and die."

"That's crazy. Fuck you! I ain't gonna do no such of a goddamn stupid
thing."

"Then I suppose I'll just have you kill you, Vanny boy."

"Oh, shit, will somebody please hep me?" the punk behind the rusted out
hulk of a car yelled. "I'm hurtin' and dyin', and all y'all's doin' is
arguin.' Damn!"

"Oh, shut up!" Van called.

"Get your buddy and any others that might be alive and clear out, Van,"
Ben called. "This is the only invitation you're going to get from me. Do
it, boy. And be damn quick about it."

"Who the hell do you think you is, givin' orders to me?" Van shouted.
"By God, I don't take orders from nobody."

Ben tuned him out and slipped to the other side of the house. By a side
window, he had a clear view of Van's cover. Ben pulled the pin on a
grenade and lobbed it. It fell just short of the cover and blew. Van
yelled and jumped from the wreckage. Ben shot him, the rounds twisting
him around and around, much like a human top. Van slowly slumped to the
ground and lay still.

"That's it!" Marvin yelled. "I'm done and through. Is there anyone else
left alive?"

Silence greeted his words.

"Oh, God!" Marv hollered. "I'm hurt and all alone."

"Can you drive, boy?" Ben called from the house.

"I could if you'd give me a chance. You can damn sure bet on that."

"With broken legs?" Ben called as he walked through the house and out
the back door.

118

"One of 'em is busted. I got some lead in the other, is all. In the back
of my upper thigh. It ain't too bad. It's just about quit bleedin'."

"Then crawl over to that car and get gone ... and don't come back. It
that understood?"

"You bet it is, sir. I don't have to crawl. I can limp that far with the
hep of this here stick. I'm gone."

Ben watched the man limp and stagger to the car and pull out. As soon as
he was on the road and driving away, Ben called, "Get all the weapons
and ammo from the dead on your side of the yard. I'll do the same over
here. We'll put them all in the bed of the truck. You'll drive the
second truck. That truck has two gas tanks on it. I can see the fuel
flaps. Let's hustle, and get on the road as quickly as possible."

"I'm with you, Ben. You can bet that punk will be back. Or at least some
of his buddies will, as soon as he can make contact with them."

"He's got a long and painful drive ahead of him before that happens.
There's a CB antenna on the second truck, but none was on the car. I
made sure of that."

Both of them turned at the sound of an explosion from about a mile or so
down the road.

"What the hell was that?" Marcie asked, her eyes on the cloud of black,
greasy smoke that had begun pouring into the sky. "You don't think..."

"Yeah. Marv didn't make it. He must have passed out or lost control and
left the road. Either way, we don't have to get in any hurry about
packing up and pulling out, or being followed. That's one problem ole'
Marv solved for us."

"I guess he did."

"Let's get to work and see what we've got in the way of additional
supplies. That looks like a pretty good truck over there."

Marcie looked down the road, in the direction they had been heading. "I
wonder where this road eventually leads."

119

"Away from here," Ben told her as he walked toward the pickup truck. He
ignored the dead who lay sprawled in the yard. "Let's get to work and
get gone."

"Are we going to bury the dead?"

"No."

120

121

Chapter Eleven

The truck was in good shape, except for the cab being filthy. It was
littered with crap, some of which neither Ben nor Marcie cared to
identify. Marcie scooped out the litter in the cab while Ben checked the
bed of the truck. Several full cans of gas were among the junk. Ben
found a dozen boxes of military ammo-manufactured in the USA-and
wondered how the punks got hold of it. Was it stolen, or was it given to
the punks?

"Interesting," Ben muttered. "Something I'll have Cecil look into, and
that's a fact."

"What'd you say, Ben?" Marcie called.

"Nothing, Kiddo. Just talking to myself. That comes with age."

"Yeah, right. You'll be ready for a wheelchair any day now. We'll have
to be on the lookout for one."

Ben smiled and continued his prowling through the mess in the bed of the
truck, throwing away most of it.

A half an hour after Marv's car ran off the road and exploded and
burned, they pulled out. The CB in the pickup worked just fine. If they
did get separated and

122

weren't more than a few miles apart, they could stay in touch.

"Keep any transmission very short," Ben told her just before they pulled
out. "As few words as possible."

"You got it."

The landscape grew more barren as they traveled farther on the lonely
county roads. They saw no other signs of human habitation. They stopped
just after noon and ate lunch-field rations-then were on the road again.
They got lost a couple of times on the confusing and unmarked maze of
old county roads and the going was very slow, but by the middle of the
afternoon they pulled out and across Old Highway 90 West and stopped to
talk.

"I want to avoid Van Horn. If the largest gang in West Texas has taken
control there, we won't stand a chance against them. The way I figure
it, we're only a few miles south of this old highway that will lead us
to Highway 166 and back into the Davis Mountains. That will take us to
this highway," he said, pointing to the map, "that will end at the
Interstate. Once we get there we'll have to decide where we're going next."

"I'm following you. Wherever you go, I'll be right behind you."

"OK, Kiddo. As the fat man on TV used to say, 'Away we go'."

"Who said that?"

"I'll explain it someday. The liberal feminazis have probably banned
reruns of his old show, proclaiming him to be a male chauvinistic pig."

"Feminazis?"

Ben laughed. "Another slightly overweight man used to use that term.
Come on. Let's get rolling."

They reached Highway 166 by mid-afternoon and turned north. A few miles
later they were brought to an abrupt halt: a bridge over what appeared
to be a dry wash had been knocked out.

"This is getting discouraging," Marcie said, eyeballing

123

the torn up remains of the bridge, a disgusted look on her face. "Was
this bridge blown up?"

"I can't tell. I think it's been out for a long time. All we can do is
backtrack. We'll try to make Fort Davis before night, and in the morning
we'll take Seventeen up to the Interstate. It's all we can do."

"Ben, has the thought occurred to you that we just might be trapped in
this area?"

He met her serious gaze and nodded. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't
thought of it."

"And if that's the case?"

"We fight our way out."

"Against a hundred or more to one odds?"

"Do we have a choice?"

"Good point."

"Hang in there, Kid. We'll get clear."

They backtracked and made it to the ruins of Fort Davis with about an
hour of daylight to spare. Both of them were tired and more than ready
for something to eat and a rest.

"We'll reopen the cache of supplies out at the old airport in the
morning and load up your truck," Ben told her. "Let's hope we won't be
back to this area."

"Sure suits me."

Ben smiled and winked at her. "Keep the faith. I told you-we'll make it
out of here."

They ate supper and were in their sleeping bags just as the sun was
sinking behind the Davis Mountains. Both were sound asleep in minutes.
Ben awakened about four the next morning and silently slipped from his
sleeping bag, being careful not to wake Marcie. The town and the hills
and mountains surrounding it were silent. Ben made coffee and heated
something that looked and smelled disgustingly inedible from a breakfast
pouch of field rations. He sipped his coffee and waited for Marcie to
wake up.

"What's that god-awful smell that's overpowering the wonderful aroma of
coffee?" Marcie called in a sleepy voice.

"Breakfast," Ben said with a grin.

124

"Yuck! Did you just kill it, or is it still alive?"

"It's dead, I promise you, but it's good for you. The Rebel doctors have
assured me of that many times."

"Do they eat it?"

"Somehow I doubt it."

Both managed to eat the breakfast mess and, amazingly, were able to keep
it down. Then they relaxed over cigarettes and coffee.

"The coffee is delicious, Ben."

"Thank you."

"I just can't find words to describe the breakfast, though."

"Some things are best left unsaid."

"I agree."

At first light they drove to the airport. The bodies of two of Slick's
gang lay where they had died, rotting, and the flies that swarmed the
bodies were having a delightful time.

"I think it'll be best if you don't look at them," Ben cautioned her.

"You really didn't have to tell me that. Phew!" she waved her small hand
in front of her nose.

"Let's see about getting the cover off that hole in the ground, load up
the trucks, and get the hell gone from here."

"Wonderful idea."

By mid-morning they had reached the ruins of a tiny town a few miles
south of the Interstate. There was very little left there, the buildings
burned.

"What hit this place?" Marcie questioned, standing by Ben in the center
of the main street.

"The Rebels, fighting gangs of punks years ago," Ben told her. "The
people who tried to resettle this area never got around to cleaning up
this little town." He smiled at her. "But I'm sure the lake is still
there, and probably still good to swim in ... or to take a bath."

"Lake?" She brightened. "What lake?"

"Oh, about five miles northeast of here."

125

"I could use a bath, Ben. Or haven't you noticed?"

"We both could."

"So what are we waiting for?"

"I meant to tell you. I found some small size BDUs back at the cache.
They look like they'll fit you. Come on. Let's get cleaned up."

The five hundred acre lake was spring fed, and the waters clear and
surprisingly unpolluted, considering all that had occurred over the years.

Ben checked the area carefully, but could find no recent sign of human
visitation. "You take your bath, Marcie. I'll stand guard. Then you can
keep watch while I bathe."

Needing no second invitation, she grabbed a bar of soap and hit the
water. Ben backed off a respectable distance and stood guard while
Marcie giggled and splashed and soaped and had a good time ridding
herself of days of dust and dirt.

Then it was Ben's turn, and he carefully bathed and washed his short
hair. He threw away his old BDUs, ripped and torn from his hard landing
a few days past (his body still carried a few deep bruises and cuts) and
dressed with new ones from the cache at the old airport. Marcie
discarded her old clothing and Ben buried their old outfits in a stand
of trees.

After their baths, now dressed in fresh clothing, they were beginning to
look and feel human once more.

"Being clean is such a wonderful feeling," Marcie said, brushing her
hair with a broken-handled brush from her rucksack. "One of the simple
things in life. Are we going to spend the night here?"

"No. Lots of animal tracks around the lake where they come to water. No
point in tempting any to attack. We'll find another spot to bed down."

"And tomorrow?"

"Try to find a way out of this punk-infested place."

126

"That's going to be difficult, Ben. They're all over this area ...
hundreds of them."

"But mostly south of the old Interstate, right?"

"That's true. But this whole area is sort of like a no-man's-land-no
law, and no decent people. South of Marfa and Alpine it really gets bad,
gangs from Mexico crossing the border to fight gangs over here, and
vice-versa. While you and your army were in Africa it seems the whole
world went crazy ... again. From the news I get, Europe is all torn up
again, the Nazis back in power in some places. Some factions in China
have made an alliance with the Nazis, and that country is in the middle
of a civil war. Mexico, Central America, and South America are nothing
but one great big battleground. The United Nations doesn't seem to be
able to do anything."

"Hell, they never could do anything ... except ask for American troops
to be sent all over the fucking world ... and get a lot of American
troops killed."

"You didn't have much use for the United Nations, did you, Ben?"

"I didn't have any use for it. As far as I was concerned, America should
have gotten out of the U. N. years before the Great War and told them
all to go right straight to hell. I wasn't an isolationalist, but this
nation was far too open for far too long to suit me."

"I never got that side of history. Not from the new textbooks being used
in schools."

Ben nodded and looked around. It would be dark in a couple of hours, and
they needed to find a place to hole up for the night.

"Let's pack it up and get out of here, Marcie."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing like that." He turned around, facing her, his back to the
woods. "We're just too open here, and that makes me edgy."

"We are kind of exposed, aren't we?"

Just as Ben turned to one side a rifle cracked, the slug missing his
back and howling off the metal of the cab of

127

the truck and ricocheting away with an ugly whine. Ben and Marcie hit
the ground, belly down, Ben swinging his CAR around, his eyes searching
the timber around the lake.

"You all right?" Ben called.

"Yes, but if you hadn't turned when you did-"

"Yeah. You'd have been the proud owner of one dead body and two pickup
trucks."

"Asshole!" she told him.

Ben chuckled as his eyes picked up movement in the timber. He cut loose
with half a thirty round magazine and that produced a couple of yelps
from the darkness of the woods.

"Jesus Christ, Whopper!" someone hollered. "Them things come too clost
for any comfort."

"I'll say." Ben assumed that was Whopper speaking. "One of them slugs
just missed my ass."

"Whopper?" Marcie muttered, crawling closer to Ben. "Is that what I heard?"

"Yeah. I can't wait to hear what the other is called."

Despite the precarious situation, she giggled. "Maybe there's more than
two."

"It wouldn't surprise me to discover we're facing a dozen or more. Hand
me that rucksack to your right, Marcie."

Ben fished out a grenade, jerked the pin, and heaved it with everything
he had. It landed just at the edge of the timber and blew.

When the dirt and rocks stopped falling and the sound of the explosion
had died away, someone shouted, "Holy shit, Dinky! That there feller's
got hisself some dynamite."

"You be rat about that, Dobber. Purty good arm on him, too."

"Dinky and Dobber?" Marcie whispered. "I don't believe it."

"Son of a bitch blowed a tree down on me," another voice called. "I'm
all covered up with limbs and leaves and bird's nest and shit."

"Can you get free, Whacker?"

128

"I reckon so, if I work on it a while."

"Whacker?" Marcie breathed. "What the hell have we gotten into here?"

"I keep waiting for James Dickey to show up," Ben said.

"Who?"

"Deliverance."

"What's that?"

"A novel. I'll tell you about it later."

"Did you see the bush on that bitch?" one of the cretins yelled. "Man, I
gots to have me some of that. Some fine lookin' titties, too."

"You have some admirers, Marcie."

"Thanks, but I don't believe they're my type."

?You be rat, Snake.'' Ben recognized the voice as belonging to the one
called Whacker. "Nice lookin' pussy on her. I want to see her when you
run that root of yourn up her snatch. I bet she'll holler."

Beside him, Ben heard Marcie sigh.

"Nice people, eh?" Ben asked.

"Just lovely. Their conversational abilities are truly astounding."

Ben smiled and burned the rest of the magazine into the woods.

Another voice added to the litany of ignorance. "Gawd-damn! That one
damn near took my haid off."

"You hit, Toot?"

"Naw. I be's allrat."

"Now we have Toot," Ben said. "Marcie, ease your way down to the rear of
the truck and blow a full mag into the woods. Try to keep it about
eighteen inches off the ground. Let's really get their attention."

Thirty seconds later, Marcie cut loose and filled the timber with 5.56
rounds.

"You rotten bitch!" one of those in the woods yelled. "I know that was
you doin' that shootin.' You'll pay for that. You sorry cunt."

"Rooster's hit!" Whacker shouted. "That whore got him in the leg."

129

"You hurt real bad, Rooster?" Ben couldn't put a name to the voice.

"Naw," Rooster said. "It's just a graze. I'm allrat."

"Now we have Rooster," Marcie said, slipping a full mag into her weapon.

"I'm gonna wear your pussy out for that, bitch!'' Rooster yelled.

"What is we gonna do with the guy, Whooper?"

"Kill him, I reckon. He's too old to cornhole."

"What a wonderful choice I have," Ben muttered. He reached up and
cracked open the door of his truck. Reaching inside, he managed to pull
out a regulation M-16 with a bloop tube. He groped around until he found
a rucksack and pulled it out, laying his short-barreled CAR on the seat.

Marcie watched him for a few seconds, then asked, "What is that thing
attached to the barrel?"

"Just watch and learn, Kiddo. I'm about to liven up this little picnic."

Ben reached into the rucksack and dragged out half a dozen rifle
grenades, slipping one into the tube. He smiled at Marcie. "Now we'll
really give them something to 'holler' about."

Ben gave them a 40mm grenade.

That got them all to yelling and cussing. He gave them two more grenades
as fast as he could load and fire.

"Oh, shit, Whopper!" Dinky squalled. "My ass is on far. I got lead in my
ass! Gawddamn, it burns!"

"Wonderful," Ben muttered, fitting another grenade into the tube.

He quickly sent two more grenades into the timber, and those two scored
a direct hit on the person of one of the gang called Snake. One grenade
landed in the middle of Snake's back and exploded.

When the sounds of the explosion faded away, Whacker started hollering,
panic in his voice. "Oh, shit, I got pieces of Snake all over me. Oh,
Lordy, he's all tore up. Oh,

130

Gawd, his legs is over yonder, and his haid's over there!" Whacker
started puking violently.

"Jesus Christ. This ain'tworth a shit," Toot yelled. "They got us
outgunned real bad. I'm fixin' to haul my ass outta here, Whopper."

"You stay put, Toot!" Whopper shouted. "This ain't over by no long shot.
We gonna kill that son of a bitch and then have us something to fuck in
jist a little while."

"How we gonna do that, Whopper?" Rooster hollered.

"We gonna rush 'em from all sides, that's how. That'll confuse 'em."

"That'll get us kilt, is what it'll do," Dobber said. "They got what
little high ground there is and good cover. We got a stretch of open
ground 'twixt us and them, in case you hasn't noticed."

"I can see that, you asshole! I ain't blind. Hit's a chance we gotta take."

"Then you take it, Whopper. Hit's all yourn. Leave me out of it."

"You sorry bastard," Whopper yelled. "You done lost your guts, you
yeller-belly."

"You can go fuck yourself, too," Dobber yelled back. "I ain't gonna git
myself kilt just on your say-so. Ain't no pussy worth dyin' over."

"I don't know 'bout that," Whacker stuck his mouth into the debate.
"That there is some prime gash if I ever seen any. She'd last us a good
long time, and when we wore it out and it got all sloppy we could trade
her off."

"I got to go 'long with Whacker," Rooster said after a few seconds of
silence. "That there's 'bout the bes' lookin' piece of ass I've seen in
a long time. We could trade her off down in Mexico for a goody 'mount of
stuff we need bad. Y'all better give that some thought."

"I say we got to avenge Snake too" Whopper argued. "We cain't let these
two go. That'd be a-smearin' Snake's memory."

"Fuck Snake, too," Dobber said. "Man was a fool. He kept what little
brains he had in his dick."

131

"He shore musta been a genius then," Toot spoke up.

"Enough of this. We gonna stay and fight," Whopper said. "I run this
outfit, and I give the orders. I done give 'em, and that's that.
Rooster, you start workin' your way around the north side. Git on now."

"We gonna pay hard for this, Whopper," Dobber said. "You mark what I
say, all of you. But you be rat. You the boss. We agreed on that."

"You boys listen to me," Ben called. "Why not give it up and get on out
of here? There's been enough shooting for this day. How about it?"

"You go right straight to hell!" Whopper yelled. "You in our territory,
you do what we say you do."

"Yeah," Toot hollered. "Tell you what, you give us the woman and your
trucks and supplies and sich, and we'll let you walk outta here. How
about that, mister?"

"No deal, boys," Ben called. "I'm telling you, give this up and back
off. That's my best offer. Think about it for a couple of minutes. OK?"

"I vote we talk about it," Dobber called. "How 'bout the rest of y'all?
What do you say?"

"Talkin's done!" Whopper shouted. "It's shootin' time." Whopper fired a
couple of rounds at the trucks. One round punched a neat hole through
the windshield of Marcie's pickup, and the other flattened a tire on
Ben's truck.

"Now that pisses me off," Ben said, sliding another 40mm grenade into
the tube. "OK, boys," he muttered. "I gave you your chance. Now it gets
real nasty!"

132

133

Chapter Twelve

The rifle grenade landed within a few yards of Rooster and blew. Only
the thick brush and the small tree he was behind saved him. He still
took some shrapnel.

"Shit-far!" Rooster hollered. "I been hit. Oh, Lordy. I thank I'm dyin'!"

"Where it is you hit?" Whopper shouted.

"All over more 'un anywheres else," Rooster yelled. "Lemmie look some."
A few seconds passed in silence. "Wai... maybe I ain't dyin' lak I
thought. I reckon I ain't. Mister!" he squalled, "I'm a-gonna git you
for pepperin' me lak this. I'm gonna cut your nuts out and set your dick
on far. And that there's a promise, you bastard!"

"Nice bunch of guys," Marcie said.

"Lovely. You ready to rock and roll?"

"You want to dance now?"

Ben smiled. "No, Marcie. It means ... well, are you ready to open fire?"

"I've been ready."

"Let's do it."

They both opened up. Ben first with another 40mm grenade and then a full
mag of 5.56 rounds. Marcie burned

134

thirty rounds into the timber just as Toot took Rooster's place and was
working his way around to the north side of the small overgrown landing
and camp grounds. Her rounds knocked both legs out from under him and he
went down hard, cussing and yelling in pain.

"I'm hit hard, y'all," Toot hollered. "I thank one of my legs is broke,
for shore."

"I'm a-comin'!" Dobber yelled. "Hang on, Toot!"

Dobber forgot where he was and jumped up in his excitement, and Ben shot
him twice in the belly, the second round about four inches above the first.

"Oh, shit!" Dobber said weakly, dropping his rifle. "Oh, shit! Oh, Lordy
me!" Then he toppled over and had no more to say on this earth.

Ben smiled, a grim death's head curving of the lips, and dropped another
40mm grenade into the small stand of woods. His smile widened as he
heard a hard cry of pain.

"I'm hit, Whopper!" Whacker yelled. "My face is all tore up real bad.
I'm bleedin' lak a stuck hog!"

"We got to git gone from here," Whopper said. "We got to talk about
this. Pull back and block these people in whilst we jabber some. Hang
on, boys. I'm a-comin'."

Ben had Whopper's location pegged in his mind ... at least to within a
few meters. Bushes trembled as Whopper moved toward Whacker, and Ben
carefully dropped a grenade a few feet in front of the thick brush.

Whopper didn't make a sound during or after the explosion. Ben and
Marcie waited.

"It's over, y'all," Toot called. "Whopper jist got blowed all to hell
and gone. He ain't even got no haid no more. That bomb landed about a
foot from him and splattered him. I tell y'all, it's over. We're done.
OK, guys?"

"Shore suits me," Dinky hollered.

"I'm finished," Rooster said.

"Walk or crawl out here into the clearing," Ben called. "Do it with
empty hands. If I see a weapon I'll kill you all. Understood?"

"We understand."

135

The three men appeared in the clearing, Dinky and Rooster helping Toot
to limp along, dragging his broken leg.

"Get on over to your vehicle," Ben told them. "Wherever you left it. And
get the hell out of here. Get far away from this area. Don't ever let me
see any of you again. If I do, I'll kill you without hesitation. Move!"

After the trio had staggered off, Ben carefully checked the timber,
gathering up weapons and ammunition. That had been Rebel SOP for years.
Whopper, Snake, and Whacker were dead. Ben left them for the ants and
animals.

"I heard the sounds of a vehicle of some sort pulling away," Marcie told
him. "I walked up to the turn-off and looked. They're gone."

"That makes them smarter than I thought."

Ben dumped the various types of weapons in the back of his truck and
stood for a moment, looking sourly at the flat tire on the rear of the
truck.

"It won't fix itself, Ben," Marcie said with a smile. "Come on, I'll
help you. I sure know how to change a tire."

With both of them working changing the tire didn't take long, and they
were soon back on the road. They saw nothing of the three survivors of
the shoot-out. Just to be on the safe side, Ben headed for the
interstate, then turned east for a few miles before reaching the cut-off
for a tiny town on the north side of the once super slab.

There was very little left of the town. A few houses, a couple of other
buildings, and a small church. Ben pulled over and parked on the side of
the road, Marcie right behind him. They got out and talked it over.

"The church doesn't look as though it's been touched," Marcie pointed
out, staring at the empty House of God.

"Occasionally, even punks won't desecrate a church."

"Maybe they're afraid of the wrath of God."

"Could be. It'll be getting dark in a very few minutes. Pick a spot for
us to bed down."

"What's left of that old store and gas station over there," she replied,
pointing.

136

"Not the church?"

"No. I wouldn't feel right about that." She looked at him, her eyes and
expression serious. "Would you?"

Ben shrugged. "I can't say it would bother me one way or the other."

"It would me."

They pulled the trucks around to the rear of the building and checked it
out. Everything that could be used had been taken, of course; the store
had been looted many times.

"You clean out a spot for us, Marcie, and I'll get the gear out of the
trucks."

They fixed a place behind a counter to spread out their sleeping bags
and Ben opened two packets of "field rats." He looked at the rations,
distaste evident in his eyes.

"I hate to kill a cow, because so much of the meat would be wasted," he
said, "but I am becoming very weary, very quickly, of these damn things."

She laughed at his expression. ?They're keeping us alive, Ben."

"Doesn't mean I have to like them."

"Where do we head next? In the morning, I mean?"

"North toward Interstate 20. Just south of it, we'll find a county or
state road leading east and take that route."

"How long before we're in Rebel territory?"

"Probably another hundred miles or so, straight east. I think there's a
settlement at what used to be Fort Stockton, but I can't be sure of
that. Those people may have been forced to pull back. We'll stay off the
main highways and stick with older, less traveled roads."

"The gangs should be fewer the closer we get to secure areas, right?"

"I would think so. People who live in the SUSA won't put up with crap
from punks. Stealing is a very uncommon occurrence in the SUSA."

"How do you keep kids from pulling pranks?"

"You don't. No society ever has, or ever will. Pranks are one thing,
stealing someone's vehicle is quite another.

137

Home invasions will get the offenders killed very quickly in the SUSA.
Our law enforcement units don't kick in doors at night and hotdog around
as used to be the case in America before the collapse. Ninety-nine point
nine percent of the time it wasn't necessary, and was done only as an
intimidation tactic by an increasingly desperate government."

"Desperate?"

"Attempting to impose their steadily growing socialistic actions on
those who were opposed that form of government."

"Did any agents ever kick in your door?"

Ben shook his head. "No. They knew I was one man who would greet them
with gunfire if they ever pulled that type of shit on me. I told them so
when they visited me one time ... during the day."

"What did they say when you told them that?"

"The older agent didn't say anything. The younger one told me it wasn't
smart to make threats against federal agents."

"And you said?"

"I told him I wasn't making threats. Just stating a hard fact."

They got a good night's sleep, and were on the road just after dawn. The
gas tanks were filled to capacity, and the trucks were running well. Now
if they could just get out of punk country and make solidly controlled
Rebel territory-a big if, considering they had over a hundred miles logo.

They saw no signs of human life on the run over to Highway 18. There
they turned north, and a few miles later passed through what was left of
a small town. The town had been destroyed, with only a few burned out
hulks of buildings remaining.

They drove on to the town of Crane-through the burned-out business
district and into what had once been

138

part of the residential area. It was in ruins, now nothing but block
after block of devastation. Ben drove out to the airport and stopped.

"The batteries for the radio I got with the other supplies back at Fort
Davis are long out of date, and weak," he explained. "I wanted to get
closer before attempting to make contact with my people. This is as good
a spot as any to give it a try. Keep your fingers crossed."

Ben tried three times to raise friendlies on the radio. Nothing. He knew
the batteries were just about gone. One more try should do it. Then?
Well, they would drive. What choice did they have? He shut the radio off.

"We'll let it rest for a few minutes. These old batteries really don't
have much juice left in them. I'll make some coffee while we're waiting."

"Any danger of the gangs around here hearing those transmissions?''

Ben shook his head. "Not unless they have some very sophisticated
equipment."

They smoked and drank coffee and talked for a few minutes. He finally
reached for the radio. "One more time should do it."

"One way or the other?" Marcie asked.

"That's about it, Kiddo. One way or the other."

"Try it. If you can't raise anyone ... let's get back on the road."

Ben winked at her and hit the send button. "This is General Raines.
Anybody listening?"

The voice that came back was weak but clear. "General Raines. This is
rescue five niner. What is your location, sir?"

"Airport at the town of Crane. You anywhere close?"

"Minutes away, sir. Are you hurt?"

"Negative on hurt. I can't smoke this location, Rescue. Can you find it?"

"Affirmative, General. Hang tight."

"Ten four. Is my team all right?"

"All your team members OK and back at Base Camp

139

One. Three gunships now joining me. ETA your location approximately
twenty minutes."

"That's a ten-four. There will be two to pick up."

"Two of you?"

"That's affirmative. Raines out." He laid the nearly dead radio aside
and looked at Marcie. "It won't be long now."

She sighed. "A long, hot bath. I'll believe it when I hear the water
running."

"A long, hot shower and then a whiskey and water and the evening paper,"
Ben said. "I feel as though I've been out of touch for a month instead
of only a few days."

"It's been a busy few days."

"It has, indeed." Ben got to his feet. "Let's get the trucks away from
the hangar, and visible. I wouldn't want them to miss us."

They pulled the trucks out close to the old runway and stood waiting.
"What will those gunships do?" Marcie asked.

"Destroy anything and anybody who gets too close to this location during
the pickup."

Within minutes the hammering sounds of the big blades slicing the air
reached them. The choppers were soon visible. The gunships began a wide
circle of the area, making sure no bogies interfered with the pick up.
The big rescue chopper circled once, then settled down.

