A GOOD NIGHT FOR KILLING
  About an hour after dark, the Rebel team began
to gather.
  Ben had two 9mm Beretta pistols on his
web belt and was carrying a Colt 9mm carbine,
select fire. Cooper was carrying a Stoner 63
coma 5.56mm belt-fed machine-gun with a
150-round magazine. Jersey carried a
CAR-15, select fire. Linda carried a
Street-Sweeper, drum-type sawed-off
12-gauge shotgun that was truly awesome in any
type of close-in combat. Corrie was carrying a
very light packback radio and a CAR-15.
  "You know where to go and what to do," Ben said, and
jacked a round into his CAR-15. "Move out!"
  The Rebels began walking silently
toward the darkened town. Only the faint outlines of the
buildings were visible in the mist and fog of this quiet
Irish night ... that was about to turn deadly and
bloody.
  THE ASHES SERIES by William W.
Johnstone
1: OUT OF THE ASHES
2: FIRE IN THE ASHES
3: ANARCHY IN THE ASHES
4: BLOOD IN THE ASHES
5: ALONE IN THE ASHES
6: WIND IN THE ASHES
7: SMOKE FROM THE ASHES
8: DANGER IN THE ASHES
9: VALOR IN THE ASHES
10: TRAPPED IN THE ASHES
11: DEATH IN THE ASHES
12: SURVIVAL IN THE ASHES
13: FURY IN THE ASHES
14: COURAGE IN THE ASHES
15: TERROR IN THE ASHES
16: VENGEANCE IN THE ASHES
17: BATTLE IN THE ASHES
18: FLAMES FROM THE ASHES
19: TREASON IN THE ASHES
20: D-Day IN THE ASHES
21: BETRAYAL IN THE ASHES
22: CHAOS IN THE ASHES
23: SLAUGHTER IN THE ASHES
24: JUDGMENT IN THE ASHES
TERROR IN THE ASHES
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
Pinnacle Books Kensington Publishing Corp.
httpccwww.williamjohnstone.com
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are either products of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
Dedicated to John Cole.
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third
Avenue New York, NY 10022
Copyright [*copygg'1992 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.
and TM Off.
First Zebra printing: May, 1992 First
Pinnacle Printing: August, 1999 10

Printed in the United States of America
  We are so outnumbered there is only one thing to do.
We must attack.
Sir Andrew Browne Cunningham
Prologue
  Beginning in the last few years of the past
millennium, a few months after the entire world was
shaken and very nearly destroyed by germ warfare and
limited nuclear war, one man rose out of the ashes
of despair andwitha few others of like mind began
building a new society. This man was a walking
contradiction. He was a visionary, a warrior, a
philosopher, a teacher. He was so controversial that
his own brother tried to kill him.
  When a new government of the United
States was hastily thrown together, the leaders declared this
man an enemy and put a bounty on his head. The
government destroyed the society he had built and
thought they had killed him.
  They were wrong.
  Again this man rose out of the ashes and again he started
building his army to fight the central government of the
United States, now so corrupt and
dictatorial some were comparing it to Hitler's reign
of terror decades past.
  The central government called the freedom
fighters scum and traitors and malcontents. Those
who supported
  the efforts of the breakaways called them Rebels.
  The Rebels wrested the power from those who had
turned what had once been the greatest country in the
world into no more than a prison camp. Then the
sickness struck the land. No one knew where it came
from or how to fight it. The sickness spread
world-wide, and that was the last blow for an already reeling
earth. When the tide of death had run its course,
there was not one stable government left on earth.
  Chaos was the order of the day. Robbery and rape and
murder and enslavement and assault became
commonplace. Outlaws and warlords took
control. The world was suddenly plunged back
into medieval thinking.
  Except for a few hundred men and women called
Rebels who had kept their heads down and their wits
about them and who followed the teachings of one man.
  The Rebels then began the job of clearing the nation
of human crud and crap and restoring order. It would
take them years to accomplish that. But accomplish it
they did. They fought the Russian Striganov
until he joined the Rebels. They fought the
mercenary forces of a man called West until he,
too, realized he was on the wrong side and joined the
Rebels. The Rebels fought mutants and
wackos, religious nuts and gangs that numbered in
the thousands. Still the Rebels grew and conquered, taking
back the land from the thugs and returning it to men and
women who wanted to live in peace.
  The Rebels fought Sister Voleta and her forces
of evil and destroyed them all. They fought the
international terrorist Khamsin and ground him and his
thousands of troops under the heel of democracy. The
Rebels fought the cannibalistic sect
  known as the Night People and wiped them from the face of
America.
  The Rebels cleared the countryside, then
turned their massive war machine toward the great
cities that still remained in the land of the free and the home
of the brave that had once been called America.
  Slowly but surely, in one bloody battle after
another, the Rebels reclaimed the land. They
systematically destroyed the decaying cities and the
lawless gangs that occupied them. The greatest
terrorist and mercenary the world had ever known, Lan
Vilar, joined in the efforts to kill the dream of the
Rebels. The Rebels hunted him down, along with
Kenny Parr and Ashley and Khamsin, and destroyed
them in Alaska.
  The leader of the Rebels-which now numbered fifteen
battalions strong-established outposts around the
battered and bloody nation. Bastions of hope and
freedom. There were a half a dozen outposts in every
state, towns that had running water and sewerage
systems that worked and street lights and schools and
churches and libraries. Places where crime was
nonexistent. The Rebels did not allow crime.
It was not tolerated. Neither was bigotry. But
acceptance in the Rebel way was not a right. It had
to be earned. If you contributed nothing, nothing was
what you got.
  If you were able to work, you worked. There was no
free ride in the Rebel system. No police
officer had to read anyone his rights; an
individual's rights were taught in public schools.
From kindergarten on up. Public schools taught
much more than readin", writin', and "rithmetic.
Young people were taught to respect the rights of others, they
were taught to respect the land and the critters that lived
in the woods and forests. Kids were taught the
basics-such as, when one encountered a No
Trespassing sign, you stopped.
  Right there. What few written laws the Rebels
had on the books were not there to be broken, they were there
to be obeyed.
  The Rebels took the complications out of society
and brought it all back to the basics. It did not
take a newcomer long to understand that life in any
Rebel-held town was easy and fulfilling and good
... as long as you obeyed the rules. Disobeying the
rules could get a person quickly hurt or
seriously dead. And there was no legal recourse.
Lawsuits were practically unheard of. The
Rebels frowned on lawsuits.
  From the outset, way back before the central
government put a bounty on the leader's head, way
back when the Tri-States were formed and
running smoothly, the Rebels" system of
government was called a commonsense form of living
together. Right away, a lot of people knew they could never
live under Rebel rule.
  Any Rebel society was based on order and
justice. Not law and order-order and justice.
Take a life through carelessness, contempt, disregard
for the basic rights of others, lawlessness, or
drunkenness, and you paid for it with a life. Yours.
  Medical care was free in a Rebel society.
So was education from kindergarten through college.
Kindergarten through high school was mandatory.
College was not. The Rebels understood that some people
are just not mentally cut out for college. So vo-tech
training was offered for them.
  Physical education was stressed in any Rebel
society. Every student received ten hours of
supervised exercise a week. All sorts of
games were allowed, but with this warning: "It is only a
game. Play it, do your best, then forget about it.
Anybody who would fight over the outcome of a game
is a fool."
  Life in the outposts settled down once the
states
  were, for the most part, cleared of any who
had even the slightest leanings toward lawlessness. The
man who was in charge of the Rebels and who wrote the
laws the Rebels lived by was a hard man. That was
quickly learned by the criminal element.
  The Rebels lived in a society that had almost
totally eradicated crime within their towns and
communities. Criminals either stopped their lawless
ways, allowing themselves to be educated and retrained,
or the Rebels killed them. It was just that simple.
Strict, but extremely effective.
  The Rebel army was made up of everybody who
lived in a Rebel society. Everybody over the
age of sixteen was in the Army. Period. You either
joined the Army, or were kicked out from under the
umbrella of Rebel protection and put out on your
own, your I.d. cards destroyed. And with that action,
you could not receive medical aid or buy supplies from
any outpost. When the towns came under attack, and
they occasionally did, every person living there was
expected to take part in the defense of that outpost.
  There were many thousands of people who lived in what used
to be called America and refused to be a part of the
Rebel system of government. No one was forced
to join. More people lived outside the Rebel-controlled
towns than in them. But that was slowly changing
as those outside received absolutely no help
whatsoever from the Rebels. Life was difficult enough
inside the Rebel-held zones; outside the cleared
zones it was dangerous and extremely chancy.
  So in dribbles and handfuls and sometimes entire
communities, citizens would contact the Rebels,
saying, "Okay. We can't make it out here without you
people. What do we do?"
  And the answer was always the same. "Obey the rules
and understand that they are there for everybody.
  When it comes to the administration of justice, the
mayor receives no better treatment than the shoe
repair person. You'll find it's really very
simple."
  And they usually did.
  The members of the regular Rebel army were, to a
person, a bold and daring bunch of men and women.
They were trained to the cutting edge, honed down to hard
muscle, gristle, and bone. And they liked a good
fight. They went out of their way to hunt one.
  There was General Ike McGowan, an
ex-Navy SEAL. General Georgi
Striganov, a former Spetsnaz commander. General
Cecil Jefferys, now in charge of all Rebel
zones in North America. There was
Colonel West and his battalion of mercenaries.
Colonels Rebet and Danjou and their Russian
and French-Canadian and Canadian
battalions. Colonel Dan Gray, a former
British SAS leader and his battalion. Tina
Raines and her battalion. The
hippie-turned-warrior who was called
Thermopolis and his battalion. There was Buddy
Raines and his wild bunch called the Rat Pack.
There were the outlaw motorcyclists called the Wolf
Pack. People from all walks of life made up the
many fighting battalions of the Rebels. The
Rebels were the most feared fighters in all the world.
They gave an enemy one chance to surrender. Only
one. After that they rarely took prisoners.
  The commanding general's orders.
  And the man who had seen his dreams turn
into reality, the man who had pulled a battered nation
out of the ashes and set it once more on the road
to productivity, the man who had drawn up the
plans to clear the nearly ruined nation of gangs and
warlords and lawlessness?
  His name is Ben Raines.
  When the country known as the United States was
finally declared effectively clear of human
crud, Ben
  took his Rebels and sailed for Europe.
Might as well see what mischief they could get
into over there. First stop: Ireland.
Chapter One
  It was late spring when the Rebels pushed inland from
Galway, Ireland. General Jack Hunt had
shifted his mercenary army around and also made a pact
with the creepies. The Rebels would save the cities
for last.
  The Rebels had also learned that approximately
ten battalions of European mercenaries had
sailed across the Irish Sea from England to link up with
Hunt and his people. And other warlords and gang leaders were
sending troops. The lawless element meant to destroy
Ben Raines and his Rebels once and for all.
  But Ben and his people had been fighting unbelievable
odds ever since the day the Rebels were formed. Being
outnumbered fifty-to-one was something they had grown
to expect.
  "Big deal," the tiny Jersey said, when she
heard the news. Jersey was one of Ben's personal
team and his self-appointed bodyguard. "When ain't
we been outnumbered?"
  "We have nine full battalions and one
short battalion," Cooper, Ben's driver,
reminded her. "Hunt now has thirty-three
battalions. And they're at least
semi-professional fighters."
  "Yeah," Jersey agreed, reassembling her
M-16. "But
  we got something goin' for us that those on the other
side don't."
  "What's that?"
  "We're right and they're wrong."
  Ben smiled as he listened to the exchange. His
personal team, with the exception of Linda Parsons,
who had joined them about a year back, had been with him
for a long time. They worked together like a well-oiled
machine.
  His radio operator, Corrie, called from across
the room. "Ike on the horn, General."
  Ben took the mic. "Go, Ike."
  "Everyone is in place, Ben."
  Ben looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock in the
morning. The Rebels almost always launched a
campaign well before dawn, but not this time. This time
they were in unfamiliar territory and facing thousands of
well-equipped and reasonably well-trained
troops.
  The Free Irish, newly armed and raring to go, were
to secure County Clare, then join with Ben's
battalion.
  Other Free Irish were being trained, but they were not
yet ready to go into battle against what Jack Hunt
had to throw at them.
  Ben and his First Battalion were to drive straight
across Ireland, stopping on the outskirts of
Dublin. Ike's Two Battalion was heading first
to Limerick, then pushing on to Kerry and the sea, then
cutting east and taking Cork. Dan Gray commanded
Three Battalion and would push south. Four
Battalion, headed by West, was to secure County
Mayo, then join Striganov's Five
Battalion and push up through Roscommon and
Sligo, securing that area. The objective of
Rebet's Six Battalion was Tipperary and
Waterford. Danjou's Seven Battalion was
to stay north of Ben, pacing his movements, while
Thermopolis' Eight Battalion
  stayed just to the south. Tina and her Nine
Battalion would strike south through Offaly,
Laois, and Kilkenny. The Outlaw
Battalions, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve, were
split up and used to beef up other short
battalions. Everyone would secure, then some would
link up, turn, and push east, toward the coast of the
Irish Sea. Beerbelly and his Wolf Pack would
roam about, wreaking havoc and all sorts of
bloody mayhem as they went. And that group was very good
at doing that.
  "Well, it looked good in theory," Ben
muttered. "Let's see how well it's going
to work." He lifted the mic. "This is Eagle
to all units. Strike!"
  From locations all around and in Galway, the
Rebels surged forward, while men and women and children
stood on the sidewalks and by the side of the roads and
in the meadows and pastures and waved them on. Most
of the men and women were middle-aged, for the outlaws and
warlords had taken the younger men and women to use as
slaves, or to swap them to the creepies in the
cities, for breeding or to fatten them for food.
  "Scouts report that we'll hit the first
resistance on the Suck," Corrie told Ben,
once they were under way in the big nine passenger
wagon, armor-plated and with bulletproof glass
all the way around.
  "On the what?" Cooper asked, behind the wheel.
  "Don't think, Cooper," Jersey
told him. "Just drive. Thinking strains you too
much."
  "It's a river, Coop," Ben told him.
"About thirty miles up the road. Chances are
we'll be hung up there for a day or two. Jack's
people will surely blow the bridge."
  "Scouts report the bridge is wired to blow,"
Corrie said. "Engineers are to the rear of this
column."
  "I love this country," Linda said. "It's so
beautiful."
  A bullet whanged off the side of the wagon,
causing everyone to cringe just a bit. "Five miles
out of town and they're shootin' at us already," Cooper
bitched, bringing the wagon to a halt by the side of the
road.
  They all bailed out the left side of the wagon as
Scouts pulled up in hummers, officially known as
high-mobility, multipurpose wheeled
vehicles, the hummers were outfitted with .50
caliber machine guns. Ben's husky, Smoot,
stayed in the wagon as she'd been trained to do.
  The fire, now coming from a machine gun, picked up
and everybody ducked. But Ben had already pinpointed the
location of the hostiles.
  "The fire's coming from that stone hut right over there,"
Ben called to Scout. "Get a couple of tanks
up here and drop some calling cards in on them."
  The Scout grinned. "Like a Valentine's Day
card, General?"
  "Yeah," Ben returned the grin. "Sort of
let them know we're here."
  "Right, sir."
  Two main battle tanks lumbered up,
swiveled around on the roadbed, and lowered the
muzzles of their main guns while the enemy machine
guns rattled, the slugs bouncing off the heavy
armor-plate. A booming heartbeat later, there was
nothing left of the stone hut.
  "Check it out," Ben ordered.
  Scouts raced across the meadow. Moments later,
Corrie's radio crackled. "Scouts report
all enemy dead, sir. Do we bury them?"
  "No," Ben replied. "The people living around here will
take care of that. Move out."
  Back on the road, moving slowly due to the
badly deteriorated highway, Ben again picked up
a map. "The town Athenry is supposed to be
deserted. But I
  have my doubts about that. I suspect
Jack has moved in troops over the past couple
of weeks. I've told the Free Irish that we
wouldn't destroy on a wholesale basis; but I
also told them that I wouldn't give up a Rebel
life to save a building. They understand that."
  "It's so green and lovely," Jersey said,
looking out the side window. "And so
peaceful-appearing."
  "Scouts report the crossroads up ahead is
clear, General," was Corrie said.
  "Stay on the road to Athenry, Coop," Ben
said. "Corrie, have Scouts check out the southern
route down to Loughrea. Advise them not to get
themselves in a bind. We've got plenty of time and
equipment to do this right."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Have the Scouts check it out and if they hit
trouble, back off immediately and call in. Make that a
direct order."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben had vowed that this operation was to be done slowly and
cautiously, keeping loss of Rebel life to a
minimum. Dr. Chase, the Chief of Medicine,
had hit the ceiling when he'd learned the Rebels
would be fighting on so many fronts. But Ben
was used to Chase's bitching and yelling.
  "How in the goddamn hell do you expect me
to provide quality medicine on six or seven
fronts, Raines?" he had roared.
  "I have complete faith in your ability to do the
impossible, Lamar."
  "Raines," Lamar said, in slightly less than
a roar, "this country is approximately the size
of
Maine,
for Christ's sake. The roads are in horrible
shape, it's going to be a very slow campaign, the people
are malnourished, we have our hands full just trying
to keep these poor children alive, there are creepies
all over the
  damn place, it rains all the time ..."
  "It does not rain all the time, Lamar. Just...
more often than we are accustomed to, that's all."
  "Don't interrupt me. And I want you to finally
realize, get it through that thick, hard head of yours,
that your place is in the rear, directing operations from
behind a desk, you overage Huckleberry Finn."
  "Go suck an egg, Lamar."
  "Damn it, Ben ..."
  "I lead troops into battle, Lamar.
The Rebels expect that of me. Now is there
anything else you want?"
  "About a hundred more doctors would be delightful,
Raines. And nurses, too."
  "Canvass the people, Lamar. I'm sure Ireland
had plenty of very fine doctors and nurses before the
Great War."
  "Oh, thank you so much, great and noble leader.
Goddamn, Raines, I've already done that in this
area. I can't very well go wandering out into the fine green
hills of Ireland looking for more until you start
clearing zones. Right?"
  Ben grinned and pinched Lamar on the chin. "You're
so cute when you get angry-you know that?"
  The Rebel encampment was startled to see the chief
of medicine, with a very large surgical knife in his
hand, chasing the commanding general through the tents and
vehicles. Lamar was cursing and shouting out exactly
what parts of the general's anatomy he planned
to cut off.
  Luckily, Ben was younger and had longer legs.
  Ben halted his battalion just outside of the town
of Athenry and got out to study the village with his
binoculars.
  His son, Buddy, and part of his Rat
Pack had joined
  him on this run ... at Colonel Dan
Gray's insistence. "The name means "Town of the
King's Ford," was Buddy told his father.
  Ben looked at his ruggedly handsome son, heavily
muscled, with a mop of dark hair, always with a bandana
tied around his forehead. "I didn't know you were a
student of Ireland."
  Buddy grinned and held up an old tourist
brochure he'd found back in Galway. "It was
founded in the thirteenth century and much of the medieval
town wall and keep of the castle still survives.
Population of about fourteen hundred before the Great
War. What is a keep, Father?"
  "The strongest or innermost part or a central
tower of a castle." Ben returned to his inspection
of the supposedly deserted town.
  "Thank you, Father," Buddy said with a mischievous
grin on his lips. "You are a veritable well of
information. Of course, when I reach your advanced
age, I plan on being just as intelligent. However,
that's well in the future."
  Ben groaned and shook his head.
  Jersey said, "You may outrank me,
Buddy-boy, but watch your smart mouth around
the general."
  Ben grinned at the expression on his son's
face. Buddy could have jerked Jersey up and broken
her in two without much effort. "Yes, ma'am," he
said.
  Ben chuckled. "You have anything else to add,
boy?"
  "No, sir." He looked at the diminutive and
dark-eyed Jersey, staring smack at him without one
ounce of backup in her. "At least, not with her
around."
  "Fine. Never bad-mouth the general when the
general's bodyguard is around."
  "She's
always
around!"
  "That's right," Ben said cheerfully and handed the
  field glasses to his son. "Take a look
at that village and tell me your first gut hunch."
  "I was only kidding, Jersey."
  "The town, boy. The town!"
  Ben looked at Jersey and she winked at him.
Jersey's jokes could sometimes be a little grim. But
most soldier humor is.
  Buddy studied the town for a moment, then
slowly lowered the glasses. "It's a trap."
  "Why?" his father pressed.
  Buddy pointed to some tiny birds that were flitting
along a row of wild roses. The birds paid them
no attention. "Wild roses down there, Father. But
no birds."
  "Maybe they got tired of those roses," Ben
said with a smile.
  "And just maybe some of General Jack Hunt's
people got careless and drove right through a mud puddle this
morning," his son said, returning the smile and
pointed to the town. "Leaving vehicle tracks that
lead right up to that closed garage door down there in the
village."
  Ben nodded his head. "You're good, boy. You're
in command. Take the town."
  Buddy's mouth dropped open. "What?"
  "You heard me!" Ben said sharply. "I said
you're in command. Take the damn town. You don't
expect me to live forever, do you? I could catch a
bullet any moment. I could step on a mine.
I'm a middle-aged man, son. Not some strutting
rooster like you." He turned to Corrie. "Advise
the battalion that Buddy is in command for this operation."
He looked back at his son. "It's your
show, boy. Do it."
  Buddy gathered the CC'S and PL'S around him,
while Ben leaned up against a fender and rolled a
cigarette. Dr. Chase, whose MASH unit was
attached to
  Ben's command, walked up and gave the cigarette
a disgusted look. "Damn things are going to kill you,
Raines. What's this about Buddy taking command?"