Ben helped Marcie inside, then put all the weapons taken from the dead
and wounded in the chopper. He climbed in, shook hands with the crew
chief, and sat down, buckling himself in and putting on his headset.

"Let's go home," he said into the mike.

"Affirmative, general," the pilot said. "On our way."

140

141

Chapter Thirteen

The chopper carrying Ben and Marcie had just refueled at a Rebel outpost
and with the extra tanks had enough fuel to make it to a base close to
the Louisiana line. After refueling, the chopper hammered on into Base
Camp One.

Cecil met Ben at the landing pad and the two old friends shook hands,
Cecil saying with a grin he could not conceal, "Ben, you old warhorse.
It's so damn good to see you!" Then his smile faded.

Ben stared at him for a moment. "What is it, Cece? Come on, your jaw
just dropped down and hit your shoe. Give!"

"It's Anna, Ben."

"I asked if she was all right. I was assured she was. What happened, Cece?"

"We picked up your team and the plane's crew just hours after you all
jumped. We didn't know where in the hell you were-"

Ben waved him silent.?Forget about me, Cece. I'm here. What about Anna?"

"Agents from Osterman's side had been planted here

142

about a couple of years ago. We captured one, and he broke and confessed-"

"What about Anna!"

"They kidnapped her, Ben."

"But... why Anna? That doesn't make any sense."

"Because Tina is with West most of the time, and no one in their right
mind would try to take Buddy. You and I have both seen him kill three
men in seconds with his bare hands. No, they know you and Anna are
close. She was the logical choice."

"Logical choice to do what, Cece?"

"To grab and use as leverage."

Ben was silent for a moment, staring at his longtime friend. "All right,
Cece, OK. Leverage against me for them to gain ... what? I'm not the
president here, you are. I hold no political office. What the hell do
they hope to gain by kidnapping a girl not even twenty years old?"

"They plan to try her for treason, Ben, among other charges. And hang her."

"Are you fucking serious? Treason? Anna is not a citizen of the USA.
She's a citizen of the SUSA. How the hell could she be tried for treason?"

The other Rebels were giving Ben and Cecil a wide berth, standing well
away from the two men who gestured and talked at the edge of the tarmac.

Ben's team was not at the airport. They were with a group of other
Rebels, Scouts mostly, who were getting gear together, certain that Ben
would call on them for a rescue raid to get Anna. Marcie had been
whisked away to a hospital for a good checking over by Rebel doctors.
Most Rebels and no civilian even knew of the kidnapping. Cecil had
clamped the security lid down tight, and not one word of it had leaked
to the public.

"I don't understand any of this, Cece," Ben said, maintaining a firm
grip on his temper. He took his friend's arm and led him off the tarmac
and toward a line of vehicles. "But I'm going to get Anna back home,
safe and unhurt,

143

you can bet on that. And I don't give a good goddamn who I have to kill
to accomplish that."

Cecil held up a hand. "I know, Ben. I know. We're all working toward
that goal."

"Working ... how?"

"Through diplomatic channels."

"Fuck diplomatic channels," Ben said bluntly. "We're talking about a
criminal act here. An international act of high conspiracy. We're
talking about spies and the kidnapping of a citizen of an
internationally recognized sovereign nation. Diplomatic channels can go
suck eggs. I want Anna back. I want her back right fucking now. And by
God, that is the bottom line."

"This is not the fault of those citizens living outside our borders,
Ben." Cecil spoke calmly. Inwardly he was not at all calm. He was
furious. "Let us handle this our way."

"All right, Cece. Seventy-two hours," Ben said, his voice tinged with
cold anger. "I'll give you that much. I want Anna back in seventy-two
hours. Unhurt. And there'd better not be a bruise or a scratch on her.
That's final."

Ben abruptly turned away and walked toward a line of military vehicles.
He reached a group of soldiers and pointed toward a Hummer. "Who's
driving that vehicle?"

"Ah ... no one, sir."

"Fine," Ben said. He got in the HumVee and drove off.

Standing on the tarmac, Cecil watched Ben leave and quickly turned to an
aide. "Get all the members of the emergency council together right now.
We've got seventy-two hours before only God knows what breaks loose."

Ben drove to his house and cleaned up, showering and carefully shaving.
He had not shaved in several days, and he did not shave his upper lip
now. He was well on his way to growing a moustache. He dressed in
civilian clothing and drove to a large shopping center miles from his
home. At a drugstore he bought several boxes of a popular men's hair
coloring. He returned to his house and carefully read

144

the instructions for the use of the product. He stored the hair coloring
in his medicine cabinet and went into the den, sat down in his recliner,
and picked up the phone, punching out the number of Scout HQ.

"This is General Raines. Let me speak to one of my team members, please.
That's fine, I'll wait. Certainly, Sergeant. Yes, Jersey would be perfect."

Ben waited until Jersey was located and brought to the phone. "Little
Bit, Ben here. I'm fine. OK. Now listen to me carefully...."

After giving Jersey instructions to pass on to the other team members,
Ben went outside to his 'borrowed' Hummer.

At one of the many Rebel motor pools Ben spoke to the senior sergeant in
charge, a longtime friend who had been seriously wounded some years back
and pulled out of the field.

"Jesse, I want a late model sedan with a mill under the hood that
nothing can catch. I want a hidden compartment-somewhere-to store
various types of weapons, grenades, and ammo. The best tires on it.
You've got seventy-two hours to do it. Can you do it?"

"Hell, yes, I can do it! I've already got several cars. I keep them for
our security people. The compartment won't be any problem at all. It'll
be waiting for you."

"Oh, I'm not through, Jesse. I want a valid USA plate on it. How about
that?"

"What state?" he asked without hesitation.

"Let's do Illinois. I was born there, and plan to drive through there to
familiarize myself with it."

"Let's don't. Let's use California. That state is still so fucked up
they can't run a check on anything. I'm serious, General."

"Suits me, Jesse."

"You growing a moustache, General?"

"Thought I might."

"Looks good on you."

"Thanks. Ah ...Jesse ... this car business-"

145

"I know about Anna, General. I've still got an eyes only clearance with
Rebel security. From this point on, I never saw you, and don't know a
thing about any car."

Ben smiled at his friend. "Thanks, Jess."

"Now hit the trail and let me get to work. Oh ... General?"

Ben turned around.

"I'll have a valid California driver's license waiting for you. I've got
a buddy who'll take your picture and fix you right up. Whenever you're
ready."

"How about tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good. Meet you here at o nine hundred?"

Ben nodded, smiled, and left the motor pool.

Ben drove over to an armory and had a long chat with another old friend,
making arrangements to pick up some items in a couple of days.

He was just about ready. A few more items to pick up. A couple more
arrangements to take care of.

Ben drove back to his house and sat down in his recliner. Seventy-two
hours to wait. If Anna was not released and on her way home by then ...
a lot of people were going to pay a very heavy price.

In blood.

Ben left his house only a few times during the next three days. He
talked with Cecil on the phone several times every day, with Cecil
assuring him that everything humanly possible was being done ... through
diplomatic channels, of course.

Ben's patience with diplomacy-or the lack of it-was growing very thin.

With only a few hours left to go before the deadline ran out, Ben picked
up the telephone in his den on the second ring.

"Ben?" Cecil said. "Madame President Osterman has requested a few more
days. I've agreed to extend the deadline for seventy-two more hours."

146

"Is that right?" Ben's reply was devoid of the steadily growing rage
within him. "Tell me, Cece. Just who on Sugar Babe's staff is dragging
their feet on this matter?"

"The usual crew, Ben. All her left-wing cronies. They're making some
demands that I am just not prepared to take seriously."

"I see." Ben did not give a damn about hearing the specifics of the
demands. As far as he was concerned, every demand made by Osterman and
her left-wing dickheads was illegal and totally without merit. He wanted
Anna back, and that was that. And he would get her back ... one way or
another.

"All right. Keep me informed, Cece."

"I sure will, Ben. Daily."

Ben returned to his small study and to his computer, where he had spent
much of his waking hours the past few days. He now knew the names of all
of Osterman's inner circle; he knew where they lived and how they spent
their free time pursuing hobbies: golf and jogging, mostly.

The FBI, the Secret Service, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and
Firearms ... those agencies no longer existed. They had been replaced
practically overnight with the FPPS: The Federal Prevention and
Protective Service. Ben knew once the fancy title was stripped away it
still amounted to only one thing: the Secret Police. And he knew that
the men and women who made up the FPPS were no more than thugs and bully
boys-many of them reasonably well-educated but still no better than
Hitler's Gestapo of decades past. The dedicated and decent members of
what used to be known as the FBI, the ATF, and the Secret Service had
either retired voluntarily or had been kicked out.

The left wingers had finally seen their long sought after dream turn
into hard reality. The United States of America was under a hard system
of socialism. Everybody was equal. No one was better off than anyone else.

"Yeah, sure," Ben muttered. Then he laughed bitterly.

147

"It took a while, Mister Orwell, but your prediction finally came to
pass, full-blown."

Ben leaned back in his office chair and studied the information on the
screen for several moments. He shook his head in disgust at what he
read, then began the procedure for shutting the system down.

While that was occurring he glanced at the pages he had printed out that
day, committing to memory the important information.

He picked up the phone and punched out the number of the motor pool.
When the phone was answered, he said, "I'm set to go, Jesse. Put the
keys in the ash tray. And park the car by the side of the main garage."

"You got it, General. The other, ah, material from the armory came
today. I stored it for you. You remember how to get into the compartment?"

"I remember."

"Good hunting."

"Thanks, Jesse. I'll see you when I get back."

"You bet, General."

Ben was already packed and ready to go. His hair was colored a dark
brown, with the temples gray. His moustache was nearly as full as he
would allow it. It had come in mostly brown, with only a few flecks of
gray. His new ID card was in his wallet, and all the information about
his new identity had been committed to memory. He was now Ben Grayson.
He had a briefcase of papers from California concerning his line of
business. He had asked to be left alone for several days while he had
people all over the USA tracking down the location of Anna, and the
names of those who were responsible for kidnapping her. His wishes to be
left alone were obeyed. No one came to see him, and no one knew about
his change of appearance.

Ben tossed his luggage into the Hummer and went back into the house and
fixed something to eat He lingered over his meal, had a cup of coffee,
then drove over to the motor pool. He parked the Hummer by the side of
the main building. He did not make any contact with Jesse.

148

The car Jesse had fixed up for him was a Ford sedan, four door. It was
not a new car, but Ben knew without asking it was in top shape. Jesse
would not give him anything less.

Ben transferred his two suitcases and briefcase to the back seat of the
sedan and got in and cranked the engine. It started with a powerful
thrust. Ben smiled, thinking: God only knows what kind of mill Jesse has
under this hood and the suspension under the body.

Ben slipped the car into gear and headed out. Reaching the intersection,
he turned north. He would drive straight up through Arkansas and then
angle off to the east and head into Illinois and then into Indiana.

Anna was being held in a safe house in Central Indiana. Ben's people in
the USA were almost certain of that. He had been warned that information
might be out-dated, that she might have been moved several times by now,
and was most certainly constantly under very heavy guard. The FPPS was
taking no chances with their valuable hostage.

Ben spent the night at a motel in a small town in Arkansas. He slept
well, then had a wonderful breakfast of country ham, eggs, grits,
biscuits, and real redeye gravy and got back on the road.

He drove on through part of Eastern Missouri, then cut east and crossed
over into what the residents of the SUSA referred to as 'Occupied
Territory' ... formally known as the United States of America. He went
through the first of what would be many federal checkpoints.

Ben smiled after he was passed through the first checkpoint without a
hitch. The border guard looked at Ben's driver's license, asked Ben's
reason for visiting the state of Illinois. Ben told him business, and
that was that. He was waved on through with bored indifference.

Ben spent the night in Southern Illinois, just across the line from
Indiana. He read the evening newspaper and snorted in disgust every few
minutes. It was filled with nothing but pure socialistic crap: how the
New Federal Government was introducing programs to help everybody.

149

And that everybody must work just a little harder and a little longer in
order to insure that everybody else could enjoy the same comforts.

The left-wing, hanky-waving, snit-throwing columnist blathered on: No
one should fear the new wave of federalism: it was in place for your own
good. Oh my, yes, indeedy.

Ben had to lay the paper aside and go outside for a few minutes to get
some fresh air. The editorials in the newspaper were making him
nauseated. The left wing had done it, all right. They had finally done
it, and it had backfired in their faces: they had wanted more federal
controls, but none of them had seemed to realize that with more and more
big government came more and more control in the lives of citizens. Back
before the collapse and the Great War, Ben had tried to explain what
that philosophy would eventually lead to, tried to explain it to the few
liberal friends he had. The conversations had produced the same results
as someone attempting to converse with a stump. Nothing. The liberals
just stood there with blank looks on their faces until Ben finally gave
up and walked away.

"Well, you asked for it," Ben muttered. "You wanted government in your
lives, and now you've all damn sure got it."

"Beg pardon, sir?" The voice came from behind Ben.

Ben turned. A middle-aged man and woman were standing there, the man
holding a piece of luggage, the woman with a motel key in her hand.

Ben smiled. "Sorry. It was nothing. Just talking to myself. Bad habit
I've got."

"Do it all the time myself," the man said. He stared at Ben for a
moment. "You work for the government?"

Ben laughed. "No. I don't. Why do you ask?"

"Can't be too careful these days. Goddamn government informers all over
the place."

"David," the woman cautioned. "Be quiet."

"It's all right, Ma'am," Ben said. "I don't work for the government. I'm
a businessman from California."

150

"You say you are," she came right back. "But we don't know that for
sure. You might even be what you say, but still working for the government."

Ben shook his head. "And both of you might be with the government,
trying to trick me into saying something. That's the way this New
Federalism works."

"That's very true," she replied. "These days, a person just can't be too
careful. If you get put on a list, you're in real trouble."

"Have you folks eaten supper?" Ben asked. "I was just heading for the
restaurant."

"No, we haven't," David said. "Tell you what. You seem like a man with a
mind of his own. That's rare these days. Wait a second while we put our
luggage up and we'll join you."

"I'll be right here. You folks stow your luggage and refresh yourselves.
By the way, my name's Ben Grayson."

"David Renniger. This is my wife, Nancy."

"Pleased to meet you." Ben shook hands with the man and nodded at the
woman. "I'll just catch the evening air for a few minutes. Have myself a
smoke while I wait."

"A smoke?" David said. "Are you crazy, Ben? That's against the law. You
can be arrested for smoking in public."

Ben smiled. "Are you going to turn me in?"

David returned the smile. "Not damn likely! Wait a second and I'll join
you. But we'd best get behind the building before we light up. It's
safer that way."

"All right. I'll wait for you."

The husband and wife disappeared into their room, a few doors down from
Ben's. Ben waited for about five minutes. David and Nancy reappeared.
Both cast suspicious looks all around as they walked toward him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"We're smokers, Mister Grayson," Nancy said. "Where have you been? You
can be arrested for smoking."

"Oh, I know that," Ben quickly replied. "But I'm just hardheaded enough
to believe that if I want to smoke in

151

private that's my business, and none of the damn government's business."

The man and woman smiled. "Maybe you are all right," she said. "We'll
take a chance. Come on, Mister Grayson. Let's grab us a smoke before
dinner."

"Country sure has gone to crap," he muttered.

"Living out west like you do," David replied, "I guess you don't have it
as bad as we do here in the middle of the nation. It's really bad around
here."

"I'm beginning to understand that."

"And it'll get worse," Nancy said. "You just wait and see. Mark my
words, Mister Grayson, there's going to be a civil war. People are not
going to stand for much more of this nonsense."

"I seem to remember that same kind of prediction back before the Great
War. Not too many people had the courage to do much about it."

"Yeah, so do I. I wish to hell I'd had enough sense to join some
anti-government group back then. But I followed the party line, just
like my parents."

Ben did not choose to respond. Already, he was beginning to experience
the tension and suspicion of the couple who had joined him.

As they walked around to the rear of the motel complex, Ben said, "I
hope they have something good on the menu this evening. I haven't eaten
since early morning."

"You really are from the far west, aren't you, Mister Grayson?" Nancy
asked. "We heard the new rules haven't as yet reached all parts of the
nation. You've got a lot to learn about the New Federalism."

"I beg your pardon?"

Nancy smiled. "We'll bring you up to date over a smoke. You're in for a
real surprise."

152

153

Chapter Fourteen

"This food isn't very good," Ben whispered to the couple seated across
the table from him. "And there's no salt on the table." He looked around
the dining room. "There's no salt on any of the tables."

"You can ask for a salt substitute," Nancy returned the whisper. "Pure
salt is illegal."

Ben blinked a couple of times. "When the hell did all that take place?"

"Officially, last week," David replied. "It came under the new Health
Food Act. There hasn't been any press on it. Not yet, anyway."

"What the hell is that?" Ben asked. "I've always known Osterman and
Millard were weird. But no salt?"

Nancy smiled, saying, "It's not just salt, Ben. Nothing cooked in lard
or grease can be served to the public or used at home. French fries are
a thing of the past. Anything deep fried is illegal."

Ben forgot his food and just stared across the table in disbelief at the
couple. "You're putting me on!"

David and Nancy laughed, David saying, "Nope. 'Fraid

154

not, Ben. No real bacon can be served in restaurants, either. It's not
good for you. Can't buy it in stores. Only on the black market. Turkey
bacon is all that is allowed. But some of it's really not bad ... once
you get used to it."

"No foods of high fat content are allowed," Nancy said. "That's new
Federal law. It went into effect last week. The people must be protected."

"From themselves," David added.

"Good God!" Ben blurted. "Has the damn government gone crazy?"

Both David and Nancy quickly and quietly shushed him. David looked
around furtively and said, "Be careful, Ben. You never know who might be
listening, and who will report you. It's not wise to criticize the
government. You have to be careful not to get on the government's
subversive list. Once you're on it, it's almost impossible to get off."

"What the hell happened to the Constitution and the Bill of Rights?" Ben
whispered.

"They're being reinterpreted and rewritten," Nancy said. "That isn't
official yet. But it's happening as we speak."

"Cigarettes are illegal," Ben said. "Now you tell me that any type of
fatty food is illegal. What's next?"

"Sport utility vehicles and full size pickup trucks are about to be
banned," David replied. "All cars and trucks are to be approximately the
same size. One driver won't have an advantage over another in any type
of accident."

"How about eighteen wheelers?" Ben asked, pushing the plate of bland
food away from him. It was awful: tasteless and devoid of any spices.

"They're next," Nancy said. "As soon as the government figures out how
to move materials in a safer manner. It's whispered that congress is
talking about building highways for large trucks only."

"That would sure put a lot of people back to work," David remarked,
sarcasm thick in his voice.

155

"It certainly would," Ben agreed. "For about the next century or so."

"The new order is moving very quickly now," Nancy said. "The press seems
to be solidly behind them, and the government appears to be unstoppable."

"That figures," Ben said. "About the press, I mean. And you folks are
going to do what about it?"

The husband and wife shrugged their shoulders. "What can we do?"

There were a number of things Ben thought of suggesting, but he held his
tongue. He didn't really know these people, and there was a real
possibility they might not be who they claimed to be. The paranoia and
suspicion that seemed to prevail all around Ben was beginning to lightly
grip him.

Nancy seemed to read his thoughts. She touched Ben on the hand.
"Infectious, isn't it? The mood, I mean?"

"Yes," Ben said. "It sure is."

"Wondering about us, aren't you?" David asked.

"That thought passed through my mind, yes. I have to admit that."

"We don't blame you, Ben. We're both wondering about you, too. You just
don't know much about what's been going on in America."

Ben decided to take a chance. "The USA, you mean."

Both husband and wife visibly paled. Ben immediately lost much of his
suspicion of the pair. No way they could fake that. They both were
plenty scared. "Ben," Nancy said softly, "don't even mention the SUSA,
not ever! To anybody else."

"It's too dangerous," David whispered. "People who have said good things
about that part of the country have gotten into a lot of trouble."

"Arrested?"

"Detained for a period of time and questioned," Nancy said. "And
sometimes the questioning can be harsh, if you know what I mean."

"Yes," Ben replied. "I can imagine."

156

The three were silent for a few minutes. None of them ate much of their
supper. Finally Ben said, ?Where do you two call home?"

"New Muncie," Nancy replied, spreading some of the worst tasting oleo
Ben had ever had the misfortune to put in his mouth on a slice of bread.
She smiled. "A lot of towns and cities around the country have New in
front of the original name, although the maps usually leave that off."

"I've noticed that," Ben said. Then he lowered his voice. "I guess
General Raines and his Rebels pretty well destroyed most of the cities
and larger towns."

"They did what they believed they had to do," David said cautiously.

"Oh, I'm not faulting them," Ben quickly replied. He shook his head.
"Have you ever seen the ruins of Los Angeles? No? It's a sight to
behold. It will be a long time before everything is cleared. Years
before rebuilding is complete."

"You live near Los Angeles?"

"Oh, no. I'm located in Northern California. But I've been down to Los
Angeles several times on business. It's certainly something to see. When
did the state to state border passes stop in this part of America?"

"Only a few weeks ago," David said. "All the guards were shifted down
south, if you know what I mean."

Ben nodded his head. He knew. They had all been shifted down to the
border with the SUSA ... all two thousand or so miles of it. "The way it
looks and sounds to me, there might be a war shaping up between the two
nations."

David sighed. "That wouldn't surprise me at all. But General Raines has
said he'll use chemical warfare against the USA. I just don't believe he
means it." David cut his eyes to see if anyone were listening. No one
was. "Ben, we're all Americans. Borders can't change that. What can
those of us outside the ... well, that other nation ... do to change
things? To live peacefully side by side?"

157

Ben knew, of course, but he was hesitant to say the words aloud.

"I know, I know," David said. "At least I think I know what you're going
to say. But we're unarmed, Ben. And I mean totally unarmed. We can't
fight... what do we fight with? Getting caught with a gun in your
possession means hard jail time. God, all this ... mess we're in just
quietly slipped up on us."

Ben had to smile at that. "Did it, David? Did it really just slip up on us?"

David stared at Ben for a moment. Then he exhaled in frustration. "OK,
Ben," he whispered. "So it didn't. All right, we let it. But that
doesn't answer my question. What can we do about it now?"

"I can't answer that, David. That's something you'll have to decide for
yourself."

"I guess I knew that all along." His eyes twinkled for a few seconds and
he added, "Of course, even if you did know the answer, you'd be hesitant
to discuss it with someone you've only known for an hour, right?"

"Wouldn't you be, David?"

"Sure. Sure, I would. Well, where are you off to in the morning?"

"North, David. I have business up north."

They lingered awhile longer over really lousy coffee and talked of small
things. Nothing more was said about the government. After a few minutes,
Ben said goodnight and excused himself, heading to the rear of the motel
complex for a smoke. He was not surprised to find half a dozen other
people there, puffing away. They fell silent at Ben's approach. It was a
very uncomfortable silence.

After Ben had lit up and taken a couple of drags, one of the women in
the group of sneaky smokers said, "Oh, to hell with it. If he's a
government informer then he'll just have to go ahead and report me. If I
want a cigarette, I'm by God going to smoke one. Fuck the government!"

Ben chuckled and said, "If you folks are worried about

158

me, you can relax. I'm not a government agent. I'm just passing through
on my way up north."

"It's not agents we're worried about, mister," one of the men said.
"It's local informers you have to watch out for."

"Yeah," another man said. "Lousy left-wing bastards and bitches. They
get special privileges for informing on people who break the rules."

"When the hell did the voters pass all these crummy assed rules and
regulations?" a woman asked.

"We didn't," another in the group said. "Osterman and Millard and those
people decide what is good for the people. But the people don't have
anything to say about it."

"It's communism," another said.

"It's very close to it. But it started out as socialism," Ben said.
"Many years before the Great War and the collapse. But socialism is the
first step toward communism. The people just couldn't, or wouldn't,
believe it. Many tried to warn people what was happening, but they
weren't taken seriously. They were called anti-government and government
haters."

"Yeah, I remember that," a man said. "I wish to hell I'd joined one of
those groups back then."

"I know what I'm going to do," a woman said. "I'm moving to the SUSA."

"Lady," a man said. "You're taking a hell of a chance just speaking
those words aloud."

"You sure are," Ben said. "The damn government can arrest you for
treason, or some other ridiculous charge."

"Not only can they arrest you," a man said out of the darkness, "they do."

"Buddy of mine was hauled in for questioning," another said. "The
federal goons didn't hurt him, but the questioning was long and very
intense. Scared the crap out of my buddy."

"We've sure reached a sorry state of affairs in this country," a woman
said, toeing out her cigarette.

159

"With no end in sight," the man standing next to her added.

"Well, there is a civil war shaping up," someone said. "Maybe it will
get all straightened out after that's over."

"I like some of what the SUSA offers," a woman said. "But the way I hear
it they've got some pretty restrictive laws on the books down there."

"You're getting your information from the government owned radio and
TV," a man countered. "Who the hell would believe what any of those
people have to say?"

"Who the hell would believe anything the press says?" another offered.
"I remember during the last few years before the collapse, there were
only a few reporters I'd pay any attention to. They're all gone now."

"Most of them are working for the newspapers and TV stations down in the
SUSA. I've seen and heard and read them when I was visiting down close
to the border. There is a hell of a lot of difference between the news
down there and what we get up here."

"Yes," Ben said. "I've visited friends who live along the border with
the SUSA. It's straight, hard facts down there. And if it's in print or
on the air they'd better get it right the first time, and every time
after that."

"I heard that if a politician distorts the truth or twists the words of
his opponent, or just blatantly lies, the press is all over that person
with both feet," a woman said, lighting up another smoke.

"You bet they are," Ben replied. "I've personally heard them do it."

"Smokes out!" a man said in a stage whisper. "The cops are here."

Ben dropped his cigarette and toed it out, then stepped back against the
side of the building just as two uniformed men came around the building,
flashlights in their hands.

The woman who had first vocalized her contempt for the government stood
calmly, puffing on her cigarette. There was no back up in her.

"You there!" one of the men in black uniforms said.

160

?What's the matter with you? Put out that cigarette. You're in violation
of the National Health Act."

"Screw you!" the woman said, and took another puff.

"We got us a real mouthy one this time," the other cop said. ?Where did
you get those cigarettes, lady? Give us a name, and we won't write you up."

"Go to hell," the woman said. "I'm not bothering a soul by smoking out
here. Go catch a crook or something."

The other cop grabbed her and twisted her arm behind her, snapping on
one cuff. Then he twisted the other arm and clamped the cuff on that wrist.

"Get out of here!" the second cop told Ben and the others. "And keep
your mouths shut about what you just saw. Move, goddamnit!"

"Whatever you say, officer," a man said.

The crowd of smokers faded into the darkness and Ben walked slowly back
to his room. It was hard for him to believe what he had just witnessed
had actually happened.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

Then he realized that perhaps it wasn't so difficult to believe, after
all. The ultimate goal of the enviro-freaks, the ultra liberals, the
feminazis, the hard left wingers, the anti-gun crowd, the
give-me-something-for-nothing crowd, the
government-knows-everything-Big-Brother crowd and their timid little
don't-hit-me-I'll-sue-you groupies, had always been to control the lives
of everybody who didn't agree with them.

Ben stood in front of his room and watched the patrol car leave with the
hollering, cussing, kicking woman in the backseat. He turned his head as
another woman from the smoking group walked up.

"What'll happen to that woman?" Ben asked.

"Oh, she'll be fined and given a lecture by the judge. If her attitude
hasn't improved any, and she lips off to the judge, she might be sent to
a reindoctrination camp."

"Are you putting me on, lady?"

The woman laughed. "No. Not at all. Those camps just

161 161

opened in this area last week. They've been a very successful government
secret for several months now." She stepped closer to Ben. "We need to
talk, General Raines," she whispered. "Right now. In your room."

162

163

Chapter Fifteen

The woman appeared to be unarmed, and she made no threatening gestures.
Ben stood in the darkness for a moment and stared at her, his memory
banks working overtime. There was something about her that was familiar.

"It's important," she whispered. "I'm not a federal agent. I'm here to
help you, not turn you in."

"Years ago," Ben whispered. "In Louisiana. You were with the FBI. You
and a male agent came to see me about a book I'd written."

"That's right, Ben. But I quit the Bureau months ago. Just before the
name change." Ben could see her shrug her shoulders. "It was either that
or get fired. The new administration did some housecleaning."

Ben reached into his pocket for the room key. "Yes. I would certainly
say they did. Swept a reasonably clean floor and then let in the rats to
shit all over the place."

"That's...an interesting way of phrasing current events, General. But in
a manner of speaking, you're right."

Ben opened his room door and waved the woman inside. He did not turn on
the lights. He walked through the

164

darkness and turned on the light in the bathroom. That left the larger
room in dim shadows.

"My name is Sandi," the woman said, sitting down in a chair before Ben
could ask her to do so. "With an i, not ay."

"I remember now. Sandi. Yes. You were all upset about a novel I'd
written that was critical of the government."

"I was very young then, Ben. Full of very idealistic notions. Times
change. People mature."

"Well, the times certainly have changed, for a fact." Ben opened his
suitcase and took out a bottle of whiskey. "Drink, Sandi?"

"Sure. With water. Don't drown it. Obviously you haven't heard about the
new regs concerning the use of alcohol."

"Don't tell me the government is banning booze."

"To a degree, yes. But that isn't why I'm here."

"Let's hope not."

Ben turned to fix the drinks and Sandi said, "Have you lost your mind,
Ben? If I can recognize you, don't you think others can do the same?"

"I'm sure. Are you telling me this was just a chance meeting?"

"Yes. As difficult as that may be for you to believe, it's the truth. I
was having coffee in the dining room when you checked in."

"Just passing through this town, huh?"

"No," Sandi said. "I live here. I was born here. My father owned Parsons
Hardware until the Great War. Ask anyone from around here. Would you
like to see my brand new government ID?"

"No. It could easily be as fake as mine. I'll take your word."

"What state's ID are you using?"

"California."

"Good call. That state is so screwed up nothing can be checked out of
there."

"So I was told. I've been out of the country for some months."

165

Sandi took the offered drink and thanked Ben. "How was Africa?"

"Bloody. What do you want, Sandi?"

"Nothing much. Just a chance to work with you, that's all."

Ben sat down and gave her a long, hard look. "And I'm supposed to trust
you? You show up out of the blue, so to speak, a woman who has spent her
entire adult life working for a government I fought against, and I'm
supposed to take you at face value, is that it?"

"Do you have any choice?"

"I could kill you right now and solve the problem. So, yes, I do."

She frowned. "I don't think I like that choice, Ben." She held out her
purse. "I have a pistol in there. I could have killed you from the
shadows, and probably been rewarded with getting my job back. I didn't."

Ben nodded and took a sip of his whiskey and water. "That's very true.
Put your purse down. I don't want to look in it. All right. You have
family left in this town?"

She shook her head. "No. My parents were killed by punks a few years
ago. I don't know where my brother and sister are. I don't even know if
they're alive."

"You know, of course, why I'm here?"

She shook her head. "I haven't a clue. I was certainly surprised to see
you. I thought surely I was mistaken. Why are you here?"

"My adopted daughter, Anna." Ben didn't know whether to believe the
woman or not, but he would reserve judgement for a while longer.

"I heard you adopted a kid from eastern Europe. What about her?"

"Osterman had her kidnapped. I'm told they're going to try her for
treason and execute her."

Sandi shook her head. "I doubt it. There would really be a public outcry
about that. Probably just a move to pull you into doing something stupid."

"Perhaps," Ben admitted. "But if I'm supposed to be

166

so well known, why are you the only one who's recognized me?"

"The hair and the moustache threw me off for a few minutes, but the
voice gave you away." She slugged back some of her drink and set the
glass on a coffee table. "OK what's the plan?"

"I don't have one, other than to find Anna and get her free. Which I
will do, one way or the other, bet on that."

"I might be able to help you with that... maybe," she quickly added. "No
promises."

Ben didn't hesitate to reply. He knew he needed all the help he could
get. "All right, Sandi, it's a deal." If she were setting him up for a
hard fall... well, she would die before he did. Ben would make damn sure
of that.

"I can't check in here for the night. That would look strange to the
front office-they know I live not far from here. Besides, they're
probably informers."

"I'm already getting very weary of this informer crap. I think perhaps a
war is just around the corner."

"Will you people start it?"

"No. Not unless something happens to Anna. Then I'll start my own
private war. No ... a war will start between our two nations only if the
USA violates our freedom, our sovereignty.''

"Well, I can assure you, Ben, that is going to happen. I know for a fact
that Claire Osterman and Harlan Millard have vowed to reunite the states."

"Then there will be a war," Ben said, in a flat, deadly tone. "It's
firm, then-those two run the USA?"

"With an iron grip, General. One hundred percent."

"Better break that habit of calling me General. That could get us both
killed."

"You're right. Sorry." She smiled. "But for years in the Bureau, you
were referred to as General Raines." She laughed, and it was a genuine
laugh, not a bit forced. "Among other names, of course."

"I'm sure of that. OK, where and how do we meet in the morning?"

167

"I'll put a change of clothing in a large purse and meet you up on the
corner by the gas station. You can buy me whatever else I need on the road."

"Oh? I can buy you?"

"Sure. I'm unemployed, remember?"

Ben grinned at her and lifted his drink glass in a mock salute. "Deal."

Sandi finished her drink and stood up. "I'll see you in the morning,
then. What time?"

"Early. About five-thirty. On the corner."

"And I'd better be alone, right?"

"If you're not, you're dead. And that's a promise."

"I believe you, Ben. See you at dawn."

Ben finished his drink and went to bed, a pistol within easy reach on
the night stand. Sandi was lying. He was sure of that. But he would play
along for a while. See where it led.

"Do you know a place where we can get a decent breakfast?" Ben asked.
They had been on the road for about an hour.

"Not really," Sandi said. "The government has outlawed eggs cooked
sunny-side up, for health reasons. Of course, you know about bacon being
banned."

"How about pork chops?"

"Baked or broiled or grilled is OK Not fried."

"Now, how in the hell is the government going to keep people from frying
pork chops in their own kitchens?"

"Obviously, they can't, but they're launching a massive ad campaign
against fried foods. They're teaching kids in grade school never to fry
foods."

Ben cut his eyes to her and grimaced. "Wonderful," he said
sarcastically. "You mentioned something about liquor last night. The
government is banning booze?"

"In a way. There again, it's being taught in grade school. And in a very
subtle way, kids are being taught to inform on their parents."

168

"The left wingers really must be happy. The good ole' U S of A is
finally a one hundred percent socialistic society."

"Millions of Americans aren't too thrilled about it."

"Then why in the hell don't they do something about it? Why did they
allow it to reach this point?"

Sandi offered no immediate response to that. She glanced at Ben for a
heartbeat, then sat quietly for a time and looked out the window as the
landscape rolled by. Finally she said, "But millions of Americans are
happy with it, Ben."

"Yeah, and that's the big problem with a so-called democracy. Take a
hundred people, and fifty-one can tell the remaining forty nine what to
do. That split isn't worth a damn!"

"The percentage is different in the SUSA, isn't it?"

"You bet it is. But that isn't a problem in the SUSA. We all think
pretty much the same on the major issues. We don't want to run another
nation's business. But voting on major issues has been a problem in the
USA for decades ... a growing one. Look up there ahead of us. A damn
roadblock."

"That's a big county school over to the right. Something's happened at
the school. See the lights from the police cars?"

Ben pulled in behind a mini-van and stopped. The line of cars and trucks
ahead of the mini-van was already long. Ben glanced in his rearview
mirror: the traffic behind him was backed up. He was pinned in. That was
not a feeling Ben liked. He stirred restlessly behind the wheel.

"Relax," Sandi said. "I see an ambulance over at the school. It's got
nothing to do with us."

A woman came walking back to the mini-van from the direction of the
roadblock and walked up to the car, passenger side.

"A kid brought a pistol on the bus with him this morning. Can you
imagine that. A pistol! He was going to shoot one of his teachers."

169

"Did he say he was going to shoot a teacher?" Sandi asked.

"Well, no," the red-faced, highly agitated woman replied. "But why else
would he bring a pistol to school? I mean, pistols are outlawed here ...
finally. Not even adults are allowed to own pistols. You know that!"

"Yes, I'm well aware of that," Sandi said, cutting her eyes to Ben, who
was smiling. She felt she knew what he was thinking: Sandi was one of
the federal agents who used to kick in the door of any American citizen
who dared defy the federal ban on pistols ... back before the Great War.

"Don't say a word, Ben," she whispered as the woman standing on the side
of the road rattled on about guns. "I know exactly what you're thinking."

"My lips are sealed, ex-fed," Ben replied.

"It wasn't a real gun!" a man yelled from several cars up the line. "It
was a toy pistol."

"They killed him!" a woman shouted from the car just ahead of the
mini-van. "They shot the boy dead."

"Well, it was the boy's fault," said the woman standing by the side of
the road. "Toy guns have been banned for several months now. He
shouldn't have brought one to school. It's all his fault. And his
parents' fault."

"If only one boy was shot, ask why there are several ambulances at the
school," Ben whispered.

Sandi didn't have to ask. Before she could open her mouth, the woman at
the car ahead of the mini shouted, "The police shot three boys who ran
to help the first boy. My God!"

"Were they carrying toy pistols, too?" Ben asked.

The two women standing by the road were shouting at each other angrily
and moving closer to each other. For a minute Ben thought the women
might tie up in a fight.

"Oh, to hell with you, fatso!" the second woman yelled. "The damn pistol
was orange! It was a water pistol!"

"It still looked like a real gun!" the woman standing by

170

Ben's car shouted. "And don't call me fatso, you skinny bitch!"

"An orange pistol, you lardass?" the other woman yelled. "Bullshit!"

"I wonder if those two ladies know each other." Ben whispered. "I'll bet
they do."

"Lardass?" the slightly overweight lady hollered. "Well, fuck you, Sally!"

"Yep," Ben said. "They know each other."

"Real close friends, too," Sandi said.

"Oh, I'm sure."

A heavyset man in a black uniform walked up. "All right! You women be
quiet. Stop shouting and cussing each other and get back in your cars."

"The state police," Sandi said, "but part of their salary is paid by the
government. They're really a branch of the FPPS."

"The Federal Protection and Prevention Service," Ben muttered.

"You're almost right," Sandi said. "It's Prevention and Protection."

"Whatever."

"You can go to hell, too, Ralph," Sally yelled. "You damn communist!"

"Well, now," Ben said, sitting up straighter behind the wheel. "There
might be hope for the USA yet. Where there is one with the courage to
call it like it is, there will probably be more."

"If she doesn't shut up she's gonna get arrested."

"Ralph is not a communist," the woman standing by Ben's car bellowed.
"He's a brave man doing a fine and thankless job."

"They're both about half right," Sandi remarked. "There are still some
cops who don't like their new designation and job description. I don't
know if Ralph is one of those or not."

"Shit!" Sally shouted sarcastically. "He's a damn bully boy, that's what
he is!"

171

"You'd better shut that mouth of yours, Sally," the state cop yelled.

"What are you gonna do, Ralph?" Sally challenged. "Arrest me for having
an opinion?" Before Ralph could reply, she added, "Oh, well, now! Here
comes the head honcho of the state bully boys. Get ready to kiss his
ass, Ralph, you gutless punk!"

Another voice was added. "Take that woman's name." A tall slender man in
a black uniform walked up.

"I know her name, Gene," Ralph said. "She's got a big mouth, that's all."

"Now, by God, you'll see who runs things around here, you whore!" the
woman by Ben's car yelled.

"Be quiet, Bertha!" Ralph hollered.

"Whore?" Sally yelled. "You screw every secret police agent who will
stick a dick in you, and you call me a whore? You goddamn informer!"

"Arrest that woman!" the tall man in the black uniform shouted. "I want
to question her."

Sandi cut her eyes to Ben. "Now you see firsthand how things have
deteriorated."

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner!" Bertha yelled. "You damn
... Republican!"

"Now that is really an insult," Sandi said. "Any member of what used to
be known as the Republican Party is suspect by the New Left and the FPPS."

"The Republican Party no longer exists?"

"Sort of, but not really. Not always by that name. It's called the New
Right now... among other names. But very few dare to openly join it.
It's a subversive organization."

"Oh, really," Ben replied, his voice filled with scorn. "The USA has
certainly gone to shit in more ways than one, hasn't it?" He glanced at
her. "The Republican Party is still around?"

?A few brave souls still register as Republicans, but damn few. As I
said, you get listed as a subversive when you do."

Ben shook his head in disbelief, but knew Sandi was telling the truth.
The ambulances were pulling out of the

172

parking lot, Sally was being led off by the state police for
questioning, presumably for calling someone an informer, or for pointing
one out in public. Ben wasn't sure. He dropped the shift lever into
drive and pulled out behind the mini-van.

"You blame me-I mean hold me responsible in some way-for what has
happened in this country, Ben?"

"Why not? You were sure as hell part of the 'investigate anyone who
dares to say anything critical about the government' crowd. How many
doors did you help kick in, Sandi? How many taxpaying citizens did you
help roust in the middle of the night? How many firearms did you take
from law-abiding people? Hell, yes, you were a part of it. And after the
Great War and the collapse, when the nation was rebuilding, you went
right back with the feds and started doing the same damn thing, all over
again."

"I can't deny it. You're right, I did."

"Now you've had a change of heart, right?"

"Oh, not entirely. I still don't agree a hundred percent with the
philosophy of the SUSA, and never will."

"Hell, very few people living in the SUSA do agree a hundred percent.
But they live with the laws they don't entirely agree with because they
have created a better society ... for us. We're easing back on some of
our laws and rules. And we'll probably ease back on a few more as time
goes by. But the so-called harsh punishment we have for criminals, our
gun laws-such as they are-our educational system, which is completely
different from anything found up here in this fucked up place, to name
just a few things about the SUSA, those will never be compromised.
Never, not as long as I live."

"Unless the SUSA reaches some sort of agreement with the USA, there's
going to be a terrible war between the two nations. Is that what you want?"

"That's the last thing I want. President Jefferys has made that very
clear, time and again. But every time some sort of agreement is reached
the left wing takes over up here, and reasonable leaders are driven out
of office and

173

replaced by people like Osterman and Millard. What are we to do, Sandi?"

They rode in silence for several miles before Sandi replied. "Nothing
can be worked out, Ben?"

"Nothing. And we have tried."

"Up here, the official word is that you want war. That you turn down
every offer of peace this administration suggests."

"We do turn it down, but we don't want war. The offers they make are
ridiculous, amounting to nothing more than surrender for us. That isn't
going to happen."

"Then there is going to be a war." Her statement was flat, devoid of
feeling.

"I'm afraid so. I don't see any way to avoid it."

"Then I'd better make up my mind and pick a side and stay with it, right?"

"I thought you'd already done that, Sandi. Did you change your mind?"

She smiled, rather sadly Ben thought, but he didn't have to wonder much
about that ... he was sure she was still working for the government.
"Oh, I'm not going to turn you in," she said. "Rest easy and put that
thought out of your mind. I wanted to hear some words from you, not the
official party line out of the capital in Indiana or the official line
from the SUSA. Do I support the SUSA? Not entirely. But I'm certainly
leaning more toward the SUSA than the USA ... at least as long as
Osterman and her crowd remain in control."

Damn liar. "From the looks of things, so far as I've seen, that is going
to be a long, long time."

"Unfortunately, you're probably right about that. So I don't have much
choice in picking a side, do I?"

"Not if you enjoy freedom."

She nodded her head. "OK." She pointed. "Hang a right at this
intersection up ahead. That'll take us into Indiana, and there are no
checkpoints to worry with."

"Sandi, you've never told me where you believe Anna is being held."

174

"I know for a fact the FPPS is still using our old safe houses around
the capital. It's going to be a process of elimination, that's all."

"And when we find her, there's going to be some killing. Are you ready
for that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not if you stay with me."

"There again, Ben, I don't seem to have much of a choice. The USA's not
offering its citizens a democracy, but then, neither is the SUSA.
However, while the SUSA believes in a small central government and
maximum freedom for its citizens, with everyone taking total
responsibility for his or her own actions, the USA believes in a large
and intrusive government and offers, the barest minimum of freedom for
its citizens. The USA is going right back to a very complicated tax
code, just like the one used before the collapse and the Great War. The
SUSA's tax code is simple and, I believe, the fairer of the two. So my
side is your side, and let the chips fall where they may. But I have to
warn you that when this is all over and the smoke clears-by that I mean
Osterman and Millard out of power-I will support the USA. This country
can't survive separation."

"All right, Sandi. We each know where the other stands. I can work under
those rules. Now let's go get my kid."

175

Chapter Sixteen

Ben and Sandi checked into a motel-adjoining rooms- on the outskirts of
Indianapolis in the middle of the afternoon. After stowing their luggage
and seeing to their personal needs, Sandi joined Ben in his room,
sitting down in the desk chair.

"So how far are we from the first of these safe houses?" Ben asked.

"We're about half a mile from one. It's a warehouse. One of the few
buildings you people left standing," she added with a faint smile. "But
the city has made an astounding recovery, as has much of the USA.
Nothing like you people in the SUSA, of course. Or so I've heard."

"It's because we all were single-minded about rebuilding, Sandi. Twelve
and fourteen hour days-during the spring and summer-were common.

"And no unions to get in your way."

"That's not entirely true. But do you think unions up here are going to
last very long, or have any real power under a socialistic form of
government if they do?"

She shook her head.

"Well, labor got what they wanted. After a total collapse

176

and several years of anarchy, damned if they didn't go right back voting
for the left wing."

"Not all of them."

Ben held up a hand. "Let's talk about this safe house. We can discuss
politics later."

She nodded and unfolded a recent map of the city. She pointed to a road.
"It's right here. On the left side, about midway."

"All right. Let's go check it out."

She touched his arm. "Are you armed, Ben? Other than that pistol?"

He stared at her for a moment. The woman just wouldn't quit. To his way
of thinking, she had given herself away a dozen times already. All
right, he'd play her game awhile longer. "What are we going up against?"

"Automatic weapons, both wheel and semi-automatic pistols."

"No rocket launchers or .50 caliber machine guns?" Ben asked, only
slightly sarcastic.

"You really don't trust me, do you?"

Sandi's blue eyes were a bit chilly as they locked onto his gaze, Ben
thought. But ... why not? She was playing a dangerous and deadly game.
"Not entirely," he leveled with her. "I've yet to see just what you'll
do when the chips are down and the play is dirty."

"I guess that's fair. I'd probably feel the same way."

"Let's go to work."

"You didn't answer my question about being armed."

He smiled. "No. I didn't, did I?"

They drove slowly past the big warehouse. There was a truck parked by a
side-loading dock. No other vehicles in sight.

"Not a very busy place," Ben remarked.

"Not now. But it is a working warehouse for government material. Living
quarters are in the rear. Behind the storeroom. It's heated and
air-conditioned. Fully equipped kitchen, bathroom with shower, two
bedrooms."

"All the comforts of home. Soundproofed?"

177

"Sure."

"So no one can hear the screaming of those being questioned?"

"We never tortured anyone, Ben. The interrogation might have gotten very
intense, but there was never any physical torture."

"If you say so. Are there cameras monitoring the outside?"

"Not when we used it. I can't say about now."

?Well, just in case there are, we'd better not drive around it again.
You think Anna is being held here?"

"There's a chance she is, yes. It's just going to be a process of
elimination for us. Checking out all the places I know of."

"And she might not be in any of them."

"That's a possibility. And if she isn't, then what?"

"I find an FPPS agent and get the information from him."

"That might not be as easy as you think. I'll be the first to admit
these FPPS guys are bully boys for the most part, but you'd better
remember that most of them are as tough as a boot. Keep that in mind."

"Oh, I'm sure you're right, Sandi. But I've found that people can take
one finger being hacked off, but once the second finger is sawed or cut
off, most folks suddenly tend to be rather cooperative."

Sandi stared at him and then shuddered. "I hope you're kidding, Ben."

"I'm not. This is my kid we're talking about. And there had damn well
better not be a mark on her."

Sandi said, "Before you brought that up, I was going to suggest we have
an early supper."

"That's a good idea. Tell the truth I am a bit hungry. You know a place?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Turn up here at this next light. To the right."

"Is the food edible?"

178

"It's not bad. A little on the bland side, but it's good for you.
Healthy." She smiled at Ben's sudden grimace.

"So are the field rations our scientists have concocted. But they still
taste like sheep shit smells."

"You have such a subtle way of putting things."

"I know. That's me. Tactful."

"Answer a question for me?"

"If I can."

"The SUSA has a universal health plan, right?"

"Of sorts, yes. No citizen is denied medical treatment, if that's what
you mean." He cut his eyes briefly to her. "That's a strange thing to
ask at this time."

"I was curious about how you pay for it."

Ben turned on the street she had pointed out before replying. "The
government of the United States handed out hundreds of millions of
dollars a year, every year, to countries who didn't have the foggiest
notion of how to spend it wisely, or just flat out didn't deserve it.
Your government funded the most asinine of programs in history ... with
taxpayer money. Many of those programs were miserable failures. Worse
yet, they didn't have a chance of working from the outset. Your
government spent billions on pork barrel projects-roads that went
nowhere, bridges that weren't needed. That list is practically endless.
Most members of congress-in my opinion-were a bunch of assholes who took
great delight in spending taxpayer money and raising taxes in the most
under-the-table, devious manner they could dream up, and they were
plenty inventive when it came to fucking the American public out of
their money. We don't do any of those things in the SUSA. So we can take
that money and spend it on things that really matter. Our criminal
justice system is nothing like the old one. That had a stranglehold on
both the innocent and the victim while giving the criminal all sorts of
rights and legal loopholes. And in addition it cost the taxpayers
billions and billions of dollars every year. It costs us billions and
billions of dollars less. That's just part of how we do it, Sandi."

179

"I ... guess I see. I don't think anyone outside of the SUSA really
understands how your government works."

"Oh, most people do. They just won't accept it."

"I guess. It just seems so ... extreme to me."

"It really isn't extreme. It's just back to the basics, that's all. One
of the oldest rights humankind has is the right to protect loved ones,
self, and property. That goes back thousands of years, back to when our
ancestors lived in caves. And I have never believed any legislative body
or court of law should have the power to take that away from people. In
the SUSA, we don't even try. What is mine is mine, and if someone tries
to take it without due process, I'm going to stop him. And if that
involves the use of deadly force ... so be it."

"And you don't consider that extreme?"

"I consider it the right of every law-abiding citizen of the SUSA ... if
they wish to exercise that right."

"And the crime rate in the SUSA?"

"Practically non-existent."

"Then I guess that says it all, doesn't it?"

"I guess it does."

Ben parked the car at the rear of the warehouse lot, tucking it between
two trucks.

"We'll sit here for a few minutes and wait," he said. "If they have
outside sensors, someone will be along shortly to check us out."

While Sandi was in her room at the motel, Ben had opened the hidden
compartment in the car and had taken out a short-barreled 9mm machine
pistol with sound suppressor, thirty round magazine. The weapons were
designed and manufactured in the SUSA, and most special operations
people carried them when the job required stealth and silence.

Ben had placed the machine pistol on the floorboards of the backseat
along with a full six magazine pouch. He

180

reached behind him, retrieving the equipment, cradling the weapon.

Sandi watched him in the darkness as he checked the sub-machine gun.
"Interesting weapon."

"We like them."

"If the FPPS found you with that weapon during a road check, you'd be in
a lot of trouble."

?Probably. But there would be a lot of dead FPPS people before I went down."

"Then you don't mind breaking the law outside of your own nation?"

"Not when it involves rescuing my kid, who was illegally taken from my
nation."

"Have you considered that maybe the FPPS people guarding her don't know
who she is?"

Ben looked at her. "Don't talk nonsense."

Sandi nodded in the darkness of the interior of the car. "I guess you're
right, Ben." After a moment of silence, she said, "May I ask a question?"

"Go right ahead."

"How come the commanding general of one of the most feared armies on the
face of the earth is off on a lone wolf operation all by himself?"

"Because it's my show. Anna is my kid. The democrat/socialist government
in power up here did it to sucker me out. All right. That's what they
wanted, so here I am. And don't think for an instant they don't have
their best people surrounding Anna. They knew I would come after her."
He looked at his watch. A couple more minutes and then they would make
their move.

"Time to go?" Sandi asked.

"Almost."

"Won't the dome light come on when we open the doors?"

"No. They're fixed not to come on. Neither will the trunk light."

"Do you think of everything?"

"I try. Sandi?"

181

"Yes?"

"Don't hesitate to shoot. You said the building was soundproofed.''

"It is. Ben, I might know some of those people in there. If they're in
there. What then?"

"If that's the case, I would say your friendship with them is about to
come to an abrupt end. And they're in there, Sandi, or you wouldn't have
been so insistent on coming here first. Unless you're setting me up. And
if that's the case, you'll go down first."

"I'm not setting you up, and I don't know for sure she's being held
here. I just have a hunch, that's all. Call it a very strong hunch."

"All right. It's show time. So let's do it."

Sandi opened her purse and took out a pistol: a snub nosed .38. Ben
noted that she did not check the loads. Amateurs did that... and people
in the movies. A gun is either loaded or it isn't, and if the person
carrying the pistol doesn't know, they probably shouldn't be carrying
one around.

The two of them walked across the rear parking lot, their shoes making
crunching sounds in the gravel. There was no other sound except for the
traffic noise on the street in front of the warehouse.

"Not much traffic for the nation's capital," Ben remarked in a whisper.

"Never is," Sandi replied. "There is nothing here to see. Not like
Washington used to be."

They heard the sounds of a back door opening, and hit the ground fast,
only a few yards from the rear of the building.

Ben figured they were only a few seconds from a wild shoot-out, but the
man who opened the back door did not see them. He stood for a moment,
framed in the dim light, until a woman's voice called out.

"Shut the damn door, Marsh," she said in a commanding voice. "Are you
crazy?"

"Hell, Barbara, there's no one out here," Marsh replied.

182

"There isn't one chance in a million any damn Rebel will show up after
that bitch."

"Don't be so damn sure of that, Marsh. Now get your ass back in here,
pronto."

"All right, all right," Marsh said irritably. "Keep your pants on."

"Oh, don't worry about that, I will," Barbara said with a laugh.

Marsh turned and started back inside.

Beside him, Sandi waited just a couple of seconds before she started to
lunge to her feet. Ben stuck the muzzle of the 9mm spitter in her ribs.
"Don't do it," he whispered. "You waited just a heartbeat too long."

She hesitated, and then Ben heard her open her mouth and suck in air to
yell just as the door closed behind Marsh with a solid sound.

"Relax," Ben told her. "It's a little late for yelling, don't you think?
You said it yourself-the building is soundproofed."

"You son of a bitch!" she hissed at him. "You won't get out of here alive."

"Maybe not, but neither will you."

He felt her relax. "How did you-" She bit off the remaining words.

"I've suspected all along. It was a really clumsy approach back at the
motel. Very amateurish of you."

"Now what? You going to kill me in cold blood?"

"Why not? That's exactly what you were going to do to me, isn't it?"

"Only if you resisted."

Ben chuckled softly. "And you think I wouldn't have? How much reward has
Madame President put on my head?"

"How-"Again she bit back the words. Then she hissed, "You bastard."

"A guess. Just a very educated guess. Get up and walk back to the car."

"And if I don't?"

183

"I'll kill you right where you lie."

"I don't think you will, Ben. I don't think you can kill in cold blood."

"Then you don't know me very well, Sandi. I would advise you not to push
your luck."

She looked at him in the very dim light from the street lamps that
reached the rear of the warehouse. "You're bluffing, Ben. That's all."

"I seldom bluff."

"Maybe this is one of those times."

"It isn't, Sandi."

"Help!" she suddenly yelled, jumping to her feet. "It's Ben Raines. In
the parking lot. In the rear-"

Ben shot her.

The only sound was the rapid working of the bolt on the lethal little
spitter. Sandi fell face forward on the gravel. She trembled once, then
was still.

"Stupid," Ben muttered. "Just plain stupid."

Ben got to his feet and looked around him. Her yelling had not attracted
any attention that he could detect. This was mostly a warehouse
district, with only a couple of small convenience stores, farther on up
the block. There were some cars and pickup trucks parked in front of the
stores, but he could see no one in the parking area of either store.

"Lucked out again, Raines," he muttered.

Ben walked leisurely toward the rear of the warehouse. He knew that a
running figure attracted more attention than a person just strolling along.

A couple of trucks, big rigs, rumbled past on the street in front of the
warehouse. A car drove along slowly. Ben could hear the radio playing
loudly. A talk show commentator was running his mouth and flapping his
gums about something, arguing hotly with somebody. Ben picked up a few
sentences before the car drove out of hearing range.

"It's communist, that's what it is!" a woman said. "America has turned
communistic. I saw this coming years ago. And you're a damn communist!"

184

"Madame, I am a registered Democrat!" the talk show host angrily replied.

Ben couldn't hear the woman's reply to that, but he could just about
guess what it was, and that made him smile.