  "Time he stopped running around like a wild heathen
and began taking some responsibility." Ben lit
up and inhaled.
  Chase peered suspiciously at him. "Are you
sick, Raines? Have you been smoking funny
cigarettes? You are actually giving up command?"
  "For an hour or two or three. He's got
to learn how it feels to make mistakes. He's
got to learn how it tears a man up inside when men
and women die on his orders. I can't teach those
sensations, Lamar. He's got to experience them on
his own."
  "There's more to this than you just told me."
  "Yes. Lamar, should something happen to me, Buddy
would have to take command. Now Ike or West or
Georgi could stand behind him and keep him propped up,
but a
Raines
has to lead. You know that as well as me."
  "What?"
  "Not me. I."
  "Lamar..."
  "Oh, forget it. He's just a boy, Ben."
  "Damned if that's so. He's twenty-five
years old, give or take a year or two."
  Buddy walked up. "I'm taking one company in
and some armor, Father."
  Ben shrugged. "Don't tell me. Just do it."
  Buddy hesitated for a second. Sighed. "And
what if I'm wrong, Father?"
  "Then you get people killed and possibly yourself along
with them. The day isn't getting any younger, boy, and the
road is long. Take the town."
  Buddy wheeled about and walked off.
  "You're a hard man, Ben Raines," Chase
said.
  Ben smiled.
  "And don't tell me it's hard times! You say
that and I'll stick a stethoscope up your nose."
  Ben looked at Sergeant Major Adamson,
standing nearby, and jerked his head toward the town. The
former French Foreign Legionnaire
smiled and nodded. He walked toward the company
Buddy was leading into the village and joined the group.
  "Buddy's led troops before, Ben," Linda said.
  "But not with me so directly looking down his
throat. Oh, hell, people. He'll be all right.
Those Rebels won't let him make a
mistake." I hope, Ben silently added.
Chapter
Two
  Ben sat drinking coffee and occasionally lifting
binoculars to his eyes to watch as his son and a
company of Rebels took the village of Athenry.
He smiled as he watched his son take the small
town using textbook tactics. It was slow but
highly effective, and it reduced Rebel losses
to a bare minimum.
  Buddy took it house by house, block by block,
moving his people forward behind heavy armor, utilizing
smoke and teargas to drive the enemy out of the
buildings and destroy them in the streets.
  "Very good," Ben said.
  "A real chip off the old block," Chase said.
"But that chip down there uses a lot more common sense
than this old chip I'm sitting next to."
  Ben sipped his coffee and said nothing in
rebuttal. Ben's team sat on the ground by the
wagon and listened to the exchange. Dr. Lamar
Chase and Ben Raines had been arguing almost since
the moment they'd met, years back.
  "Buddy is offering them surrender terms,
General," Corrie called.
  "His option," Ben said.
  The firing was much lighter now. The very faint
  smell of teargas wafted to the halted
battalion.
  "It's just about over down there," Ben said.
"Corrie, get me reports from the other
battalions."
  "The Free Irish are driving hard," she
reported in a few moments. "They've encountered little
resistance so far but expect stiff resistance when they
reach Clare and Shannon Airport."
  "It'll be filled with creepies for sure," Ben
muttered.
  "General Ike reports no resistance of any
kind, so far. West reports only light
resistance. General Striganov says not a shot
has been fired. No one is reporting any
resistance, sir."
  "That's great," Chase said.
  "It's too easy," Ben countered. "Jack
Hunt may be a murderous outlaw, but he's a
fine military man. Give him his due for that.
Corrie, order all units to halt forward
progress and let's have a skull session using
SLURP."
  "Right, sir. I'll have communications set up the
equipment."
  SLURP is slang for a highly sophisticated
method of communication using electronically coded
burst transmissions. A three-minute conversation can
be compressed into a four- or five-second burst,
then decoded electronically on the receiving end.
  Buddy returned, bringing with him a dozen
prisoners.
  "What do you intend to do with them?" Ben asked.
  "Turn them over to the civilian authorities for
trial."
  Ben shrugged. "Personally, I'd shoot them. But
this was your show."
  The prisoners were scared and their faces showed that
fear as Ben walked up and down in front of them.
"No officers among them, son?"
  "Not that I can tell."
  Ben smiled very faintly as he stopped in
front of one man. "This one is."
  Buddy was at his side instantly. "How the hell
do you know that?"
  "Look at his collar, son. See the pinholes
where the rank insignia was displayed? Take this one for
interrogation." He stared hard at the man. "It can be
easy or hard, partner. It's all up to you."
  "My name is Bob Miller," the mercenary said.
"Captain, Jack Hunt's Army of Liberation.
I am required under terms of the Geneva Convention
to give you no more than that."
  The man actually backed up at Ben's smile.
A very thin sheen of sweat broke out on his face.
"Get these other prisoners out of here, Buddy.
Leave the captain."
  With the others gone, Ben turned to Miller. "Have you
ever been interrogated using chemicals, Captain?"
  "No, sir."
  "I'm told it's a very ... ah, trying
experience. But the interrogation team is very good at
what they do. They always succeed. Do you really want
to undergo that treatment?"
  "Not really, General."
  "Well, I'll give you a few moments to think
about it, Captain. You think hard on it. And
enjoy your ruminations. Because if you experience those
chemicals, you just might not be capable of ever doing
any rational thinking again. And either way you choose
to play it, easy or difficult, I'll still know
  what it is you have in your head. Because you see,
Captain, I am not a game player. We don't
play games during war. We just win. We
always
win." He turned to a Rebel. "Get him out of
here."
  "General Raines?" Captain Miller said.
  "Yes, Captain."
  "What is it you want to know?"
  Ben smiled. "I knew you were a sensible fellow,
Captain." Ben pulled out a long-bladed knife.
"Turn around."
  With a puzzled look on his face, the captive
slowly turned around, not knowing what to expect.
  Ben cut the ropes that lashed his wrists together.
"Have you eaten today, Captain?"
  Miller faced the general. "No, sir." He
smiled. "At least, nothing to write home about."
  "I do know that feeling. Where's home?"
  "Originally, Kansas. Little town name of
Arkansas City."
  "I know where it is. It's deserted now."
  "Yes. I know. I had just gotten out of the Marine
Corps when the Great War struck. Then the federal
police came to relocate me and my parents. We
told them we didn't want to be relocated."
He sighed. "The feds shot my dad dead. Mother
jumped at them and they killed her, too. I went
crazy. Grabbed up a Mini-14 and just let it
bang. Killed them all and went on the run.
Hooked up with a bunch of military deserters and
I've been running ever since."
  "Let's go get some coffee and food and we'll
talk."
  Jersey watched Miller eat and said to Corrie,
"He sure must be hungry. Anybody who'd eat
two packets of that crap is either half-starved or
crazy!"
  "It's far better food than Jack
provides," Miller said, leaning back in the camp
chair and accepting the makin's from Ben. He rolled
a cigarette and said, "Jack's lettin' you people come
on without much resistance. To build up your confidence,
you might say."
  Miller accepted another cup of coffee from
Corrie with thanks and said, "I'm not
privy to his plans -- Jack doesn't say a
whole lot until he's sure a man is
trustworthy comand I haven't been with him long enough
to gain inner circle status. I just took over this
command after you creamed us at Gal-way." He smiled
with some satisfaction. "Jack was pissed about that.
Really steamed."
  "You act as though that pleases you."
  "I don't like Jack Hunt, General. But
I'm a soldier. That's all I know how to do. I
was a soldier down in Mexico, then in Central
America, then in South America, for one two-bit
dictator or another. Then I heard about
Jack's really professional army and came over
on the first boat." He shook his head. "Boy,
did I get suckered in that time."
  "Miller, have you ever raped anyone?"
  "No, sir. But I've been present when it was
going on and didn't stop it."
  "If you had tried to intervene, what would have
happened to you?"
  "They would have killed me."
  "So you did the only sensible thing."
  "The sensible thing would have been for me never to turn
to mercenary work. But yes, you're right."
  "Ever killed anyone in cold blood?"
  "Yes, sir. But then, so have you. Probably many
more times than I have."
  Ben grunted. "I'm certain you're right about that.
  Miller, you come across as a man with some education,
some conscience, some moral value. Do you have any of
those attributes?"
  "Oh, I think so, sir. I once beat the shit
out of a man who was abusing a poor starving dog."
  Ben threw back his head and roared his laughter.
Miller looked at the man, wondering what in the
hell was going on. Ben wiped his eyes and called for
Jersey.
  "Right here, sir."
  "Jersey, take Miller down to the medics for a
physical. Then have him outfitted in proper
Rebel dress and arm him. He just joined the
Rebels." He turned his gaze to a very startled
Bob Miller. "You get that done, then come on
back here. We'll talk at length."
  As Jersey was leading him away, Miller asked,
"Does the general always make up his mind that fast?"
  "Sometimes. You must be an animal lover."
  "Oh, I am. Always have been. I was a member
of the Doris Day Animal League while
I was in the Corps."
  "I heard of her. Miller? Don't ever try
to fuck over the general."
  "The man just gave me a second chance. I
don't have any intention of screwing it up. But what
would you do if I did?"
  "Kill you stone dead as a hammer, Miller.
Cold."
  Miller smiled at the pretty little bodyguard with
eyes that could become cold and unreadable in a
heartbeat. "You really would, wouldn't you?"
  "Fuckin' A."
  "Hunt doesn't give a damn for this island,
General," Miller told Ben. "He's just about
squeezed everything he can out of it. But Hunt and his
new partners-that's all the crud and crap in England-
would like to contain the Rebels here, rather than have you go
ashore on the Continent."
  "So our intelligence is correct about the ten
additional battalions that landed during the past
week?"
  "Yes, sir. But that may backfire on Jack
and the others."
  "Oh?"
  "There is a strong resistance movement in
England. They are not a large force, but they're a
damned determined one. Pulling that many outlaws
away and sending them over here is really going to weaken
the outlaws' hold and give the resistance movement a
hell of a lot more room to do damage."
  "People are starving on this island," Ben said softly.
  "Yes, sir. That's one of the reasons Jack
initially linked up with the outlaws in England. That was
done long before I joined this ... mess."
  "They plan on taking part of the Continent." Ben
did not put it in question form.
  "Yes, sir. France, Spain, Belgium,
Germany, Italy. With Jack Hunt as
president."
  "Ireland, England, and those countries you just named
had such restrictive gun laws that once the
unthinkable really happened, it was easy for the outlaw
element to take over."
  "That's right. An unarmed population is an
invitation for takeover."
  "We certainly agree there. And you really don't
have even an inkling of what Jack plans to do?"
  "No, sir. But I think I could guess and be
better than fifty-fifty correct."
  "Go ahead."
  "Jack is not going to hit you head-on again unless
he outnumbers you twenty-to-one. He learned his
lesson well at Galway. Jack's not a
stupid man. He's cruel and vicious, but
intelligent."
  "As is often the case," Dr. Chase said. He
had been sitting quietly with Buddy, drinking
coffee and listening.
  "Yes," Miller said. "If, or I should
probably say
when,
Jack realizes that you're going to shove him off this
island, he'll cut and run for England."
  "Leaving all his heavy equipment behind?" Buddy
asked.
  Miller looked at the young man. "He doesn't
need to take it. England is an armed camp. So is
Europe. And once he's in place in England, you
people will be forced to make your assault by sea, and he'll
be set up and waiting." He looked at Ben. "It
won't be another replay of Galway, General."
  Ben nodded his silent agreement. "Then I
guess we'd better deal with Mr. Jack Hunt
properly and right here."
  "It's going to be interesting to see how you do
it," Miller said. He smiled. "Or rather, how
we
do it."
  Some of Georgi Striganov's people came
eyeball to eyeball with a group of pale-faced
creepies, cannibals who were trying to hunt a
hole to escape the Rebels. The fight was short,
brutal, bloody, and final. Striganov's men
took blood samples for Dr. Chase's lab people
to test, then poured gasoline on the stinking bodies and
set them blazing.
  The Wolf Pack came roaring into a village
on their Harleys just as a group of Jack Hunt's
soldiers were trying to leave. The outlaw bikers went
to work, in dirty hand-to-hand fighting. Beerbelly and
his people and Wanda and her ladies suffered only one dead
and two wounded. When they pulled out, they left almost
fifty dead mercenaries littering the streets and
sidewalks.
  Those were the only two incidents of combat, other
than the operation Buddy had commanded, reported that day.
Then Ben gave the orders to halt and wait for
further orders.
  The Free Irish reported to Ben's CP
by coded radio messages. "Our
intelligence says that the initial reports of
Jack pulling his people back are correct, sir. But
sad to say, General, a number of our own people
collaborated with that filth. They're not going to stand still
and let us take them in for a hangin' without makin' a
fight of it. And they're just as well armed as we
are."
  "Where are these people, Pat?"
  "All about the damn place, General. And
they've linked up with them mercenaries that got cut off
from their units when the Beast ordered the pull-out."
  Jack Hunt was known as the Beast.
  "Irishmen fighting Irishmen," Buddy muttered,
standing by his father's side.
  "They've been doing that in Northern Ireland for
generations," Ben said.
  "Why do they hate each other so?" Jersey
asked.
  "I doubt they even know after all these years,"
Ben replied. "Each side is trained to hate the
other from birth." He keyed the mic. "Pat, I
suppose that these small groups have infiltrated
towns and villages
  and are holding the people as hostages?"
  "You are correct, sir. It's going
to be a series of very small and dirty battles
among our own."
  "With the larger battle looming at the end of the
tunnel."
  "Yes, sir. That's the way I see it."
  "What is your position now?"
  "Halted just outside of Crusheen. The village
is occupied by a gang of hooligans sympathetic
to the Beast."
  "Ike?"
  "We're holding just outside of Nenagh, Ben.
The town's filled with women and kids and Jack
Hunt's sympathizers, along with some of his regular
troops. We can't use artillery or mortar
fire on innocents. We're gonna have to take it
house to house with small arms fire."
  "Son of a
bitch!"
Ben cussed. He listened to his other commanders
report in. All reported the same as Pat
O'Shea and Ike. "Hunt did this
deliberately," Ben said to his group, gathered
around him. "He deliberately left those people of his
behind, knowing that we'd have to take time to root them out hand
to hand, giving him time to get his army in place
and dug in for a long battle. And you can bet he's
got ships ready to transport to England. He also
figured out that we won't blow those ships because we're
going to need them to cross the Irish Sea. Most of
our vessels are sailing back to America for
supplies. The man is no fool, believe that."
  Ben walked outside of the communications truck and
stood for a moment. He whirled around and faced the
crowd of Rebels that had gathered. "Jack Hunt
wants it dirty, people." His smile was not a cheerful
one. "All right. If he wants it down and
  dirty, that's the way we play it. Scouts out
to Attymon. Now. Corrie, tell all commanders
to move out toward the next town in their sectors and
take it. House by house, street by street. Double
the number of medics with each unit to aid in the wounded
civilians. And we all know there will be some of those.
Let's go, people, we've got a war to win."
Chapter Three
  "Holy Mother of God!" one turncoat
Irishman said, crossing himself as he felt the earth
beneath his feet tremble as the big main battle tanks
advanced toward the village.
  "He's bluff in'," another man said, but from his
tone, he wasn't ready to bet the farm on
that remark.
  "Get them hostages out here," one of Jack
Hunt's regular soldiers said. "Fill the
streets with "em. If Raines gets us, he'll
do slippin" and sloppin' in the blood of women and
babies."
  Old men and women, young women with babies, and
younger men crippled fighting the troops of Jack
Hunt were prodded out of their homes by the muzzles of
guns.
  "Bastards," Ben muttered, his voice savage
as he watched the streets fill with civilians.
He lowered the glasses and turned to Buddy. "You
want to handle this one, boy?"
  "I defer to the older and wiser head among us,
Father. But thank you just the same."
  "West reporting that hostages are lining the
streets of a town in his section," Corrie called.
"Same with Danjou, Rebet, and Tina."
  "Tell all units to put a loose ring around
their objectives and then stand down and rest until
dark. We'll go in blackface," Ben ordered.
  "We'll go in blackface?" Chase said,
walking up to the group.
  "That's what I said, Doctor."
  "Raines, need I remind you that ..."
  "Set up your MASH tents, Dr. Chase.
Get ready to receive wounded."
  "If you get more lead in you, Raines, I
promise you that I will personally operate on your
hide."
  "My God, what an incentive to stay healthy!"
  Chase walked away, muttering to himself.
  "Pick your people, son," Ben told him. "We
shove off at full dark."
  At mid-afternoon, the skies darkened and it began
to rain, a very gentle falling of rain. "Perfect,"
Ben said with a smile. "I just hope it keeps up."
About a hour before dark, he changed into dark clothing and
began removing or securing with tape anything that
might rattle. He smeared mud on his face and
then pulled on tight-fitting leather gloves. He
petted Smoot and was telling the husky to behave when
Linda walked into the tent. She was dressed in dark
jeans and dark jacket, her face painted camo for
night work.
  "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Ben
asked.
  "With you."
  "No way."
  "Then take it up with Dr. Chase. I work for
him, remember?"
  Ben shrugged his shoulders. The chief of medicine
could ground even Ben if he really wanted to,
  and Ben would be forced to obey.
  Ben's team began to gather. Cooper whistled at
Jersey's tight jeans and she gave him the bird.
But she was smiling as she did so.
  Ben had two 9mm Beretta pistols on his
web belt and was carrying a Colt 9mm carbine,
select fire. Helmets bump and make noise,
so they all wore dark bandanas tied around their
heads. Various types of grenades were hooked to their
battle harnesses, and all carried plenty of filled
clips for their weapons.
  Cooper was carrying a Stoner 63, a 5.56mm
belt-fed machine gun with a 150-round magazine.
Jersey carried a CAR-15, select fire.
Linda carried a Street-Sweeper, drum-type
sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun, which was truly
awesome in any type of close-in combat. She
wore bandoleers of shells crisscrossing between her
breasts. Corrie was carrying a very light packback
radio and a CAR-15. All of them carried small
walkie-talkies secured to their belts and
all with clip-mics so each could keep at least one
hand free.
  "Check equipment and radios," Ben ordered.
  Chase stepped into the tent. His face was serious and
he did not immediately kid around. "We're all set
up to receive wounded, Ben. Buddy has his people ready
to go. Good hunting to you all." He winked at
Linda. "Watch yourself with this bunch of wild people,
Linda. But you know that by now."
  She smiled at him and Chase stepped back into the
rainy and foggy night, Ben and his team following.
Smoot crawled under Ben's cot and went to sleep.
  "A damn good night for killing," Ben said, and
jacked a round into his CAR-15. He spotted
Buddy's group and walked toward his son and his team.
When he reached the silent gathering, he said, "You've
all studied maps of the town. You know where to go and what
to do. Noise discipline in effect from this point on.
Move out."
  The Rebels began moving out in teams of five,
walking silently toward the darkened town. Only the
faint outlines of the buildings were visible in the mist and
fog of this quiet Irish night ... that was about
to turn deadly and bloody.
  Ben and his team approached a line of
houses just before entering the main street of the small
town. He stopped there and checked the luminous hands of
his watch. In two minutes the tank and mortar
barrage would begin, and if the outlaws and turncoat
Irish holding the town did as Ben hoped, it would
make this job of work a lot easier.
  "Please, no more," the woman's words drifted out
of a boarded-up window. "I can't stand it anymore."
  The ugly sound of a fist striking flesh followed the
woman's pleadings. The woman cried out in pain and a
man said, "Shut your mouth, bitch. And spread your
legs."
  Weeping followed that as the hunching slap of flesh
against flesh came to the Rebels crouched just outside
the house.
  Ben looked at Linda. His eyes were very hard and
bright in the misty night. Ben pointed a finger at
her, then at himself, then at the house. She nodded her
understanding. He pointed at Corrie, Cooper, and
Jersey, then to the next house in line.
  They nodded and moved out. All but Jersey. She
silently shook her head. Ben grinned. There was no
way that Little Jersey was going to leave his side.
  The artillery barrage began on schedule, the
shells whistling overhead to land harmlessly in the
meadows and fields outside the town proper. The
explosions shook the ground beneath the Rebels'
boots.
  "Get them people out in the streets!" a man shouted the
orders. "Stay in the houses and keep them people under the
gun. Any tries to run, shoot into the crowd."
  "Bingo," Ben muttered. "Let's go."
  Using the shattering noise of the incoming to cover any
sound they might make, the infiltrating Rebels
began slipping into the houses and shops of the town. With the
citizens grouped in the wet streets, out of harm's
way, the Rebels had a field day inside the
homes and shops.
  The man who had been raping the woman was just
stumbling into his pants when Linda entered the room.
She leveled the Street-Sweeper and gave him
two rounds in his belly. Very low in his belly. He
screamed and flopped on the floor, both hands to his
bloody groin.
  "I'm ruint!" he shrieked.
  "For a fact," Linda told him, just as Ben
opened up with his CAR-15 and stitched a line of
9mm's across four men who had whirled around in the
living room, lifting weapons. The slugs caused
them to do a nifty little dance step seconds
before they collapsed on the floor.
  Corrie and Cooper cleared their assigned house
  of all living things and dragged the dead trash out the
back door and tossed the bodies into the backyard.
Jersey was squatting by the back door when several
men came running around the side of the house. She
leveled her weapon and held the trigger back as the
outlaws jerked and yelled and died in the misty night.
  A half a dozen civilians died from outlaw
gunfire before one of Buddy's team could toss a
grenade into the house, silencing the machine gun. The
citizens dived for whatever cover they could find, many
of them running into the now-cleared homes.
  One company of Ben's battalion came charging
into the west side of town, following several
MBT'S. The Rebels pulled the panicked
citizens behind the tanks and calmed them. Ben and his
team moved through the wet backyards of homes,
silently stalking their prey.
  A man with an AK-47 in his hands ran out a
back door. Five weapons fired at once. The
man was knocked off his boots and slammed into the
side of a house. He left a huge bloodslick
as he sank dead to the grass.
  Ben saw a man wearing cammies and
dragging an M-16 crawl under a shed. Ben
dropped to his knees and put half a clip between
ground and floor. The man thrashed around for a moment
then lay still. Linda's shotgun roared a few yards
away and a man was lifted off his boots and slung
against a stone fence. He died with a very startled look
on his face.
  "The citizens are pretty much accounted for,"
Corrie yelled at Ben, after listening to her
headset.
  "Let's mop it up," Ben gave the orders.
  When the outlaws tried to flee the village and
found the area surrounded by Rebels, they tried
to give up. But the Rebels were in no mood to play
the surrender game. They had seen what the outlaws
had done to women and young girls. They shot the
outlaws on the spot.
  "You're nothin' but filthy heathen!" one outlaw
yelled. "They's rules to war and we're tryin'
to give this one up, man."
  "That man and several of his friends raped my
ten-year-old boy," a woman with a bruised face
told a Rebel.
  The Rebel gave the outlaw a burst of 7.62
slugs in the belly.
  "God bless you," the woman said.
  "Where's your boy?" the Rebel asked.
  "He died."
  "Oh, God help me," the wounded outlaw said.
  The Rebel looked at the woman, then pulled a
knife from his harness and gave it to her. He walked
on into the misty night. Seconds later the outlaw
began screaming. The Rebel did not look back.
  Ben and his team linked up with Buddy and the four
Rebels with him. "Let's clear this block," Ben
said. "Corrie, advise the others of our location."
  A burst of machine gun fire sent them all
facedown in the mud, the slugs hammering into a hut
behind them.
  "Anybody spot that?" Ben asked.
  Buddy spat out grass and mud. "Behind that stone
fence at two o'clock."
  "Too far for grenades. We can't get a tank
between
  these houses. A couple of you people work around and get
close enough to chunk some fire-frags in that nest of
snakes."
  Two Rebels from Buddy's team backed out, on
their bellies, and disappeared into the mist. Less than
two minutes later, the machine nest behind the
stone fence exploded in a smashing flash of blood and
shattered flesh.
  "We yield!" a man called frantically, the
voice coming across the street from Ben's location.
"Jesus God, boys, we give it up."
  Several M-16's rattled and the voice spoke
no more.
  "Goddamn you, Ben Raines!" another man
hollered. "You people ain't human!" A grenade
bounced on the earth and came to rest about a foot from the
man's boots. He screamed and turned to run. The
grenade blew and sent him flying over a fence, one
side of his body shredded and peppered with shrapnel.
  Buddy rolled in through a back door and came
to his boots facing a woman holding a weeping and
bloody child close to her. The woman had been beaten
savagely. "It's all right," he assured her.
"We're American Rebels."
  "My girl's been shot in the leg. She was
raped over and over by them trash."
  "Come on. We'll get help for you."
  "I can't walk, soldier. Them trash took
gun butts and broke my legs."
  Unlike his father, Buddy was not a hard-cussing
man. But he said a few choice words under his
breath about Jack Hunt and members of his army.
"Dad!" the young man called. "Over here."
  "Your father is a Rebel, too?" the woman
asked, her battered face white against the pain in her
legs.
  "My father is Gen. Ben Raines."
  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"
  Ben filled the doorway. "What is it, boy?"
  "You'd be please forgivin' a woman for not risin'
in your presence, General," the woman said. "But them
trash broke my legs. It's my wee one here that
I'm concerned about."
  "Get some medics and two litters in here,
Buddy," Ben said, kneeling down beside the woman and the
sobbing little girl. "And tell Linda to get in here with
her kit."
  "I've seen some goddamn terrible things in my
long years," the voice of Dr. Chase rose over
the gunfire. "But damned if this doesn't rate
right up there with the worst."
  "And tell that old goat to get in here, Buddy.
Jesus, there's a war going on and he's out
sightseeing."
  "Oh, shut up, Raines," Chase said, stepping
into the small house. He quickly assessed the
situation and roared for medics. He knelt down beside
the woman and hiked her dress up past her knees.
"Tell me where it hurts," he said, as gently as
possibly touching her battered flesh.
  "It hurts just about everywhere, Doctor-you are a
doctor, aren't you?"
  "That's been debated on more than one occasion,"
Ben said, stepping aside to let the medics in.
  "Oh, go fight a damn war, Raines," Chase
told him, without looking up. "I haven't got time
to listen to your lip now. Easy with that girl, people!"
  Ben stepped back outside and joined his team.
  Corrie said, "Our people are wrapping it up now,
General. It's down to just a few more blocks near the
center of town."
  "Well, let's go check it out. We don't
want somebody else to have all the fun."
  They passed one elderly man who was busy
building a noose at the end of a rope. He
looked up at Ben. "Damned murderin', rapin',
torturin' scum. Tis a rotten shame when
Irish turn agin' Irish. By the Lord God
there'll be justice this night." He returned to his
noose building.
  Ben walked on. "It's what the good
citizens of America should have done back before the
Great War. And I was approached to take part in the
overthrow."
  "Really, Ben?" Linda asked, after they hastily
took cover from a nasty hail of bullets. The
lead wasn't coming at them but in combat, reflex had
better take over.
  "Really." The machine gun opened up again and this
time the lead flew all around Ben and his team. "Will
somebody please neutralize that son of a bitch!"
a Rebel hollered.
  "They have hostages in there, sir!" a Rebel
yelled.
  Ben keyed his mic. "This is General Raines.
I might suggest using smoke," he said dryly.
"And go in under it."
  "Right, sir!" came the quick respond.
  "That's Willison," Buddy said. "Something must
have happened to Lieutenant Matthews.
Willison's never commanded a full platoon before.
He's nervous and cautious."
  "He'll get over it," Ben said.
  Smoke grenades were tossed around all sides
of the house and Rebels worked their way in, staying
low, for the rain was preventing the smoke from
rising as it should.
  A few moments passed. The gunfire in the town
was sporadic now. "All clear, sir,"
Willison shouted. "We ..."
  A single shot rang out. The sound of a body
hitting damp earth was clear. "There he is!" a
Rebel shouted, rage in his voice. M-16's
began yammering and the sniper was literally shot
to bloody rags. He fell from the roof of a store and
landed on the sidewalk.
  "Get me a report, Corrie," Ben said
wearily, getting to his boots.
  "Yes, sir," she said softly. She spoke and
listened and stood up, standing beside Ben. "Willison
took one in the throat. He's the only fatality
so far. Four wounded. One seriously. The other
three will be on light duty for just a few days."
  Ben nodded his head. There had been no gunfire
for several moments.
  "The town's ours," Corrie said.
  "House to house," Ben said. "We don't want
to leave
even one
behind and alive."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Willison just got married, didn't he? Right
before we pulled out?"
  "Yes, sir," Jersey said. "She's back at
Base Camp One."
  "Buddy, secure quarters for me tonight," Ben
said. "I have a letter to write."
Chapter
Four
  After breakfast, Ben walked back up the road
to where his command was bivouacked. He passed earth-moving
equipment that was gouging out a hole in the ground for the
enemy dead. They were wrapped in blankets and lined
up on the grass. Willison would be buried
properly in the town's old cemetery. Ben looked
in on Chase. The man was grim-faced at his
field desk.
  "What's the matter, Lamar?" Ben asked,
taking a seat.
  "The little girl who was raped?"
  Ben nodded.
  "She died."
  "You blaming yourself?"
  "How can I? We've got the finest medical
equipment and know-how in the world. God damn it, she
just died, that's all!"
  "You want to yell at me, Lamar? Go ahead.
Get it out of your system."
  "No, Ben, I don't want to yell at you."
He threw his pen on the desktop. "What the hell
is in the minds of grown men who rape
babies?
When do they start to go wrong? No, don't try
to reply. Just listen. As a physician, I used
to
  scoff at those who subscribed to the bad seed
theory-and that would have included you, had I known you at the
time. But now I'm not so sure." He tapped a
thick notebook that he had closed when Ben walked
in.
  "Over the past decade, Ben, I have kept a
careful journal. I'll keep this in layman's
terms. There just might be a gene somewhere that goes
wrong. That's not proper medical terminology, but
it'll do. I think the bad seed theory might not be just
a theory. I think there's something to it. Chemical
imbalance in the brain. Genes. Something is
haywire at birth. You know why I think
scientists never went after that theory very strongly?
Think about it, Ben. Suppose that modern science
could have proved the bad seed theory. Then
what? It's ethics. What would society have the
doctor do? Kill the infant at birth?
Imprison the baby as soon as it's weened? You
know what else I think? I think science
did
prove it. They proved it in a lab, but couldn't
find a way to correct it, so they remained silent
on it. Or the man or woman who discovered the
truth destroyed the papers and kept his mouth shut about
it. That's what I think happened."
  "And you think society should do what, La-mar?"
  "Hell, Ben, I don't know. What we're
doing, I suppose. It won't help those that have
already been subjected to rape and torture and
murder, but it does ensure that the criminal will never
repeat his acts."
  Ben nodded his head. "We're pulling out just as
  soon as we bury Willison. How about the
Rebel who was seriously hurt?"
  "He's already back in Gal way, in the
hospital. Had to amputate his left leg."
  "See you on the road, Lamar."
  The column rolled out and toward their next
objective, the town of Kilconnell. But this town
proved to be merely a roll-through, for the
outlaws and turncoat Irish had pulled out during
the night. The spokesman for the survivors met the
column on the edge of town.
  "They were in communication with the scum in Attymon,
General. They left shortly after your attack. I
wish I could tell you what their plans might be, but
I just don't know."
  "We'll stick around long enough to tend to any sick
or wounded you might have."
  "And that's a-plenty, sir," the man spoke the
words grimly. "Jack Hunt's people savaged us,
they did."
  The Rebel doctors and medics worked
grim-faced on the victims of the outlaws. The
sexually abused children hit them the hardest, for many of the
kids comboys as well as girls comwere very young.
  "Was there any among them with even a shred of
decency?" Ben asked a group of townspeople.
  "Not none that we ever saw," a woman told him.
"I never saw even one act of kindness or compassion
or mercy. Them trash is beyond redemption. I say
it knowing that God will not look kindly upon me for those
words."
  The citizens were armed with the weapons taken from past
engagements, and as always, with Ben's
  now familiar words. "Don't ever let any man
or government take your weapons. Not ever again."
  The Rebels stayed that afternoon and night, and pulled
out at dawn the next day.
  "Scouts report a large force waiting in
Ballinasloe," Corrie told Ben. "All
bridges over the Suck appear to be wired
to blow."
  "Hostages?"
  "Plenty of them."
  "What's the word from the other battalions?"
  "Tied up just like us. Taking it one town at a time
and trying to keep the civilian casualty list low.
They report bridges being blown all up and down
the Shannon."
  "We still have units trapped on the east side of the
river?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "They have been advised to dig in and stay low?"
  "Several times, General."
  "Chopper a SEAL team in here, Corrie. Right
now. We make no moves until they're suited
up and in place to disarm those explosives on the
bridge at Ballinasloe. If we have to,
we'll take Bailey Bridge across. But
I'd rather leave what existing bridges remain
intact. Get Dan over here and tell Ike to get
his fat butt moving."
  "We were only a few miles from the city when the
bridges went up," Ike said. "How many do we still
have operating?"
  "Ballinasloe and Banagher," Ben said, pointing
  at the map. "Ballinasloe is yours, Ike.
Dan, your people take the bridge at Banagher."
  "We'll hit it come dark," Ike said.
  "We?" Ben looked at him. "No. Not we,
Ike. I need you here. Besides, you'd look like a
whale in that river."
  Ike was more stocky than fat, but he could stand
to lose a few more pounds. He grinned at Ben.
"I'll have you know I've lost fifteen pounds since
we sailed."
  "Good. Lose fifteen more."
  "Lard-butt," Dan said.
  Ike gave the Englishman the finger.
  "Now listen, both of you," Ben said. "The Free
Irish say that the east shore is heavily manned with
machine guns. Ike, Dan, you're the experts on
these matters, so this operation is in your hands. Get
to it."
  Ben left it to them and went outside, where a table
had been set up. He sat down and began studying
maps. With the blowing of the bridges- which had not come as
any surprise; Ben would have done the same thing comx
put the campaign on a whole new footing. The
original plans would now be scrapped and the backup
plans hauled out and dusted off.
  Of course, Ben knew what Jack Hunt was
doing. He was buying time. From Ballyshannon all the
way south to Limerick those Rebels west of the
rivers Suck and Shannon were halted dead still. Those
units trapped on the east side were in danger of
being discovered and attacked ... should Jack want
to risk that, and Ben doubted
  he did. Jack had discovered just how fiercely the
Rebels fought, and for him to attack would mean that he
would lose ten personnel to every one Rebel lost.
  No, he would use this time to mine roads, set up
defensive lines, and prepare ships to cross the
Irish Sea to England. Ben couldn't use
helicopter gunships to attack Dublin for fear of
killing civilians and of destroying the ships the
Rebels would need to cross the Irish Sea.
  "Start-over time," Ben muttered, as Jersey
brought him a mug of coffee.
  Rebet's Six Battalion and Tina's Nine
Battalion were trapped on the east side of the
river.
  The SEAL teams and Dan's Special
Operations people moved out just after dark, the mission commanded
by Dan Gray. Ike sat with Ben, drinking coffee
and waiting for word.
  Only one very short-burst transmission had come
from Rebet and Tina. EVERYTHING OK. STAYING
DOWN.
  A few Free Irish were to meet the SEAL'S
and the Special Operations people on the outskirts of
Ballinasloe and Banagher and guide them in. The
SEAL'S would take Ballinasloe, leaving
Banagher for Dan and his SO team.
  Ike's battalion was quietly and quickly being
shifted up north. At the instant the bridges were
cleared, they would pour across at Banagher, secure
the town, and lay a defensive line out to provide a
buffer zone for Tina and Rebet, while Ben's
  people would attack Ballinasloe.
  But once that was done, the Rebels on the east
side of the rivers would have to stretch out their forces and
hold what they gained until everything west of the
rivers was clean and clear. Ben and Ike could
not get too far out in front of other support
troops for fear of Jack pulling an end-around,
cutting them off and sealing their fates.
  "They're in the water, General," Corrie
reported.
  "Let's go," Ben said, standing up and reaching for his
short-barreled 9mm spitter.
  Everyone that was going was ready and standing by for word. They
had blackened their faces and wore dark clothing.
They would drive up to within a couple of miles of the
objective, running without lights. From there they would
walk to the shores of the river, several miles
upriver from both towns. Members of the Free
Irish resistance forces would have small boats ready
for them to cross. The Rebels could not roar across the
standing bridges in their vehicles for fear of enemy
artillery bringing the bridges down or doing severe
structural damage.
  The trucks rolled out, running without lights.
Chase and his medical people would follow once Ben and his
teams made the river crossing and Ike and Dan had
secured the bridges.
  The teams crossing the river were carrying only
light weapons and plenty of ammo. Once on
shore, they were going to have to move very fast
to secure their objective.
  They dismounted at a signal from a Scout and headed
northeast across country, with Ben
  setting a steady but distance-eating route step. The
operation on Ben's bad knee had proven to be one
hundred percent effective. But he still carried with
him comunbeknownst to everyone except Linda and his
personal team-a good knee brace. Just in case.
  At the river's edge, the Rebels looked with
dismay at what appeared to be rowboats.
  "Those are rowboats," Jersey said. "We're
going to cross the river in those?"
  "George Washington did," Ben said with a
cheerfulness he really did not feel.
  "I'm seasick already," Cooper bitched.
  "Shut up and get in the damn boat, Coop,"
Jersey said.
  "Quickly now, lads and ladies," a Free
Irish guerrilla said. "Time's a-wastin'. The
patrol boat just passed and it'll be fifteen
minutes "fore it returns. That is, if it stays
on schedule."
  "And if it doesn't?" Cooper asked.
  The Irishman grinned. "Why, son, we'll
all be dead and gone to Hayven, now, won't
we?"
  "Jesus!" Cooper said. "On top of being
seasick, I got to worry about drowning."
  "Cooper," Jersey warned him, "you barf on me
and I swear I'll shove you over the side."
  "I can't swim!"
  "Then don't get sick, is all I got
to say."
  The crossing was made without the return of the
patrol boat or Cooper getting sick. The
small boats were pulled up on the bank and hidden,
and the Free Irish joined the Rebels for the march
to Ballinasloe.
  "Clear on Dan's end," Corrie said, after
receiving a bump from the Englishman.
  "Any word from my people?" Ike asked.
  "No, sir. Wait a sec. Yeah. Hang
on, sir." She listened and smiled. "All clear
for our objective. Both teams are waiting under the
bridges for the action to start."
  "All right!" Ike said.
  "Down!" the point man said, just a second before
machine-gun fire ripped him apart.
"God damn it!"
Ben said. "Corrie, it's in the fire now.
Tell our people under the bridges to go. Give us a
diversion of some sort. Buddy, knock out that .50
over there." i
  Moments later a half dozen grenades sailed
through the air and the machine-gun emplacement was blown out
of action.
  And the Rebels were not yet inside the town
limits.
  "Ike!" Ben yelled on the run. "Take C
and D Companies and swing around that way. A and B
Companies, come with me!"
  "God bless you, boys!" an elderly woman
yelled from the darkened window of her cottage.
  "Get them dirty bastards!" her husband shouted
from her side, his ill-fitting false teeth
clacking. "You find that filthy Jack Hunt,
stick the barrel of your weapon up his arse, and pull
the trigger."
  "Michael O'Finnelan!" his wife said. "You
hush that kind of talk!"
  Linda laughed as she jogged alongside of Ben.
"The Irish will never change, Ben."
  "I hope not," he panted.
  They rounded a curve in the road and saw dozens
of headlights bearing down on them a good
half mile away.
  "Both sides of the road and stagger. Ambush
positions," Ben yelled. "Now!"
  The road was suddenly empty as Rebels
bellied down on the grass on both sides and
waited.
  The vehicles were coming fast, and they were trucks, the
beds filled with armed men. Ben grinned.
"Beautiful," he said to Jersey. "Corrie,
tell everyone to put it on full rock-and-roll and
let it sing. Have every fourth person toss grenades."
  "That's ten-four, sir."
  The men of Jack Hunt's army and the traitorous
Irish among them rode smack into an ambush.
M-16's, CAR-15'S, Stoners,
M-14's, and grenades turned the mounted column
into a burning, smoking death trap. The Rebels
took no prisoners, nor would they take any on
this excursion, not after seeing what Jack Hunt's
men did to the civilian population.
  The SEAL'S and Special Operations people had
raised hell with those guards at the foot of the
bridges and were now moving into the towns, moving
silently and swiftly and deadly.
  "Blow the damn bridges!" the order was
given.
  Nothing happened.
  "Do it!" the commanders of Jack Hunt's forces in
Ballinasloe and Banagher screamed into their mics.
  But the SEAL'S and SO teams had taken the
charges from the bridges and deactivated them.
  The silence from the bridges seemed loud in the
night.
  "We've lost contact with an entire company,
sir," the radio operator told the commander in
Ballinasloe. "They don't respond to my
calls."
  A brick thrown by a citizen smashed through the
window of what used to be a store and was now the CP
of the enemy forces. Everyone in the room hit the
floor. The brick-thrower vanished into the darkened
alleyways of the town.
  "Guerrillas attacking at a dozen points in
both towns," the commanders were informed.
  "Well, how the hell did they get across?"
  "I would imagine by boat, sir," the weary
radio operator said.
  That got him a very dirty look. "Fall
back," the commander finally said. "Regroup at
Athlone and Tullamore. Let's go."
  But Ike and his two companies had swung wide
around the town and were waiting at the crossroads. They
turned the retreat into a slaughter.
  "Will you be the American Rebels?" a boy
asked Ben.
  "That's right, son. Do you know where the headquarters
of Hunt's army is?"
  "Indeed I do, sir. Next block up on the
left." He smiled. "It's got a fairly
busted window from a brick."
  Ben and his teams caught the commander and his staff
attempting to leave by the back door. The Rebels
turned the dark alleyway slick with blood and the
old bricks pocked and scarred by bouncing lead.
  The streets suddenly filled with angry
citizens, armed with axes and hatchets and clubs and
chains and shotguns and old pistols and whatever else
the men and women and kids could get their hands on. Ben
grabbed one boy-about eight or nine comand turned him
around-very carefully The boy had a butcher knife in
one hand.
  "Whoa, son! Easy now, we're friends. Where
are you going with that pig sticker?"
  "I'm off to find the man who done them bad things
to my sister," the boy solemnly informed
Ben. "Now kindly turn me loose, sir."
  "Why don't you let us do that?" Ben asked. "And
you stay here. We've got hot chocolate all
ready to fix."
  "Real hot chocolate?"
  "Real as can be."
  Cooper began stoking up the stove and Jersey
dug out a packet of hot chocolate mix from her
pack.
  "But I'll keep my knife, sir," the boy
said.
  "That's fine," Ben told him. "That knife is,
ah, sharp, isn't it?"
  "V."
  "Where are your parents?"
  "Dead, sir."
  "And your sister you spoke of?"
  "Dead. After them men used her bad they killed
her."
  Linda knelt down. "Where are you staying?"