He reached the raised platform at the back door and stepped up on it. He
took several deep breaths and tried the doorknob. It was locked.

Saying a short prayer to the Almighty that Anna was in the building and
all right, Ben kicked the door open and stepped inside.

"Knock, knock," he said to the group of men and women sitting at a long,
folding type table.

They all reached for guns.

Ben opened fire.

185

Chapter Seventeen

The first burst from Ben's spitter knocked the man called Marsh
backward, the front of his shirt bloody and pockmarked. Ben jumped to
one side just as another man leveled an auto-loader in his direction and
pulled the trigger. As Ben was hitting the floor he gave the group half
a magazine of 9mm rounds. The man throwing lead at him with the big
semi-auto went down, several of Ben's rounds taking him in the throat
and face.

"Kill the son of a bitch!" Barbara screamed, ducking behind a filing
cabinet.

"It's a million bucks if we take him alive!" Ben heard a man shout.

"Hell, it's a million bucks if we kill him!" another shouted.

Ben rolled to one side and leveled his spitter. He figured he had about
twelve to fifteen rounds left in the magazine. He let the weapon rock
and roll, silently praying it would not jam up on him.

Two men went down, cussing him as they died. Ben quickly ejected the
empty and slipped in a full mag as the room fell silent.

186

Barbara's pistol jammed on her, and she screamed in rage and hurled the
weapon at him. Ben ducked and closed the distance between them, sticking
the muzzle of the spitter in the woman's face. She abruptly closed her
mouth, her eyes widening in momentary fright.

"Anna," Ben said. "Where is she?"

"She isn't here. See for yourself."

"Where is she?"

"You'll never get that information from me, Raines!" she sneered at him.

"Oh, I'll bet I do, lady." Ben hit her with a big fist that turned her
lights out. She dropped to the floor in a slackened heap.

Ben quickly checked the living quarters. Nothing, and no sign that Anna
had ever been there.

Two of the FPPS agents were dead, two more were dying. Ben grabbed up a
set of handcuffs from the table and quickly secured Barbara. He ignored
the wounded men and picked up Barbara, slinging her over one shoulder
and headed out the back door to his car.

Using duct tape from an emergency roadside kit, he taped her mouth,
dumped her in the trunk (she damn sure was no lightweight) and quickly
headed out. He kept his speed down to the legal limit as several
unmarked FPPS cars, dash-mounted red lights flashing, roared past him in
the other lane, heading for the warehouse. Somebody had reported the
sound of shooting.

Ben did not return to the motel. He had already memorized a way out of
the city, using Sandi's map. Fifteen minutes later, he drove past the
city limits sign on the east side of the capital and cut down a blacktop
road, staying on it for several miles. Then he cut north on another
road. He drove it until he found the ruins of a ramshackle old
farmhouse. He cut down the gravel driveway and tucked the car in close
to the rear of the old house.

Ben opened the trunk and jerked the woman out, dumping her on the ground
on her butt. She grunted through the tape as her ass impacted with the
hard ground.

187

Ben dragged her up the steps, through the back porch, and into what had
once been the kitchen. He righted an old chair and then ripped the
clothing from the woman, leaving her naked. Using the roll of duct tape,
he secured her to the chair and then ripped the tape from her mouth and
stepped back.

"Now you listen to me, lady," Ben said. "I don't have chemicals to make
this easy on you." He pulled a very sharp, lock-back folding knife from
his back pocket and showed it to her in the faint light. "I can
guarantee you more pain than you have ever experienced in your life. I
don't want to have to do this, but I will. I want my kid, and I want her
right now. It's all up to you."

"Fuck you, Raines. I don't think you'll do it."

"Then that makes you a fool."

It was messy, but it didn't take all that long. She had told Ben where
Anna was being held, and the pain had been intense enough to guarantee
she wasn't lying. The woman wasn't that hurt or disfigured but she was
in a lot of pain, and most of the bluff and bluster had been taken out
of her. She slumped naked in the old rickety chair, weeping as the sweat
glistened on her body-sweat mixed with blood. She had also pissed on
herself.

"Damn you to hell!" Barbara gasped the words at him. "You're a monster!"

"Just a man who wants his kid back."

"I hope you're captured and hanged, Raines. I hope they leave your body
dangling from the gallows until it rots!"

"I wish you well, too, Barbara."

"Fuck you, Raines, you ... you goddamn Republican!"

Ben had to lean against the old kitchen counter and laugh at her words.
The more he chuckled the angrier the woman became, some of her bluster
returning.

"Your kingdom won't last much longer. In a few months the SUSA will be
history. Destroyed!"

188

"Oh, I rather doubt that. That's just another wild-eyed, democrat
socialist pipe dream."

She hissed and spat at him, some of the spittle dribbling down her chin.

"How ladylike of you, Barbara."

She cursed him until she was out of breath.

"Are you quite through, now?"

"I hope your kid's been gangbanged, Raines. Shagged front and back. I
hope she's been forced to suck the cock of every agent that's guarding her."

Ben sighed and shook his head in the darkness, wondering how much hate
one person could have-and why. Why did these dedicated followers of
Millard and Osterman hate the SUSA so intensely?

"Why do you people hate the SUSA so much? That baffles me."

She cursed and spat at him until she was bug-eyed and panting for breath.

"What's the matter, can't you tell me? Can't you give me a valid reason?"

"You've destroyed the Constitution and The Bill of Rights, Raines.
That's why."

Ben stared at her, unbelieving, in the dim light. "We've destroyed The
Constitution and The Bill of Rights? I can't believe I'm hearing those
words from you, from a damned socialist."

"We do what is best for the people. The people don't always know what is
good for them. They have to be shown. That's government's job."

"Well, there is a lot more to it than that. But the sad thing is, you
really believe that crap."

She began babbling the party line, right out of the writings of Karl
Marx and Friedrich Engels. Ben listened for a few seconds before waving
the woman silent.

"Enough, lady. Good God, be quiet. You're giving me a headache. Besides,
I don't have time for all that socialistic shit. You should be able to
get yourself free in a few hours, if you work real hard at it. Seeing
you wandering around

189

naked ought to give some man a real thrill; I'm sure some dedicated and
true blue democrat socialist will stop and help you. However, if that
doesn't please you, there is another option-I can always just shoot you
right here and now. That certainly would uncomplicate matters for me.
The choice is yours."

Barbara closed her mouth and kept it closed. She had discovered-quite
painfully-that Ben Raines would do exactly what he said he would do. She
sat silently and glared wild hate at Ben.

"No comment?"

"I would like to live, General," she said.

"Wise choice. I commend you. All right. Don't go anywhere." He chuckled
at the sudden expression on the face of the trussed-up woman. "I'll be
right back. You can entertain yourself while I'm gone by reciting the
words of Karl Marx or Sugar Babe Osterman."

Ben returned a few minutes later with a small first aid kit and placed
it on the table he had shoved out of the way before he went to work on
the woman. "There're iodine, bandages, tape, and aspirin in there, along
with some other items. When you get free you can doctor yourself. What's
left of your clothing is on the back porch. OK?"

She stared at him, not believing what she was hearing. ?First you cut
me, now you provide me with first aid materials. What the hell kind of
man are you, Raines?"

"Well, lady, I guess you could say I'm what used to be known as a
Tri-Stater. Back before your wonderful government crushed the
movement... for a little while, that is."

"I've heard that term before. I don't know exactly what it means."

"I don't have time to explain it now. You just work at getting yourself
free. Let's hope we'll never see each other again."

"That would suit me just fine, Raines."

"I just bet it would. But... a few stitches and a couple of day's rest
and you'll be fine. Then you'll start hunting me,

190

revenge on your mind. I hope you won't find me, for if you do, I'll kill
you. Keep that in mind."

Ben turned and walked out of the old house. He got in his car and drove
away. He knew where Anna was being held-at least up to the time he'd
grabbed Barbara. He felt sure they would have moved her by now.

But he'd find her. Sooner or later. And if she had been harmed or was
dead-he had to consider that possibility- he would see that the
government of Osterman and Millard was destroyed ... forever.

"Any word from Ben?" Cecil asked.

"Not directly," the officer in charge of that section of communications
replied. "But we intercepted a message from the capital concerning a
wild shoot-out at one of their safe houses and the kidnapping of a
senior member of the FPPS."

"That's Ben. He's OK, and on the warpath. How many FPPS agents were killed?"

"Five."

Cecil smiled. "You watch the toll start to climb now. Ben is just
beginning to get wound up. Any mention of Anna?"

"No, sir. Not a word."

"If one hair on that girl's head is out of place, Ben will start killing
every member of Osterman's cabinet and inner circle he can get into
gunsights."

"Yes, sir. You can count on that."

Cecil left the communications room attached to the SUSA's capital
building in Base Camp One and stopped to chat with Ben's team, who were
standing out in the hall. Colonel Buddy Raines, Ben's son, was standing
with them.

"There isn't much I can tell you, gang," he said. "Ben's alive and
kicking some socialist ass. That's about it."

"Mister President," Buddy said. "I have a question, if I may be
permitted." He always addressed Cecil formally when around others.
Alone, it was "Uncle Cece," which caused some raised eyebrows when those
unfamiliar with

191

the relationship were nearby. Buddy was white and Cecil was black. Ben
always found that amusing. "I have studied socialism thoroughly, and
what is being practiced outside our borders is not pure socialism.
Exactly, what is it?"

Cecil laughed, not at Buddy but at his seriousness. Buddy was a very
serious young man, and highly intelligent. Cecil also knew he would not
take the laughter the wrong way. "Bud, you're right. It isn't pure
socialism. But it's so close to socialism that's how we refer to it.
It's, well, Big Brother-ism, I guess you could call it."

"It's a very unappealing form of government," Buddy replied.

"It sucks," Jersey said.

Buddy looked at her and blinked a couple of times. "Well, yes. I suppose
that might be one of the cruder ways of describing it. But I cannot
envision President Jefferys lecturing a high school civics class and
describing the USA's form of government as one that 'sucks.' "

Cecil smiled. "Perhaps not, Bud. But that pretty well sums it up. Look,
gang, if I hear anything about Ben you people will be the first to know,
OK?"

Cecil nodded his head to a chorus of "Yes, sirs," and walked off up the
hallway, his security people ahead and behind him. He did not appear to
be overly worried about his longtime friend, but Buddy and Ben's team
knew that was an act. Cecil was plenty worried, and Ben was just a part
of why. Federal troops were being moved into staging areas about a
hundred miles north of the borders of the SUSA, and war was imminent. Of
the five stages of alert, one through five, the SUSA was at four.
Factories were working around the clock producing weapons, ammo,
uniforms, canned foods, medical supplies, and all the hundreds of other
things-large and small-needed for war.

Cecil had abruptly canceled the planned rescue of President Altman.
Buddy and his special ops people were needed here in the SUSA.

Watching Cecil walk away, Cooper, Ben's driver, said,

192

"Colonel, we'd appreciate a bump if you hear anything about your father."

"You know I will, Cooper," Buddy replied. "But all we can do now is pray."

"You'd better pray for the souls of the FPPS people holding Anna," Beth,
the team's statistician remarked. " 'Cause if they get in the Boss's
way, they're dead."

Ben knew there was little point in heading for the safe house Barbara
had told him about. The FPPS would have moved Anna the instant they
learned Barbara had been taken.

Barbara had told him about other safe houses, as had Sandi. He felt sure
the places Sandi had told him about would be nothing more than set ups,
with dozens of FPPS agents waiting for him to show.

Ben drove for more than an hour, staying on the back roads, until coming
to an abandoned grain elevator with a small open-front storage shed in
the rear. He backed the car into the shed and parked. He would grab some
sleep and resume the hunt in a few hours. Barbara would get free of the
heavy tape that bound her, but it would take hours for her to do so, and
another several hours for her to hike out of that area.

Half naked, Ben thought with a smile.

Ben knew he could not continue driving his sedan. Sandi would have
called vehicle description and license number in first thing. So he had
to ditch this car and get another. But the car had served its initial
purpose: it had gotten him and his gear across the border and into enemy
territory.

Ben yawned as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He would
worry about the small stuff when he woke up. Now, he needed sleep.

He awakened just a few minutes before the first touches of silver tinted
the eastern sky. He closed his hand around the butt of his pistol and
then sat in the car for a moment before moving anything but his eyes. He
could neither

193

hear nor see anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Ben got out of
the car and stretched until his joints popped and his muscles lost their
crampy feeling. He walked around for a bit and began to feel better.

He had not heard any vehicles pass on the old road in front of the
long-deserted elevator.

Ben made his way through the piles of trash and rubble, keeping behind
the old elevator. He sat for several moments behind good cover, glancing
up and down the old road. Nothing. He longed for a cup of coffee. He
settled for a smoke.

"Time to get going," he muttered, making his way back to his car.

Ben pulled out and headed back to the capital. He figured that would be
the last place they would look for him. It was also where Anna was being
held. He was sure of that. Where in the city or outlying area was
something he would have to find out, and quickly. Time was running out.

He parked his car at a supermarket and walked around the lot looking for
a car with the keys in it. No luck.

He walked around for a few more minutes, then returned to his own car
and drove off. "I'll just take my chances," he said. "I don't think
they'll be looking for me right in the middle of the lion's den."

He encountered no trouble of any kind as he drove around the city. Much
to his surprise, none of the police he drove past gave him so much as a
second glance. It was difficult for him to believe that Sandi had not
called in the vehicle description, but she apparently had not. And
Barbara had never gotten a good look at the vehicle, or any other kind
of look, for that matter-except for the very dark interior of the trunk.

He had memorized the streets and numbers of the safe houses Barbara had
told him about, and had driven by each one before noon. The house where
Anna had been held looked deserted, but Ben decided he would pay it a
visit that night anyway. Anna might have left some kind of

194

message scrawled somewhere ... if it had been at all possible for her to
do so.

It was certainly worth a look.

Ben drove to a part of the city that had not been rebuilt. He knew that
from studying intelligence reports, and from computer printouts he had
gathered during the seventy-two hours Cecil had promised Osterman.

He pulled inside the garage of what remained of an old car dealership
and parked. He got out and walked around, stretching his legs. He would
start his prowling at dark.

"Hang on, Baby," he whispered in the silence of the old garage. "I'll
find you." He paused and added, "With God's help."

Then Ben Raines, commanding general of the most powerful and feared army
in the world, knelt down and prayed.

195

Chapter Eighteen

Ben lucked out at the first safe house he entered. He had parked several
blocks away and walked down an alley to reach the house. A couple of
dogs barked at him during his walk, and that was all. He encountered no
human foot traffic. Using a small flashlight, Ben prowled the rooms of
the safe house and found the room where he was sure Anna had been held.
Anna favored black, crew neck T-shirts, and Ben found one in her size
under the bed. He inspected the room and the bathroom, but could find
nothing else. He was just about to give up when he lifted the lid on the
commode tank and looked inside. Nothing. Then he noticed printing on the
inside of the lid. Anna's printing. It was the name of a town about
fifty miles north of the capital. Ben replaced the lid and exited the
house, walking back to his car, smiling.

"OK, Baby," he muttered. "I'm on my way." He pointed the nose of his car
north and drove the speed limit whenever he could on the beat up old
highway. Usually he was at least twenty mph below the posted limit. The
roads outside the SUSA were in terrible shape. The democrat/socialist
government of the USA had not gotten

196

around to fixing the highways; they were too busy making certain
everyone consumed the right amount of orange juice, listened to the
right TV programs, read the right books and magazines (one hundred
percent absolutely positively politically correct, of course), telling
people Don't smoke cigarettes or we'll put you in jail, don't even think
about owning a gun (you might shoot some poor criminal who turned to
crime because the coach wouldn't let him play or the prettiest girl in
school wouldn't date him, or his Corn Flakes were too soggy), and for
heaven's sake, don't have too much fat in your diets ... among many
other very important things. Roads could wait: the people didn't need to
go anywhere, anyway. There was too much work to do at home. "We must all
work very hard to make sure that everyone has the same material
blessings as everyone else. Fifty percent of your income is not too much
to pay in taxes. Unfair? Silly you! For goodness sake, what's the matter
with you? Don't you understand that under the New Democracy of the USA
no one shall be rich and no one shall be poor. We're all equal. There
now, isn't that simply wonderful? Of course, it is. The government says
it is, so it must be, because your government is always right. Do not
question your government- ever.

It wasn't exactly socialism. It was almost socialism. It damn sure
wasn't anything even close to the government in the SUSA, thank God.

Ben reached the small town north of the new capital of the USA and
pulled over alongside a closed service station. He had no idea where
Anna was being held. She was here, but where? How to find her?

That problem was solved when a highway patrol car suddenly pulled in
beside Ben, its headlights out, two uniformed men in the unit. They made
it very clear immediately that they were not there to inquire about
Ben's health.

"You in the car," the man on the passenger side said. "What the hell are
you doing?"

Ben was growing very weary of the arrogance of the

197

new breed of police officer in the USA, all trained and, according to
Sandi and Barbara, all connected directly to the FPPS ... especially the
state police. He would play their game, at least for a little while, see
where it took him.

"Sorry, officer. I was on my way to Wabash and took the wrong turn and
ended up here. Decided to get some rest."

"Yeah? Get out of the damn car!"

That did it. "Oh, I sure will, officer," Ben said through gritted teeth.
Authorities in the SUSA were nothing like this arrogant trash. Ben
picked up the 9mm spitter with his right hand and stepped out of the
car. He stuck the machine pistol in the face of the state cop on the
passenger side.

"Say please," Ben told him. "And your asshole buddy better keep his
hands on the steering wheel, or you won't have a face."

The cop paled; Ben could see that much in the dim light. "Take it easy,
buddy. Ah, please."

"That's better. What happened to the good cops who used to patrol the
highways?" When there was no immediate response, Ben said, "Answer the
damn question!"

"They all resigned," the man behind the wheel said. "Or got fired when
they wouldn't pledge loyalty to the FPPS and the new democracy. For
God's sake, take it easy with that weapon, mister. Please?"

"You know who I am?"

"No, sir," the man on the passenger side said. "But I can tell you that
you are in one hell of a lot of trouble."

"Oh? I'm in a lot of trouble? You real sure of that, Bubba?"

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, Frank," the driver pleaded nervously. "For
once in your life, please shut that goddamn trap of yours."

"You'd better listen to your partner, Frank," Ben told him. "He's trying
to save your ass."

"I guess," Frank said.

"I want some information, boys," Ben said. "And you're going to give it
to me. Aren't you?"

198

"Whatever you want, mister," Frank replied. "You got it." He sighed
audibly. "Isn't that right, Roger?"

"You betcha!" his partner quickly agreed. "What is it you want?"

"I'm looking for the safe house occupied by the FPPS, and you're going
to take me to it."

"You can go right straight to hell," Roger told him. "I ain't telling
you jack-shit."

"Oh, I think at least one of you will," Ben said. "As a matter of fact,
I'd bet on it" He lowered the muzzle of the spitter and gave Roger a
burst to his knees. The working of the bolt on the silenced spitter
could not be heard twenty feet away. Roger screamed once and then passed
out, slumping over to his right and falling on his partner.

"Oh my God, mister!" Frank yelled, panic in his voice. "Oh, Jesus Christ!"

"Now, then, Frank, ole' buddy," Ben said. "Are you going to tell me
where that safe house is? Or better yet, why don't you show me?" Ben
jammed the muzzle of the spitter into Frank's crotch and grinned at him.
"Don't you think that's a good idea, Frank? I sure do." He pulled
Frank's pistol from leather and stuck it behind his own belt.

Frank rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh, my God!" He nodded his head
vigorously. "I think it's a wonderful idea. You bet I do. Please don't
pull that trigger. I'm begging you, mister. Don't pull that trigger."

"Get out of your unit and keep your hands away from your side. Take the
keys out of the ignition first and hand them to me. That's a good boy.
You're doing just fine. Now walk over to my car and get in behind the
wheel."

Standing outside the car, Frank asked, "What about Roger? He'll bleed to
death."

"That's Roger's problem, Frank. It isn't wise to get lippy with a man
who is holding a gun on you."

"No, sir."

When both of them were in the car, Frank asked, "Now what?"

199

"Now you drive me to the safe house. And don't tell me you don't know
where it is. This is too small a town, and you new breed of state boys
are asshole buddies with the FPPS."

"I'm in trouble if I take you there, mister."

"You're dead if you don't."

"That doesn't leave me much choice, does it?"

"The way I look at it, it doesn't leave you any... unless you're a fool."

"One thing I'm not. Well ..." He cranked the engine. "I don't much like
the new state police, anyway. Some folks love us, some hate us. Others
just put up with us 'cause they like the New Democracy."

"And you?"

Frank put the car in gear and pulled out. "Money and power, mister. It's
just as simple as that. Nobody gives us any lip." He glanced at Ben and
smiled. "Well, almost nobody."

"Drive, Frank."

"Who are you?"

"My name isn't important." He reached over and removed the handcuffs
from Frank's belt holder. "You just take me to that safe house and
you'll be out of this game. And alive," Ben added.

"And out of a job."

Frank drove in silence for a couple of blocks. "I don't know why I'm
telling you this, but there are a lot of FPPS agents in that house.
They'll kill you."

"Or I'll kill them. But thanks for telling me. It shows that you're not
a one hundred percent supporter of the USA's New Democracy."

"Are you kidding, mister? It's damn near communism. Or what I think
communism is. I hate it."

"But you work for the FPPS."

"It's a job, that's all. Good jobs just aren't that easy to find.
Especially ones that don't take half of what you make in taxes."

200

"FPPS people and those who are connected to them get tax breaks?"

"Oh, you bet we do. And so do people in the army. But we're not supposed
to say anything about it. It isn't right, though. Fair, I mean. But what
the hell is fair now?"

"I live in Northern California, Frank. It's very isolated up there. We
don't know much about what's taking place on the outside."

"War is what's going to happen, mister. Between us and the SUSA. And
it's going to be a bad one. It's going to tear this country apart."

"I've heard a lot about the SUSA and Ben Raines. None of it good."

"Everything I've heard is good! If they'd have me I'd move to the SUSA
tonight." He chuckled, but it held a sour note. "And after tonight, I'd
better find me a hole. 'Cause I'm gonna be in deep shit, and out of a job."

"Well, head on down to the SUSA, Frank. Level with them about who you
are, and what you did up here."

"Oh, sure," he said sarcastically. "Let me tell you something. You don't
understand about that nation. That's a tough bunch of people down there.
They've fought all over the world and they don't lose fights. They learn
I worked for the FPPS, hell, they'd shoot me on the spot."

"You don't know that for sure. I've read about people who moved down
there and started over clean."

"Oh, yeah? I bet you can't name a one."

"Outlaw bikers, street gang members, thugs. It's a fact, Frank."

"Really? I wish I could. We just don't get much information up here
about the SUSA. Just a bunch of propaganda, is all."

"How much of that do you believe?"

"Damn little. I know most of it is a lie." He paused for a few seconds.
"But I don't ever say that out loud. Watchers and informers, you know?"

"So I've heard."

201

"You ever heard any of the government's broadcasts, or read any of their
literature about the SUSA?"

"I don't listen to much radio. And I've read only a little about the
SUSA ... from our government, that is. What makes you think most of it
is a lie?"

"Because no one would live there if it was true. I've talked to people
who visited the SUSA ... before the USA put the ban on traveling there.
I was going to go until that happened. My friends told me that
everybody's working, there's practically no crime to speak of, factories
all over the place running around the clock. Roads are in good shape.
Trains and planes and buses run on schedule. Their economy is the best
in the world. All that couldn't be happening if very much of what our
government says about the SUSA is true."

Ben smiled as an idea came to him. "You really would like to move down
into the SUSA, Frank?"

"Oh, you bet I would." He laughed. "Why? You going to tell me you have
connections down there?"

"Well, I might. I sure as hell won't be able to stay in the USA after I
raid this safe house, will I?"

"You sure as hell won't." He glanced at Ben. "Why are you going to raid
the FPPS's safe house? You never did say."

"Because they have my daughter in there."

"Oh, shit! What did your kid do? Was she involved in some sort of
student protest against the New Democracy? There's a lot of that going
on. But the government has put a lid on any publicity about it."

"There are a lot of student protests?"

"Oh, you bet. One every day somewhere. Sometimes they get real violent.
Some students have been killed. But mostly it's just busted heads, some
jail time, and then off to a reindoctrination camp somewhere."

"And they come out of these reindoctrination camps a better person, right?"

"Well, I wouldn't say better, but if they want to come

202

out at all their political views will be changed some. And you can bet
on that."

"And who runs these camps?"

"Why ... hell, the democrat socialist government does. Who else?"

"I figured that, Frank. No, I mean, does the FPPS operate them?"

"Oh, sure. Not us. Not state or local cops. Hard-line FPPS people. Look,
the FPPS is brand new. Nothing like the old FBI. I mean, nothing like them."

"Kind of like the Nazi gestapo of long ago?"

?Well... not quite that bad. But they might be someday, if they keep on
the way they're going. Up at the end of that block is the safe house.
Are you ever going to tell me your name?"

Ben looked at the man. "Ben Raines."

Frank swallowed hard a couple of times. "Holyjumpin' Shit!" He finally
managed to say. "Yeah, now it all fits. I read the bulletin on you. Do
you know how much reward money is being offered for you?"

"A million dollars, so I've heard. That's a lot of money. You interested
in collecting it?"

"I sure would be a liar if I said it didn't just enter my mind."

"Well? What's it going to be? You have three choices, the way I see it.
You can try to take me alive or kill me and collect that big reward and
live like a king the rest of your life. You can get out of the car right
now and tell the FPPS I turned you loose. Or you can help me get my kid
and head down to the SUSA. What's it going to be?"

"Live like a king, huh? It doesn't work that way here in the what used
to be called the Good Ole' U S of A. Taxes would take about sixty
percent right off the bat. That's federal taxes. State would be another
ten percent. Even if I kept my job, those taxes apply on winnings and
things like that."

"So what's it going to be?"

"Aw, hell, General! Let's go get your kid. I can knock

203

on the door and they'll let me in. They know me. I won't be armed, so
the rest is up to you. As soon as they open the door, I'll push the
person out of the way and hit the floor-OK?"

"OK, Frank. Let's do it!"

204

205

Chapter Nineteen

The civil war that had long been predicted between the USA and the SUSA
began hours after a team of FPPS agents raided a house in Ohio. The
house belonged to and was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Harry McComb,
lifelong residents of Ohio. Their son, Harry, Jr., who lived on the same
side of the street two houses away, was a strong supporter of the old
Tri-States philosophy of government, and had organized a small chapter
of like-minded men and women. The Attorney General of the United States,
acting on the orders of President Claire Osterman, authorized a
nighttime raid against Harry McComb, Jr. and the others in his
Tri-States chapter. According to a local government informer, they were
supposed to be holding a secret midnight meeting-presumably discussing
the pros and cons of several makes and models of those big ole', nasty,
terrible, awful, and long-banned handguns.

The FPPS agents raided the wrong house.

The elder McCombs, both in their late seventies, were rousted out of bed
in their nightclothes, shoved around, yelled at, humiliated, cursed, and
belittled. Their home, which had survived years of near anarchy after
the collapse

206

of government, was ransacked. The McCombs' pet, a small, eleven pound
dog named Chester, was stomped by one of the FPPS agents, its back
broken. Mrs. McComb, upon seeing her pet trying to drag its way to her,
pulling itself along by its front paws, tried to get to her pet.
Restrained by one of the brave government agents, Mrs. McComb suffered a
heart attack and died in her living room. Mr. McComb, attempting to get
to his wife, tried to push his way through the crowd of heavily armed
agents and was struck on the head by an agent wielding a collapsible
steel baton. Mr. McComb died two days later in a local hospital. The
agents continued their ransacking of the house. Another FPPS agent,
tired of hearing the injured dog whimper in pain, silenced the little
creature by clubbing it to death. The midnight entry and the ensuing
events had taken about five minutes.

Harry McComb, Jr. was on a fishing trip with several of his friends and
did not learn of his parents' deaths for several days. Immediately after
his parents' burial Harry dug up his .308, cleaned and oiled the weapon,
and with two of his friends drove into New Dayton and attacked the local
FPPS office, killing three agents and a secretary and wounding three
other agents before being killed by other agents.

Madame President Claire Osterman and Attorney General Wilhelmina Morrow
both called the attack on the New Dayton FPPS office the work of
anti-government terrorists, probably the work of members of some militia
group by banned government. It was a dreadful, horrible, cowardly thing.
Yes indeedy, it sure was. Tsk, tsk.

No mention was made of the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. McComb, or Chester.