  "Down by the docks. I fish and catch small
game and sometimes rats."
  "You
eat
rats?" Cooper asked.
  "Sure. Lots of folks do that. Jack
Hunt's men take all the food."
  "Go on inside and get your chocolate," Ben
said. "You'll not have to eat a rat again, boy. I
promise you that."
  The boy, dressed in ragged clothing, walked up
the steps. His shoes were nothing more than two pieces
of old tire rubber. "They's folks starvin" in this
town, mister. Folks that's been hurt and can't get
no medicine. Little babies dyin' more often than they
live."
  "We're here to help, son," Ben told him, as
a group of citizens walked up.
  "Is it really General Raines and the Rebels?"
a man asked, leaning on a cane.
  "Big as life, Mayor," the boy said. "And
he's brung food and medicine, too. They got
hot chocolate in yonder."
  "Lord love us!" an elderly woman spoke
up. "I ain't tasted hot chocolate in years."
  was Tis a fine evenin' for Ireland," the man
said. "Welcome to Ballinasloe, General."
  Cooper took the only packet of rations he'd
brought with him out of his pack and stepped forward, handing it
to the woman. He had suddenly lost his
appetite. "This'll tide you over "til the
ration trucks get here, ma'am."
  "With yer permission, lad, I'll take it to my
granddaughter. She's ill with the fever and needs food
more than me."
  "Just as soon as the town is clear," Ben said,
"they'll be doctors in. Is your hospital
building intact?"
  "Yes, sir," the Mayor said. "It's in fine
shape. But nobody exceptin" Hunt's men could
use it. His people vacated the buildin' when the first shot
was fired this evenin'."
  Ben looked around him and found Buddy giving his
food packet to a little girl. "Buddy. Take a
team and go with this gentlemen here. Secure the
hospital and get it ready to receive patients."
  "Yes, Father."
  "Ike reports the town is ninety percent
clean," Corrie called. "And Dan says he
has neutralized Bangher."
  "Get the people across the bridges," Ben ordered.
"Start trucking in supplies from the harbor." He
looked at the ever-growing crowd of ragged and hungry
people; ragged and hungry, but with no defeat in their proud
Irish eyes. "It's going to be a long
night."
Chapter Five
  At dawn, the Rebels had completed their flushing
out of members of Hunt's army who had taken
refuge in basements and sheds and abandoned houses.
At Ben's orders, any taken alive were turned
over to the townspeople. Trials were held and
justice was handed down very quickly at the end of a rope.
The dead troops of Hunt's army were buried in a
unmarked, mass grave on the outskirts of town.
  Ben slept for a few hours, checked in with all his
people, and then began an inspection of the town. Ike had
rejoined his battalion, and Rebet and Tina's people
were safe and being repositioned. All the other
battalions west of the river were resuming their
search-and-destroy missions against Jack Hunt's
army and the turncoat sympathizers who stayed with them.
  There were some among them who wanted to give it up.
But the Irish people have long memories, and the
atrocities that had been committed against them were neither
easily forgotten nor forgiven. The ranks of the
Free Irish troops began to swell, taking some
of the pressure off the Rebels, and putting a hell
of a lot more pressure on Jack Hunt's people.
Those of Hunt's army who were
  trapped west of the rivers soon realized they had
only one thing to look forward to: a grave.
  With each town or hamlet or village
liberated by the Rebels, the citizens were
organized, armed, and given a stock of ammunition.
From the reports sent back to Ben, he doubted that
any government would ever disarm these people again.
  "Lord help anyone who even tries," Ben
remarked.
  And Irish doctors and nurses began
surfacing. They had been forced to practice their
profession underground, so to speak, for not a one of them
wanted to work on any of Hunt's people. Chase put
them to work immediately.
  For a couple of weeks, the drive east was halted
along the rivers while the Rebels moved equipment
and supplies across the only remaining bridges and
engineers worked to build temporary bridges across the
rivers. At the end of two weeks, it was reported
to Ben that the Counties of Clare, Galway,
Mayo, and Roscommon and most of Sligo could now
be declared effectively neutralized.
  "We push on in the morning," Ben ordered.
  "It's crazy, Jack!" one of his commanders said.
"You can't stand and slug it out with these people. That's
been proved true time and time again."
  Jack shook his head. "No, Vernon, no.
We've got basically the same equipment he's
got comexcept for the gunships. But we've got
three times the troops. Why drag this all the way
over to England when we can settle it here?"
  "I agree with Jack," another commander said.
  "Raines got lucky on his sneak attack. But
wars aren't won on luck."
  "Thank you, Frankie. Anything else?"
  "Yes." The man stood up. "You're forgetting
the Free Irish that Raines is arming."
  "What about them?"
  "Don't sell them short. He probably has
better than a thousand of them right now."
  "I doubt it. More like five ior six hundred,
tops. So what. We've still got Raines
outnumbered. I say we hit him hard and keep
hitting him."
  "You mean for us to go to him?" another battalion
commander questioned.
  "No. Let him come to us."
  "Why that way?" another asked.
  "Because I've learned that Raines is not going
to destroy all this ancient shit on: the
island. That's the deal he made with the Free
Irish."
  "So?"
  "So when we set up our lines, we set them up
in old churches, around prized statues and all that
crap. Raines vstill not, repeat, will not, destroy
all that old shit. That means we can put fire out,
but he's not going to return it. He'll be depending
on his ground troops alone."
  "You got that information firm?"
  "Firm, Harris. That Free Irish asshole
held out for hours, but we finally got it out of him."
  "Well, now," Vernon said. "That makes me
feel better. All right!"
  Jack moved to a huge map of Ireland.
"Artillery is in place here, at Tullnally
Castle, and down here, at Durrow Abbey. Men
are right now being set up in every castle, every church, and
every ruins from
  Ballyhaise to Castle Gardens. If we have
to fall back, I've ordered equipment, food, and
ammo to be placed in those ruins and churches and
castles behind the new lines. Every time Raines has
to stop for one of these old broken-down pieces of
shit, we hammer them. Maybe use the people for
shields around the old dumps and churches and the like
..." He paused as a messenger came in and handed
him a sheet of paper. "Scouts report that it
looks like Raines is about to pull out come the morning.
Let's get cracking, boys. It's gonna be a
long night."
  Ben read the message and said a few very choice
words about Jack Hunt and men like him. He poured
him two fingers of good Irish whiskey that a man had
presented him in deepest gratitude -- which Ben
had accepted in even deeper gratitude -- and
drank it down neat. Then he calmed himself and
rolled a cigarette. With a sigh, he said,
"Corrie, advise all commanders that Hunt has
put heavy artillery and heavy machine gun
emplacements in all abbeys, monasteries,
churches, castles, historical houses, and ruins.
The son of a bitch."
  Corrie paused for a moment, staring at Ben.
  He nodded his head. "Yes, Corrie. You know
what it means as well as I do. It bothered us all
to destroy two- and three-hundred-year-old points
of interest in America. Now we're talking about
places a thousand years old ... and older. Some,
five thousand years old. What will be left
for those who come after us?"
  Chase had entered the room to stand in the doorway,
  listening. "How about leaving them a world filled with
law and justice and decent people, Ben? How about leaving
them a new respect for others and all the creatures
that inhabit this planet? How about leaving them
democracy and order and books and learned men and
women to teach them? And how about pouring me a shot of that
Irish whiskey while you're at it?"
  "I can't see myself destroying those places,
La-mar," Ben said, pouring a generous slug in a
coffee cup. A very faint smile creased his lips.
  "What are you plotting in that devious brain of
yours, Raines?" Chase asked, after a taste of
Emerald Isle.
  "It would be chancy," Ben replied. "And something
I would have to work out with all the other commanders. But it just
might work. It really just might work."
  "What, Ben?" Linda asked.
  Ben rose from the chair and paced the room.
"Corrie, cancel those orders to move out in the
morning. Tell all commanders I want to see them
here at 0700, and that includes the commander of the Free
Irish battalion."
  "What the hell are you plotting, Father?"
Buddy asked, looking up from the chess game he was
playing against Jersey, who was beating him soundly. be
  "Unconventional warfare."
  Beth, the last member of his team, had just rejoined
them after spraining her ankle badly in Gal-way
during the invasion. She looked over at him. "I
didn't know that the Rebels ever did anything
conventional."
  "Sometimes, Beth," Ben said with a smile.
"Sometimes. But not this time."
  Georgi Striganov, the Russian, roared with
laughter after Ben had laid out his plans. "I
love it, Ben!" he shouted. "I by God, love
it!"
  Rebet and Danjou looked at each other and
chuckled. It was a wild plan, but it might work.
  Ike clapped his big hands and said, "What was it
that Ali used to say? Yeah. "Float like a
butterfly, sting like a bee." That's us, Ben."
  West and Tina Raines both nodded in agreement.
  Colonel Gray's eyes were bright with
excitement. Now here was something to his liking. "I'm
for it," the Englishman said.
  Buddy and Beerbelly both laughed and said,
"All right!"
  Pat O'Shea, the commander of the Free Irish
said, "It's a wee bit loony, General, but I
think it'll work."
  Chase shook his head. "Raines, you're crazy.
But God love me, I like it."
  "Supplies will be the problem. But once an
objective is taken, and we'll have to be closely
coordinated at all times to make sure we don't
get too far ahead of each section, the supplies
can roll in."
  "We'll have Jack's army spread out from
Donegal to Cork," Beerbelly said, looking at
a map of Ireland. "We'll have them so confused they
won't be able to find their asses with both hands and a
huntin' dog."
  "It's chancy, people," Ben dampened their
enthusiasm. "And it could backfire on us. I
want us all
  to sleep on this plan. I want you all to think
about it and offer suggestions in the morning. We've
never done anything like this, not on this grand a scale.
And once we're committed, there is no turning
back. That is why I want our armored personnel
in reserve and ready to roll, and three battalions
in reserve in case we have to holler for
help. The three battalions will be chosen by drawing
numbers. Lowest three numbers stay in reserve.
Now, wander around the rest of the day, give this some thought,
and we'll meet again in the morning. That's it."
  Twenty-four hours later, no one had changed his
mind and no one had any suggestions to offer that would
enhance what Ben had laid out previously.
  "All right, let's do it," Ben said. He
dropped slips of paper into a helmet, each slip
with a number on it between one and nine. Each commander
drew. The three battalions to stay behind were
Striganov's Five Battalion,
Thermopolis' Eight Battalion, and Tina's
Nine Battalion.
  "Shit!" Ben's daughter said, disgust in her
voice.
  "Breaks of the game, kid," Ben said.
  Of the commanders in the room, seven knew that Ben had
rigged the slips of paper. Only three of the slips
had numbers on them. One, two, and three.
Thermopolis' battalion, because he and his people had the
least experience in guerrilla tactics;
Striganov's battalion, because Ben needed someone
with a lot of experience to stay behind and run the operations'
board; and Tina's battalion, to help
ferry supplies to the forward troops. Georgi
Striganov had agreed in advance to his part in the
rigged game; he was a career soldier who knew his
duty and did it without any static.
  Thermopolis and Tina might have suspected that
Ben had rigged the numbers, but neither of them would question
him about it ... for the moment, at least. Thermopolis
would question a stump, but for now he left it alone.
  "Rebet," Ben said, picking up a pointer and
slapping the map with it, "take your people north
to Leitrim and Longford and split them up. Draw
supplies and move out. I'll take Westmeath and
Offaly. Ike, you'll have a heavy load in
Laois and Waterford. West, start in Tipperary.
Dan, Limerick and Kerry. Danjou, that leaves
Cork for you. It's going to take us several days
to get in place. Pick your teams now. We
travel in full battalion columns and don't
split up until we're in our objectives.
Once there, start moving out at night. We're going
to terrorize these people, gang. We're going to make
them so scared they'll shit their drawers at the
slightest noise. If this works, the men that Jack
spread around the castles and abbeys and churches and
ruins are going to be so demoralized they'll
finally run back to Hunt like frightened children. And
Jack won't know where to strike, because we'll be all
over the country. This operation will either be an enormous
success or the Rebel Army will be whipped for the first
time since our inception."
  Ben let those words sink in for a moment. "You three
battalions in reserve, stay loose. We're
counting on you. If someone hollers, come in hard.
If armor and artillery has to destroy a church or
other historical place to save Rebel lives,
so be it. But I'm hoping we can pull this off without that
happening. We'll damn sure know in a few days.
Move out, people ... and good luck."
  "What the hell is he doing?" Jack tossed the
question out as he stood before a huge wall map. "It
doesn't make any sense. It appears that he's
drawing very thin battle lines north and south of his
present location." He shook his head. "No.
No. Raines is too good a soldier for that. He
knows that would never work. We'd bust through his lines and
box him in. He's pulling something, but damned if
I know what it is." He wheeled about to face an
aide. "All our people in place?"
  "In place and dug in tight. Food and ammo
enough for weeks."
  Jack Hunt nodded and turned back to the map.
"Goddamn you, Raines. You sneaky bastard. Just
what are you trying to pull now?"
Chapter Six
  Three days later, Jack Hunt and his other
battalion commanders were still scratching their heads and
wondering what was going on when the Rebels just seemed
to disappear into the air and the mist of Ireland. The
mystery was about to deepen as an aide told Jack a
forward recon leader was on the horn.
  "What the hell do you mean, you don't know where they
are?" Jack screamed into a mic, his face reddening
and his blood pressure soaring. "Trucks and
Jeeps and five thousand goddamn people just don't
fucking disappear!"
  "Well, they have!" the scout said, not knowing that the
Rebels had carefully and as quietly as possible
hidden their vehicles in barns and abandoned homes and
camouflaged them carefully in woods and thickets and
shady glens.
  "Well, find them!" Jack screamed. He
tossed the mic to the table.
  Butch Smathers, a thug from London who had
brought a mob across the Irish Sea to help Jack,
sat in a chair and grew thoughtful. He
liked none of this. He didn't like Ireland or the
Irish. But he disliked Ben Raines even more.
Butch and the other
  warlords who had carved up London and the English
countryside like a pie had been expecting Ben and his
Rebels for several years. They were ready for him in
England. But this operation was beginning to smell. Jack
simply wasn't as smart as Raines, and that
ignorance just might get them all killed.
  "I'm pullin' my people back to Dublin," Butch
said abruptly, standing up.
  Jack turned on him. "What?"
  "You heard me. Somethin' is a-fixin' to pop in
this country. Somethin' nasty and mean and bloody.
Raines is outfoxin' you, Jack. And I ain't
gonna be caught asleep inside the henhouse when
he slips in."
  "Butch, stay with me. I'm sure we can contain
him here!" Jack pounded a table.
  "Contain him?" Butch said. "Hell, you can't
even
find
him, man. Come on, Jack. Pull your people out and
come back to England. Raines don't stand a chance
against us over there. You stay here, and you're
done."
  "You said you were going to Dublin, not England."
  "That's right. But I want my back to those ships
we come over on when Raines starts raisin'
bloody hell. And he's just a heartbeat away from
doin' that, Jack. I can feel it; I can sense
it."
  "You liked my plan originally," Jack said
sullenly.
  "Yeah, I did. But now I think Raines has
come up with one better, that's all. Come on,
Jack. Let him have the damn island. We've used
it up and wore it out. There ain't a decent-lookin'
woman left around here."
  "They're all in hiding. We find them now and
then."
  "Well, Jack, you feel like lookin' for some
now? No? I thought not. And with Raines out there- and
he's out there, brother, bet on that-it ain't gonna
do nothin' except get worse. I'm headin'
back to the city. Bein' around them stinkin' damn
Believers is better than sittin' here waitin' for
Ben Raines to show up."
  After he had gone, Jack looked at the other
warlords who had come from England to join him.
"How about you people?"
  "We'll stick around," a warlord called Poole
said. "I don't believe half of what people say about
Ben Raines. Personally, I think he's a
pussy. Don't you think so, Raft?"
  "Yeah," the warlord said. "I do. I think the
bloke is a lot of hot air and not much else.
That's what I think. I'll stick around, Jack."
  Another warlord called Mack nodded his head.
"Yeah. Me, too. Me and my boys ain't had a
good fight in a long time. Not since we took over
Blackpool from Scotty and run his ass back up
to Glasgow. Ben Raines ain't shit. Ain't that
right, Johnnie?"
  "You got it," Johnnie said. "Me and my
boys'll stay."
  "I'm in," a punk from Liverpool said. He
went by the name of Morelund.
  "Yeah, I'm game for the show," a London
punk tossed in his bravado-filled words.
  "Good for you, Eakes," a leather-clad outlaw
called Acey said. He fancied himself quite a
  biker, as did all those who followed him, and they
numbered about five hundred.
  "Yeah," a cammie-clad and
beret-wearing warlord called Duane said. He wore
two pearl-handed six-shooters. "We'll show the
Yanks a thing or two. How "bout it, King?"
  The remaining warlord nodded his head. "Right-O, me
boy. We'll run them bloody bastards back
into the ocean, I'm thinkin" we will."
  "Damn right!" Jack Hunt said. An aide
came in and handed him a note, then turned to leave.
"Wait a minute. What is this?" Jack demanded.
"Maybe them at 23 stepped out to take a piss.
This doesn't mean anything is wrong."
  "Dick says he's been trying to reach them for an
hour. There is no response."
  Jack moved to the big map and put a finger on
position 23. That was the cathedral at Ballyhaise,
just south of the Annalee River. And that was a damned
important post.
  "Tell him to keep trying. Maybe their radio
is out. Yeah. That's probably it."
  The radio at post 23 worked just fine. It was the
personnel that were out of commission. Permanently.
Rebet's people had taken a slight detour and did a
little throat cutting. Now the were sitting around drinking
coffee and listening to the calls from Hunt's CP at
Nass, in County Kildare.
  "Fellow is getting a bit testy, isn't
he?" a Scout asked.
  "Oh, quite," a Rebel said, slicing off a
piece of cheese and chewing contentedly.
  The Rebels grinned at each other. They enjoyed
this brand of fighting.
  "You have our objective cased out, boy?" Ben
asked Buddy.
  "Yes, sir. It's a real old home about two
miles from here. Kind of a mansion, I guess you'd
call it. And it's filled with Hunt's men. They
seem to be doing a lot of partying with ladies."
  "Ladies?" Beth asked.
"Ladies?"
  "Women," Buddy said.
  "Thank you," Jersey told him.
  "How many?" Ben asked.
  "Women?" Buddy replied with a straight face,
but with a twinkle in his eyes.
  Linda had to struggle to stifle a laugh at the
expression on Ben's face.
  "No, boy," Ben told his son. "Rats in the
keep. How many of Hunt's men?"
  "Approximately twenty. We will be
outnumbered probably two to one."
  Ben checked the sky. About an hour of daylight
left. "Let's get into position."
  Leaving two behind to guard their meager supplies and
to radio in for help should something go wrong, the team of
ten Rebels moved to within a few hundred meters
of the eighteenth-century home. Since little work had
been done on the grounds in more than a decade, the
grass was tall and a lot of brush had grown up.
That made the advance of the Rebels almost easy.
  "They should have cleared away all this brush," a
Rebel remarked.
  "That would have been a dead giveaway," Ben told
the young man. "You'll learn."
  The young man silently cursed himself for being so
stupid, and vowed not to open his mouth again unless he
knew for sure he wouldn't stick his boot in it.
  "Don't be afraid to ask questions or offer
opinions," Ben then told him, softening that with a
smile and not taking his eyes off the mansion. "It's
the only way you'll learn. Believe me, I
speak from experience. Wind down just a little, people.
We'll hit them at dusk."
  Music from a tape player drifted out the open
windows of the mansion. A woman's shrill laughter
came faintly to the Rebs hidden in the thick
brush of the old garden in the rear of the once elegant
home.
  With all the technology we once had, Ben
thought, lying on his belly in the brush, it's all
returned now to the stealthy game of cowboys and
Indians. He wondered why cowboys always came
first in the phrase.
  Shadows began lengthening around the land and the pools and
pockets of darkness grew larger. A very gentle
rain, not much more than a heavy mist, began falling.
"Go," Ben said, and Buddy and two Rebels moved
out, Ben and his team right behind them.
  When they reached the two-story house, the Rebels
flattened themselves against the stones of the back wall and
listened.
  "Post four," the words spewed metallically out
of a speaker. "Come in, post four."
  "Post four," the radio operator responded.
  "How's it looking?"
  "Quiet as a church. No sign of the
Rebels."
  "That's ten-four. Stay alert."
  "Ten-four, base."
  Ben peeked through the dirty window. A man was
sitting with his back to the rear of the house,
radio equipment on a table in front of him. Ben
pointed a finger at Buddy, held a finger to his
lips, and then pointed to the radio operator. Buddy
nodded his understanding of the silent kill. He pulled a
knife from his belt and slipped into the house.
  Seconds later, the radio operator's throat
was cut wide and the body lowered to the floor. Ben and the
others moved silently and swiftly into the house.
Ben switched the radio to Off and then stepped into the
hall, moving toward the sounds of music and laughter.
Jersey was right behind him, followed by Buddy and the
others.
  At the foot of the stairs, Ben pointed to Buddy
and then to the ceiling. His son nodded. Taking two with
him, he moved up the stairs, staying close to the
wall to avoid any squeaking. When Buddy reached the
top of the stairs, Ben stepped into the living room of the
old mansion, the others quickly following. Lanterns
sputtered out light and showed a very relaxed group of
Hunt's soldiers and a few women, all in various
stages of undress.
  "Can we join the party?" Ben asked, then pulled
the trigger on his CAR-15.
  Hunt's men yelled and leaped for their weapons.
They didn't make it.
  Ten seconds later, the mansion fell silent,
both levels of the old home thick with gunsmoke
and the smell of death.
  "Take their weapons and hide them outside,"
Ben ordered. "The Free Irish will pick them up
later."
  "What about us?" one of the surviving women
squalled. "Sweet Baby Jesus, are you goin'
to kill us, too?"
  "That is a problem," Ben told her. "You
probably deserve a bullet, but I won't do
that. We'll just tie you up and notify the Free
Irish of your location."
  "But they'll
hang
us!" another women yelled. "They've branded us as
collaborators."
  "And you're not?" Beth asked, no pity in her
voice.
  The woman cursed her and then fell silent.
  The dead were dragged outside and piled
unceremoniously in a ramshackle old hut behind the
mansion. The three women left alive were tied
securely, and Corrie got the CP on the horn
and told them to inform the local resistance about
the weapons, the bodies, and the women.
  "O'Rourke's right here with me now," the operator
said. "He says to shoot the whores."
  Ben took the mic. "Tell O'Rourke he can
do his own shooting. Eagle out." He looked at his
group. "Let's get this pigpen cleaned up and have
some dinner."
  The Rebels were just finishing their meal when
O'Rourke and a dozen resistance members showed up,
appearing silently and deadly out of the fog and mist.
The women started sobbing at the sight of the Irish
guerrillas.
  "Mickey," one of the women sobbed, "don't do this
to me. I'm beggin' you, don't do it."
  "Shut up, bitch," Mickey told her. "I
don't want to hear nothin' from your whorin' mouth.
  Too many good decent men has gone to the grave
because of you and them like you."
  "But it's near over now, Mickey," she
pleaded. "The general here and his troops will soon
set us free. He ain't holdin' no rancor in
his heart for me. Time'll heal it all, Mickey.
You'll see."
  "Time'll do nothin' for you "ceptin" rot your
bones in the cold grave," Mickey's
words were as hard as the time. "Get her on her feet
and take her down to the forest."
  "No!" the woman screamed.
  The words of Dylan Thomas came to Ben: "Do
not go gentle into that good night."
  "For God's sake, Mickey," the woman
screamed at him. "Let me see a priest."
  Mickey stared at her. "Which one, me fair
beauty? Father O'Florry? Oh! But you'll not be
seein' that one, now, will you? "Cause you torned him
in for helpin" us in the resistance, and Jack Hunt
and them rabble of his tortured and hanged the poor
blessed man. Father Sheehan, perhaps you'd be wontin'
to see? But you can't see him, neither, colleen,
"cause you led him into an ambush, now, didn't
you?" He stepped forward and spat in the woman's
face. He looked at his people, both men and women
all heavily armed. "I'll be down in the forest,
fixin" a rope. Drag her along."
  The woman turned panicked eyes to Ben. "For the
love of God, General, help me. It's said that
you're Irish on your mommy's side. A
McHugh, folks is sayin'. I can't stand pain,
General. Jack and his men tortured me something
awful. They whipped me with horsewhips and
beat me near unconscious many times until they
broke me down.
  You can't blame me for what I done. You just
can't."
  "Every person has their limit. But I'm not here
to make the law. I'm just here to help liberate your
country. You say the soldiers beat you?"
  "Something fierce, General. It was horrible."
  "Back and buttocks, huh?"
  "Yes, sir. I just couldn't stand no more of the
pain."
  Ben walked to her, taking long strides, and
ripped the dress from her, tossing it to one side,
leaving her clad only in bra and panties. He
stood for a few seconds, looking at her nearly
naked body. There was not a single mark or scar on
her body. Finally, he nodded his head and sighed
audibly. "Yes," Ben said dryly. "I can see
where you've endured many a savage beating."
  The woman slumped to the floor, sprawling out on
her belly and weeping. "God damn you to hell,
Ben Raines. God damn all of you to the
hellfire!" she screamed, tears streaming down her
face. She beat her fists raw on the old
floor. "I had to eat. I had
to survive. I'm sorry people died because of me. But
they threatened to beat me and torture me. They
threatened to give me to them damn Believers in the
cities for breeding. I had to do it. I didn't have
no choice in the matter."
  Jersey found her rag of a dress and threw it
over the woman. "Cover yourself, bitch. You ain't
no turn-on for nobody here."
  "What about me?" the other woman screamed.
  "We got a rope for you, too, Tessie
O'Baire," one of the resistance women said.
  Tessie cursed them all until she ran out of
breath.
  The women's hands were retied behind their backs and they
were hauled to their feet, biting and kicking and shrieking
obscenities at the men and women. They fought the
resistance members all the way to the door and out into the
backyard of the old mansion. They were still screaming as
they were led down to the dark forests at the property's
edge.
  At the door, one of the men turned to look at
Ben. "Don't think this ain't a hard thing for
Mickey, General. "Cause I can tell you it
is."
  "Oh?"
  "Yes, sir. You see, that fair beauty he was
givin" what-for to? ... That's his sister."
Chapter
Seven
  Five more of Jack Hunt's outposts fell before
midnight, and by dawn he had lost ten more before he
finally figured out what was happening. He had lost
all his personnel at Tullynally, Annaghmore,
Carrowmore, Ballymote, Clonalis, and Durrow
Abbey, and nearly half a dozen more sites had
fallen to the Rebels.
  Jack was livid with rage when he finally pieced
together all the puzzle. He screamed out the same
words that outlaws and scum had been shrieking to the
heavens for years. "God
damn
Ben Raines."
  "Let's attack the bastards, Jack,"
Duane suggested, fingering the pearl-handled butts of
his pistols.
  "Sure," Jack said sarcastically. "Then Ben
Raines would swing half of his people north and south and
box us in. You got any more brilliant ideas?"
  Duane shut up. He was not much of a tactician
and had sense enough to know it.
  "Jack, they're jamming our transmissions."
  Jack looked up at the man. "That's
impossible!"
  "No, it isn't. Raines has got the finest
electronic gear in the known world, and the best
engineers. They're doin' it."
  "You can't jam hundreds of frequencies, God
damn it!"
  "That's right. But they've got scanners. As
soon as we start on another, they block it. Low
or high band, it don't make no difference. They
must have two, three hundred people, just doin' nothin' but
monitorin' us."
  Jack cursed savagely and looked to the west.
"I hate you, Ben Raines."
  The radio operator at Abbey Leix was
alternately twisting the dial of his transmitter and
cussing when he heard a slight sound from behind him.
He turned to look into the smiling face of Ike.
He would die with that face the last thing he ever saw.
  "Hi, there, partner," Ike whispered, then shot the
man between the eyes with a silenced .22 caliber
Colt Woodsman.
  Ike shoved the body out of the chair while the other
members of his personal team went about
neutralizing the rest of the enemy. Silently and
effectively.
  Ike grinned and set the frequency, knowing that his
voice would not be jammed. The radio operator
back at Nass almost fell out of his chair when
Ike said, "Hi, there, buckaroos! This here is
OP Ike McGowan talkin' to you from ...
well," he gave his best Mississippi drawl,
"we don't have to get into that, now, do we? I just
wanted to let you misguided scumbags and
dick-heads that serve Jack Hunt know that us good
oPeople boys that work for General Ben Raines is
a-comin' to kick your asses righteous-like, y'all
hear me?"
  "Where is he?" Jack demanded, his face flushed
with anger.
  "I don't know. But I'd say he's no more
than forty miles away."
"Forty miles!"
  "Yes, sir. The signal is very strong and he's
broadcasting open. That means ..."
  "Jesus Christ, man, I know what it means.
He's not transmitting on one of our preset
frequencies."
  "Yes, sir. That's why I can't
pinpoint his location."
  "... Yes, sirrie," Ike was saying. "I just
wrote me a name on a grenade. Jack Hunt,
was what I wrote. If you're listenin', Jack,
you better get you some lard and go to work, "cause
I'm gonna jam this pineapple up your ass and
pull the pin just to see how far shit splatters."
  Jack, tight-lipped and red-faced, listened
to Ike drawl out his words. His men began backing
away from the man called The Beast, knowing too well
his explosive temper.
  "Are you listenin", Jack?" Ike asked.
"If so, just back your butt up to the mic and fart.
"Cause whether it comes out of your mouth or your
ass, it's all the same."
  That did it. Jack grabbed up the mic and began
calling Ike every obscenity he could think of, in half
a dozen languages. He spewed out invectives
like a nest of spitting cobras. He cussed until
he was breathless.
  Jack waited for a reply. None came. Ike
and his team had left the Abbey as silently as the
dead that littered the old grounds.
  Jack Hunt's troops manning the old
historical spots in Ireland were now, as
Ben had planned, so jumpy they were shooting at
anything that moved and a lot times at things that didn't
move-such as trees and bushes and very stationary stone
fences -- and firing at things that were there only in their
jangled imaginations. One man was walking back from
taking a dump in the woods and his own men shot him
stone dead.
  And Jack's grand plan had backfired. He
could not pull his men back, because the teams of Rebels
were working all over the place, turning the once
peaceful green hills and glens of the countryside
into a massive killing field. Jack Hunt had
tanks pulled back and running on a line north from
Monaghan down to Waterford. But he couldn't use
them because Raines's Rebels had wired
explosives to every damn bridge Jack would have
to cross and had members of that damnable force called
the Free Irish ready to hit the button or flip
the switch.
  "God damn it," Jack cursed. "The man
doesn't fight textbook-style. He's writing
his own textbook. He's using the most
unconventional tactics I have ever encountered. Every
time you think he's going to do one thing, he does the
opposite. Who in the hell would have thought
he'd split up all his forces and send them out all
over the country in five- and ten-man teams and fight
like a bunch of damn red Indians?"
  A grim-faced aide handed him a note. Jack
read it, wadded it up, and threw it on the floor.
"Tralee just fell to the Free Irish and the
Rebels. The Rebels now are in control, or very
nearly in control,
  in ten counties. Jesus Christ, we outnumber
them twenty to one and so far all we've managed to do
is get our butts kicked."
  "Damn it, Jack," a weary battalion
commander said. "How do you fight shadows? If we do
spot a team and give chase, they lead our people
straight into an ambush. They come out mostly at
night and they've got our people so damn jumpy they're
shooting at the slightest noise."
  "Jack," Poole said. "Maybe Butch was
right. Maybe we ought to just let him have this country.
Hell, I've lost over a hundred people and I
ain't never even
seen
a Rebel. I ain't never fought no bunch of people like
this. Mack's lost almost a hundred, and he went
back to Dublin. You ain't even got
contact with almost two battalions, so you can figure
they're dead. I say, take what we've got
left, throw up a defensive position, say, from
here in County Meath," he pointed to the map, "down
to here in County Wicklow. There ain't no way in
hell Raines will ever punch through those lines."
  "And then do
what,
Poole? Defensive lines, defensive lines.
That's all we've done since that goddamn Ben
Raines landed. Defense, defense, never go on the
offense.
I'm sick of it.
I planned for a head-on. But he won't fight that
way. Why in the damn hell didn't my
intelligence people let me know that Rebels are trained
to fight both conventional and guerrilla? Nobody
has an entire army where everyone is trained that
way. Nobody." He picked up an ashtray and
hurled it across the large room. It shattered against a
wall. "Nobody except Ben Raines." He
faced the gathering. "I'll tell you this, people. We're
going to be the laughingstock of
  Europe if we don't pull this off. Either here
or in England. Preferably here. You
better understand that. We're counting on our allies
on the Continent to help us settle there. But they'll
laugh in our faces if we don't stop Ben
Raines and stop him cold, right here!"
  "We could stop him better in England," King said.
  "How? Why? There's more resistance groups in
England than over here. Somebody better come up with a
plan," Jack said, resignation in his voice. was
'Cause I damn sure don't have one. I hate
Ben Raines."
  The Rebels regrouped and began mapping out
plans for a massive assault against the forces of
Jack Hunt. The Rebels now had cleared almost
two-thirds of Southern Ireland and were in control of
fifteen counties and had lost only five people, with
thirty-eight wounded, and only four of them serious.
  Jack had also drawn his battle lines,
stretching out his people from about the center of County
Monaghan in the north, down to the mouth of the River
Nore in County Wexford in the south. He had
positioned tanks and artillery and was ready.
  "We going to play it his way, Ben?" Ike
asked.
  "I don't know. We'll take a lot of
casualties if we do." He looked at
Pat O'Shea, the commander of the Free Irish.
"It's your country, Pat. What do you say?"
  "I say, get the scum out of this land. We can
always rebuild, General. I've canvassed the people.
  Ninety-nine percent of them say go for it."
  Ben nodded his head. "Dan, have scouts start
probing for weak spots. Pat, get me maps of the
region, from north to south." The man turned to go.
"And, Pat?" Ben's voice stopped him. "We
don't take creepie prisoners. Dublin is very
likely going to be destroyed."
  "It will be a shame, General. But a man's
life is worth more than a building. Your people have been
very considerate of the landmarks and such. Now it's time
to win the war. We have to do whatever is necessary to free
Ireland. And then we'll accompany you to England for the
bigger battle."
  Ben shook the man's hand. "And we'll need your
help. Pat? What about Northern Ireland?"
  He shook his head. "I'll not interfere up there.
As far as I'm concerned, they've all gone mad
since the Great War. Them with any sense-and they was more
than a few commade peace and headed down south. It
ain't the folks out in the country-hell, most of them
has lived in peace for years. It's them
crazy people in Belfast and Londonderry. It's come
down to gangs, now. When you look at it, it's
senseless. There is no more England, or for that matter,
Ireland or France or any nation in darkest
Africa. Northern Ireland doesn't belong
to England anymore. The fight is senseless. Let
them fight until they kill each off, then we'll go
in and scrape up the mess and bury what's left and
it'll be dead and forgotten. I got no use for them
people up there, Protestant or Catholic. It's
all hate now. Stupid hate. To hell with them
all." Ben laughed. "You're a good man, Pat
O'Shea." Pat winked. "That's what me wife
says."
  The people left in the Irish countryside, and like the
United States, there were more than met the eye at
first glance, had never seen anything like the Rebel
Army and its mighty machines of war. Helicopter
gunships and attack choppers hammered the air as
they moved into position. Huge tanks lumbered up
and down the narrow and twisting roads, and where there were no
bridges, Ben ordered his engineers to lay down
metal scissors bridges. So with that done,
Ben's armor pulled into positions that Jack
Hunt's people could not possibly reach, for
Hunt lacked the bridge-building equipment or the
M60 AVLB'S to launch the bridges.
  "I ain't seen nothin" like this in fifteen years.
We ain't got a prayer," one of Hunt's forward
recon people said to his buddy.
  "Shit, man! What are you talkin' about? We
got them outnumbered twenty to one."
  "That don't make no difference. We're
fightin' for booty and pussy and slaves and the like.
Them Rebel people is fightin' for a cause."
  "So?"
  "So if somebody come up to you and offered you better
food, finer women, and nicer quarters to go and fight
for them, would you?"
  "Damn right!"
  "Them Rebels wouldn't. You could offer them the world,
they wouldn't leave the Rebel Army."
  "Then they're fools."
  "No. They're just right and they know it."
  "You gonna quit Jack?"
  "And go where and do what? Surrender and be
  tried by the Irish? Not bloody likely. You know
what they'd do to us. No. We're in this to the death,
Jimmy-boy. Call in, Jimmy. Tell
General Jack Hunt that Ben Raines
is preparin' to throw everything he's got at us. And
it's awesome."
  Jack had moved his CP over to Dublin, into the
old General Post Office building on
O'Connell Street, and met with the leaders of the
Believers. Butch Smathers had already taken his people
back to England; he had seen that the Rebels were going
to retake Ireland. It was going to be a hell of a
fight, but they would eventually win. England, Butch
felt, was going to be quite another matter.
  Jack and the creepies agreed to fight together against
the common enemy: Ben Raines and the Rebels.
  Neither side liked the other-Jack Hunt
despised the stinking cannibalistic Believers-but
each knew their lives depended on them banding together.
The Night People-the Rebels called them creepies
-- would fight out of sheer desperation, for they knew,
having monitored the fighting in the United States,
that the Rebels did not take any creepie
prisoners. They were executed on the spot.
  Inside the boundaries that Jack and the creepies were
defending were the Believers' breeding and fattening
farms, where men and women and children were kept alive for a
constant source of food.
  "Here and here," Ben said, pointing to the
map. "North and south of the city, only a few
miles from the coast. The breeding and fattening farms
of the Night P. But I have my doubts that we'll be
able to free those poor people. As soon as those defending
the city sense that we're about to bust
  through, they'll bug out for England, taking their ...
food source with them." Ben always choked when discussing
that. Of all the perverted and degenerative groups the
Rebels had fought over the long years, the
creepies were the most hated.
  "Commando-type raid?" Dan suggested. "From the
sea?"
  "I thought of that and rejected it," Ben said. "This
area is strong creepie and Hunt territory.
Intelligence states that coast watchers are all up
and down this area. They'd pick up any type of
sea-borne assault long before you could get ashore.
SEAL teams would be able to get in, but then they'd be
stuck with no way to get the prisoners out." He
shook his head. "Too risky. Getting people in is
no problem; getting them out with the prisoners is the
rub."
  He turned back to the map. "Rebet and West,
your battalions will be in the northernmost counties.
My battalion, along with Ike's Two
Battalion, will punch through to Dublin. Directly
south of us will be Dan and Georgi, then Danjou and
Tina, then Thermopolis and the Free Irish. Those
north of Dublin will drive to the sea, neutralizing
all sections, then cut south. Those south of Dublin
will punch through to the sea, then cut north. Dublin
County was just about a million population before the Great
War. It's not going to be a cakewalk. Our
Scouts report that Jack and his people are dug in hard
with heavily re-enforced bunkers. A near hit is not
going to take them out. It's going to take a direct
bump. He's laid down minefields and cut out
tank barricades. That's fine. We'll just lay
back and pound his ass with artillery. His long-range
artillery
  does not have the range nor the accuracy of ours.
He has light mortars, we have heavy mortars.
The heaviest mortars he has are the 60mm. Our
81's outrange him by a good fifteen hundred
meters. I don't want a single Rebel sent in
until an area has been pounded by artillery. Pat
O'Shea and his Free Irish did a fantastic
job of clearing the civilians out of that area. They
didn't get them all-no one expected them to.
So we'll have some collateral damageea*
but that's something we'll have to live with. That about does
it, gang. Any questions?"
  The room was silent. No one needed to ask a
thing. They had all done this many times in the past.
  Ben smiled. "Let's rock and roll."
*A military term used to signify civilian
deaths, among other things
Chapter
Eight
  Ben's heavy 203 mm howitzers laid back
some thirteen miles from the battle zone and began
pounding Jack's positions along the front. The
huge projectiles were high explosives, some
antipersonnel warheads carrying up to one hundred
and ninety-five grenades. When they struck, it
sounded to Jack Hunt's mercenary soldiers like the
end of the world, and for many of them it was.
  Closer to the front, 81mm mortars, with a
range of over three miles using some rounds, laid
down a seemingly never-ending barrage of death, using
Willie Peter and HE. Artillery is the most
demoralizing of all warfare-there is no rest from it.
Those receiving the incoming are constantly battered. Even
if one is not physically wounded by it, the mental
state it leaves is devastating.
  And Ben kept it up day and night. He was
relentless with the artillery assault. For a
five-mile stretch, from the southernmost edge of
Northern Ireland south to the sea, the ground never
stopped trembling and shaking.
  Most of the men in Jack's army were trained to some
degree or another, and all had seen combat. But
few had ever experienced anything like this.
  The sight of bunkers taking a direct hit and
body parts flying in bloody chunks for hundreds of
feet caused many to bolt in fear and panic. Some
lost their minds. Others became so numb from battle
fatigue they were rendered useless as fighting men.
  And still the mind-numbing barrage from the Rebels
continued. Day and night. Never-ending. While
Dublin had yet to receive even one Rebel round, it
became a city that was rapidly filling with trembling,
vacant-eyed men who had wandered in from the front
lines, some of them reduced to weeping shells of their
former selves.
  Jack tried to attack. His people ran into some of the
most hideous ambushes they had ever experienced.
Hunt's men were learning-the lessons written in
blood-that the Rebels played by no rulebook.
They were the most vicious guerrilla
fighters the world had ever known. They were trained and armed
with most of the weapons the world's armament people had cooked
up, and they did not hesitate to use them.
  King took his men back across the Irish Sea
to England, and Mack and Poole took their people on the
next ship out. They tried to convince Jack and the
others that they should do the same. But Jack was
determined to fight until he was literally looking
down the muzzles of the Rebels' guns.
  "And that ain't gonna be that long off," the warlord
Acey muttered. He wasn't about to get caught
on this damn island. When things started going really
bad, he and his boys were gonna haul their asses
out.
  Ben kept up the cold and unrelenting pressure
on the troops of Jack Hunt. The first ships
back from
  America brought hundreds of tons of rifle and
machine-gun rounds and artillery shells. A day behind
them were ships carrying food and medical supplies.
Behind that convoy were ships carrying grain for planting,
clothing, and ewes and rams to replace the herds the
mercenaries had eaten and very nearly wiped out.
Bulls and cows were shipped to the Emerald Isle, as
well as lumber and nails and sacks of
concrete and hammers and saws and very human
technicians to help the citizens of the battered land
more easily put their lives back together.
  Slowly the troops of Jack Hunt fell
back. Rebet and West took their battalions
to the seacoast town of Dundalk and then turned south
just as the battalions of Ben and Ike were rolling
into Kildare. Dan and Striganov pushed fifteen
miles in and stopped at the town of Baltinglass,
while just south of their position, Danjou and Tina
set up outside of Bunclody. And to the south of
them, Thermopolis advanced to about fifteen miles
west of Wexford and halted.