Upon hearing of the attack on the FPPS office, another long-banned,
anti-government group in Michigan launched an attack on the FPPS office
in New Detroit, killing two agents and wounding three more before being
killed by local police.

The USA national press promptly reported that the

207

attacks were, in all probability, ordered by the SUSA. That rumor, of
course, came from 'usually highly reliable sources.' In reality, they
came straight out of the New White House in Indianapolis. The war was on.

Ben knew nothing of the events occurring hundreds of miles south of him
as he waited, pressed up against the wall beside Frank on the porch of
the FPPS safe house.

"Who is it?"

"State Police. It's Frank."

"He's OK," another voice said. "I know him. Let him in."

The door opened just a crack, wide enough for the man to see it was a
man in a state police uniform. "What do you-"

The man's words were jammed in his throat as Frank put a shoulder into
the door just as hard as he could. The FPPS agent was knocked off his
feet and to the floor. Frank lunged through the now wide open door,
jumped to his left, and hit the floor.

Ben came in right behind Frank, his spitter leveled.

The surprise attack was totally unexpected. One agent grabbed for a
shotgun and Ben stitched him across the belly and chest, the line of
bloody bullet holes moving up and right with the climb of the machine
pistol.

Another FPPS agent lifted an auto-loader, and Ben punched holes in him,
knocking him backward against a wall. A third agent, a woman, fumbled at
a pistol laying on an end table, and Ben said, "Don't do it, lady. Don't
do it."

"Screw you!" the woman said, standing up as her hand closed around the
butt of the pistol.

Ben finished the magazine, stitching the woman across the chest. She sat
back down on the couch, a very startled expression on her face. Then she
died, her eyes wide open and staring directly at Ben, accusingly.

208

"Jesus," Frank whispered, getting to his feet. "You don't mess around,
do you, General?"

"No," Ben answered shortly as he ejected the empty mag and slipped a
full one in place. "Anna!" he called. "Where are you, Baby?"

A thumping sound came from behind a closed door. Ben kicked open the
door and breathed a sigh of relief. Anna was on the bed, gagged, her
hands tied to the headboard. She was alive.

Federal troops tried a frontal assault against Rebel positions,
attempting to cross the West Virginia line over into Virginia. They
didn't make it, and it turned into a slaughter for the Federals. The
Virginians hammered them with intensive long range artillery and drove
them back. It was very nearly a rout.

The Federals tried the same tactic along the Southern Missouri/Northern
Arkansas border. The Arkansas Home Guard, backed up by several
battalions of regular Rebel troops and attack helicopters, put the
Federals into a full retreat.

The Federals tried another attack across the Oklahoma line into Texas.
It was a bloody failure as the Texas Home Guard, highly outnumbered,
held rock-solid firm and beat the Federals back.

The commanding general of the Federals ordered a pullback of all troops.
He realized only then that the SUSA was going to be a very tough nut to
crack ... if they could crack it at all. Madame President Osterman had
been very wrong when she proclaimed that her troops would be victorious
over the SUSA in only a few days.

"This war is going to be a bloody son of a bitch," General Duran told
several of his ranking officers. "If we contain the Rebels inside their
own territory and keep them out of the USA, it will be nothing short of
a miracle."

"We've lost a lot of people, General," General Vandermeer said. "And
didn't gain an inch of ground."

209

Studying maps on the table in front of him, Duran nodded his reply. He
finally thumped the map and straightened up, facing his senior officers.
"Problem is, the Rebels don't have a weak point. We're facing
twenty-five or thirty million people, all heavily armed and well
trained. The Rebels have stockpiles of supplies all over the damn place.
Our intel says they have supplies enough to last for years. And intel
says they will fight right down to the last person. Surrender is not a
word in their vocabulary ... unless it's applied to the opposing force."

"This fight will not be limited to the SUSA, gentlemen," a man dressed
in civilian clothes said.

General Duran slowly nodded his head in agreement. "I know, James. But
have you been successful in convincing Madame President of that?"

"No. Unfortunately she has always considered Ben Raines a lightweight."

"Bad mistake," General Vandermeer said.

"A tragic mistake," James said. "But until or unless she sees the error
in her thinking, we're looking at one hell of a very large problem. The
president wants results, and she wants them quickly."

"Well, she's not going to get them," General Duran said. "And you'd
better convince her that we're all in this thing for the long haul. I'm
talking about years."

"Our economy won't hold up for such a long struggle."

"The Rebels' will," General Masters pointed out. All eyes turned to him.
"Look, gentlemen, let's face some hard facts. We've all read the stats,
but we all seem to have ignored or disallowed them. President Osterman
certainly has. One-the SUSA has the largest navy in the world, as far as
we know. Two-they have the best-equipped army in the world. That's a
fact. They have the best-equipped air force in the world, and that is a
fact. Their home guard alone is made up of several million men and
women, all highly trained and well-equipped and motivated. They have the
supplies to fight a protracted war, and they have supply lines and the
means to almost instantly resupply

210

their people in the field. Their economy is the best, their currency the
strongest in the world. I'm only hitting the high points here,
gentlemen. Now here is the highest point-the Rebels have nuclear and
germ capability, and General Raines has warned us that he will use them.
And I believe him. Now, as military commanders we had damn well better
face these facts and come up with an alternate plan to fight the Rebels.
Because facing them head-to-head is going to accomplish only one thing
we are going to get our asses kicked all over the goddamn place. And
that, gentlemen, is a fact."

"Madame President had better not ever hear you say those words, General
Masters," Jerry said.

"Madame President doesn't know jack-shit about warfare," Masters
replied. "She's a goddamn politician and always has been, when she
wasn't fucking her way to where she is."

"That's enough, General!" Jerry commanded. "You're stepping over the line."

Masters fixed the White House liaison man with a cold stare. "I don't
take orders from you, Jerry. I'm in this fight because I don't believe
in a divided nation, not because I'm a socialist. Claire Osterman has
sucked dicks from here to California to help her get where she is. And
you can take those words back to Sugar Babe if you like ... and you
probably will."

Jerry did. One hour after Madame President was told of General Masters'
comments, Masters was relieved of command and placed under arrest.

Ben cut the ropes that bound Anna's wrists to the bedpost, and she sat
up and jerked the tape from her mouth, then threw her arms around Ben's
neck.

"Are you all right, Baby?" Ben asked.

"I am now."

"Did they hurt you? Abuse you in any way?"

She pulled back and refused to meet his eyes. That told

211

him all he needed to know. Ben silently cursed. Rape of a female
prisoner by a Rebel could mean long prison terms and on occasion, a
firing squad.

"Guess what, General?" Frank said from the doorway. "I had a change of
heart. Don't move."

Ben sighed and cut his eyes. Frank was holding a shotgun, the muzzle
pointed at him. "That million bucks got to you, huh, Frank?"

"Something like that, General. The boys here all took turns humping your
kid, hey? Well, I could have told you they would. She looks like she'd
be a prime piece."

Anna was slowly lifting Frank's 9mm from behind Ben's waistband. When it
was free, she jacked the hammer back with her thumb.

"Too bad you'll never get any of it, you socialistic son of a bitch,"
Anna told Frank.

Frank flushed and took a couple of steps into the room, which was
exactly what Anna wanted him to do. The small bedroom would help muffle
a gunshot.

"Don't be too sure of that, Blondie," Frank said, taking a couple more
steps closer to the bed. "I bet it's pretty good stuff. So, after I take
care of the general here, I just might take me a taste."

"When pigs fly, you creep! I'll die first, goddamn you!" Anna then
proceeded to cuss Frank. She did a good job of tracing his ancestry back
through the centuries, Ben thought.

Frank frowned for a moment, then grinned. ?Hey, Baby, did Margie do her
thing with you too?" he said with a laugh. "I hear she likes young blondes."

"She didn't like this one worth a damn," Anna said, then shot him twice.
Once in the belly, once in the chest. Frank stumbled back and tried to
raise the shotgun, but could not. He fell back against the wall and
cursed, his voice weak. Blood began leaking out of his mouth. "You
bitch!" he managed to say before he began coughing, blood spraying out
of his mouth. "You miserable little Rebel bitch!"

212

"Rebel all the way and forever, you son of a bitch!" Anna told him.

Frank closed his eyes and died.

"Let's get the hell going, Anna," Ben told her.

"Let me get my shoes on, Daddy. Take half a minute. As soon as I can
find the damn things."

"I'll be gathering up the weapons. And ..." An idea hit him. Maybe it
would work. What the hell did they have to lose? He'd give it a try.

"What?" Anna asked, looking up from her searching under the bed.

"Get your shoes on, Kid. Move it"

Ben gathered up the weapons and took the ID from the dead woman and from
the men. He flipped open the leather holder. No picture on any of the
ID's Might work. It was sure worth a try.

Ben looked out the front door. There were few houses occupied in the
long block on the edge of town, and Ben guessed the two shots Anna had
pumped out had not been heard.

He pulled the car up closer to the house and stowed the weapons in the
backseat just as Anna came walking out, wiping a bloody knife on a piece
of cloth. Her knife, Ben realized.

"You have trouble in there, Baby?"

"One of the men was still alive," she said. "He had my knife. He is no
longer alive. He was going to do some awfully disgusting things to me.
The woman wanted to watch."

Ben opened his mouth and Anna waved him silent. "There's nothing to say.
It's over. Let's go."

Ben headed west out of town. He felt that south would be crawling with
police and FPPS agents. He would cut south when he got into middle
Missouri ... if they made it that far. Missouri was split, just as it
had been during the first civil war. Those in Southern Missouri
sympathized with the SUSA, and they would give Federal troops about as
much help as they would a rattlesnake.

213

Anna would tell him more about what happened with the FPPS agents when
she was ready to speak of it... or she might never tell him. Probably
the latter.

As they traveled through the night, Ben told Anna all that had happened
with him since he'd left the SUSA. Then she began to talk about her
capture, and a bit about the questions the federal agents had asked her.

"They want you bad, Daddy Ben. They believe that with you dead the SUSA
will collapse."

?They're fools. The Tri-States philosophy will live as long as there is
one person who believes in it."

"That's what I tried to tell them. They laughed at me. Among other
things," she added. She turned her head and looked out the window for a
moment.

'' Did they talk at all about what type of security Osterman and Millard
have around them?"

"No. Not a word. But all the agents who were guarding me
are-were-dedicated believers in this New Democracy thing. Whatever the
hell that is."

"It's what the United States fought against worldwide for years, baby.
From about nineteen forty-five until the collapse of communism about
forty years later. Then, while nearly every country in the world that
had fully embraced or at least flirted with some form of that type of
government was running away from it, the liberals in this country were
rushing to embrace it."

"That doesn't make any sense, Daddy."

"Most of us who believe in the Tri-States form of government don't think
that liberals make any sense. Or very little. That's why I've believed
for years that the best thing for America was the splitting up of the
country into four or five smaller nations within a nation, all
answerable to some small degree to the larger nation, all using the same
currency, but with guaranteed states' rights that the others couldn't
challenge."

"We tried to do that, didn't we?"

"Yes. We did. And under President Altman it was working. But the left
wing is never satisfied. They've got to have

214

it all their way, or no way. Now we're in a war that will probably tear
this nation apart."

"Irreparable?"

"It might be that bad. But the Tri-States people, those who are left,
will rebuild ... again, and again, until we're finally left alone."

"That will be accomplished in our lifetime?"

"Maybe in your lifetime, Baby. Not in mine."

"But it was your dream."

"Yes," Ben said softly. "It was mine."

215

Chapter Twenty

Ben drove through the night and managed to cover all of two hundred
miles. But at least it got him out of Indiana and into Illinois. He
turned the wheel over to Anna and caught a few hours sleep. He awakened
with a stiff neck.

"Where the hell are we, Kid?"

"I cut south a few miles back. Where you told me to. We should be able
to find some SUSA people in about an hour. Maybe get something to eat
and some sleep."

"We're not stopping. Any known SUSA sympathizers will be under hard
surveillance. Our stopping would be dangerous all the way around. How's
the gas situation?"

"We're going to need some before long."

"Pull in the next station. We'll fill up and get a cold drink and a
sandwich ... if they have them."

"I could eat almost anything."

"I have some emergency rations in the trunk," Ben said with a smile.

"I said almost anything."

"These are the very latest creation from our lab boys and girls. I
packed them before I came to find you."

216

"Then they can eat them. We'll save them for emergencies. Like when
we're about to die."

Anna's sense of humor was rapidly returning, and Ben was glad to hear
it. He smiled at her and she cut her eyes and winked at him.

"There's a service station just up ahead," Anna said. "Looks as if it's
open. You want to check it out first?"

"No. Let's get some gas and food and keep on going. We're only a couple
of hours from the border. That's when it's going to get really interesting."

"How are we going to get across into SUSA territory?"

"I don't have the foggiest idea."

Anna pulled off the highway into the service station and up to the
pumps. Ben began filling the tank while Anna went to the ladies room. He
noticed a car pull in from the north and park off to one side of the
main building. A few seconds later another car rolled in from the south
and parked on the opposite side of the building. Ben noted there were
four or five in each car. He was just topping off the tank when Anna
strolled out, carrying a paper bag filled with food and soft drinks. She
walked up to him.

"What's the matter, Daddy Ben? You've got a funny expression on your face."

"I think we've been made. Don't look around. Two cars. One at each end
of the building. Four or five people in each car. Get ready to hand me
my spitter from the front seat."

Anna stowed the groceries and stood with both passenger side doors open.
All the weapons in the backseat had been carefully checked and loaded.
Ben had two pistols tucked behind his waistband, his jacket covering
them. Anna had a 9mm in her waistband.

"Two of the men walking this way," Anna whispered. "They're wearing suits."

"FPPS people. Get ready."

"Oh, I'm ready for some payback. You can bet on that."

"You there!" one of the men called, in a tone of voice

217

that irritated Ben. "Get up against the car and keep your hands in
sight. You're under arrest."

"Screw you!" Ben told him.

"It's him!" the second man shouted, grabbing for a holstered pistol.
"And his kid. Take them, dead or alive! Who gives a damn as long as we
get them?"

Anna shot him in the belly just as Ben jerked out his 9mm and began banging.

The other agent went down, several holes in his chest. He did not move.

Another suit and sunglasses burst out of the service station, a shotgun
in his hands. Anna and Ben both fired at the same time, and their
bullets stopped the FPPS agent cold and knocked him backward. The
shotgun dropped from his hands and discharged as it hit the concrete
curb in front of the building, blowing out the front glass. The FPPS
agent sat down on the ground hard, and then toppled over.

Ben and Anna separated, Ben going to his left, Anna to the right as soon
as she had tossed him his 9mm spitter and a canvas magazine holder, full
up with five mags. Anna had grabbed a CAR from the backseat, one taken
from the safe house, and she opened up, the weapon on full auto. She
blew out the back window of the FPPS car parked on the south side of the
building just as the vehicle was emptying of agents and sent them
yelping and hollering for cover. Anna ran behind a tow truck and
crouched there.

Ben gave the second FPPS car a burst that flattened both back tires,
some of the lead howling off the concrete drive and parking lot.

"Get that damn cunt!" a man yelled. "She's the one who used a knife on
Jackson-bet on it."

Anna stood up for a couple of heartbeats. ?You got that right, asshole!"
she yelled, then gave the shouter a burst of 5.56 rounds. His legs flew
out from under him and he hit the concrete hard.

Ben made it to good cover behind a car and crouched there, his spitter
with a full mag and ready to snarl.

218

"Call the state patrol!" an FPPS agent yelled to the gas station
attendant. "Get them out here pronto! You hear me?"

Ben put a burst through the front plate glass window, broken glass
showered the inside of the small front office. The attendant hit the
office floor and stayed put.

"You call 'em if you want 'em!" the young man shouted. "I ain't movin'."

"By God, I'll put your yellow ass in jail!" the FPPS agent hollered.

"Better than bein' dead," the attendant called.

"Son of a bitch!" the FPPS agent yelled.

"Yore mama!" the attendant shouted.

Ben ended the conversation by laying a burst of 5.56 rounds on the
concrete just in front of the car the agent was crouched behind. The
rounds ricocheted and flattened and several of them hit the agent in his
legs and knees. He was knocked to the concrete and began screaming in pain.

"Get him, Becky!'' he bellowed. ?My knees are all busted up. I can't move."

"Yeah, Becky," Anna whispered. "Come on, you bitch. Just give me a target."

The FPPS agent called Becky popped up and triggered off four fast rounds
in Ben's direction. The shots missed and Anna gave her a burst from her
CAR. Anna missed, but the slugs put the FPPS agent belly down on the ground.

"You damn little whore!" she squalled at Anna. "I'll get you for that."

"Go sit on it, bitch!" Anna yelled. She followed that comment with
another burst from her CAR. Anna didn't hit anything, but the howling
lead caused Becky to let out with another squall and a string of cuss words.

Anna cussed the woman while she changed mags, Ben hearing the clink of
the empty as it bounced on the concrete.

"Did anybody call for help?" an agent hollered.

219

"The goddamn gas boy won't call!" another woman yelled.

"I ain't no gas boy!" the attendant yelled. "And this ain't my fight."

"Get up off the floor and use the phone!" the second woman shouted.

"That's your ass, too, lady!" the attendant hollered. "I ain't movin'."

"Bastard!" the woman shouted.

"Bitch!" the attendant yelled.

?You get up off that floor right now!'' a male FPPS agent yelled. "By
God, that's a direct order from the FPPS. Call the state highway patrol."

"Fuck you!" the attendant yelled.

"Shit, Jerry," an agent called. "We're on our own out here in the
boonies. That hillbilly turd isn't going to help us."

"Use the goddamn radio, Don!" Jerry shouted.

"Mine's busted," Becky said. "It took a burst from that little Rebel whore."

"Mine's busted, too," Don called.

"Whore!" Anna yelled. "You're a fine one to talk, you damn federal
cunt!" she exploded.

?Somebody shut that Rebel bitch's mouth! "Jerry yelled.

"Try shutting mine!" Ben shouted.

Jerry jumped up and started to trigger off a burst from an M-16 he'd
retrieved from the trunk of his car. Both Ben and Anna nailed him before
he could pull the trigger. Ben's rounds took him in the stomach and
chest. Anna's rounds caught the agent in the throat and face. His head
exploded, showering the FPPS agent crouched next to him with brains,
blood, and bits of bone and fluid.

"Oh, shit!" the agent yelled. "Jerry's head just blew up all over me!"

"Wipe it off," Becky called. "You all right, Linda?"

"I'm OK How about you, Bob?"

"I'm hit in one leg and the other knee, but I'll live. Hurts like hell.
Is Jerry dead?"

220

"Dead?" the agent with flesh and blood all over him called. "Hell, yes,
he's dead. Half his head is missing. Shit, it's all over me."

While the agents were yakking Ben made his way back to the car and took
a grenade from a canvas rucksack. Anna watched him and smiled.

Ben pulled the pin and tossed the pineapple. It rolled under the car
where the agent with Jerry's brains all over him was hiding then blew.

The gas tank on the vehicle didn't explode, but the grenade sure made a
mess out of the car and the agent hiding behind it. It blew just in
front of the agent's legs and mangled him.

When bit and pieces of the car and the agent stopped falling, Bob
called, "That's it, people! OK, Raines? We're through. We've had it."

?Slide your weapons out where I can see them and stand up, your hands in
the air," Ben said.

"You sure about this, Bob?" Becky called.

"I'm sure," the agent replied. "Hell, what choice do we have? Raines? I
can't stand up. One knee is busted, and the other leg's got a bullet it."

"Then the other agents can help you," Ben told him. "Do it, ladies."

"You won't shoot us?" Linda yelled.

"Not if you behave and do what I tell you. Make up your minds."

"OK, OK," Becky called. "The weapons are coming out."

Pistols and shotguns came sliding out on the concrete. The women stood
up, hands in the air and very sullen expressions on their faces.

"Now, now, girls," Ben said, knowing that the term 'girls' would
irritate the oh-so-politically correct, feminazi type women. "Don't look
so dejected. It isn't that bad, girls. You're alive. You'll live to
marry some nice man and have lots of healthy babies."

221

Anna laughed at the sudden and very disgusted expression on their faces.

"Bitch!" Becky said to Anna.

Anna gave her the middle finger.

"Be nice, now," Ben told them, as Anna gathered up all the weapons and
Becky and Linda helped the wounded Bob to a wooden bench by the side of
the service station. Bob was in a lot of pain, and made no effort to
hide it. He groaned in agony as he sat down on the bench.

"Check his wounds," Ben told the women. He looked up and down the old
highway. There had been no traffic from either direction during the wild
shoot-out.

Ben wondered if local supporters of the SUSA had something to do with
that. Probably, he concluded. More than likely he would never know for sure.

"The bullets didn't hit any big veins or arteries," Linda said after
quickly checking Bob's legs.

The service station attendant had wandered out and was watching.

"You have a storeroom that can be locked?" Ben asked him.

"Sure do. Around back."

"Help your friend to his feet and move," Ben told the women. "Around to
the back."

Ben put the three agents in the storeroom and broke the key off in the
heavy padlock.

"It'll take a better man than me to get that padlock off there after
that, mister," the attendant remarked.

"That's the general idea, friend," Ben told him. "Wait a few minutes and
then call for help, OK?"

"If the phones work," the attendant said with a definite twinkle in his
eyes. ?They can get a little ornery out here, if you know what I mean."

Ben smiled. "I sure do." He looked at Anna. "Let's roll, kid. We're only
a couple of hours from home."

222

223

Chapter Twenty-one

Ben took the wheel and headed south, staying on the back roads. He would
remain on county roads until he crossed over into SUSA territory... if
he could successfully dodge Federal patrols and find a place.

They had been listening to the radio off and on since Indiana, and knew
the war between the USA and the SUSA had begun. So far the Federal
troops had taken quite a beating, but Ben knew that could change in the
blink of an eye.

One thing the democrat/socialist government now ruling the USA had not
done was pour a great deal of money into a military buildup. The
military had lots of manpower-to the feminazis: people-power-but was
short on modern equipment. And they had air force to speak of. Big
Brother government was spending billions of taxpayer dollars making sure
the residents of the USA behaved in a politically correct manner, and
toed that strange mixture of democrat/socialistic liberal line in all
other matters.

But they couldn't fund their military.

Which was certainly all right with Ben; it made the

224

Rebels' job a lot easier. But the Rebels still had a hell of a task
ahead of them.

"Are we going to try to drive across our borders?" Anna broke into Ben's
thoughts.

"No. I would guess that every road will have a Federal patrol somewhere
on it. If they didn't before your escape, they sure do now. We'll ditch
the car a few miles north of the border and walk in."

She looked at him. "You have a radio, Daddy?"

Ben smiled. "Now, what do you think?"

She laughed. "I would say you do."

"You'd be right. But there's no point in using it until we get close. I
don't think the Federals have the capacity to unscramble our
transmissions yet, but I don't want to take that chance."

"We'll booby trap the car, right?"

"You have a very sneaky mind, Baby."

"Of course, I do." She grinned at him. "I learned it all from you and
the team."

Ben smiled at that. When Anna was just barely in her teens she had
headed a band of young guerrilla fighters in her home country in Europe
... several years before Ben and the Rebels arrived and Ben took the
dirty-faced little waif in as his own. Ben had legally adopted the girl,
according to SUSA law, and her name was now Raines.

Ben pulled off the highway and onto a gravel road. He took out a map of
Southern Missouri and studied it, finally settling on an approximate
spot where they would leave the car and hoof it the rest of the way.

"Find it?" Anna asked.

"Close enough for government work. The USA's government, that is. In the
SUSA we get it right the first time."

Anna was still laughing as they pulled out onto the blacktop.

Two miles later they almost ran into a roadblock. Ben saw the car about
a quarter of a mile ahead of him brake suddenly, and he pulled off the
road and down an old

225

road to his right. The road had not been used in so long it was nearly
all grown over with grass and weeds.

"I think we might have more walking ahead of us than we planned on,
Kid," Ben said.

"So we walk for a few miles in the country and then find a car and steal
it," Anna replied. "Suits me."

Ben feigned great surprise. "Heavens! Steal a car? Have you no shame?"

"Not when it comes to saving my butt." She opened her door. "Let's get
gone from here.!"

"Just hold on for a few minutes. Let's check this situation out before
we do anything that might prove later to be real stupid."

"OK. What's our move, Pops?"

"Pops?"

She grinned at him, and at that instant she looked more like a
fourteen-year-old tousle-headed kid than a combat-hardened veteran of
several major Rebel campaigns. "Where's your sense of humor, General?"

Ben reached out with a big hand and ruffled her hair. "Pops is fine.
Let's go reconnoiter this situation."

It didn't look good, and Ben whispered as much to Anna as they knelt in
the timber and brush and looked at the roadblock about a hundred yards
away. Traffic was now backed up all the way to the road Ben had turned
down. Cars were being searched very thoroughly, the occupants forced to
stand away from the vehicles, guns pointed at them.

"Place is crawling with troops and those damned FPPS turds in, black
jumpsuits," Anna whispered. "I hate those miserable, goddamned people."

?They've sure changed from the old FBI I grew up reading and watching
movies about years back, for a fact. And it was all done practically
overnight. All while we were in Africa."

"Looks like you were right about the walking."

"Looks like."

"How far is it to the border?"

226

"Too damn far to walk, that's for certain. We'll clear this hurdle and
worry about the next one when we come to it. Let's get back to the car
and gear up."

The compartment concealed under the trunk and backseat held lots of
equipment but did not contain backpacks, and that's what Ben and Anna
needed right now. They stowed what gear they could carry comfortably in
several small rucksacks, hooked web belts around their waists, rolled a
couple of blankets tightly, and took off through the timber. They
carried more ammunition and grenades than anything else.

They spent the first night in an old deserted barn behind the blackened
ruins of what was once a house. Their supper was cold field rations that
tasted terrible, even after being saturated with hot sauce. A small
bottle of the fiery stuff was included in every accessory pack ... to
help kill the awful taste.

"This crap is even worse than the old stuff," Anna bitched. "It's awful!"

"No it's not. I had some recently. And this is good for you. The doctors
and the lab people all say so."

"Do they ever eat it?"

"I doubt it."

"That's what I think, too."

"They test it on troops in the field."

"The more the troops bitch about it, the better for you the lab people
think it is, huh?"

"Go to sleep, Anna."

"Can I throw up first?"

Ben went to sleep with a smile on his lips. It was good to have Anna back.

The next morning the outskirts of a small town came into view, and Ben
and Anna knelt at the edge of a small stand of timber and observed the
goings-on for a few moments. "Pops," Ann said, "I really would hate to
steal a car that belonged to a SUSA supporter." She paused and smiled.

227

"But it wouldn't bother me at all to swipe a car belonging to a New
Democracy supporter."

Ben lowered the compact binoculars and nodded his head. "I don't think
we're going to get a chance to steal anything out of that town." He
handed her the long lenses. "Take a look. The place is crawling with
Federal troops."

Anna looked for a few seconds and then lowered the binoculars. "It looks
like a staging area."

"I think the Federals have pulled back this far to regroup. They got a
good ass kicking from our people. We'll head west for a few miles before
cutting south. That area is scarcely populated."

Ben and Anna were footsore. They were both wearing low quarter shoes,
not-suited to long hikes through rough country.

By noon of that day they were ready for a long rest by a tiny creek.
They soaked their aching feet and washed and dried their socks. Then
they forced themselves to eat some field rations, and it was a real
effort as usual for both of them getting the mess down and keeping it down.

"This stuff is the pits," Ben said. "When we get back I am ordering the
lab people to destroy this crap and come up with something edible."

"Good, Pops. That is wonderful. I assure you, you'll be revered forever
for that single act of compassion." Anna began digging a hole in the
ground with a stick. "I just can't eat anymore of this hog slop. I'm
gonna get sick if I do." She dropped the containers in the hole and
shoved the dirt over them. "Rest in peace," she said.

"I'd rather we returned to C-rats," Ben said. "Some of them were pretty
damn good."

They walked on, staying in the timber whenever possible, which was most
of the time, for this part of Missouri had never been over-populated,
even before the Great War and the collapse. Most of the land was rocky
and difficult to farm. They met a few dogs. They all were friendly and
didn't bark much, and after a pat they ran off, playing and having a
good time.

228

"I would give them some of these field rations," Anna said. "But I like
dogs, and feeding them this crap would be cruelty to animals."

By approaching nightfall they had covered only a few more miles over
some very rough country and decided to call it a day. Their shoes were
just about shot, and they had been forced to take cover several times
when helicopters flew over.

"They seem to be working a search pattern," Ben observed. "I think our
abandoned car has been found."