  Several of Jack's battalion commanders came
to his CP and laid their feelings on the line.
"Jack, we can't hold out much longer. And as far as
we're concerned, it's stupid to try. We're
holding on to just a tiny piece of this island and the
Rebels are knocking on the door, Jack. And the
door is splintering."
  "This island was mine! I ran this island. I was a
king
here, and you men lived damned well."
  "Yes, we did, Jack. And we can do the same
over in England. But this time we can prepare
for Raines' invasion. That'll be our kind of fighting
over there, Jack. That's what we all do best:
house
  to house. We'll have time to booby-trap and mine and
get set. There is nothing left for us here, Jack.
We've had it. All we'll do here is be
destroyed."
  But Jack was not convinced. "God damn it, people,
we can hold him outside Dublin. still
know we can."
  "Jack," Frankie told him. "We
can't
hold. Some of the men are already deserting. That ain't
thunder out there, Jack. That's artillery, and Raines
is damn near in striking distance of this city. Hell,
there's six to eight thousand of them stinkin' damn
Believers here in the city. Let them see if they can
get lucky with the Rebels. Jack, we were goin'
to leave anyway."
  "Yes. But with honor."
"Honor!
Jesus Christ, Jack! Honor? We're a
pack of thieves and murderers and rapists and God
only knows what else. You want to stay here and have
someone chisel the word "honor" on your
tombstone? Providin', of course, that anyone can
find the body and take the time to bury it. Which I
doubt they will. Look yourself in the mirror, man. You
haven't shaved or taken a bath in two weeks.
Two weeks, Jack. That's how long Raines
has been hammering us. We all stink. We're
scared and tired and a lot of the men have reached the breaking
point. Now, you've still got a mighty army left.
Probably twelve or thirteen battalions
..."
  "Twelve or thirteen?" Jack's voice was
numb with disbelief. "But I had nearly twice
that."
  "They're dead, Jack!" Harris shouted.
"Raines uncorked some high-tech shit and sent it
in. Helicopter gunships that pop up out of nowhere
and launch rockets and chain guns and Jesus
Christ
  alone knows what else. Now listen to me,
Jack. We'll hold on these conditions: you get
our armor and artillery on board those damn ships in
the harbor and get it the hell out of here and over
to England. You have ships ready to receive us on a moments
notice when it's time to bug out. Now that's it,
Jack. I'm tellin' you what the men
tell me. They've had it. They'll follow you,
man, but not to their deaths when it can be prevented."
  General Jack Hunt sat behind his desk for a
silent moment. His unshaven face was ashen, and there were
bags under his eyes. He sighed and shook his head.
"Vernon, get the ships ready to load what
equipment we're taking with us."
  "Yes, sir."
  Jack looked at the battalion commanders in his
office. "But tell me this, gentlemen: what
happens if we can't contain the Rebels in England?
Do we retreat to France? And if he pursues us
there, what then?"
  Frankie smiled. "I got that figured out,
too, Jack. We'll bug out all right, but we
leave well ahead of Raines and he ain't gonna
have no idea where we are."
  "Where will we be?"
  "Hawaii."
  "General," Corrie called from her radio.
"Forward people report that all of a sudden Jack's
troops found some backbone and are putting up a
stiff fight along a lot of fronts. They're
really putting up a scrap."
  "That's odd," Chase said.
  "Not really," Ben told him, pouring a cup of
coffee. "I've been expecting it. I'll make
you a wager he's getting ready to bug out for
England."
  Conversation stopped in the big room. All eyes
shifted to Ben. His son asked, "And you're going
to let him go?"
  "We've got a city full of creepies to deal
with, Buddy. And we've got to wait for a few
weeks after that to provision up for the assault against
England. We'll be going up against a much larger force
there than we met here. English resistance groups
report as many as a hundred thousand hostiles on that
island, all coming together to fight against us."
  Lamar Chase whistled softly. "A hundred
thousand, Ben?"
  "Yes. And it's going to be a long, tough
campaign. England is over fifty thousand square
miles and before the Great War had a population of more
than fifty million people. Its coastline alone is
more than two thousand miles. We've got to have
everything we need stockpiled here in Ireland before we
jump off. It'll be probably mid- or late
summer before we're ready to strike at Britain.
We've got to set up training bases
to refresh our paratroopers, because without them going in
first to secure some territory and raise hell, those
going in by sea would get the shit shot out of them before they
established a beachhead. All I've got is
tentative plans drawn up. Beth, put out the
word for all jump-trained personnel to give their
names to their company commanders and then forward that list
to me."
  "We're all jump trained, father," Buddy
pointed out.
  Ben smiled. "That's right, son. We sure
are."
  "Now, you wait just a damn minute, Raines!"
Dr. Chase stood up.
  "Oh, sit down, Lamar," Ben told him.
"I didn't say I was going in first wave with the
jumpers, did I?"
  "Well ... no."
  "So relax. We've got Dublin to clean out
first, and you all know firsthand how savagely the
creepies fight. They'll give us a hell of a
lot more of a scrap than Jack Hunt's people ever
did. As far as letting Hunt's people go, I don't
have much of a choice in the matter. We can't shell the
docks because we'll need them intact for our
own invasion." He smiled and let those in the room
wonder about that ... they'd find out in a few weeks.
"We'll just have to take the chance that Jack won't
destroy them. And in order to minimize that, we keep
the pressure on, day and night. When he does
bug out, and I'm thinking that moment is very close, we
re going to be nipping at his heels. So we'll just
keep up what we're doing now."
  The Rebel artillery kept up its savage
pounding on the lines of Jack Hunt's soldiers.
When Hunt's people would fall back a mile, the
Rebel lines would immediately close the gap.
  Rebet and West took the town of Drogheda and
then made a lightning-fast commando move against the
breeding and storage farm of the creepies located just
south of there, freeing hundreds of men and women and children
the creepies were breeding and fattening for food. The
creepie guards did not attempt much of a fight.
Instead they fled to the city to prepare against the Rebel
  attack they knew was inevitable.
  Dan and Striganov busted through the lines and took
the second breeding camp of the Believers, located
about fifteen miles south of the city. Danjou and
Tina punched through to the coast just south of them, and
Thermopolis and his battalion broke through
to Wexford and secured the town and the harbor. Now it
didn't make any difference if Hunt did blow
the facilities at Dublin, the Rebels had a
secondary jump-off point at Wexford.
  With the entire Rebel Army and the men and women of the
Free Irish less than five miles from
Dublin, Jack Hunt was frantically loading his
people and what equipment they would take on board ships.
  And the Night People, those who called themselves
Believers, whom the Rebels referred to as
creepies, were digging in for a long and bitter fight of
it. Jack was leaving behind tons of equipment, and the
creepies would make use of every scrap of it in the
fight against their most hated enemy: Ben Raines and the
Rebels.
  "Let them go." Ben gave the orders to advance
no further until Jack and his people were clear of the
city. "What do our recon planes report?"
  "Near panic," Beth told Jim. "I can't
believe you're just going to let them go, General."
  Ben smiled mysteriously. "How many ships are
now in the Irish Sea, Corrie?"
  "Twelve, sir. All heavily loaded."
  "And Thermopolis reported ships in good shape
laying outside of Wexford?"
  "Yes, sir. As soon as Dublin is clean,
he's preparing to bring them up."
  Ben chuckled. "Launch the Apaches with their
antitank missiles. Tell the pilots to stay
well back and out of range of the ships' guns.
Let's see what these tank-killers can do against
ships."
  Everyone in the room smiled. To a person they had
all held the belief that there was no way Ben was going
to just sit back and let Jack and his people sail
blissfully off to Merry Old England.
  The Apaches' missiles have a range of almost
four miles and they can penetrate any known tank
armor. Each Apache carries sixteen antitank
missiles, seventy-six 2.75 folding-fin
aerial rockets, and three hundred and twenty
rounds of 30mm ammunition. It is a deadly
fighting machine.
  "Jack's people probably need baths," Ben said,
leaning back in his chair. "And I have a hunch that many
of them are going to get wet this day. Those that don't go
down with the ships, that is."
  "Apaches airborne, sir," Corrie
called.
  "Have fun, boys and girls," Ben said.
  "I hate Ben Raines," Jack said glumly,
standing by the railing of the old cargo ship. Dublin was
behind them and they were heading for the docks at Liverpool.
"I hate that son of a bitch more than I ever hated
any being in my entire life." He paused as his
eyes picked up dots in the sky. "What the hell
are those things?" He pointed.
  "Helicopters!" a lookout called.
  "Get the SAM'S ready!" Jack hollered.
  "They're staying well out of range of anything we
got, Jack. No good."
  "Jesus Christ!" the lookout yelled. "Those
are tank-killers. Apaches. They've launched
missiles."
  The Hellfire travels very fast. The chilling
words
  had just left the lookout's mouth when the
wheel-house exploded, killing all in there; the bow
was shot off; five missiles struck mid-ship, and
Jack was knocked off his boots. He landed hard
on his butt and for a moment was unable to move.
  The engine room exploded in smoke and flame
and the ship was dead in the water. The convoy was taking a
terrible pounding from the missiles. No ships were sinking
yet, but all were badly damaged and most were
dead in the water.
  Jack crawled to his boots, very conscious that the
deck was warm and getting warmer from the increasing fires
in the holds beneath his feet.
  "Is this goddamn tub sinking?" he hollered.
  "Not yet," one of his men said. "But we're on
fire and dead in the water."
  "He tricked me," Jack said. "The bastard
tricked me. The low-life son of a bitch had this
planned all along."
  Another missile struck and the sixty-year-old
former World War Two Liberty ship shuddered.
  "She's breaking up!" Those words were screamed out just
as Jack was watching a ship slowly roll over
belly-up like some great dead prehistoric water
creature and begin to sink into the cold depths of the
Irish Sea.
  "Lower the lifeboats," Jack said bitterly,
knowing he was finished as any type of military
commander. He'd been neatly suckered into this, and this would
be his final command. Even if he made it to shore,
he couldn't get a job washing dishes in a mess
hall.
  Jack Hunt was not concerned about the loss of
equipment, for England was filled with war
supplies. What he was worried about was staying
alive
  in lifeboats, for he now knew for an
ironclad fact that Ben Raines was a hard and
ruthless man who would stop at nothing to destroy an
enemy.
  "All ships hit," Corrie called. "Two
are sunk and two more are sinking. All of them are
dead in the water. Pilots report crews are
abandoning ship."
  Pat O'Shea was watching Ben closely. He
wanted to see if the rumors about him were true; he
wanted to witness firsthand just how hard this legendary
soldier was.
  "Finish it," Ben said. "Tell the pilots to go
in and strafe. It'll be that many less that we'll have
to deal with in England. And it'll damn sure give
those over there something to think about."
  Pat O'Shea smiled a grim warrior's
smile. Ben Raines was the hardest man he had ever
met.
Chapter Nine
  Butch Smathers was among dozens of other warlords
from around England who had gathered in Liverpool after
receiving the news of the attack to listen firsthand
to the survivors' stories. Less than two
hundred men had survived the attack on the ships.
Butch and others had sent small boats out during the
night to pick up the nearly hysterical men and bring
them to shore.
  Several of the older and wiser of the bunch quietly
slipped away and vanished in the English
countryside. They wanted no part of Ben Raines
and his Rebels.
  Butch had seen them leave and knew what they were
doing was probably the wisest thing for them. But for the
most part, the street punkstoutlawstto-hell-with-you
mentality is formed early- perhaps even at birth-and
Butch and those remaining really had no overwhelming
inclination to do anything other than what they had been
doing for a decade, and for most, for many years prior
to that.
  "We got to have a meet, boys," Butch said.
"And I mean do it quick and get this thing settled."
  "What you mean?" a punk called Joey asked.
  "You all heard what happened in Los
Angeles, over in America. All them gangs
there operated independent of each other when Raines
come. So I heard. They didn't have no central
commander givin' the orders. They all died.
We can't let that happen here."
  "Nobody gives my boys orders but me," a
young man said.
  "Same here," another said.
  "Jack didn't make it," one of the survivors
said. "I seen him floatin' on a piece of
wreckage, with half his head blowed off. Didn't
none of the battalion commanders make it, neither. But
Butch is right-you guys operate without a strong
central leader, and you're dead meat."
  "Hey, man!" a punk who called himself Maddy
piped up. "We got tanks, guns, rocket
launchers, explosives, mortars-everything them
Rebels has got. We been operatin' just fine
without no one man givin' orders."
  "No, you ain't got everything the Rebels has
got," the survivor told him. "You don't have
training and experience. You don't have leadership. You
don't have your moves down pat. And you don't have the
drive or the spirit of the Rebels. And more
important, you don't have someone like Ben Raines."
  "Ben Raines ain't shit!" a punk sneered.
  "Wrong," the voice came from the shadows of the
cavernous room where the creepie had been standing
silently.
  The group fell silent. Although the various warlords
  and street punk leaders cooperated with the Night
People, they did not like them and were just a bit scared of them.
Too many of their kind had crossed the Believers and
then just one day disappeared never to be seen again.
Everyone knew where they had gone: into the bellies of the
Night P.
  The Believers almost never came out in the daylight,
and many of them lived under ground, especially in
London, in the bowels of the city. They were fierce
fighters and backed up for no one. The punks
provided them with live human beings in exchange for
getting along with them.
  The creepie said, "Ben Raines and his Rebels
are the greatest guerrilla fighters and tacticians
on the face of the earth. They can fight conventionally or
non-conventionally. They have no equal, certainly not
among the rabble I see before me now. You must make
up your minds to fight them as a group, taking orders
from one man, or the Rebels will chew you up and spit
you out like meat from a grinder."
  "I gotta see it to believe it," a punk said.
  "You won't live that long," the Believer told
him, then stepped out into the night and vanished.
  Nearly a fourth of those who survived the
missile attack and the strafing that followed were from
Frankie's battalion. Frankie had not
survived, but his plan lived on in the minds of those
who did.
  After the meeting had broken up into small groups
of punks and warlords, each group
  arguing about who was to be the leader, the remnants of
Frankie's command assembled outside the huge
warehouse.
  "This bunch will fight, but Raines will win," one
man said.
  "Yeah," another one agreed. "The Night People will
give the Rebels the stiffest resistance. But what
about us?"
  "Let's check out the harbor and see what's
floating. I got me a sudden yen to see hula
girls and palm trees."
  The men grinned and walked off.
  The creepies in Dublin had not been surprised
to hear and witness the demise of Jack Hunt's
army at the hands of Ben Raines. They had been
following Ben Raines-by short-wave radio-for
years. No one had to tell them how ruthless the man
could be. He had virtually wiped out their kind in
America and if he had his way would do the
same thing in Europe.
  The creepies dug in and prepared themselves mentally
for a fight to the death against the Rebels.
  Outside the city, Ben and his commanders met for one
last time before they began their assault against Dublin.
  "This will be the toughest nut to crack," Ben told
his people. "I've come up withand rejected a dozen
plans. I thought about circling the city and starving them
out. But we know the creeps hold hundreds of
prisoners in there. They could last
  for years. Pat O'Shea says there are no
civilians in the city who are there willingly. When
the creepies surfaced, the citizens moved out.
Those that learned of them in time, that is. I suspect
the rest got eaten," he added.
  To a person, those gathered around shuddered and
grimaced. There was no way to express what the
Rebels felt toward the Night P. Hate would be
far too mild a word.
  Ben's eyes swept the group. "I don't have
to say this, but I will anyway. No prisoners.
None.
No compassion shown them. No pity, no mercy. Just
a bullet. We're going to do this slow and do it right,
with a minimum of casualties. Now we
all know that even if we shelled the city down
to rubble, we'd still have to go in and dig the creepies out
of their underground homes. So we're going to take the
city house by house, street by street. I want
everyone in body armor and helmets. No berets,
no bandanas. This campaign has pretty much been
a picnic since Galway. Well, now the
picnic has been invaded by fire ants, and the
bastards are resistant to just about everything except being
stepped on and squashed. So that's what we'll do.
We're lucky in that Dublin, while once a
major city, is a compact place and fairly
easy to learn how to move about." Ben grinned. "It
also once held over a thousand pubs."
  "My kind of city," Rebet said.
  "Yeah," Ike agreed. "Maybe we'll get
lucky and find a warehouse full of Irish
whiskey."
  "Dream on," Ben told him. "All right, people,
we hit the city at dawn tomorrow."
  Ben shoved open the door to the home on the
outskirts of town and looked inside. The place
had been trashed, and trashed more than once. At first
glance, no one had occupied this dwelling for a long
time. But the Rebels had learned from hard and
bitter lessons that that was the way the creepies
liked to leave things. Ben stepped inside, his team
moving in swiftly behind him and fanning out.
  "Jesus, what a mess," Cooper said, looking
around him. Then he stopped and sniffed the air. He
cut his eyes to Ben.
  Ben nodded his head. He, too, had caught the
unmistakable odor of unwashed flesh, the
telltale sign that Night People were close.
  "Cellar," Ben said. "Find the door, inside
and out. Coop, take your Stoner and cover the
outside."
  Beth found the inside door to the basement and
sniffed at it. "Phew. Rotting flesh,
General."
  Ben slung his CAR-15 and took a
fire-frag from his battle harness and pulled the pin,
holding the spoon down. "Open the door."
  Beth jerked open the door and Ben tossed the
mini-Claymore into the rank darkness. The smell of
rotting human flesh and the unwashed bodies of
creepies struck them all as they stepped to one
side.
  The fire-frag blew and screaming began from the
depths of the darkness. Coop's Stoner
began howling as light filled the cellar and creeps
threw
  open the outside exit and tried to run. One
came charging up the steps, screaming hate at the
Rebels, an AK-47 sputtering in his hands.
  Beth slammed the door closed just as the creep
reached the landing and ran into the door, the impact
knocking him tumbling back down the steps.
  "Nice touch, Beth," Ben said with a grin.
  She opened the door and gave the basement a hosing
with her M-16. There were no more sounds of life from the
cellar. Just to make sure, Beth tossed another
grenade into the stinking cellar and closed the door.
  "First block cleared," Corrie said, after receiving
reports.
  "Only about five hundred to go," Ben said.
All around them, the early morning air was filled with
gunsmoke and the booming of grenades.
  Thousands of Rebels, moving forward behind tanks and
APC'S, were starting on clearing the last major
objective in Ireland.
  "Corrie, have platoon leaders warn their people again
about booby traps," Ben said. "If the creepies
run true to form, the closer we get to the heart of the
city, the more likely the chances of that."
  By noon of the first day, the Rebels had cleared
only a few blocks of the suburbs, but they had
sustained no deaths or injuries, and Ben planned
on keeping it that way. As they broke for lunch,
Ben's eyes continually returned to a large, very
stately home located on a corner.
  "What's the matter, Ben?" Linda asked.
"You're
  not eating. You feel all right?"
  "I feel fine. That mini-mansion over there
bothers me. You people go on eating. Buddy, come with
me, son. Let's check that place out."
  Jersey rose and followed him, as did the rest of
his team, munching on crackers as they walked. They
all knew that Ben liked to lone-wolf it
into mischief, and there was no way they were going to let
him go it alone.
  The home had once been a grand place, that was
evident from half a block away. But what had
bothered Ben were the dark drapes still hanging in place
over not just a few of the windows, but all of them, top
and bottom floors.
  "What's up, General?" Jersey asked,
walking between Ben and his son.
  "That house there. It bothers me."
  Jersey stared at the grand old home for a few
seconds. "Yeah," she said. "You're right. It
looks ... spooky."
  "Or creepie," Ben replied. "Spread out.
Buddy, you take the back of the house in case we
flush something. Wave a couple of your Rats over
here to join you. Find the outside basement exit.
I'm going in the front. Easy does it, now."
"We're
going in the front," Jersey said.
  Ben smiled. "Right you are, Jersey." He
climbed the broad steps to the concrete-and-brick
porch, his team to the left and right of him. Ben walked
to the door and started to close his hand around the knob.
Slowly he pulled his hand back.
  "What's the matter, General?" Corrie
asked.
  "Order all troops back a full block from
this
  house, Corrie. Tell them to move right now."
  "Yes sir."
  "Buddy!" Ben yelled.
  "Here, sir."
  "Back off. Get your people out of this area right now."
  "Yes, sir. We're gone."
  "Let's get out of here, gang," Ben said. "Like
right now. Move."
  With every Rebel at least one full block away
from the silent yet strangely ominous old house,
Ben called a Rebel with a rocket launcher over
to him. "Put one right through the front door,
soldier."
  "Yes, sir."
  When the rocket impacted with the front door, the
blast that followed completely demolished houses on
all sides of the small mansion, and virtually
destroyed others within two hundred yards of the blast
site. Flames leaped out of all sides of the home
that was no more and started small fires all around the
site. Debris rained down like shrapnel for
hundreds of feet. The shock wave staggered
Rebels who were standing a full block away and put
some of the smaller and lighter ones on the ground.
  "Jesus Christ!" Cooper said, looking around for
his helmet, which had been knocked off by the blast.
He found it and plopped it back on his head. "There
must have been five thousand pounds of explosives in that
house."
  "At least," Ben said, digging a finger into first one
ear and then the other. Everyone's hearing
  was temporarily impaired from the enormous
explosion.
  Ben looked around him. "Anybody hurt from
falling debris?" he yelled.
  A half dozen people had taken pretty fair
licks on the head because they had not been wearing
helmets. One had been knocked cold and would
require some stitching.
  "Put your goddamn helmets on your heads and
don't take them off until your squad leader
tells you to," Ben yelled. "Pass the word."
  Pat O'Shea roared up in a pickup and
hopped out. "Good Lord, General, what happened?"
  "Booby trap, Pat. It's all part of it."
  Ike and Dan were in the area right behind Pat. "We
got to talk about this, Ben," Ike said. "We'd
better lay down some ground rules."
  Ben shook his head. "That's what they want us
to do, Ike. They want us to become ultra-careful,
to slow us down so they can dig in deeper and be harder
to root out. From now on, fire a rifle-grenade
into each home before troops enter. It won't
destroy the dwelling comin most cases-but it'll
damn sure set off any traps the creeps might
have in place. We've never encountered any
sophistication in their booby-trapping and I see no
reason to suspect any now. Corrie, pass the
word about entering buildings and tell CO'S
to provide plenty of grenades for everyone with a
launcher."
  Ben looked around at all the destruction caused
by the enormous explosion. He shook his head and put
out of his mind what might have
  happened had he not played his hunches. "Let's
get back to work, people." He took a deep breath and
yelled, "And God damn it, put your helmets
on!"
Chapter
Ten
  The Rebels encountered no more booby traps
to equal the one Ben had discovered, but they did find
several much smaller ones planted in old homes in
the suburbs of Dublin. They were very
unsophisticated ones and all went off when the
grenades blew, with no loss of Rebel life.
  Ben had ordered gunboats to be on constant
patrol just outside Dublin Harbor in case any
creepies tried to flee in that direction. Then Ben
ordered the noose to be tightened from all sides.
  Rebels found a large pocket of
creepies at Dublin Airport and called in that
news to Ben. "Let's go see what we have," Ben
said, adding, "I have never understood the creepies'
fascination with airports. It never fails but what
we find a large concentration of them there."
  Ben stood on the edge of the battle zone and
inspected the airport through binoculars. He turned
to his daughter, Tina, whose battalion had
discovered the creepies. Little by little, Ben was giving his
son and daughter the temporary reins of command. "How
would you handle it, Tina?"
  "We can knock the buildings down with artillery
  and keep the runways intact," she said. "I
think we can take it without losing a single Rebel
life."
  Ben smiled at her. "Exactly what I would
do."
  She returned the smile. "Yes. I know."
  "Take it."
  The Night People wanted the Rebels to come in after
them so they could inflict heavy casualties on them
during close-in fighting. They knew they were going
to be destroyed and wanted to kill a lot of
Rebels. But the creepies never quite figured out the
Rebels' style of fighting, and again, they were
disappointed.
  "Snipers with .50's up," Tina told her
radio operator. "Get artillery in place and
stand by for my orders."
  "Yes, ma'am," the young man said.
  Ben sat down in a folding camp chair, rolled
a cigarette, and accepted a cup of coffee.
"Beats the hell out of being down there smelling those
stinking creeps and having lead whistling all around you,"
Ben remarked. "Let it bang, kid."
  Tina laughed at her father. "Right on, Pop!"
  Ben sighed at the decades-old expression that was
enjoying a revival among his troops.
  "Tell artillery to fire when ready," Tina
ordered.
  "Yes, ma'am."
  The terminal buildings began erupting in flame
and shattered rubble as the 105's and 60- and 81mm
mortars began howling and snarling, dropping in their
deadly mail. Snipers firing the long-range
.50 caliber rifles methodically and without
  emotion shot down the creepies as they tried
to escape the devastating artillery rounds.
  Ben sat in the shade provided by the bulk of a
main battle tank and sipped his coffee and
watched his people work. Totally professional, he thought;
I'm watching the finest fighting force in the world.
"Boring,"
Cooper remarked, stretched out on the grass, taking
in the sun.
  "It'll damn sure pick up when we enter the
city, Coop," Ben told him. "Enjoy this while
you can."
  "General," Beth said, during a lull in the
artillery barrage. "Are we wrong to be so ...
well, nonchalant about this? I mean, it's like we
don't think any more of this than the folks back at
Base Camp One, going to work in the hospital or
the factories or the offices."
  "Does the sight of abused and wounded and sick children
still bother you, Beth?" Ben asked.
  "Sure!"
  "Do starving and hurt and crippled animals bother
you, Jersey?"
  "Yes, sir. I've bawled a lot of times at
the sight. And I will again."
  "Corrie, can you feel compassion for the good and
decent people these outlaws and scum have abused and raped
and tortured and enslaved?"
  "Yes, sir. Every time I witness it."
  "Coop, do you feel outrage at the sight of
wanton and senseless vandalism of priceless works of
art and the enslavement of human beings?"
  "I damn sure do, sir."
  "Then you've all answered Beth's question, and you've
all spoken for every Rebel in this army. Because that shit
down there," he pointed to the bodies of creepies
sprawled in death on the tarmac, "and all the other
outlaw, trash, and scum we've scooped into mass
graves over the years, if they had responded
truthfully, would have answered no to every question I just
asked. There is no reason for any of us to feel one
iota of guilt or remorse about what we're
doing. We're just doing a very distasteful job that needs
to be done."
  A man everyone assumed to be from the Free
Irish Army had come up and had listened to Ben. He
was dressed in military green, wore regulation
boots that were bloused, and was quite definitely Irish.
"You're quite the philosopher, General. You're an
odd combination of things. Warrior, tactician,
philosopher, and as cold as any English
banker's heart when you have to be."
  Ben waited until after another hard barrage of
artillery had passed over. "Well," he
said with a smile, "I used to be a pretty good
writer, I think. But as far as those other things you
mentioned ... I never wanted to be any of them."
  No one noticed as Ben slipped an overstunder
410 derringer from behind his web belt.
  "But you felt the call, seen your duty, and done
it, ain't that right, General?" The man stepped
closer.
  "Cease fire," Tina ordered. "Mop-up
teams in."
  "That's certainly one way of putting it," Ben
replied.
  "Freshen up your coffee, General?" Cooper
said, getting to his feet.
  Ben gave him the cup. "Thanks, Coop.
That'd be fine."
  "Jersey?" Coop asked.
  "No," she said shortly, never taking her eyes
off the stranger with the strange smile. "Get out of the
way, Coop."
  "What's your problem?" Cooper muttered, heading
for the ever-ready coffeepot in the mess tent.
  Corrie was busy at her radio, Linda had
gone off to help with any wounded that might straggle in
to the MASH tent of Tina's battalion,
and Beth was writing in her journal.
  "You ready, Jersey?" Ben asked.
  "Anytime, General," the petite bodyguard
replied.
  The stranger suddenly lifted a pistol and Ben and
Jersey fired at the same time. The 410 round
completely wiped off the man's face and Jersey's
M-16 punched holes in his chest. The stranger was
dead before he hit the grass.
  The area was suddenly swarming with Rebels at a
run.
  "Are you all right, Dad?" Tina asked.
  "Oh, yeah," Ben said, reloading the derringer.
"Somebody fan the body for I.d."
  "Nothing, sir," a Rebel said, after fanning the
body. "Just this pistol. He's not dirty or
smelly, so he couldn't be a creepie. I wonder
who he is-was?"
  Ben had a pretty good idea that the man was from one
side or the other up in Northern Ireland. They
didn't want Ben to bring his Rebels up there and
put an end to their by now intensely personal war.
They needn't have worried about it. Ben had no
intention of getting involved in that mess.
  "I don't know," Ben said, keeping his
opinions to himself. For if the Rebels felt that a
factor in the northern part of the country was putting
death sentences out on their general, Ben would be hard
pressed to contain his people, who would immediately want to set
off on a mission to wipe out the whole lot of them.
  "Bury with the creepies, sir?" Ben was asked.
  Ben shook his head. Most of the Rebels gathered
around looked strangely at Ben when he said
softly, "No. Not with them. He deserves better
than that. He's an Irishman. And I've a
strong feeling he was not a collaborator. He was
just fighting for a lost cause, that's all." Be looked
all around him. "Bury him over there, on that rise.
Close to that fence with the wild roses." Ben pointed.
"Where he can feel the morning sun and maybe smell
the sea every now and then."
  As Ben and his team were pulling out about an hour
later, Ben could see Sgt. Dempsey standing over
the mound of earth, a harmonica to his mouth. Ben
couldn't hear the tune, but he'd bet it was "Danny
Boy."
  The airport runways were functioning the next day
and planes could now land, mostly old transport
planes bringing in material from the docks at
Galway.
  The suburbs had been cleared of creepies and the
few among Hunt's army who had been left behind in
the hurried bug-out, and a few Irish
collaborators. Many of those who collaborated
killed themselves rather than fall into the hands of the Free
Irish.
  Inside the silent city of Dublin, the
creepies were dug in tight, as ready as they could be
for the Rebel invasion. Flyovers showed that most of the
bridges within the city had been destroyed by the
creeps.
  "The battalions who clean out this area," Ben
said, pointing to a map, "are going to have to work slow and
careful. All the bridges over the River Liffey
and the Grand Canal have been destroyed. This spot will
be the hottest, so I'll take my battalion and
one other in, supported by light tanks."
  "You get your butt cut off in there and you're in
trouble, Ben," Ike pointed out.
  "Yes. So here's the way it'll go. My One
Battalion and Dan's Three Battalion will
take the area between Liffey and the Grand Canal.
Thermopolis and his Eight Battalion will be behind us
to prevent any creepie swing around to box us.
Ike's Two Battalion, West's
Four Battalion, and Danjou's Seven will work the
area north of the River Liffey, and Striganov's
Five, Rebet's
  Six, and Tina's Nine Battalion will take
everything south of the Grand Canal. We'll link up
at the Irish Sea. We'll call this Operation
Clean Sweep. Any questions?"
  The battalion commanders knew better than
to attempt to dissuade Ben from taking the hot area, so
none tried. He was going to go where the action was until
the day he died and that was that.
  Ben looked at Thermopolis, Emil Hite
standing by his side in the big room of Ben's
temporary CP. Emil, the little con artist who
had worked most known scams both before and after the Great
War, had proven to be a fine soldier. But on this
campaign he had been unusually silent.
  "Is he sick?" Ben asked Therm, pointing his
finger at Emil.
  "A psychiatrist would probably say yes," the
hippie-turned-warrior replied.
  "I feel fine, General," Emil said, drawing
himself up to stand as tall as he could. The top of his
head came to just about' the center of Ben's chest. When
he wasn't wearing cowboy boots and a
turban. "This has been a very sobering experience for
me. My mother's people came from this fair and green
isle. Just being here has brought out the Irish in me.
The misty breeze and the rolling hills, the scent of
wild roses and the smell of freshly-turned earth have
moved me so deeply I sometimes weep for joy at
returning to the place of my ancestry. Why, just the
other morning I removed my boots and socks and
ran light-hearted and lithe through the dewy grass
..."
  "Emil ..." Ben said wearily, now sorry
he'd brought up the subject.
  "... A hundred Irish melodies filled my
heart as an invisible choir, a children's choir, sang
so pure and sweetly I could not contain my tears of
joy..."
  "Emil ..." Ben was getting a headache.
  Georgi Striganov had covered his ears with his
hands. Ike was grinning at the expression on Ben's
face. Lamar Chase was looking for a way out of the
room.
  "... I felt as if I had finally come home."
Emil was really getting into it now. "This ancient land
where Vikings and Celts and Normans had trod was
a part of me ..."
  "Jesus, Emil!" Ben said.
  "... No, He never got this far, but I'm
sure He blessed this emerald isle. I threw all
my cares and woes to the gentle breeze as I ran
like a carefree and happy child. I ..."
"Emil!"
Ben roared.
  "What, my General?"
  "How'd you get that bruise on your face?"
  "While I was racing willy-nilly through the dew,
I stepped in a pile of sheep shit and busted my
ass and knocked myself goofy for a time. When I
regained my senses, a flock of sheep had gathered
around, looking at me. Have you ever looked deeply
into a sheep's eyes, General?"
  Ben was laughing so hard he had to sit down.
"No, Emil," he finally managed to say.
"I've been spared that pleasure."
  "They're lovely. I shall never eat mutton
again."
  Ben wiped his eyes and said, "Everybody firm
on what to do?"
  Everybody was.
  "Watch my back, Therm," Ben said.
  "You may advance with not a worry nor a
care about sneak attacks from behind, General," Emil
said. "The fighting Eighth will cover you like a
protective blanket on a cool night."
  "Thank you, Emil," Ben said, trying to keep a
straight face. "You just erased any worries I
might have had."
  "We shall fight in the hedgerows and in the streets.
We shall fight until our enemies are vanquished from
this land!" Emil shouted. "Neither rain, nor sleet,
nor fog, nor gloom of night shall deter us from our
duties ..."
  "Oh, God," Striganov said, looking around
frantically. "He's going off his bean again."
  "Come on, Emil," Thermopolis urged.
  "Don't stop me now, baby!" Emil said.
"I'm beginning to cook."
  "That's what concerns me."
  "No evil power on this earth can stop the Rebels
when we get going!" Emil yelled.
  Jersey had picked up a two-by-four and was
moving menacingly toward Emil. Ben grabbed her by the
back of her web belt just as she was preparing to conk
Emil on the noggin.
  Fortunately, he was wearing a helmet, so it
probably wouldn't have done him much damage
had she busted him one. But Ben preferred to keep his
troops healthy.
  "Easy, Jersey," he cautioned her, and held
on firmly.
  Beerbelly picked Thermopolis up like a sack
of feed, tossed him over one shoulder, and carried him
outside.
  "Just think," Ben said, breaking the numb silence that
always followed one of Emil's outbursts. "And I
thought he was sick!"
Chapter Eleven
  Ben launched the assault against Dublin at
dawn. He hit the creepies hard from the north, the
south, and the west. Dusters and MBT'S spearheaded the
drive; the MBT'S were going to be too large
to navigate many of the city's narrow, twisting
streets. Scouts in LAV'S comlight armored
vehicles comled the way in. Each Duster carried
twice its usual complement of 40mm rounds, for
once inside the zone, there was no way of telling how
long it would be before they were resupplied, and there was always
the possibility of getting cut off.
  Ben had been expecting a tough fight from the
creepies, and he and his people were certainly not
disappointed. The creeps had thrown up
roadblocks at every intersection, dragging in old
cars and trucks, chaining them together and then chaining them
to lampposts. Ben and his team were pinned down hard
almost from the get-go.
  "Where the hell are we?" Ben shouted, over the
roar of machine guns and the rattle of smaller arms.
  "Pinned down," Buddy said with a smile.
  "Thank you, boy. I'll treasure that information
  always. Smart-ass." Buddy laughed at him as his
father crawled to the outside phone box of a Duster and
told the commander, "See that saloon with the black and
red trim about ten o'clock and that old boutique at two
o'clock?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Neutralize them. They've got fifties in
there."
  "Yes, sir."
  The twin 40mm's were lowered and began hammering out
HE. The Duster is capable of spitting out 240
rounds a minute. Within fifteen seconds there was
nothing left of either the saloon or the boutique.
Nothing left of the creepies inside them, either,
except what one might wish to scrape off the
walls.
  An hour later, the Rebels of Ben's
command had moved up two blocks, and they were
hard-won blocks.
  "Tell everyone to take a break and let's find
out what the others are doing," Ben told Corrie.
  She radioed the orders, and gradually the firing
subsided all around them.
  "All units are reporting slow going, sir,"
Corrie told him. "The creepies are really
dug in tight. We're still twenty or more blocks
away from St. Patrick's Cathedral."
  "Get me Therm, Corrie. I heard some
pretty heavy fighting back there just before we shut it
down."
  "You heard right, Eagle," Thermopolis
radioed, using code names. "You figured it on the
money. The creepies were trying to do an end-around and
box you in. We're got it secured."
  "That's ten-four, Hippie. Thanks for keeping
  them off my ass. Eagle out."
  "Eagle, this is Shark," Ike radioed. "We
are bogged down hard and mired up to our knees. We
are going to have to use the heavy stuff if we're
to break through."
  "Do it," the voice of Pat O'Shea came
through. "It's a cryin' shame, but I can
see that it has to be."
  "Are you sure, Paddy?" Ben asked, using the
code name the Irishman had chosen for himself.
  "That's affirmative, Eagle. There's been
too much blood spilled on this land as it is.
I'll not have the blood of Yanks on my conscience
over a bunch of damn buildin's."
  "Bear to Eagle," Striganov radioed. "Go
to burst transmission."
  "Go, Bear."
  "We can save the landmarks, or at least a large
portion of them. We'll have to hand-flush the creepies
out, but the churches and the libraries and museums can be
saved."
  "All right, boys and girls," Ben said.
"Let's all catch our breath and start getting some
heavy stuff up here. We'll kick this thing off in
thirty minutes." He turned to Corrie. "Get
teams with rocket launchers up here. Also we'll
use MBT'S on the larger and wider streets."
  The Rebel engineers had taken the bazooka
concept and improved on it, coming up with something very much
like the Marine Corps's old SMAW-
shoulder-launched, multipurpose assault
weapon. But where the SMAW was limited to the
types of rockets it could fire, the Rebel
launchers could fire a variety of rockets.
  A half a dozen huge main battle tanks
lumbered
  up to Ben's position. The behemoths dwarfed the
Dusters, making the smaller tanks look almost
petite.
  "Everybody fall behind the tanks," Ben ordered,
and the Rebels pulled back of the armor. Ben talked
to the tank commanders. "At my orders, start putting
rounds ground floor into every building you can see from this
spot. Then cease fire and let us mop it up.
Understood?"
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben checked his watch as the turrets whirred
left and right and the main cannons were lowered. He
watched the second hand of his watch move toward the
mark. "Fire," he said softly.
  Operation Clean Sweep kicked into high gear.
  The ground floors of small shops and apartment
buildings and old office buildings exploded in
dust and rubble as the big guns roared. Over the
sounds of falling bricks and rafters came the
screaming of the Believers as they were caught in the
crushing debris of the collapsing buildings.
Many tried to run and were chopped down by the Rebels.
  The tanks moved up a block, the treads of the
sixty-three-ton tanks crushing out any life that
might remain in those creeps shot down in the
streets. The Rebels fanned out on either side
to begin the mop-up.
  Ben ran into what at one time had been a tobacco
shop. The small shop, even after a decade of
un-use, and after taking a hit from a 120mm tank
round, still faintly held the aromatic smells of
dozens of kinds of tobacco. And under those smells
Ben could detect the stink of creepies.
  Ben pointed to himself and then to a closed door
  behind the dusty old counter, the door set in the
only wall that was left undamaged. The west side
of the shop was completely blown open. Beth and
Corrie nodded their understanding and Jersey moved with
Ben while Cooper maintained a vigil at the
front of the shop.
  Ben had laid aside his CAR-15 and was carrying
his old M-14, the Thunder Lizard set on full
auto with a thirty-round clip in its belly. The
old .308 was tough to handle on full auto, but its
capacity to deal out hideous wounds was three times
better than that of the 9mm CAR.
  Ben poured in half a clip through the door and
blew it off its hinges while Jersey stood by with a
grenade in her hand. When the door sagged, Jersey
tossed the antipersonnel grenade into the stinking
darkness and the team members flattened against a wall
or hit the littered floor.
  Blood splattered the counter an instant after the
grenade exploded. The team grinned at each other
and stepped outside to the sidewalk, moving to the next
doorway.
  It had been cleared by the tank round. The
creepies had been bunched up in a storeroom and the
HE round had not left many of them intact. Most of
them were dripping from the walls and ceiling or
splattered on the floor.
  They moved on, staying on the same side of the
street. During any mop-up, troops had to stay
within the perimeters of their assigned sectors; moving
away from them was a good way to get seriously dead from
friendly fire.
  Jersey found an unopened box and held up a
blouse.
  "Oh, that's cute," Corrie said.
  "It looks like it might fit you, too," Beth
said.
  "Are we having a fashion show?" Buddy asked,
stepping in through the rubble.
  "If you find a sport coat, 44 extra
long," Ben said, "I want it."
  "This is a ladies shop, Ben," Linda said,
holding up a pair of red panties. "I don't
think these would fit you very well."
  "I agree," Ben said.
  They all hit the floor as a sniper opened up
from the top floor of the building across the street. The
lead tore into the walls and howled off the exposed
bricks of the interior of the boutique.
  "AK-47," Jersey said, listening to the rattle
of the weapon. She folded the blouse and tucked it
into a pocket of her BDU'S.
  A Duster spun in the street and lifted its twin
cannon. Seconds later the section of the building
housing the sniper no longer existed.
  The Duster moved up the street and Ben and his team
slipped into the next building. This one was three
stories and virtually undamaged. The round had gone
straight through the windowless front and right out the open
back door, impacting against the building across the
alley. Ben pointed at Buddy and several of his
Pack and then pointed toward the stairs.
They moved out to clear the top floors and Ben and his
people concentrated on the ground floor.
  It was difficult to tell just what the ground floor
had once been. Looters had done their work many
times. Ben picked up a yellowing sheet of paper and
read, THE TIME IS HERE, REPENT NOW
  AND YOUR SINS WILL BE FORGIVEN. THE
BEAST HAS EMERGED AND THE END IS
SOON.
  "No kidding?" Ben muttered, and returned the
paper to the floor just as M-16's rattled and
.45 caliber slugs from Buddy's old Thompson
hammered from the floor above him. Muffled and very short
screams drifted to the team, followed by the sounds of
bodies hitting the floor.
  The ground floor was empty of hostiles. Ben
sat down on an old bench and took a sip of
water from his canteen, listening to the cannons of the
tanks as they moved up the street.
  "Corrie," Ben called. "Advise all
tank commanders to hold what they've got. Don't
get too far ahead of us. Also find out where Therm
is. We don't want to get so far apart we stand a
chance of being cut off. Advise all battalion
commanders that the creepies are more than
likely below us, underground, and remind them that the
creepies do have a tendency to pop up from the most
unexpected places."