"They're going to pay a hell of a price if they find us," Anna said.
"I'm not going to be taken prisoner again. And I mean that, Pops."

Ben said nothing. But he had no intention of being taken alive, either.

"How many miles until we reach our lines?" Anna asked.

"Still too many for us to walk, Kid, and make it. If we stay on foot,
we're going to get caught... trapped somewhere. And that will be the end
for us. It's just a matter of time. We're going to have to find some
transportation."

"But I bet there are many roadblocks between here and the border."

"I'm sure, but I'm working on that little problem. Right now, let's get
some sleep."

"I need some boots."

"So do I. Got any suggestions?"

"I could go alone into the next town and buy some. You have any money?"

"I have plenty, but forget it. The wrong clerk would put it together,
and you'd be caught. Then I'd have to come in and try to get you, and
I'd be caught. Then we'd both get seriously dead. Got any more suggestions?"

"You have such a way with words, Pops. No, I guess I don't have any more
suggestions."

?Thank you. Now would you please shut up and try to get some sleep?"

"One more thing."

"What is it?"

229

"Thank you for coming to get me, and I love you."

That caught Ben off guard. After a moment, he cleared his throat a
couple of times and said, "Well ... think nothing of it. And I love you,
too."

"Now go to sleep."

"Yeah, right. Sleep. "What a good idea."

They had found what was left of another old barn and had settled in for
the night. It was summer, but the nights were still surprisingly cool.

In the timber, something popped, followed by the faint murmur of voices.

Ben and Anna were instantly alert, weapons in hand. Behind them, more
voices could be faintly heard, but the distance was still too great for
the words to be clear. The darting beams of flashlights flashed in the
early evening.

"I think we have company, Baby."

"No kidding?"

"Smartass," Ben muttered.

"If we play this right," Anna said. "We'll both have new boots in a few
minutes."

Ben cut his eyes to her. "You're really a delightful kid, you know that,
Anna?"

"You're all right yourself, except when you get all crotchety."

Before Ben could whisper a response a voice called, "Here's two sets of
footprints."

Behind them, more voices could be heard. They were trapped ... at least
momentarily.

Ben pulled a rucksack to him and spilled out some grenades, giving half
of them to Anna.

"You stay here," Ben said. "I'll take the rear."

"I'll wait for your signal. Good luck, Pops." She kissed him on the
cheek and slithered off into a better position.

Ben got into place.

They waited.

230

231

Chapter Twenty-two

The command was given, clearly heard by Ben and Anna. "Easy now, they
might be in that old piece of a barn. Lewis, put your light over there."

Ben and Anna waited, weapons at the ready. The beams from several
flashlights flashed over the barn, front and back.

"Can't see anything, Captain." The voice came from Ben's side of the
barn. "No tracks, nothing."

"Same here in the front," Lewis called. "I can't see nothing."

Another voice was added. "They're in there. The tracks lead straight up
to the barn and stop. I been trackin' for years, boys. We got 'em."

Ben and Anna slipped their fingers from the trigger guards to the triggers.

"Does that million dollar reward apply to us?" The question was tossed out.

"No. Just the satisfaction of killing that traitorous bastard Raines."

"That's good enough for me." Another voice.

232

"Let's do it, people," the commanding voice called. "Barnwell, toss a
grenade into that barn."

Barnwell never got the chance. In the shadowy dimness Anna watched him
jerk the pin and draw back his arm. She shot him. A few seconds later
the grenade exploded, flashing in the early evening.

The night blew apart with gunfire, and the old barn vibrated from the
impact of slugs.

Ben and Anna were behind good cover inside the barn. They kept their
heads down and waited out the first barrage.

"Cease fire!" the order was shouted. When the firing stopped, the
captain shouted, "How's Barnwell?"

"Dead, Captain. The grenade blew him apart. He's all over the damn place."

"Barny was my buddy!" someone shouted. "Goddamn those people. I'll get
them!" The man stood up to charge the barn, a shadowy figure in the
night, and Ben shot him.

"Green troops," Ben muttered. "Or just awfully stupid. Probably a
combination of both."

"Don't anybody else do anything that stupid!" the captain yelled.
"Somebody get on the radio and call for support. Tell them we've got
Raines and the bitch trapped. Give them our position."

"No can do, Captain Jennings," a voice called. "Ted was standing next to
Barnwell. He's dead, and the radio's blown all to hell and gone."

"Goddamnit!" Jennings cussed.

"We can take them." Ben recognized the tracker's voice. "Hell, there's
only two of them. We've got them outnumbered."

Ben crawled over to Anna. "We've got to get out of here before it dawns
on those idiots they've got bloop tubes and start dropping grenades in
here. The fire so far has come from front and back. Both sides are
clear, I think."

"There's a ditch on the west side," Anna said. " 'Bout twenty feet from
the barn. But there isn't much cover from here to there."

233

"We've got to risk it. Stay on your belly and go as soon as the firing
starts. I'm going to give them a long burst from the other side of the
building. I probably won't hit anything, but that should get it going."

"I'll wait for you in the ditch."

"You keep going, Baby. One of us has to make it. You hear me?"

"I said I'll wait for you. And that's what I'll do. You hear me?"

"You're a hardheaded brat."

"I'll never deny it."

"All right. Get ready to go when I fire."

Ben crawled back to the rear of the barn and cut loose, first with a
grenade, then with a full magazine of 5.56 rounds in short spurts, to
make the fire last longer.

Changing mags, he cut his eyes over to where Anna had been. She was
gone. She had made it. Ben crawled to the front of the barn and heaved
another grenade and burned another full mag. Then he was gone, quickly
crawling out the busted side of the barn and sliding into the ditch.

"Thank you so very much for green troops," Ben muttered. Then he turned
and bumped into Anna, waiting for him.

"Leads straight into the woods," she whispered, pressing her mouth
against his ear, her voice just audible above the panicked shouting and
the roar and rattle of gunfire from the green Federal troops.

"Lead the way."

In a couple of minutes they were deep in the timber and heading south.
The Federals were still firing without letup into the old barn.

"Is that you, Dick?" The voice had suddenly sprung out of the darkness
just a few feet off to Ben's right. "Jesus, what's happening back there?
Sounds like a real firefight going on."

"Yeah," Ben said, and he stepped close enough to pop the lone sentry on
the side of the jaw with the butt of his

234

CAR. Ben had left his smaller and less accurate machine pistol with the
abandoned car.

The sentry went down without making a sound.

Ben quickly took the unconscious man's weapon and ammo, then his
walkie-talkie, web belt with canteen and pistol attached, and field pack
and heavy rucksack. He did not bother to check the contents of the
rucksack. He checked the man's boots: too small for him, and too large
for Anna.

"Can't have everything," Ben said. "Let's go."

Another mile of walking and they came to a highway that ran north and south.

"This is the old scenic route highway," Ben said. "I remember now. This
will lead us into what used to be a national forest... still is, I
suppose. I can't remember the name of it. If we can make it to the south
edge of the forest, I can call in and we can be evacked out."

"Good," Anna said. "This damn rucksack you handed me is heavy. What the
hell is in this bag?"

"I don't know. Open it and see."

She reached inside and smiled. "It's full of grenades, Pops. A dozen or
so of them."

"Good. I imagine we'll be needing them before we're out of this mess. I
got half a dozen full mags from that stupid sentry. We'll be needing
them too, I imagine."

"How far to the edge of this forest?"

"Thirty miles, at least. With what's left of these low quarters, we'll
both be practically barefoot when the choppers come."

"I can sure believe that."

"Well, let's go. We'll stay on the shoulder of the road for easier
walking. Keep your ears open for traffic."

Ben looked far down the old highway, faintly shining in the night. For
the very first time, he felt confident they would make it back to the SUSA.

And then ...

Civil war.

235

Chapter Twenty-three

Ben and Anna walked the lonely highway until just after midnight before
calling a halt to the night's march. They saw only a few vehicles, and
had plenty of time to get off the road and into the timber before they
passed. Only one of the vehicles was military, and it sped by without
slowing.

Ben and Anna slept for a few hours and resumed their walking south about
a hour before dawn. They were footsore, weary, and in need of a bath.

But they were a few miles closer to home territory.

They came to what was left of a tiny village in the middle of the old
National Park and rested.

?About halfway there, Kid," Ben said after taking a drink of water.
"How're the feet?"

"Sore. My shoes are about shot."

"So are mine. But they'll make it a few more miles. You want something
to eat?"

"Yes. I sure do. A sixteen ounce T-bone steak, rare, with baked potato,
salad, and a big glass of cold milk. Think you can arrange that?"

"Maybe in a day or two. Right now, would you settle for some field rations?"

236

Before she could reply they heard the faint sounds of an approaching
vehicle. Ben and Anna quickly headed for the timber and brush. Over the
years since the collapse and the Great War it had grown right up to the
rear of one of the three remaining buildings in the village.

They bellied down in a shallow, brush-covered ditch, weapons at the
ready, and waited.

The expensive-looking SUV slowed, then pulled over in front of the
building where Ben and Anna had been resting in the shade. Three men and
one woman unassed the vehicle. They were all wearing black jumpsuits.

"FPPS dickheads," Anna whispered. "Let's whack them and take their ...
whatever that thing is."

Ben returned the whisper. "Only if they start it, Kid. From now on until
this war really gets going, the Federals are going to have to start
every skirmish. I don't want history to state that we started it."

"You didn't hesitate to shoot when you came after me," she reminded him.

"That was different. The Federals had kidnapped you. They had invaded
our territory and committed an illegal act. Now be quiet."

"Yessir, Boss," Anna said with a grin.

"Mack," one of the FPPS men said, "as you can clearly see, Raines and
his bitch kid are not hiding here."

"I know that, Darin."

?Then why did you insist on stopping in this godforsaken place?"

"Because I have to take a piss, that's why."

"Well, go over there behind that building before you haul it out," the
woman said.

"Yes, Alice," Mack said. "Whatever you say, ma'am."

"Hey!" the fourth agent said. "Listen. Another vehicle coming our way."

"Brilliant of you, Beck," Darin said. "The damn road runs right by here,
so anyone driving the road would have to be coming our way."

"Fuck you, Darin," Beck said.

237

"You'd never go back to girls, Sweetie," Darin minced about, one hand on
a hip.

"Knock it off!" Alice said.

"It's George and his team," Mack said, as the SUV came into view "I
wonder what's up."

"Nothing," Alice said. "We'd have heard it on the radio. They're
probably just goofing off."

"Yeah," Beck said. "Like us, they lost the trail and don't know what to
do next."

The big SUV pulled in and parked next to the first team's vehicle.

"You want to try to make a run for it?" Anna asked in a whisper.

"No. The brush is too dry. We'd make too much noise. But we may have to
shoot our way out of here. Jesus, how many people are in that big SUV?"

"Six, it looks like."

"Ten to two. Great odds."

"Well, maybe Mack will pee and they'll leave."

"They're getting a big ice chest out of the SUV. I think they're going
to have lunch."

"I'd kill for a ham sandwich," Anna said wistfully.

"I hate to say it, but so would I. If Mack turns the wrong way while
he's back here taking a whiz you're not only going to get a cheap
thrill, but we're going to have a fight on our hands."

Anna made a gagging sound at that and stuck out her tongue at Ben. "If
he waves his pecker in my direction, I'll shoot the damn thing off."

"Be quiet. Here he comes."

Mack kept his back to Ben and Anna as he relieved himself. He started to
zip up and got the zipper stuck. He cussed and hopped around and jerked
at the zipper. Nothing worked. The zipper remained jammed.

"Shit!" Anna whispered in disgust.

"What the hell are you doing back there, Mack?" Darin yelled. "Come on,
we're gonna have lunch."

238

"My damn zipper's stuck!" Mack yelled. "I mean, it's jammed up tight."

As the others laughed at him, Mack turned and looked straight at where
Ben and Anna were hiding in the ditch. He stopped working at the zipper
and stared for a moment. Something didn't look right to him.

"What the hell ..." he muttered. "What is that?" He shrugged and half
turned, then stopped and looked back.

After thinking it over for a few seconds, he took a couple of steps
closer to the shallow, brush-covered ditch, his hand moving to rest on
the butt of his pistol. He cocked his head to one side, a very puzzled
look on his face. He took a couple more steps, then stopped as what he
was really seeing finally dawned on him.

Then he looked right into the eyes of Ben. His mouth dropped open in
surprise.

"Jesus H. Christ! Goddamn, it's Raines!" the FPPS agent shouted, and
jerked out his pistol.

Ben had no choice. He shot the man.

Anna had shifted positions the instant Ben fired, and was able to cover
one side of the building where the other agents were, facing the road.

One FPPS agent came boiling around the side of the building, a
submachine gun at the ready, and Anna shot him, knocking the legs from
under him and sending him yelling in pain and sprawling to the hard ground.

"Get on the damn radio!" Alice yelled. "Advise the CP we have Raines and
the girl pinned down, and get some help out here right now."

"I don't think so," Anna muttered. From her position, she was able to
cover both Federal vehicles. She waited for an agent to make a move.

One did. The FPPS agent called George tried a fast run for his SUV, and
Anna brought him down, the impacting 5.56 rounds knocking him face first
onto the cracked concrete of the old parking lot. George rolled over a
couple of times, and came up on one knee, leveling his CAR.

239

Anna gave him another burst and turned out George's lights forever.

Ben lobbed a grenade into the rear of the old building, and when it blew
the concussion just about finished what was left of the frame structure.
The front half of the building gave it up and collapsed outward, the
debris burying two of the FPPS agents.

"Get this shit off me!" Nickie hollered. "I can't get out from under it."

"Help!" Pat yelled. "I'm pinned in here. I can't move."

Ben tossed another grenade and the rest of the termite-infested old
building fell apart, settling to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Both Ben and Anna moved during that shattered minute of dusty
confusion-Ben a half dozen yards to his left, Anna a half dozen yards to
her right.

They could now cover the road and the vehicles.

Anna held up a grenade and Ben nodded, pulling the pin on a grenade.
Father and daughter hurled the lethal mini-bombs, which landed just
behind the front of the debris and blew, sending shards of wood and
chunks of concrete block flying in all directions.

One small chunk of concrete hit Alice smack in the center of her
forehead and knocked her as goofy as a road lizard. She lost her weapon
amid the dust and falling debris. She crawled around on Ithe ground,
dazed and confused and bleeding from a cut on her forehead until she
finally collapsed, out of it for a few moments.

Agent Beck emerged from the jumble of fallen crap and got off half a
magazine before Ben and Anna riddled him with bullets.

Darin tried a run for his vehicle and Anna put him down, stitching him
across the waist. Darin tried to crawl, but his legs would not function.
He died face down in the dust.

"Shit on this!" Pat yelled as he finally managed to work his way clear
of the rubble that had buried him and Nickie. He burned a few rounds in
Ben's direction. Bad move on his part. He forgot to take Ben's shift in
position into

240

account, and his shots hit air. Ben didn't miss. Ben shot him in the
chest, and Pat went down on his back. His legs trembled once, then he
was still.

"Hey, folks!" Hal yelled. "Listen to me for a minute. Stop shooting. How
about a truce? Huh? I'm not all that keen on dying."

"Sounds good to me," Ben said. "All of you toss out your guns and stand
up, and you'll live. But it had better be unanimous, and no tricks."

"I'm out of it," Roy said. "I need a doctor. I'm hit in both legs."

"Sounds OK to me," Agent Paul called. "Here's my guns, coming out." A
pistol and M-16 came clattering out onto the concrete.

"Get the rest of this crap off me, and I'll be more than happy to give
it up," Nickie yelled. "But I can't move. My legs are pinned."

"Alice is unconscious," Hal called. "So I'll vote for her. We're done,
General Raines. Like through, man."

"Toss all the guns out and stand up. Behave, and I promise you that none
of you will be hurt. One of you go help the woman get clear of that
debris that fell on her. And a couple of you help your wounded partner."

Anna gathered up all the weapons and looked at Ben. "The big SUV," he
told her. "Let's ride in style."

She grinned and winked at him. Anna's spirit was indefatigable.

After putting the weapons in the back of the big wagon, Anna stood guard
over the agents while Ben checked the wounded man. His wounds were
certainly painful, but not at all life-threatening. He put a field
dressing on the wounds, gave the man some antibiotics in tablet form,
and then gave him a pain pill.

"That'll help with the pain, and you'll live," Ben told the man. "But I
can tell you not for long if you keep fucking around with Rebels."

The wounded agent tried a smile. "I can damn sure believe that, General.
You guys play rough."

241

"You people are clicking around with a way of life that works well for
us. Leave us the hell alone, and everything will be all right."

"I'm just taking orders, that's all, General."

"Yeah, I know. The best advice I can give you is to stop it."

"Then how do I make a living and feed my kids?"

"Find another job, partner."

The agent looked at him.

"Unless you enjoy kicking in the doors of decent people in the middle of
the night and rousting them out of bed."

"There are laws against possessing certain types of guns in America,
General."

"Yeah, right. The forerunner of the FPPS used to remind me of that every
now and then."

"That hasn't been that many years ago, General. If you people hadn't
formed up into survival groups and militias and raised so much
anti-government talk, the collapse of the government might not have
happened."

Ben chuckled at that. "Is that what the present administration is
teaching now?"

"President Osterman is a wonderful person," the agent said stiffly. "And
you people are very wrong when you say she is a socialist."

"It's a unique brand of socialism, boy. I refer to much of it as
cultural Marxism."

"Sir? That's a new one on me."

"Political correctness, son. It's nothing more than cultural Marxism."

"I'll have to remember that."

"Yeah. When your masters debrief you after this operation be sure and
tell them what I said."

"Rest assured, I will."

"I'm sure of that, son." Ben gave the wounded agent a pain pill. "Put
that in your pocket for later. It's probably going to be several hours
before anyone comes looking for you. And take my word for it, it's a
long hike out of here."

242

"You'll never make it to the border, General."

"Oh, I think we will. And I really hope we can do it without further
bloodshed."

"Roy, stop talking to that traitorous bastard!" Alice shouted across the
way. "And by God, that's an order. You two are getting real chummy over
there."

The woman was sitting up, her butt on a concrete block, and had regained
her senses, as much as she ever had them-which probably wasn't that
much, considering the type of government she was working for. One of the
other agents had put a field dressing on her forehead and given her a
couple of aspirin.

Alice concluded her opinion of Ben Raines. "The son of a bitch is
venomous as a cobra! And slick as an eel." She looked at Anna. "So is
this Rebel whore."

"Screw you, too, lady," Anna said. "That is, if anybody would want to."

Alice cussed Anna and Anna gave the woman a very dirty look, followed by
the finger.

?Filthy bitch!'' Alice said. ?What do you do in your spare time,
whore-fuck the troops?"

"Easy, Anna," Ben cautioned. "She's just trying to get you to do
something stupid."

Anna smiled at Alice. "Fucking the troops is certainly something you'd
never do, is it, Butch?"

Ben thought Alice was going to lose it and do something really dumb, but
the woman managed to hold her temper in check. She looked down at the
ground and said no more.

"All right," Ben said. "Anna, you take the two women over behind that
broken-down shed and make them strip down to the skin." He smiled.
"Including their boots. Bring their clothing over here to me. You men,
as soon as the ladies are out of sight peel down and toss your clothing
over to me. Do it!"

"I'll do no such thing!" Alice flared.

243

"Yes, you will," Anna said, lifting the muzzle of her CAR. "Or I'll
knock a leg out from under you and rip the clothes off you."

"You better do what she tells you to do, Alice," Ben said. "Right now."

Nickie tugged at Alice's arm. "Come on, Alice. It's no big deal. Let's
do it."

With dirty looks at Ben and Anna, Alice and Nickie walked off behind the
shed.

"Peel," Ben told the men.

Ben gathered all the clothing and went through the pockets, looking for
lighters and matches. They could start a fire, and a large amount of
smoke would bring investigators. He found several boxes of matches and
several lighters ... and a couple packs of cigarettes. He put the
cigarettes in his pocket and stowed the matches and lighters in a rucksack.

Anna tossed him the women's clothing and he went through it, finding a
small packet of waterproof matches in a pocket in each multi-pocketed
jumpsuit. He tossed the clothing back to Anna, minus the boots, then
returned the clothing to the men, also minus the boots.

Ben tossed the boots in the second seat of the big SUV. He then loaded
the still unopened ice chest in the rear cargo compartment.

"OK, boys and girls," Ben said. "Get into that piece of shed over there
and stay put. And I mean stay put."

"What about our boots?" Nickie asked.

"They stay with us. You won't be walking very far barefoot."

"That's no way to treat prisoners of war, General," Roy said.

"You're not prisoners of war. War has not yet been officially declared
between our two countries, and personally I hope it never is."

"Oh, it will be, General," Alice popped off. "And we'll

244

destroy your goddamn gunsmoke society. And I hope I get you in gunsights
someday."

"Oh Jesus, Alice," Nickie said. "Will you please shut that damn mouth of
yours?"

"Don't you dare speak to me in that tone of voice!" Alice yelled at her.
"I'm the senior agent here."

"Whoopee and congratulations," Anna said. "Now haul your senior ass into
that shed, lady. Move it!"

Ben noticed that several of the men smiled at the exchange between the
two female FPPS agents. Ben suspected that all was not real hunky-dory
when it came to promotions within the government agency.

When the agents had been herded into the shed, Anna said, "They won't be
in there one minute after we pull out."

"I know it. But I don't think they'll go very far barefooted. You drive
the other SUV, Baby. Follow me down the road for a few miles, then we'll
tuck it away in the woods and rip out some wiring just in case they do
hike down a ways and find it... which is very doubtful."

"OK. Did you look in the ice chest? What's in there? I'm hungry as a hog."

"No, I haven't. Not yet. We'll eat when we get a few miles down the road."

"I can last that long, I guess, before I fall over from hunger. Anything
holding us here?"

"Just gravity."

"Smartass," she muttered. "So let's go, before Alice decides to do
something real funky."

"Funky? I haven't heard that word in a long time."

"How about 'shitty,' then?"

Ben shook his head. "Forget it kid. Let's get gone from here."

"Yeah, let's go. I'm hungry."

Ben muttered under his breath about young people in general and Anna in
particular, and walked to the lead SUV.

245 245

Thirty seconds after they had pulled out, Alice stepped gingerly out of
the old shed, walking carefully on bare feet. She looked down the road
and lifted her right hand, saluting Ben and Anna with a middle finger.

246

247

Chapter Twenty-four

Ben found an old road of sorts about ten miles from the site of the
shootout and turned off the highway. He and Anna tried on the boots
taken from the FPPS agents and each found a pair that fit perfectly.
Then they opened the well-stocked ice chest and had lunch.

"I don't think these agents were paying much attention to a healthy
diet," Ben remarked, fixing a huge sandwich.

At the moment, Anna could only nod her head in agreement. She was too
busy chowing down on a sandwich approximately the same size as a
catcher's mitt.

After chewing and swallowing and take a long drink of cola, Anna said,
?Not much farther, according to the map."

"Probably forty miles to the border. But they'll be dicey ones. Bet on
that."

Finished with lunch, with no lingering hunger pangs for the first time
in several days, Ben ripped several handfuls of wiring from under the
hood and dash of the second, smaller SUV and Anna got into the big SUV
with him.

Heading down the road, Anna clicked on the dash radio and she and Ben
listened to the news. Federal troops had

248

again tried to punch through along the border of Virginia and had been
beaten back. Several teams of guerrillas had tried to land along the
South Carolina coast. They had been killed, and the ship that brought
them had been sunk, many of the crew taken captive by the Rebels.

Anna switched stations, over to a SUSA based Free Radio Network station.
President Osterman had called for a world boycott against the SUSA. It
had been ignored by all the leaders of the free world. While many of the
leaders of other nations did not approve of the Tri-States philosophy of
government, the SUSA was by far the most productive nation in the world,
with most of its factories running at least sixteen hours a day and
others working around the clock. The goods produced by the workers in
the SUSA were of the highest quality. Leaders in many countries
remembered it was Ben Raines and the Rebels who risked their own lives
to save their asses, even though many of those same countries were now
on the verge of civil war themselves. Besides all that, no one wanted to
get on the bad side of the President of the SUSA, Cecil Jefferys, and
they sure as hell didn't want to get Ben Raines pissed at them.

The Federal troops had once again pulled back to regroup and make plans.

"Those troops we saw back up the road," Anna said.

"Yes. I hate to see this, but war's definitely coming. And when the
Federals come at us in full force, it will eventually tear this country
apart."

They rode for a few miles in silence, not seeing another vehicle on the
road.

"I know a way to stop this war before it can get started." Anna broke
the silence. She looked hard at Ben. "And so do you."

"Yes. I do. But we'd have to whack a lot of people. My Zero Squads did
just that about a decade ago. And they all died doing it. A lot of very
good people." Ben sighed and shook his head. "That is strictly a last
resort, and I hope it never reaches that point."

249

"But you think it might?"

"Yes, I do, Anna. It's sad, but I do. And when it does, it will be the
end of this once great country-both the SUSA and the USA. Nothing will
ever be the same again after that. It will be the darkest moment in our
history."

"But we can rebuild, Pops."

"You young people can try, and I hope you succeed. But for me, I plan to
go down with a gun in my hands, fighting for what I believe in."

"And Uncle Ike?"

"He'll be with me, and so will Cecil and a lot of others who have helped
make a dream become a reality for millions of Tri-Staters."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Yes. But in the meantime, I'll do whatever's necessary to preserve the
SUSA."

They rode on for a few more miles without speaking. They met no traffic,
and saw no signs of human life.

"Town just up ahead," Anna said, looking at a map. "Two or three more
miles."

"And then how much farther to the border?"

"Well ... this road ends. You're going to have to go either left or
right on this highway. If we turn east, it's a good twenty-five miles to
the next road south."

"And west?"

"Just a few miles to a county road heading south. It's unpaved. But that
road will take us to within five miles or so of our border."

"West it is, then." Ben patted the steering wheel of the big nine
passenger SUV. "This is a really nice vehicle. I don't think I want to
give it up."

Anna cut her eyes to him. "Oh, hell. Now just exactly what does that mean?"

"Means I just might decide to keep it."

"That's what I thought." She rubbed the fabric of the seat. "Well, it is
nice. Cooper would like it."

Ben braked as they came to the major highway. It appeared to be in fair
shape. He looked both ways. No

250

traffic. "Strange," he said. "Troops massing all along our borders ...
everywhere but here, that is. And no checkpoint at a junction on a major
highway. I find that very odd." He took his foot off the brake. "But,
what the hell. Let's give it a try." He grinned at Anna. "What do we
have to lose?"

She grimaced. "Oh, sure. Of course try it. What do we have to lose? Not
very much. Just our lives."

"Oh, ye of little faith. Check the map, Kiddo. How far to this county road?"

Anna studied the map for a few seconds. "The map doesn't show the
mileage, but I'd guess no more than ten at the most. Then another ten on
the unpaved road down to the junction of a paved highway. Then we turn
west for maybe three or four miles before coming to another unpaved road
that leads right to our border."

"It all sounds just too damn easy."

"It sure looks easy."

"We'll find out." Ben checked the road ahead and his rearview mirror.
"Where the hell is all the traffic? This is just too damn weird."

"Doesn't anybody live around here?" Anna questioned. Then snapped her
fingers. "Pops, maybe the government ordered all the people out."

Ben held up a hand, then snapped his fingers. "Sure! That's it. They've
all been ordered out due to the war. So that means ... a big push is
being planned. A really big push, to paraphrase Ed Sullivan."

Anna looked at him. "Who's Ed Sullivan?"

About halfway down the gravel and dirt county road, Ben pulled over and
dug out his radio while Anna made a visit to the bushes. The
transmission would be scrambled, as were nearly all Rebel transmissions.

He was answered on the first send.

"General Raines! Are you all right, sir?"

251

"I'm fine. Anna's with me, and she's OK. Are you aware of any big push
being planned by the Federals?"

"Negative, sir. Nothing in the works. We've beaten back everything
they've tried. And they've taken some heavy losses."

"Parts of extreme Southern Missouri have been evacked of civilians. We
haven't seen a living soul, other than FPPS agents, in several hours.
Pass that word onto General McGowan, please."

"Yes, sir! Do you want us to come in and get you, General?"

"Negative on dust-offs. I like the SUV I'm driving."

"Ah ... say again, sir?"

"Forget it. If I get in a jam I'll let you know. Eagle out."

Anna returned and leaned up against the big wagon. "Did you give them
our location?"

Ben smiled at her. "Of course not."

"I figured as much." She stared at him for a few heartbeats. "You'll
never change, will you? You really get a kick out of lone-wolfing it,
don't you?"

"I don't object to it. And no, I won't change. Not until age forces me
out of the field. And that's going to be a few more years, at least.'

"Uh huh. You know, people do worry about you."

"So I've been told. They should worry about something else. I can take
care of myself."

"So what happens now?"

"We hide the wagon and stick around here. See what happens and call it in."

"On this gravel road?"

"What better route to take to move large numbers of troops, especially
at night?"

She nodded her head. "You're right I hadn't thought of that. The road's
dry and pretty hard-packed, too. Won't be much dust kicked up."

"So let's find a place to tuck and camouflage the vehicle, and see what
happens."

252

"Suits me. We've still got lots of food, and it'll stay cold for hours
longer."

"Hungry again?" Ben asked with a smile.

"I will be in a little while."

"Let's get this vehicle hidden and find us a good vantage point." He
looked around. "Like that hill right over there with the timber on it."

She smiled and lifted a pair of very expensive and high-powered
binoculars. "So nice of those FPPS agents to lend us these. There are
two pairs."

"Remind me to send them a 'thank you' card. Come on, let's get into
position and see what happens."

253

Chapter Twenty-five

Ben radioed in their position after he and Anna counted twenty-five
deuce and a halfs packed with troops, all heading south on the unpaved
county road. This time, though, both Ike and Cecil were standing by to
receive Ben's transmissions.

"Our informants in that area alerted us there might be a big push in the
works, Ben," Ike told him. "Now that you've confirmed it, I think it's
time for you and Anna to get the hell out of that area."

"I don't know if we can, Ike," Ben told him. "Traffic has picked up
again. This convoy now approaching looks like it's going to be a long
one. Ike, there are tanks moving south with this column. Quite a bit of
armor. This is shaping up to be one hell of a push. It would be very
risky for us to attempt a move at this time."

"Ben, we're going to start hitting that area hard. But we can't if you
and Anna are in there. You've got to move out. Right now."

"No place for us to go, Ike. But you've got to hit now. We can't afford
to allow this buildup to continue. Send in

254

the steel and lead, and do it now. Do I have to make that a direct order?"

"No, Ben, you don't."

"That's good, Ike."

"The attack will begin in approximately fifteen minutes with artillery,
followed by gunships."

"Anna and I will head east and hunt a hole. Put a stopper in this, Ike.
Right now." Before Ike could respond, Ben said, "Eagle out."

Ben looked at Anna, lying beside him on the ridge, staring at him.
"We've got to hunt us a deep hole, Baby. This area is about to get creamed."

"There are shovels in the wagon."

"Let's get them and then get the hell away from this immediate area ...
pronto. We'll take what we absolutely have to have and haul ass. Let's
do it."

Ben and Anna hurried back to the SUV, geared up as much as possible, and
then headed east. They had walked for perhaps half a mile when the Rebel
artillery barrage began. Ike was really laying it on heavy, and the
Rebel gunners were right on target.

Rebel 155's and 203mm, located just across the border, were laying down
a wall of steel.

Ben and Anna didn't have time to dig a hole, but they did find a deep
ravine and hurriedly got in it, huddling close to one side while the
artillery shells came crashing around them. Bits of hot steel filled the
air, whistling a deadly song. The Rebel gunners were using various types
of rounds, including high explosive-fragmentation/projectile and white
phosphorus. The HE projectile contained sixty anti-personnel grenades.
That round was among the most feared and dreaded of any artillery round.

Just a half mile to the west of where Ben and Anna huddled in the ravine
explosions were ravaging the night, and the sky was lit up with fires as
fuel tanks were ignited. From a half mile away, whenever the heavy
artillery barrage let up for a few seconds, Ben and Anna could hear the

255

faint cries of the horribly wounded men and women in the convoy.

A full squad of troops came running through the brush and timber, not in
panic, but just getting away from the deadly barrage that was raining
down on the convoy.

They ran right into the decidedly unfriendly fire of Ben and Anna.

The pair cut the squad by fifty percent during the first few seconds of
fire.

"What the hell!" a man called. "It's the Rebels. They've come across the
border. They've sent ground troops onto US soil. Get on the horn and
alert the-"

He never got to finish. Ben stitched him with 5.56 rounds and Anna
started screwing the lid of the coffin down tight by tossing two
grenades into the still knotted-up band of Federals.

Ben finished it with a full magazine.

He didn't know if someone got off a transmission in the seconds before
the squad was finished. He could not take the chance. He had to assume
they did.

"Get some full magazines off the bodies," Ben told Anna. "Quickly, Baby.
Then we've got to get the hell out of here. I'll stand watch."

Anna hurriedly began filling a couple of rucksacks with full mags and
grenades. They both ignored the moaning and the cries for help from the
wounded.

"You picked the wrong side, boys and girls," he muttered. "You pays your
money, you takes your chances."

Ben found a walkie-talkie that worked, and then they started moving
swiftly toward the east southeast. The going was very slow and chancy.
The night was cloudy, threatening rain, and as black as pitch,
visibility limited to only a few yards in front of them.

Gradually they began putting the sounds of battle behind them, but they
would have to put more miles behind them before they no longer heard the
deadly sounds of the rolling thunder of the barrage.

During a rest stop Ben said, "We're only a few miles

256

north of our border, and maybe only a mile or so from a small river.
When we reach the river we'll stay on the west side and cut due south.
We'll be home by dawn."

She sighed. "A deep tub filled with hot water and bubble bath. I can
hardly wait."

"You're gonna have a long wait, bitch!" The voice came out of the
darkness. "But I think we can come up with something to help us pass the
time."

Ben lifted his CAR and pulled the trigger, burning about half a mag in
the direction of the voice. The instant Ben fired, Anna threw herself to
one side and came up on one knee shooting. When Ben had burned half a
mag he went to ground and rolled to his right, offering no target to the
Federals.

The sudden resistance from Ben and Anna was totally unexpected by the
Federal patrol. The voice would never speak again: Ben's fire had taken
him in the chest and neck. Anna's CAR spat and hammered and knocked two
Federals down. The other members of the enemy patrol fired at where Ben
and Anna had been, their rounds chewing up the earth and nothing more.

Ben and Anna fired together at the muzzle flashes and put down several
more members of the patrol.

"How many of them are there?" a Federal called.

"Just two," he was answered. "General Raines and his bitch kid. Has to
be them."

"Mel?"

There was no reply.

"Dick?"

Nothing.

"Sarge?"

Sarge had been the first to go down from Ben's firing. He would never
speak again.

"Allen?"

No response.

"Bobby?"

That was answered by a groan.

"Jesus, Don, there's only two of us left."

257

"What the hell do you want me to do about it? I can't raise the dead."

"Let's get the hell out of here."

?No way, Merle. Taking those two will mean a promotion for both of us.
Think about it, man. Couldn't you use the extra money?"

"I guess so."

"No more talk," Don said. "Let's just take them."

"How?"

"Watch me and learn."

But it was all over for Don. Ben had pulled the pin on a fire-frag
grenade and tossed it. The mini-bomb landed a couple of feet from Don
and blew, scattering various body parts of the Federal over what had
been a large portion of his immediate area.

"Help me, please," Bobby moaned.

Bobby was ignored. "Don?" Merle called. "Don, talk to me, man."

The bits and pieces of Don remained silent. And would forever.

"I'm hurt bad," Bobby called.

"Shut up, Bobby. For God's sake, please shut up! I can't think with you
talking."

"I hurt, Merle. Man, I really hurt. You got to help me, Merle. Please!"

"Be quiet, Bobby."

Ben and Anna said nothing, not wanting to give away their position. They
waited. In the distance, the pounding of Rebel artillery could still be
heard. Ike had ordered his people to pour it on and keep it up.

"Mel's still alive, Merle," Bobby called. "He's right beside me and he's
got a pulse. Please help us."

"What the hell do you want me to do, Bobby? Just tell me that, will you?"

"Give it up, that's what. Jesus Christ, man! What choice do we have?
Rebels will be compassionate to prisoners. That's what I keep hearing
from people who've fought

258

them. But they won't give no quarter to people who keep righting them.
They'll kill us, Merle."

"Well ... you two are hurt. Mel's still alive? You sure about that?"

"Hell yes, I'm sure. I can hear him breathing. He's right beside me."

"All right, Bobby. OK. We'll do it your way. Hey, General Raines, or
whoever you are. We surrender. We give up, man! You hear me?"

"I hear you. Leave your weapons on the ground and stand up," Ben told
the men. "Hands in the air. If I see what even looks like a weapon, I'll
kill you. Do it!"

"Mel can't stand up, General. He's unconscious."

"Then you and your buddy stand up ... right now!"

Two shadowy forms rose slowly to their feet, hands in the air.

"Walk toward me a few steps," Ben told them. "Right there. Stop and sit
down. Both your hands on the top of your helmet, fingers laced. Do it."

"Watch them, Anna. I'll see about the wounded one."

Using a small flashlight, Ben checked out the one called Mel. He was
indeed alive, his pulse strong. One round had knocked his helmet off,
and another round had creased his skull. He would have one hell of a
tremendous headache when he came out of it, very much alive.

Now what to do with the prisoners?

As if reading his mind, Anna said, "We could just shoot them. It would
save us a lot of trouble."

Ben didn't know if she was joking or not. With Anna you never knew.

"Let's keep them alive, Anna," Ben said, shutting up the very sudden and
urgent babbling from the two prisoners.

"Whatever," Anna said.

Ben checked out Bobby's wounds. They were very minor, but painful.

"You let us go, General," Merle said. "And we're gone from here. We
won't cause you any problems, and that's a solid promise, right, Bobby?"

259

"Oh, you bet! A promise."

"Be quiet," Ben told them.

"Yes, sir! Whatever you say, sir."

Ben quickly made up his mind. "Take off your boots, both of you."

"Our boots?" Bobby asked.

"Those things you have on your feet. Take them off. The socks, too. Toss
them over here. Easy now."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later, the two Federals were barefooted.

"Strip!" Anna said.

Ben looked at her in the darkness and smiled.

"Strip? Is that what you said?" Merle asked.

"Strip, damnit!" Anna said.

"Yes, ma'am!" Bobby said, and started peeling down to the buff.

In a few moments, both men were standing buck-assed naked. Ben rolled up
their clothing and he and Anna gathered up all their gear and the
weapons of the Federals.

"Your friend on the ground has a bad head wound," Ben lied. "If you move
him, he'll die. If he wakes up, he'll probably live. You'd better stay
with him. If you try to follow us, we'll kill you."

"We're staying right here, General," Merle said. "Bet on that."

Ben and Anna turned and disappeared into the darkness.

260

261

Chapter Twenty-six

Ben and Anna reached the river about a half hour later and cut south.
They walked steadily, but not hurriedly. Ben figured they at least had a
good two hour's head start, maybe a bit longer, on any pursuit from the
Federals, if they were lucky-But luck had a nasty habit of running out.
The two men would stay with their wounded buddy for a time-until they
figured out Ben had lied to them about the seriousness of his wound.
Then they would take off, trooping naked and barefoot back to their lines.

The artillery barrage had ceased its deadly rumbling in the distance.
There would be practically nothing left of the long Federal convoy, and
damn little left of the road on which it had been traveling.

After several hours of following the river and making their way through
the thick brush, Ben and Anna reached a clearing.

"The no-man's-land," Ben said. "It runs all around our borders. It was
originally only a few hundred yards wide, but in many places now it's
several miles wide." He took the radio from his rucksack and keyed the
switch. "This is the Eagle with his chick. Anybody listening in the nest?"

262

The response was almost immediate. "We read you five by five, Eagle.
What is your twenty?"

"North side of the no-man's-zone. On the west side of the river. Between
the river and the road the Federal convoy was using on their way south.
You copy that?"

"Affirmative, Eagle. Choppers on the way. You have anything to mark your
location?"

"As soon as I hear the choppers, I'll light a fire on the north side of
the zone. Just at the edge of the clearing. That's going to have to do it."

"I copy, Eagle. Give the dust-off about forty-five minutes."

"Ten-four. We'll be ready."

Ben turned to Anna. "Let's gather up a pile of dry brush. A big pile."
He pointed. "Stack it right over there. Then we wait."

"Let's pull up lots of this real dry grass. That'll light easily."

"Good thought, Kiddo."

"Bubble bath, here I come," Anna said. "And you can get reacquainted
with a razor. I can't tell you how much I hate that damn moustache you
grew."

"Oh? I thought it gave me a Clark Gable look."

"Who the hell is Clark Gable?"

Just moments after Ben and Anna had gathered up a mound of dry brush and
stacked it at the edge of the clearing, on top of armloads of dry grass,
they heard the sounds of running boots coming from the north.

"Federals," Ben said. "We're between a rock and a hard place now."

Ben didn't have to explain. Anna knew the no-man's-zone was heavily
mined, and it was a death trap for anyone who blundered out in it.

"Over there," Ben said pointing. "That will at least give us the high
ground." He glanced at his watch. "Thirty

263

minutes at least before the choppers arrive. We've got to hold out.
We're too close to home to pack it in now."

The beams from what appeared to be dozens of flashlights were getting
closer when Ben and Anna finished their run for the high ground and
settled into position. They were about ten to twelve yards apart on the
ridge.

The both laid their grenades and full magazines out to one side, for
easier grabbing.

"I was getting tired of lugging these things around, anyway," Anna said.
She scooted over a few yards closer to him.

"Yeah, we'll see if we can't lighten the load some. They were getting a
little heavy."

"The civil war between the USA and the SUSA is going to really begin
right here, isn't it?"

"The combined events of this night will probably start it," Ben agreed.

"It was inevitable, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Ben said slowly. "It really was, Baby. But all of us who began
the Tri-States movement knew that from the beginning, when it was just a
dream."

"That bastard and his bitch kid are around here somewhere," the voice
came from the woods.

"If I'm not a whore, I'm a bitch," Anna whispered. "I'm beginning not to
like these people."

"Out there, Al," another voice said. "They're in the no-man's-zone."

"That's crazy, Ed! They wouldn't have gone out there. They'd be blown to
pieces. There are hundreds, thousands of mines all over the damn place."

"Maybe they know the way through?" someone else said. "If General Raines
doesn't know, who would?"

"That's a thought, Jake."

"At night?" Al scoffed. "No way, guys. Nobody goes walking through a
minefield at night."

"Not to mention black wire, razor wire, punji pits, and all kinds of
other evil shit."

264

"You're sure right about that, Pat. Those goddamn Rebels really fixed
this strip up nasty."

"So what do we do?" a new voice was added.

"I don't know, Dave, I'm not going out into that strip, you can bet on
that."

"What hell is that over there?" a Federal asked.

"Where, Donnie?"

Donnie put the beam from his flashlight on the mound of brush Ben and
Anna had piled near the edge of the strip.

"It's just a pile of brush. Shoved there when they were clearing this area."

"I don't think so, Ricky," Al said. "Not the way that stuff is piled. It
looks like ... well, I'm not sure. Hell!" he suddenly blurted. ?That's
for a signal fire! That's what that is. I'm sure of it."

"Then they're ... real close," another Federal said softly, his words
just audible to Ben and Anna.

"Probably looking at us," Al said, glancing all around him. "But where?"

In the cloudy night, Ben and Anna watched as the Federals began slowly
backing up, edging their back toward the protection of the timber on the
north side of the no-man's-zone.

"There!" one Federal yelled, lifting his weapon. "They've got to be on
that rise right there!" He pulled his weapon to his shoulder.

Ben shot him.

Anna squeezed the trigger on her CAR and two Federals went down.

The night was torn apart with the rattle of gunfire and sparkled with
muzzle flashes.

Ben lifted his mike. "This is the Eagle. You copy?"

"Copy, sir."

"We're in a firefight with twelve to fifteen Federals. They're in the
timber on the north side. We're on a small ridge just inside the zone.
We'll be unable to light the signal fire, but you should be able to spot
the muzzle

265

flashes. When you come into visual, we'll toss a couple of grenades. You
should be able to pick that up."

"That's ten-four, sir. We'll spot you with night vision. The gunships
will handle the Federals. When they come in, keep down. You copy?"

"Ten-four. What's your ETA?"

"Approximately fifteen minutes, sir."

"Ten-four. We'll be here."

Ben and Anna suddenly came under heavy rifle fire from the Federals in
the timber. They could do nothing except keep their heads down. The
Federals poured on the lead, but succeeded only in tearing up the earth
in front of Ben and Anna.

The Federals paused in their fire for a few seconds and the pair on the
ridge opened up, returning the fire. No one was hit, but the Federals
learned the Rebels could bite.

"Let's rush 'em!" a Federal shouted. "Up and at 'em. Go!"

"Now it gets hairy," Ben called. "We've got to hold out for twelve more
minutes,"

"Will do, Pops," Anna replied calmly.

Then there was no more time for talk as shadowy figures began running
out of the timber toward the high ground.

266

267

Chapter Twenty-seven

Ben and Anna waited until the Federals had begun the scramble up the
slight incline before opening fire. Their first burst knocked several of
the government troops back and sent them rolling to the ground. The
savage fire put the rest of them scrambling away from the base of the
incline and running for whatever cover they could find.

One of the Federals made the mistake of running around to the rear of
the small rise of earth, trying to get a shot at Ben and Anna from
behind. He stepped on a mine. There was a tremendous roar in the night,
then stunned silence except for the dull splatting sounds of blown off
limbs hitting the earth.

"Oh, God, Al!" one of the Federals hollered. "Larry stepped on one of
those fucking mines. Oh, Jesus God in Heaven. He's splattered all over
the place."

"Settle down, Wally," Al called from the darkness. "You can't help him now."

"Goddamnit, Al," another soldier called. "This ain't worth a shit. They
got the high ground and the area behind them is mined. We'll never take
them."

Wally was crying and making no effort to hide it.

268

"Shut up, Wally!" Al yelled. "Goddamnit, just shut your fucking mouth
and act like a man's supposed to act."

"Me and Larry was recruited together," Wally said, his voice a sob in
the night, "we went through basic together." He broke down again and
began weeping.

"Candy ass kid," Al said, contempt in his voice. "Ignore him, guys."

"I agree with John," a Federal called. "We can't dig them out, Al. We
can't breach that rise."

Ben and Anna waited in silence.

"Then get on the damn radio and call for help," Al yelled. "Edgar? You
hear me?"

"Edgar's dead," Al was told. "He was the first to get hit. I ain't about
to try for the radio."

"Shit!" Al said. "What the hell are we supposed to do? We've got to take
those people. It's our job, damnit!"

"We're on our own, Al. Best thing we can do is wait them out," another
soldier called.

"All night long?"

"If we have to, yeah. Maybe then we'll have some help."

"Help? Are you kidding? The whole damn convoy is gone. The road's
impassable. The bridges are gone. The brigade's nearly wiped out. Help?
From where?"

Green troops again, Ben thought. Very few of them have ever been tested
in battle. Many of the noncoms seem to have no combat experience.

Ben wondered what percentage of the Federal Army was green. Probably a
very large portion, he concluded. And not very well trained, either. If
Madame President Osterman insists on a war with us, it's going to be a
slaughter for the Federals- at least until they get some combat time
behind them.

"These people are bullshit," Anna called softly. "They don't know the
first thing about tactics."

"Of course not," Ben replied in a stage whisper. "The USA has turned
into a unisex society. No difference in boys and girls. No parent who
supports the New Left would dream of allowing their children to play
with toy guns. No

269

such games as cowboys and Indians. They aren't allowed. That wouldn't be
politically correct."

"What the hell do the boys play with?"

"Dolls and tea sets."

?You're joking!''

"Nope. 'Fraid not."

"Good God!"

Ben smiled as he looked at the luminous hands of his watch. Seven more
minutes until the choppers arrived.

"Keep a grenade handy," he told Anna. "It won't be long now."

"They won't be able to land. Mines."

"They'll hover until we can get on board. Don't worry, Baby. We're
nearly home free."

"My bubble bath. At last,"

"Hell with this!" one of the Federals yelled. He jumped up and ran out
of the timber, a couple of his buddies with him, vague zig-zagging
shadows in the night, heading straight for the high ground.

The zig-zagging stopped abruptly as Ben and Anna opened fire, each of
them burning a full magazine into the hostile night. One of the Federals
went down, and was silent. The other two went down on the ground, badly
wounded. They jerked and moaned in pain, calling out for help.

No help came out of the timber, only the faint sounds of cursing.

Ben and Anna quickly slipped home fresh mags and waited on the crest of
the small hill.

"You copy, Eagle?" Ben's radio crackled.

"I copy, Rescue. We're waiting."

"Two minutes, Eagle. Four gunships will neutralize the area north of
your position."

"Ten-four, Rescue. We'll keep our heads down. We'll mark the hostile
area with grenades."

"We know where you are, Eagle. Just keep your heads down and let us do
our thing."

270

Ben smiled as he keyed the mike. "That's affirmative, Rescue. Will do."

Seconds later the throbbing sounds of helicopters could be heard in the
darkness behind the pair on the rise of ground. Half a minute later the
timber north of the rise exploded as the gunships unleashed all their
deadly fury. The gunships cut loose with dozens of 2.75-inch folding fin
rockets and 30mm chain guns. Each of the attack choppers carried over
seventy of the deadly anti-personnel rockets, and the front edge of the
timber quickly turned into a killing ground. Nothing was going to
survive that pounding. Indeed, none of the Federal troops even got off a
shot as the attacking helicopters turned the edge of the timber into a
smoking strip of destruction.

A helicopter slowly began settling down over the crest of the high
ground until its runners were only a few feet off the ground. Ben and
Anna left their gear and quickly climbed on board. One of the crew
assisting the pair gave them a big grin and the thumbs-up sign.

Ben smiled and returned the gesture as he and Anna buckled themselves
in. The chopper turned and roared off into the night, heading south.

Toward home.

Ben slept for six hours and awakened refreshed. His feet were still a
bit sore from all the walking in shoes not made for hiking, but other
than that he felt fine.

The rescue chopper had set down at a base in Northern Arkansas, and Ben
and Anna had immediately boarded a small jet and were flown the rest of
the way to Base Camp One. Anna had gone home, to her small apartment
only a few blocks from where Ben lived.

Ben was scheduled to meet with Ike and Cecil later on that day. Ike was
to bring him up to date on all military actions that had taken place
since he had been gone, Cecil to bring him up to date on the political
front.

Ben learned one thing that had both saddened and

271

angered him: President Altman was dead. The official word from Madame
President Osterman's government was that he died after a massive heart
attack. Ben believed that about as much as he believed he could fly a
jet fighter plane ... and Ben was no pilot. There was not a doubt in
Ben's mind that Osterman had ordered Altman's death. The two had never
really seen eye to eye back before the Great War and the collapse.

After another long, hot, soapy shower (he had taken one upon arriving
home) and a careful shave which included removal of his moustache, Ben
took his coffee and went outside to sit on the front porch and relax and
read that day's paper.

The news was not good.

The paper was filled with war talk and stories about how the Rebels had
thrown back repeated attempts by government troops to cross the SUSA's
borders.

Ben finally folded the paper and laid it aside. He knew war was looming;
he did not need to be reminded of it. He was not looking forward to it,
at all.

Ben finished his coffee and went inside to dress: BDUs and boots. Then
he got into his HumVee and drove over to the capital building for his
meeting with Cecil and Ike.

"It's official, Ben," Cecil said as soon as Ben was seated and had a mug
of coffee. He held up a sheet of paper. "This was brought to me by
courier, about an hour ago ... direct from the United States Department
of State. A state of war now exists between the USA and the SUSA."

Ben took a sip of coffee. Just right. "Have you informed our allies?"

"Not yet. But it won't come as any surprise to any of them. They have
already assured me of their neutrality."

"In writing?"

"Yes. And President Osterman has also been informed."

Ben smiled. "I can just see that socialistic bitch bouncing off the
walls of the new oval office."

Cecil was in no mood for humor, having been on the phone with heads of
state from around the world for the

272

past few hours, but he had to smile at the mental image of Claire
Osterman having one of her famous snits.

Ike belched at the thought, and Ben and Cecil laughed at their old
friend. Ike lifted a hand and waggled a finger. "It ain't funny, boys,"
he said. "That damn woman hates us all. She hates us so much she'll do
anything to destroy us."

Cecil sobered abruptly. "Ike's right, Ben. And after these recent
humiliating defeats of her Federals at every move, and you and Anna
slipping through her net to safely, she'll be blind with fury."

Ben nodded. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Cecil. Remember, I know the
woman. But what, really, can she do that we can't confront and defeat?
The answer is nothing at all." Ben paused and sighed. "Even though ..."

Cecil picked it up. "Even though it will destroy both nations in the
end, right, Ben?"

"That's about the size of it, Cece. Unless you have some viable
alternative. Do you?"

Cece shook his head. "No. Not really. Nothing that would be acceptable
to any of us, or to ninety-nine point nine percent of the residents of
the SUSA."

Ben spread his hands. "So there you have it. What choice does it leave us?"

Ike and Cecil looked at him and said nothing for a moment. Ike finally
broke the silence. "Well, here we go again, boys."

"Sure looks that way, Ike," Ben replied.

"I don't know what else I can do, diplomatically," Cecil said. ?I
believe I have exhausted all peaceful options except for total
unconditional surrender."

"And that's what Sugar Babe is demanding?" Ben asked.

"Total unconditional surrender and the dissolution of the SUSA-yes, that
is what she is calling for."

"Fuck that," Ike said bluntly.

"Yes," Ben said. "That is not an option."

Ben rose from his chair and walked to a window that looked out on a
street. He stood and stared out for a

273

moment. In the SUSA, around the capital building, there were no closed
streets or huge concrete barriers. The capital was as open as could
possibly be. There were guards, of course, both in uniform and
plainclothes. And there were restrictions about civilians carrying
weapons in and around government buildings.

In the SUSA, terrorists and those who would harm an elected official in
the capital had a very short life span. Assassination attempts had been
made on a few occasions, but had never been successful. The assassins
had been tried, convicted, and hanged in a manner of days, not years.

Ben turned from the window. "Put us on the highest alert, Cecil. Travel
outside our borders into the USA is forbidden. Advise the citizens that
we are now officially in a state of war with the United States of America."

274

275

Chapter Twenty-eight

Ben and Ike split up the SUSA. Ike would command troops in Louisiana,
Arkansas, Texas, Mississippi, and Alabama. Ben would take the eastern
states of Tennessee, Florida, Virginia, Georgia, North and South Carolina.

The states of Oklahoma, Missouri, Kentucky, and West Virginia were split
as to loyalties. Parts of Southern Illinois went with the SUSA, in
spirit at least.

"Where do you want my CP, Ben?" Ike asked.

"We'll float, Ike. For a time, anyway. Until we see how the wind blows."

Ben would personally direct the 501, 503, 504, and 505 Brigades and all
the reserves, Home Guard, and civilian militia in the states in his
sector. Ike would command his 502, the other brigades, and the reserves,
Home Guard, and militias in his sector.

The Rebels began making final preparations for a sustained, all-out war
with the USA.

Factories began working around the clock, seven days a week now. Ben had
personally visited the lab and nutrition people and told them in no
uncertain terms that they had better start producing a field ration that
tasted good,

276

because if they didn't his next visit was going to be goddamned unpleasant.

Furthermore, he added, "This highly nutritious and vitamin-packed crap
you people have been turning out tastes like boiled camel shit smells!
Whatever you have left of it, destroy it and the recipe for it!''

The lab people got the message, loud and clear.

Ben gathered his team at his house one evening for hamburgers, beer,
some conversation, and one last peaceful gathering before they hit the road.

"Cooper," Ben said as he turned hamburger patties on the outside grill,
"our transportation ready to roll?"

"Serviced and sittin' on ready, Boss. When do we pull out?"

"Day after tomorrow, oh five hundred."

Cooper looked at Jersey and smiled. "That's five bucks you owe me."

"What's this about?" Ben asked him.

"Scuttlebutt had it we'd pull out day after tomorrow at dawn. Jersey bet
me it was wrong."

Ben cut his eyes to Jersey. "You're losing your touch, Little Bit."

She shrugged. "I have to let him win every now and then. If I don't, he
pouts."

There wasn't a lot of kidding or horseplay among the team members that
evening, and that didn't come as any surprise to Ben. He was sure he
knew exactly how each member felt, for he felt the same way: none of
them were happy about the upcoming war against other Americans, with the
possible exception of Anna. There was a lot of hate in her for the FPPS,
and Ben certainly could not blame her for the way she felt. Anna had
been raped several times during her time with those rogue agents.

Ben did not like to think about what might happen to any FPPS agent that
Anna took captive. Unless he was there to intervene it would be
unpleasant. He was sure of that.

Just before the gathering broke up early that evening,

277

Ben told his team, "Gear up, people. I'll see you all in about
thirty-six hours."

The team helped Ben clean up, and then left. Ben fixed a cup of coffee
and sat on his porch, watching the neighborhood kids finish their
playing for that day in the waning moments of summer daylight; soon
their parents would be calling them in for baths before bedtime.

In the SUSA parents were not afraid to allow their children to play
outside. In all of the SUSA, child molestation was almost unheard of.
Molesting a child in the SUSA was one sure way for a pervert to
guarantee himself a very short life. Punishment for molesting a child
was certain to be very quick and very final. There were no mutterings of
psychiatrists about how the pervert's psyche had been bruised as a child
because his mother had been frightened by a catfish ... or some other
such blathering bullshit as was so often allowed in courts outside the SUSA.

A couple of neighborhood kids rode their bicycles past Ben's house and
waved and called a greeting. Ben smiled and waved at the kids. It was a
tranquil scene. Something right out of Norman Rockwell, Ben thought as
he drank his coffee and listened to the sounds of kids at play.

And why not? he silently questioned. Isn't this the way it's supposed to
be: A neighborhood where kids can play safely and parents can allow them
to play without worry? A neighborhood made up of individuals, each
person with his own likes and dislikes about TV programs and reading
material and music, people who agree-for the most part-on law and order,
and right and wrong, and morals and values and honor?

"It's damn sure worth fighting to preserve," Ben muttered. He drank his
coffee and went into his house to watch some television, but there was
nothing on that he cared to see. He looked over his selection of video
tapes and couldn't find anything that piqued his interest, either.

"Well, to hell with it," Ben muttered. He was just about to call it a
day and go to bed when his phone rang.

"Ben," Cece said, "the Federals have broken through

278

our lines and crossed the border in three places. You'd better get down
to the ready room, right now."

"On my way."

Ben beeped Corrie. "Get the team together and out to the airport. Stand
by to travel. Have Coop get the wagon ready. I'll be in the ready room
with Cecil and Ike."

Ike was staring at a huge wall map of North America when Ben walked in.
Ike turned to face him.

"Ben," drawled the Mississippi born Ike. "The Federals busted through in
my sector right up here in this little bitty corner where New Mexico and
Oklahoma meet. They spread out all over this grassland area here, and
are pushing the Home Guard back. Regular troops are still not in there.
It'll be several more days before they can plug the hole."

"And in my sector?" Ben asked, walking over to the map, his face grim
and set in anger.

Ike thumped the map. "Central Tennessee, and up here in Western
Virginia. They poured across in Tennessee. Intel says they must have
been coming in small groups for days, as civilians. Ben, we're so
goddamned spread out we can't rely on intel anymore. It either comes in
too late, or doesn't come in at all."

"I know, Ike, I know. We've got a couple of thousand miles of border to
protect."

Ben traced the long border with a finger. "But they've got the same
thing to protect with a lot of green troops. And there is this: many of
the residents of the USA are just not going to fight. They don't have
anything to fight with. The government up there has outlawed militias
and taken away the citizens' firearms, and a very large percentage of
those chicken-shit liberals who chose to live up there are just too
damned yellow to fight. They want somebody else to do their fighting for
them."

?We'll get these holes plugged when all the Home Guard gets mobilized
and in place."

"We don't have time for that, Ike," Ben told him. "Get

279

all our fighters and bombers and gunships in the air, and tell them to
get ready to go to work."

Ben turned to Cecil. "Cece, I've got an idea. Have you a line to Madame
President Osterman?"

"Oh, yes. One has been established."

"I would appreciate it if you would give that bitch a bump and warn her
that the consequences will be dire if she continues to push this war."

"I'll do that, Ben." Cecil smiled. "Buying a little time, are we, Ben?"

Ben returned the smile. "You better believe it, ole' buddy. I sure am.
The longer we can stall that socialistic feminazi the better off we'll be."

"I'll get right on it."

"I've got troops moving as fast as is humanly possible, Ben," Ike said.

"If we can stall Madame President for three days we'll be in place. Just
three days."

Ike grinned at Cecil. "Cece, you could always offer to fuck her."

Cecil suddenly looked as though he was about to barf. Ben was still
laughing as he walked out of the office.

280

281

Chapter Twenty-nine

The scene beneath them was peaceful as the big cargo planes roared north
to a Rebel base in Southern Tennessee. The fields thousands of feet
below looked fresh and green in the early summer.

Ben had been unusually silent during the flight from Base Camp One, and
his team had not made any attempt to break into his thoughts. For all
his worldwide reputation as a warrior Ben had thought of and rejected a
dozen or more ways to possibly avoid a war that was sure to tear the
nation apart.

The terms that Madame President Osterman wanted above all else were ones
that Ben would not even consider: surrender and the dissolution of the SUSA.

Ben could see no way that a civil war between the SUSA and the USA could
be avoided.

"ETA thirty minutes, General." The words crackled through Ben's headset.

Ben unbuckled and walked back to where his team was sitting. The huge
cargo plane was carrying Ben's personal vehicle, tons of supplies, and a
platoon from Ben's 501 Brigade.

282

"Coop, as soon as we touch down we're heading straight for the front
lines," Ben said.

"OK, Boss," Ben's driver acknowledged.

"Corrie, has there been any word from any of the other hot spots?"

"Nothing, Boss."

"Word from Cecil?"

She shook her head.

Ben nodded and returned to his seat. Just moments before Ben's plane
took off from Base Camp One, Cecil had informed him that Osterman had
agreed to a seventy-two hour cease-fire during which representatives
from both governments would meet to discuss the main sticking points
between the two sides.

Osterman had inquired if General Raines would be present at the talks.

She was informed that he would not.

"Good," she had replied. "Just the sight of that man makes me nauseated."

When Ben had been informed of her comment, the lone reporter Ben would
allow anywhere near him decided immediately that it would be best Ben's
reply not be printed.

Cooper pointed the nose of the big, nine-passenger wagon north, and
within a couple of hours after landing he was facing the Federals' front
lines, about a thousand meters away, studying the situation through
binoculars.

Ben lowered the long lenses, turning to the colonel commanding the
battalion of the Home Guard assigned to this sector. "Looks good. Looks
real good. You hold for seventy-two more hours, Colonel, while the
cease-fire is in effect, just three more days, and by the time it's over
you and your people can fall back for a much deserved rest and perhaps
see your families for a time."

"That would be wonderful. I'll tell the troops. Oh, we'll hold, General.
You can count on us." He smiled. "Although some of my people are getting
a bit long in the tooth for this sort of thing."

283

Ben chuckled softly. He could empathize with the colonel's remarks ...
at least to some small degree. His own close-cropped hair was almost all
iron-gray now, with only a few specks of brown, not at all unattractive
on him. "I understand that, Colonel. I'm sure as hell no young strutting
rooster anymore, myself. But your people are doing one hell of a job. If
I could, I'd shake every hand here and personally congratulate them."

"I'll pass that word along, General. It'll sure tickle my people to know
you said it."

"Let's see the lines, Colonel."

The battalion commander was momentarily startled. "Ah ... all of them,
General?"

"All of them, Colonel. Every inch of the lines from west to east."

"They stretch for miles, General," the colonel said doubtfully.

"We have time," Ben replied with a smile.

"Would you like to rest for a while first, General?"

"No."

"Something to eat, perhaps?"

"No."

"All right, General. We'll check out the lines." He smiled. "All fifty
or so miles of them."

By the end of the first day at the front, Ben had not been able to see
all of the miles long front, but he had seen enough to know the Home
Guard, the militias, and the few reserves that he'd managed to get into
place were in good shape, both in equipment and in spirit.

They were ready for anything the Federals might decide to throw at them.

"Osterman certainly has nuclear capabilities," the colonel said.

"She won't use them," Ben replied. "For one thing, the Rebels are so
spread out the nukes would mostly kill civilians. As much as Osterman
hates me, she won't be

284

responsible for the killing of innocent civilians ... at least, I don't
think she will."

"Personally, I think the woman's crazy."

"Oh, no, Colonel," Ben corrected. "She's not crazy. Not in the least.
But she is a democrat/socialist, and to their way of thinking that means
they're one hundred percent right about all things and there is no room
for compromise. You're close enough to my age to remember all the
squabbling the old Democrat and Republican parties used to have. They
usually managed to hammer things out ... eventually. Then, only a few
years before the collapse and the Great War, it seemed to all go to
shit. The Democrats changed, their philosophy becoming more hard-line
socialism and new world order. Open borders and go easy on criminals.
It's not pure socialism. It's a unique form of socialism that belongs
solely to the democrat/socialist party." Ben waved a hand and grimaced.
"Ah, what the hell? It's all moot now. The old Republican party has all
but been outlawed, the democrat/socialists are firmly in power, and the
nation is split. So here we are."

"Facing the fight of our lives."

"I think you're right in saying that, Colonel. Win, lose, or draw, the
nation will never be the same after the last shot is fired. Not this time."

"But we will win, won't we, General? You don't have any doubts about
that, do you?"

"Oh, we'll win, Colonel. No, I really have no doubts about that. What
I'm wondering is what we'll win after the last shot is fired."

"I don't follow you, General."

"What will be left, Colonel?"

"Why ... the SUSA, General."

"And a completely, totally, utterly devastated neighbor to the north.
Factories and highways and newly rebuilt bridges and office buildings
destroyed. Lives turned upside down and fresh careers gone. And to make
matters worse, the residents filled with hate toward the SUSA."

"General Raines, the USA has at least five times the

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population of the SUSA... probably more than that. They could easily
field five times our number."

"But they won't, Colonel. Liberals abhor war. They hate guns. Violence
sickens them. They don't want to fight. They want somebody else to do
their fighting. Look what's been done recently-they've scrapped the Star
Spangled Banner as the national anthem because they didn't like 'bombs
bursting in the air' and other lines that they say glorify war. They're
now squabbling among themselves trying to pick a song that's 'soft and
pretty.' Patriotism is "old hat" in the USA. Frowned upon. There is no
God. No Divine Being. No Higher Power. Liberals are far too intelligent
to believe in such nonsense as that. They've lost their direction. And
they'll lose this war. And in a manner of speaking, so will we. The USA
will lose many material things, but they can't lose their faith,
Colonel, because the majority of them don't have any. At least, we will
never lose our faith."

"I understand what you're saying, General." Ben smiled. "Good, Colonel.
Now let's head back and get some chow. I'm hungry."

The Rebel buildup of troops and supplies continued around the clock for
the next three days. Bridges along the border were wired to be blown
electronically. Thousands of deadly mines were laid. Since the Rebels
were always prepared for a fight, depots around the SUSA were already
filled to capacity with millions of rounds of ammunition, weapons,
rockets, mines, grenades, spare parts, clothing and boots, medical
supplies, and everything else the Rebels would need for a sustained fight.

With just a few hours to go before the seventy-two hour cease-fire ran
out, Ike radioed Ben and told him that everything was ready in his
sector: his people were in place, and geared up for whatever the
Federals might throw at them. There was little else he could do.

286

"Prayer certainly wouldn't hurt," Ben told his longtime friend.

"I been doin' that, Ole' Buddy," Ike responded.

"Keep it up."

"Don't worry, I will!"

Then, with only two hours to go on the deadline, a spokesperson for
Madame President Osterman asked if the cease-fire could be continued for
another three days.

Ben laughed when he read the communiqué. "Sure," he told Cecil. "Give
them all the time they need. They're finally getting smart and building
up just like we are ... as best they can with what they have to draw
from. Our eyes in the sky picked that up three days ago. Some extra time
will benefit us much more than it will them."

"You're sounding very chipper today, Ben."

"I've been doing a lot of soul-searching since we last spoke, Cece. We
didn't start this conflict with the USA. We offered to establish trade
agreements with them, offered them protection ... the whole damn ball of
wax. But nothing will appease them except for us to turn belly up and
kiss their socialistic asses, and when we won't they want a damn war.
Well, to hell with them. They can kiss my Rebel dick!"

Cecil laughed. "You are feeling your oats today, aren't you, Ben? Well,
I've done some soul-searching myself, and I agree with you one hundred
percent. You'll be interested in knowing that some surveys were done
here in the SUSA. Something just over ninety-six percent of those
surveyed agree with our stand. So, give 'em hell, Ben."

"I felt the people of the SUSA would be solidly behind us. Anything less
would have surprised me."

"Me, too," Cecil said. "Ben, are we going to be ready when the Federal
push comes?"

"Oh, yes. We're just about as ready now as we can get. A few more days
will enable our people all along the line to get in place. Our fighters
are under wraps at an old base south of us, and the pilots are hot to
go. I'm sure the Federals know we have quite an air force, but not as

287

substantial as what they're going to see when the action starts."

"You anticipate any problems in pushing them back across the border
where you are?"

"None at all, Cece. The only reason the Federals managed to penetrate
this far into our territory is because this is one of the strips that
was never completely cleared and mined. Sugar Babe really screwed up by
asking for a few more days."

"It might be a trick on her part, Ben. Have you considered that?"

"That's the very first thing that popped into my head, ole' buddy. We'll
see."

"All right. You take care, Ben."

"You too, Cece."

Ben talked with a few more people that day and he and his team took off
in the big, nine-passenger wagon to make a run over to the easternmost
outpost of Rebels, on the west side of the Cumberland River, just a few
miles south of the Kentucky line. Ben's personal security platoon was
with him, of course, both leading the way and following in half a dozen
vehicles.

"What?" Ben heard Corrie say. "You're breaking up. Say again."

Ben twisted in his captain's chair to look at her and to listen to the
one-sided conversation.

"Are you sure about that? Nothing here," Corrie said. "It's quiet."

"What in the hell's going on?" Ben asked. "Talk to me, Corrie."

"Apparently, Federals have broken the cease-fire, Boss. They've begun a
hard push against our people at several places. Our people are holding
... so far."

"That damn bitch!" Ben said. "Well, it's what I half suspected would
happen."

"They violated the truce first," Anna spoke. "So from now on it's
anything goes. No rules, right, Pop?"

288

Ben hesitated, then said, "If that's the way they want to play it. It's
a brand new ballgame now."

"Federal troops coming straight at us, Boss!" Corrie yelled. "Less than
a thousand meters away to our north. A full company of them."

"Who the hell is reporting that?"

"A spotter plane, Boss." She held up a hand as Cooper looked to Ben for
orders. "Federals pushing hard against our easternmost troops. They're
attempting to flank them."

"Tell our people we're making a stand right here, Corrie. Pull over,
Coop. Head for that ridge over there to our right. The war just started
for real," Ben said through clenched teeth.

289

Chapter Thirty

With Cooper leading the way, bouncing across the clearing toward the
series of low brush and timber-covered hills, the platoon followed. The
several pickup trucks that were always with Ben and his security
platoon, filled with all manner of weapons and gear, were the last
vehicles to cross the clearing and duck behind the hills.

Ben did not have to order his people to spread out and get into
position: his security platoon operated like a fine Swiss watch. Each
person knew his job and got to it without being told.

"Five hundred meters from the road," Ben's spotter called. He was using
very high power long lenses with range finder. "Advancing slowly."

"Mortars ready to go," Ben was informed.

"Heavy machine gun ready," a Rebel called.

"Big thumpers ready," another called.

Ben's security team carried two 60mm mortars, one .50 caliber machine
gun, two M-60 machine guns, two SAW's (not counting the Squad Automatic
Weapon Cooper used), and two 40mm automatic grenade launchers, called
Big Thumpers. All members carried regulation M-16's with

290

bloop tubes. Ben used either his CAR or his old faithful M-14,
affectionately known as a Thunder Lizard.

"Four hundred meters from the road," the spotter said.

"They're sure to spot the tire tracks where we cut off and came over
here," Jersey said.

"Good," Ben said. "That suits me just fine. I'm ready for a fight."

The platoon waited on the crest of the low hills, hidden from view by
brush and timber.

"Approaching the road and stopping," the spotter called. "Point man
checking it out."

"Has he spotted our tire tracks?" Ben asked.

"Doesn't seem to have noticed them, General. They're crossing the road."

"This is too easy," Ben muttered. "I almost feel sorry for them."

"I don't," Anna spoke up. "It's like you said, Pops- They started it."

Ben cut his eyes to her. She unwrapped a piece of gum, stuck it in her
mouth, and began chomping nonchalantly. Anna certainly has the right
attitude for this business, Ben thought. He looked at Jersey, lying
beside Anna. The diminutive bodyguard yawned. Ben smiled and looked at
Corrie. She was busy talking to someone back at their CP, probably
giving our location and calling in for gunships. Beth looked as though
she was thinking about taking a short nap. Cooper was lying behind his
SAW, munching on a candy bar.

"Approaching max range for M-16's," the spotter said.

"Hold your fire," Ben said to Corrie, and she passed the word down the
line. "Set mortar elevation for three hundred meters."

All eyes close to him turned to him. "Three hundred meters, Boss?"
Corrie asked.

"Three hundred," Ben repeated. "We'll finish this within seconds after
starting it."

"We sure will," Beth muttered. "We'll be checking to see how close they
shaved this morning."

291

Ben smiled at that, and the Rebels on the ridge waited, silent and
motionless.

"They finally noticed the tire tracks," the spotter said. "They're
looking at them."

"Green troops with green commanders," Ben heard a Rebel sergeant mutter
in disgust.

"Knock it off," Ben said.

There was no more talk from the line of Rebels.

"Approaching range," the spotter said. After a few seconds, he added,
"In range."

"Fire," Ben said.

Several dozen weapons of various calibers and millimeters opened up from
the ridge. The Rebels turned the clearing below them into a solid
killing field. The flower-sprinkled meadow became slashed with crimson
and noisy with the screaming of the panic-stricken and frightened, with
the moaning of the wounded. The suddenly dead seemed loud in their final
and permanent silence.

Probably sixty percent of the Federal force were killed or severely
wounded during the first minute of the Rebels' opening up from the
hills. Many of the rest of the green troops panicked and tried to run
back toward the road. The Rebels cut them down with 40mm grenades, high
explosive mortar rounds, and machine gun fire.

After only a few minutes Ben called for a cease-fire up and down the
line. "Can you transmit on their frequency?" he asked Corrie.

"Affirmative, Boss."

"Tell them to gather up their wounded and get the hell back to their own
lines. Do it right now. We'll take care of any wounded they can't carry
or their aid people don't think can be moved. This is the only chance to
leave I'll give them. If they try to make a fight of it, I'll kill them
all."

Corrie spoke for a few seconds. She cut her eyes to Ben. "They'll leave
as soon as they can gather up all their wounded."

"Tell them to leave all their weapons and ammo and

292

grenades. That will lighten their load considerably," he added drily.

"Will do."

The Rebels on the ridge waited and watched as the Federals gathered up
their wounded and prepared to move out back to their lines.

"The officer down there wishes to speak to the ranking officer up here,"
Corrie told Ben.

"Tell him to meet me at the base of this hill. Alone."

"Affirmative."

Ben made his way down the hill and sat down on a log. He rolled a
cigarette and waited. A few minutes passed before a young lieutenant
walked up to Ben. The young officer paled when he recognized who he was
about to address.

"Sir ..." he stammered.

"Be quiet," Ben told him. "And listen to me. First of all, you're very
lucky to be alive. Secondly, your self-appointed president is a nut..."

The young officer's eyes narrowed at that, but he remained silent

"If you have any sense at all, you'll quietly take some sort of
emergency leave and disappear. Move to the mountains and keep your head
down until this civil war is over. And we'll win it, boy, don't have any
illusions about that."

"You can't win it, General. We have the might of the United States
government behind us. A nation divided cannot stand."

"How original," Ben said.

Ben stared at the young man for a moment, realizing the officer had been
so thoroughly indoctrinated, probably beginning at a very early
age-brainwashed might be a better term-nothing he said to him was going
to get through.

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "All right, son. Have it your way. Leave
your weapons, take your wounded, and get back to your lines. We'll radio
our gunships not to attack you,

293

and we'll see to those too badly wounded to move. Get out of here."

The young officer saluted and Ben returned the salute ... sort of. The
lieutenant wheeled about and marched off. Ben retreated a few yards back
into the brush for cover, just in case.

He heard a slight rustling behind him and turned to look. Anna and
Jersey were standing there, weapons at the ready.

"Never hurts to be cautious," Jersey said.

"Besides," Anna said after spitting out her well-chewed gum, "I don't
trust those damn Federals."

Corrie checked up and down the Rebel lines and discovered that all areas
had held against the attempted Federal push. The Federals had suffered a
great many casualties for nothing. The Rebels loaded up the severely
wounded Federals and headed back.

"We'll send a burial crew to see to the dead," Ben said. "I won't leave
these boys and girls to rot in the sun or be eaten by animals."

Back at his temporary CP, Corrie gave Cecil a bump and Ben brought the
President of the SUSA up to date about the Federals breaking the truce.
"Of course they were ordered to," Ben said. "No field commander issued
those orders. It was Madame President Osterman."

"That lying bitch!" Cecil fumed over the miles. "She gave me her word."

"Well, we know how much her word is worth," Ben told him. "She's a pit
viper, Cece. And that's really giving the snake a bad name. She cannot
be trusted. I never thought she could, but I decided to give her one
try. So much for that."

"And now, Ben?"

"Do we have a choice? I think not. Osterman and her cohorts want a war.
All right, we'll give them one. It's what they want. God knows I don't
want a civil war. After the fight, or because of the fight, maybe, just
maybe, there will be a slim chance we can settle this. Personally, I don't

294

think so, but it's worth keeping in mind and giving some thought to.
What do you think, Cece?"

"I think, Ben, you may be right. But I also have to remind you of your
own words-'The nation will never again be the same no matter who wins.' "

"Oh, I haven't forgotten it won't be the same, Cece. Certainly not in
our lifetime, anyway, that's for damn sure."

"Are you set with everything you need, Ben?"

"We have supplies to last us for a sustained campaign, Cece. The last of
my brigades is in place and ready to rock and roll. Armor is here.
Artillery is here. Just wish us luck and a very short war."

"I don't know about the short, Ben."

"I don't either, ole' buddy. This thing may drag on for years. In some
form or another."

"From one side or the other."

"That's very true, Cece. I think we'll win, but the gods of war are
fickle, as you well know." Ben laughed. "Stop trying to shove all the
outcome on me, you old fart. You spent years in the field."

"I'm trying to forget all that, Ben. I'll have you know I have put my
sordid past behind me and never think about those dreadful days filled
with bad food and cold showers ... when we had time to take one, that
is. I now enjoy my hand tailored, double-breasted suits and made to
order cufflink shirts. A cold martini before dinner is always nice, and
then some intelligent conversation with very world-wise diplomats. I'll
have you know I am a highly respected politician now."

Ben burst out laughing. When he could talk again, he managed to say, "A
respected politician? Hell, Cece, I didn't know there was such a thing!"

Cecil gave Ben a very loud and wet-sounding raspberry and hung up, laughing.

"What's so funny, Pops?" Anna asked.

"Cecil. He's a riot."

"Very handsome man, I think. I also think it's time for

295

you to start thinking about upgrading your wardrobe. I'd like to see you
buy some nice, pin-stripe suits."

"Oh? You'll have me looking like Gregory Peck, I suppose."

Anna blinked. "Who the hell is Gregory Peck?"

296

297

Chapter Thirty-one

After their last, rather humiliating defeat at the hands of the Rebels
the Federals withdrew, backing up to their own territory. For a few days
all was quiet on all fronts. Rebels and Federals faced each other in
spotty locations across a wide expanse of land, running for several
thousand miles from the Atlantic coast in Virginia to El Paso, Texas.

The politicians in the USA and the SUSA talked on the phone for hours.

The field commanders on both sides of the line waited and studied maps
and planned.

The line troops just waited and sweated it out.

"Nothing, General," a Scout just back from a venture into Federal
territory reported to Ben. "The line troops are doing the same thing
we're doing-waiting."

"The politicians are still yakking back and forth," Ben said. "Wasting
time, settling nothing."

"From what I've read," the Scout replied, "that's about the way it's
always been, sir."

Ben smiled. "That does just about sum up both houses of the United
States Congress, for a fact."

"Nothing like ours."

298

"Thank God," Ben said.

After the Scout had left Ben sat in the office of his HQ and stared at a
wall map. The SUSA looked small, almost helpless, against the rest of
North America.

Ben shook his head, removing those thoughts from his mind. The SUSA was
anything but helpless, and the USA was about to discover that, the hard way.

Ben's team came wandering in through the open door to his office and
took seats-with the exception of Anna, who sprawled on the carpeted floor.

"By all means, make yourself as comfortable as possible, Anna," Ben said.

"Thanks, Pops. I will." She unwrapped several sticks of bubble gum,
stuck the whole wad in her mouth, and began chomping.

Ben sighed and looked at his team. "What's up, Gang?"

Before anyone could reply Buddy Raines, commander of the Special Ops
unit and the 508 Brigade, strolled in.

"What the hell are you doing here, Boy?" Ben asked.

"Ike decided to make my command a floater. Rapid response, he called it.
I like it."

"I'm sure you do. And you just decided to, ah, float up here?"

Buddy, a very proper young man, was looking disapprovingly at Anna,
sprawled on the floor. He sighed at the pose of his adopted sister,
shook his head, and lifted his eyes to his father. "Oh, of course, Father."

"Right," Ben said drily. "Of course you did. And Ike and Cecil had
absolutely nothing to do with it?"

"Quite right, absolutely. Nothing at all, Father," Buddy said innocently.

Ben lifted a hand. "All right, all right. Skip it, Boy. You're here and
we can use you. But isn't this going to cut Ike short?"

"Oh, no, sir. Those Texans surprised us all. They took the wraps off a
well-equipped and trained Home Guard two brigades strong. If the
Federals cross over into Texas, they're going to pay a very heavy price
... in blood."

299

"I knew they had a hell of a Home Guard."

"That's putting it mildly, Father. Anyway, Intel thinks the main push
will be centered here, or near here. Our operatives in the north are
almost certain of that."

"Are you planning to bring your entire brigade?"

"Half of them. But all of my Spec Op people."

"All right. I'll put you to work right now. Tell your boys and girls to
get across into enemy territory and bring me back some prisoners ...
officers, preferably. And notice I didn't say you go, Boy. You
understand that?"

"Perfectly, Father."

"I'm glad to hear it." Ben turned his head to one side and muttered,
"Not that you'll pay the slightest bit of attention to my orders."

"Beg pardon, Father?" Buddy questioned.

"Nothing, Boy. Nothing. Nice to see you. Get settled in and get your
people going."

Buddy grinned. "Roger that, Father. See you." He tossed a jaunty salute
and left the room.

"I have one kid who's about half smart-ass, and the other one is a
bubble gum factory," Ben said, sitting down in the chair behind his desk.

Just then Anna blew a large bubble and it exploded all over her face.
"Well ... shit!" she said.

The entire team burst out laughing, and Ben couldn't help joining in as
Anna began the process of peeling the gum from her face.

"It isn't funny!" she managed to mumble through the thick layer of goo.

"The hell it isn't, Kid!" Ben said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.

"It's in my hair!" Anna griped.

"Come on, I'll help you get it out," Beth said, standing up and holding
out a hand to Anna.

Anna rose to her feet and the two of them left the room, Beth still
smiling at the younger woman's antics.

Ben stilled the ringing of the phone and listened for a moment. "All
right," he said, "we knew it was coming.

300

Thanks." Ben hung up the phone and sighed. "It's back to work time,
Gang. Federals appear to be massing for a big push in half a dozen
locations." He looked at Cooper. "Get the wagon ready to go and make
sure everybody is geared up."

"Right, Boss."

He looked at Corrie and smiled-rather sadly, Corrie thought. "Show time."

She nodded her head and stood up. "Looks that way, Boss." She turned to
leave the room, then paused and looked back at Ben. "I guess it's never
going to stop, is it?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't think so, Corrie. I think we'll be fighting
for the rest of our lives to keep the SUSA a separate nation."

Jersey rose from her chair and stretched her diminutive frame. "Well,
hell, it was getting boring around here, anyway. I'll go kick Cooper in
the butt and make sure he packs his toothbrush."

"Alert my security platoon, Little Bit," Ben said.

"Will do, Boss."

Alone in the office, Ben picked up the phone and spent the next fifteen
minutes being brought up to date on the situation. He then called Cecil
on a security line and chatted for a few minutes.

"There will be no more delays, Cece. No more ceasefires. This time we go
for the gusto."

"All right, Ben. It's time to settle the matter of the SUSA's
sovereignty once and for all. There isn't much left to say, is there?"

"Just one thing, Cece."

"Oh?"

"May God have mercy on our souls."