  "Yes, sir. General Ike reports that he's
having combat engineers spot-weld manhole covers
in place as blocks are secured."
  "Good idea. Have all units do the same.
Remember New York City?" The team nodded
their heads. Only Linda had not been in that
prolonged battle. It was there that the Rebels had
really learned how to fight the Night P.
  "Thermopolis is reporting heavy fighting,
sir," Corrie called. "The creeps have
surfaced out of the sewers all around him."
  "Does he need help?"
  "He says no. He pulled tanks in just before the
attack."
  Ben nodded just as Buddy and his people returned from
clearing the building. "Buddy, round up your Rat
Pack and get back to Therm's position, attack
the creeps from the rear, and get some pressure off the
Eighth. Corrie, advise Therm of this move."
  Ben munched on a cracker and watched as Buddy
yelled for his team, and the young hellions-male and
female-who made up the Rat Pack
began the run back to Therm's position. He
smiled at Linda. "I was that young once, I seem
to recall."
  "Wish you could go back, Ben?"
  "No way. Middle age suits me just fine."
  "General, Striganov is reporting he's just
beat back a suicide charge by the creeps. It was
a very heavy attack. He took some damage and is
holding until he can get his wounded evacuated
back to a MASH."
  "Get me reports on what's happening north
of us, please. Start with Danjou's Seven
Battalion."
  "Danjou has found one of the creepie butcher
shops," Corrie said with a grimace. "He says
it's the most disgusting thing he's ever seen. Several
of the newer Rebels got pretty sick at the
sight."
  Ben knew only too well what she was talking
about. He hoped he would never see another of the
Night People's butcher shops. Over the long years of
fighting the creepies, many Rebels had become
pure vegetarians.
  "Those I've contacted are reporting only
limited action," Corrie said. "And
Buddy and his Rat Pack
  are attacking the creeps at Therm's position."
  Ben consulted a map and marked their present
position. The assault was going just about as well as
he had anticipated. Dan was south of Ben's
position, both battalions still in the area that had
been known as the Liberties, so named because its
streets once lay in the "free land" of the
cathedral, just beyond the jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor
of Dublin.
  Those battalions pushing north and south against the
city were gradually shoving the creepies against a wall
from which there would be no escape.
  Ben carefully folded the map and returned it to a
pocket of his BDU'S. He picked up his
M-14. "All right, folks, let's catch up
with the tanks."
  The battalions moved on, two battalions
stretched out north to south over a mile of shops and
office buildings and twisting streets. And the
Rebels had miles to go before they reached the harbor.
  A bullet blew splinters into Ben's face and
he hit the sidewalk, crouched down behind a rusted
old truck. Corrie called for a Duster and the
tank spun around and gave the top floor
of the building a hundred rounds of 40mm shells.
While those creeps in the building were taking
punishment, Ben rolled into a store that had once
sold hardware.
  "Ace is the place," he muttered, knowing that of
his team, only Linda would know what he was talking
about. She caught his words and smiled at him.
  Ben saw a flash of movement on the second
floor of a building and gave the gray-clad
figure half a clip. That brought more fire from the
glass-less windows across the street and above his
position.
  The Duster began really pouring rounds into the
building until the second floor was virtually
destroyed. Creepies poured out of the ground floor
and ran into the littered streets, screaming hate and
fury, running straight toward Ben's position. The
Duster wheeled about and crushed one under the treads.
Others climbed on and tried to breech the open
gunner's compartment. Ben and his team shot them off just as
a few creeps reached the old hardware store and
flung themselves through the open storefront.
  Linda whirled around and saw the rear of the store
filled with wild-eyed Believers. She leveled her
shotgun and held the trigger back, firing
from the hip. The buckshot tore into flesh and threw the
attackers back.
  Ben emptied a clip and then reversed the
M-14, using it as a club, beating in the head of a
creep. He dropped the empty weapon, pulled out
both 9mms, and let them both bang.
  Cooper was lying on his belly, behind his Stoner,
keeping the street clear while Corrie and Beth were
trying to plug up a large hole in the wall made
by a friendly tank round. Jersey gave Ben some
relief and some time to slip in a fresh clip for his
Thunder Lizard and full clips for his 9mms.
Two Dusters backed up and blocked the
storefront, allowing those inside to concentrate on the
rear and the large hole to their north.
  "We damn sure hit a pocket of them!"
Jersey said, slamming home a full thirty-round
clip.
  "Where the hell are they coming from?" Linda yelled,
locking into place a full drum of shotgun
shells.
  "Damn good question," Ben said, taking a
fire-frag from his battle harness. "Everybody,
chunk some oranges and apples into that store next
to us."
  A half a dozen antipersonnel grenades
sailed through the hole in the bricks and blew dust and
debris and various body parts all over the place.
Wild shrieking followed the grenade attack, and
one of the Dusters blocking the store front started
pumping .50 caliber slugs into the mangled mess.
The screaming faded off into silence. Before anyone could
stop him, Ben was through the hole and into the store, his
team scrambling frantically to catch him.
  "God damn it, General!" Jersey cussed.
  Ben paid her no attention as he stepped over dead
creeps. "Look for a hole in the floor," he
said. "I bet you a case of whiskey they've got
holes leading to tunnels under the city. Corrie,
radio all batt comms to stop advancing and look
behind them for hidey-holes. There it is," he said,
pointing. "Under that counter. Get some truckloads of
explosives up here. We're going to have
to backtrack and find these holes and blow them
closed."
  "That's going to take a lot of time," Cooper
said.
  "Better than waking up in bed with one of these
creeps," Ben pointed out.
  "Yekk!" Jersey grimaced.
Chapter
Twelve
  "You're right, Ben," Ike radioed from his
position just north of the National Botanical
Gardens. "The creeps have quite a network of holes and
tunnels. Hell, they've had ten years or more
to set it up."
  "I've got explosives being flown in," Ben
told them all. "We'll just hold what we've
got for a day or two. And watch your backs. You can
bet the creeps are going to counterattack from the rear.
Buddy, stay with Therm's Eight Battalion.
Dan, how's it with you?"
  "We're spread pretty thin," the Englishman
radioed. "But then, so is everybody. We took a
creep alive, General. He confirmed that they have
holding pens all over the city, underground."
  "Fresh food whenever they want it," Cooper
said. "Barf!" He looked at his packet of
field rations and put it back into his pack.
  The Rebels were settling down for the night, but no
one was going to get much restful sleep, not with the knowledge that the
Believers were all around them above ground and moving
around under them.
  Ben's CP for this night was the second
floor of
  an office building. He thought it ironic that he
was using the offices of what had once belonged to an
Irish defense attorney-according to the papers his people had
found.
  He wondered if the Believers had eaten him.
He shook his head at the disgusting thought.
  "We found the hole in this building," Beth told
him, walking into the office. "It was in the back of a
closet. We plugged it temporarily until we
move out. Then we'll seal it tight."
  "We've got to find every damn one of them," Ben
said, opening a packet of field rations. "And plug
them. If we miss just one, the creeps will pour out of
it like rats." He looked at his rations and sighed.
"I'd like to have an omelet. With chopped up onions
and peppers and some Monterey Jack cheese."
  "Chicken and dumplings," Cooper wished.
"Moo goo gai pan,"
Linda said.
  "What the hell is that?" Jersey asked her.
  "Chinese," Linda said gently, realizing that
Jersey had been no more than a child when the Great War
had struck the world. Many of the Rebels had only
vague memories of baseball games,
The Golden Girls,
Sunday picnics ... or peace.
  "Sounds awful," Beth said. "But ... seems like
I remember something about it."
  "We got something moving around out there," Corrie
stuck her head into the room and announced. "All
battalions are reporting movement."
  The single lantern in the room was quickly
extinguished and everybody grabbed weapons.
  "The buildings across the street are secure,"
Ben said. "With Rebels on the roofs. So it's not
going to come from that direction. We've got the hole
  plugged in this building, so that's out. They
probably know that I'm using this building for a CP
because of the heavy security all around it. Let's
don't kid ourselves that they aren't watching us."
  "Maybe we missed a hole," Linda said
softly.
  Those quiet spoken words chilled them all. Ben
said, "Everybody on full alert. Make sure every
closet door on the ground floor is securely
locked ... aw, to hell with it. We don't have time
for that. Corrie, get everyone ready for a fight."
  Jersey grinned at him in the darkness. "Hell,
boss, we're
always
ready for that."
  The Rebels waited in darkness, on full alert
for several hours, with lookouts using heat-seeking
portable scopes detecting movement all around them.
But nothing happened.
  "Stand down to level two," Ben ordered.
"Let's every other person get some sleep for a few
hours, then wake the person next to them. The
bastards are trying to exhaust us, keep us up all
night so we'll be dull in the morning. Jersey,
Corrie, and me will sleep for a few hours. Then
we'll spell you others. Hit the sack, gang."
  Ben's eyes popped open three hours later.
He never slept for more than five hours anyway,
so the loss of a couple of hours affected him little.
Jersey and Corrie slept on, heads on their
packs and using ponchos for blankets. Ben pointed
to Linda, Beth, and Cooper, then pointed to the
floor. They didn't need a second invitation.
  He stood and stretched the kinks out of his muscles
and joints and then picked up his M-14 and
quietly slipped out of the room and made his way to the
ground floor, being careful not to step on the
  sprawling Rebels asleep on the
hall floor. He walked to the front of the building
and looked outside.
  "Same crap all night long, General," the
guard told him. "Moving around just enough to make us think
something big is about to pop."
  "It'll probably pop at dawn."
  Ben walked soundlessly to the rear of the building and
spoke to the guards in the main hall, where a back
door used to be. The opening had been secured with
heavy timbers from the wreckage and behind that barrier was
a heavy machine gun.
  "Just a few minutes before dawn, get everybody
up and let them get the kinks out and use the
toilet," Ben told the sergeant in charge. "I
think the creeps are going to come at us hard just about
then."
  Ben looked around at the sound of boots. Jersey
and Corrie stood in the hall, glaring at him. He
grinned at them. "Slipped away, didn't I?"
  "You get lucky every now and then," Jersey conceded,
an edge to her voice that silently stated he wouldn't
do it again.
  "Fresh coffee's ready, General," a Rebel
said. "Third door on your right."
  "Thanks. Where's the toilet area?"
  "Porta-Pots up the hall and to your left."
  Corrie and Jersey fell in step with him.
"You're not going to the John with me," Ben told
them.
  "We'll wait outside," Jersey said.
  A few moments later, Ben tapped on the
closed door. "Coming in for coffee," he said, giving
those inside time to cut down the lantern.
  The three got their coffee and packets of rations
  and sat down on the floor in the hall.
  Ben checked the time. Four-thirty. He had
noted that the night was cloudy and misting rain. A
perfect setting for an attack from the Believers.
He ate his breakfast rations, had a second cup
of coffee, and waited with the others for the graying of
dawn.
  "They're massing out there, General," Ben received
the word.
  "Thanks. Get everybody up. Pass the word
to all batt comms, Corrie. And if anyone finds
an old can of Lysol, save it. I think the
creepies are going to get pretty damn close this
go-around."
  "Yekk!" Jersey said.
  The men and women of the Free Irish had
been stationed at strategic spots all around the
city, and other units of the Free Irish were still
engaged in some fairly heavy mopping up all over
their country. There was a lot of retribution killing
going on against those who'd collaborated with the enemy,
and Ben did not want his Rebels taking any part in
that. Let the Irish deal with the Irish.
  All the Rebels had drawn ammo and other
replacement equipment before settling down for the night,
so they were ready. Water and ration trucks had come and
gone, so they were in good shape there. The tank crews
-- freshly resupplied comhad crawled back into their
armor and buttoned down tight. Now all the
Rebels had to do was hold what they had taken.
  A light but steady rain had begun, and that would work
to the advantage of the Believers, covering the sounds of
their furtive advance.
  "It'll also wash some of the stink off of the bastards,"
Cooper pointed out.
  "Sometimes, Cooper," Jersey said with a wicked
little smile as she continued harassing her friend, "you do
make sense."
  "Thanks, Shorty," Cooper responded.
"Did you take the vitamin in your ration packet?
It'll help you grow up to be big and
strong like me."
  Ben chuckled. "He got you there, Jersey."
  "I won't forget," she said.
  Cooper moved a few more feet away from her.
  Ben and his team had moved into an empty room that
overlooked an intersection on the west side of the
city proper. Ben figured the main thrust of the
attack would come from the eastern section, the area that had
not yet been cleared. The no-man's-land.
  Ben laid clips for his old Thunder Lizard
to his right and grenades to his left. "Helmets
on and body armor checked, Corrie. Pass the
word."
  "Tell the Boss Eagle that all his little
chickies are buttoned up nice and proper,"
Ike radioed.
  "Tell Ike that the proper term is eaglets,"
Ben said.
  Corrie did and then said, "I most certainly will
not
tell the general that, sir!"
  Ben laughed and then caught movement in the gray
mist across the street. "Heads up, people! Here they
come."
  A rocket fired by the creepies
impacted against the outside of the ground floor wall
and knocked a large hole in the building.
Creepies began pouring in gray-clad hordes
across the rain-slick street. By the time a few made
it inside the building the street was even slicker with
blood.
  "Here we go, gang!" Beth shouted.
  Rebels on the ground floor chopped the
Believers down and tossed their stinking bodies back
outside, then moved furniture and filing cabinets
to cover the rocket-blasted hole in the wall.
  "All units reporting extremely heavy
fighting," Corrie shouted above the din of battle.
"Everybody is holding."
  Ben sighted in a running creep and cut him
down. "Thermopolis and Buddy?"
  "Completely cut off, sir. They have very heavy
fighting on all sides."
  "Shit!" Ben said. "Okay, Corrie. Have
units of the Free Irish move in now and give them
some relief from the west. That'll box in those
creeps. When that's accomplished, have the Free
Irish move north and south for a few blocks, then
swing east in a pincher movement."
  "Right, sir."
  If it works, Ben thought, that will seal off those
creeps in behind Therm's Eight Battalion, with the
Free Irish to the north and south, Therm to the west,
and us to the east.
  If it works.
  Ben put those thoughts out of his mind and returned to the
battle that was raging on the streets below. The sky
had brightened somewhat, even though the rain had picked
up and was really driving down. Ben could see the
creeps as they darted and worked their way closer to the
intersection.
  "Beth!" he shouted, making up his mind. "Tell
the tank commanders to start demolishing the buildings on
either side of the street east of this position. Tell
them to use Willie Peter and HE. With this rain,
the fires can be contained. I want to give
  us some breathing room and knock out any places
those creeps can use for hidey-holes. Pass those
orders all up and down this battalion."
  Ben used his walkie-talkie. "One and Three
Battalion mortar crews, back up one
block, set up, and drop them in directly in
front of you. HE and WP. Don't drop any
on my head, please."
  Thirty minutes later, the tanks and
mortars had set the area directly in front of the
Rebels' long thin line blazing. Creepies ran
from the rubble with their clothing on fire. The Rebels
chopped them down as relentlessly as the cold rain
fell.
  "Where are the Free Irish?" Ben asked
Corrie.
  "Exactly where you planned on them being, sir.
They have the creepies boxed, and Therm and Buddy are
closing the lid now."
  "Order second and fourth companies of this
battalion to fall back and nail the coffin shut,
please. First and third companies spread out and pick
up the slack."
  The firing from the creepie side had all but
stopped. For two blocks up there was no place for
them to hide, except in bombed-out and burning
buildings.
  Ben and his team picked up their brass from the
floor and put them in a sack. Ben took a sip
of water, then sat down on the floor and rolled a
cigarette. He smoked for a moment, then said,
"Ike and the others, Corrie?"
  "The creepies are falling back, sir."
  Ben nodded and slowly finished his
cigarette. He rose to his boots and picked up
his M-14. "Let's go see what we've got
downstairs."
  The Rebels on the ground floor were cleaning up
  the mess caused by the battle. To a person their
faces and hands were grimy from dust and gun-smoke.
All expended brass would be picked up for
reloading. One Rebel was wounded, and that was only a
slight flesh wound in the arm. Several had fierce
headaches caused by their helmets taking a round that
bounced off, and a lot of them had chest bruises
caused by enemy rounds impacting with body armor. But
they were alive.
  Upon sighting Ben, several Rebels moved toward
open doors and blocked them. Ben hid a smile and
said nothing about the obvious move. "Scouts out into the
no-man's-land," he ordered. "Let's see how
far the creeps are retreating."
  "We're making fresh coffee now, sir," a young
Rebel told him. "Be ready in about five
minutes."
  "Fine. Sounds good." Ben moved to what remained
of a window and looked out at the smoking, burning
no-man's-land. He checked his watch and was
surprised to find it was still very early in the
morning. He walked around the interior of the building,
speaking to his Rebels. First platoon, Company
A, was always assigned to Ben. They were ordered
assigned to him by all the battalion commanders, and
Ben accepted it as something he had no power to change.
And there were few faces in the bunch that had not been with
Ben for a long time. They were seasoned veterans of
five hundred or more battles, and to a person,
without hesitation, they would die to keep Ben Raines
alive.
  Ben took a snack pack from his kit and
grimaced at the contents. It was some sort of high
protein, high vitamin goop dreamed up by the lab
boys and girls back at Base Camp One. And
it tasted pretty
  much like he suspected camel shit would taste. But
he ate it. Several of the Rebels laughed at the
expression on their general's face. That was one of the
things that drew people close to Ben like steel shavings to a
magnet: Ben ate the same rations as anyone
else. Many times Ben slept on the same cold
bare floor as they did, or huddled under a poncho
in a chilling, pouring rain. He drank the same
lousy coffee they did, and insisted that all his commanders
receive or demand no better treatment than
those serving under them.
  "Three battalion of Free Irish are in from
clearing Cork," Corrie told him.
  "Tell them to assume the stations that One and Two
Battalions vacated on the outskirts of town,
please. Have Pat and his people join us, and Bobby's
Two Battalion to link up with Dan. We're
going to shove these bastards right into the Irish Sea."
  "Right on!" a Rebel yelled.
  "I bet Thermopolis reintroduced that
phrase," Ben muttered. "Just to bug me."
Chapter
Thirteen
  Scouts reported that the creepies had moved
completely out of the Liberty District and had set
up a defense line along Clanbrassil and New
Streets.
  "Those bastards," Ben said.
  "What's the matter?" Linda asked.
  "Saint Patrick's Cathedral is located
on that street. So is Christ Church Cathedral,
and Dublin Castle is right behind Saint
Patrick's. They know damn well we won't
destroy those places. So it's about to get low-down
and dirty mean. Well, that's fine with me.
That's the way I like to fight. Low-down and mad-dog
mean. Are Danjou's people still holding the Grattan
Bridge?"
  "Yes, sir. As well as the O'Connell
Bridge. Those are the only bridges intact
north of us."
  "Tell Danjou to beef up his people at the
bridges. We've got to hold them. How about those
bridges south of us?"
  "Grand Canal and Lesson are still intact coms
far as we know comb we have no way of getting to them."
  "All right," Ben said, adjusting his battle
harness. "Let's start the squeeze."
  Two, Four, and Seven Battalions began
putting
  the pressure on from the north. Five, Six, and
Nine Battalions began pushing from the south.
Ben's One Battalion, Therm's Eight, and
contingents of the Free Irish began the drive east.
  With MBT'S and Dusters spearheading, the
Rebels moved through the district called the
Liberties. They moved up to within one block of the
creepies' heavily fortified battle lines. To the
north and south, the creepies had tightened up,
pulling back into Dublin proper. For now,
it was a small arms battle, the heaviest weapons
being used on the Rebel side, the big .50
caliber machine guns.
  Not so for the Believers. They were using mortars and
rocket launchers against their enemy.
  Ben's patrol boats out in the harbor reported
that no creeps had tried to leave by the sea.
Believer leaders, called Judges, had certainly
seen the armed patrol boats and had watched the
airborne attack against the ships carrying Jack
Hunt and his army and realized that to try to escape by the
sea would be futile.
  The stage was set for an all-out assault against the
creeps; but Ben was hesitant to throw his people into what
would surely be a nasty and bloody confrontation.
To smash into the creepies without heavy artillery
softening them up first would take a lot of Rebel
lives. And even though he had the okay from the Free
Irish to destroy the city, Ben did not want to do
that. He had an idea, but wasn't sure if he
could pull it off. He called for a meeting of all
commanders.
  "Check this out, all of you," Ben said. "I want
your opinions on this plan. Therm, you and Emil and the
ships' captains of the Free Irish get
down
  to Wexford and get the big ships ready to sail.
When you have them ready, we make a big show about
pulling troops out from all sides. All kinds of
trucks and big guns will be leaving the battle zone,
all of them heading south, toward Wexford. While that
is going on, Ike's SEAL teams, Dan's
Special Ops people, and Striganov's Spetsnaz
teams will be gearing up to make a night crossing of the
canals leading into downtown Dublin ..."
  Ike, Dan, and Georgi Striganov started
grinning.
  "... If the creeps behave as I think they will,
they'll think we're about to attack from the sea and start
pulling a lot of people back to defend the harbor. The
harbor can be rebuilt. I want every type of heavy
gun we can cram on the decks of those ships
com81mm mortars, recoilless rifles, 40mm
cannon. I want our helicopter gunships armed
with everything they can fly with. When the special teams
are in place-and you're going to have to carry it all with
you, people, I won't have any way to resupply you-the
ships' captains will make a big show of tossing
rope ladders over the side and landing craft will start
moving up to take on troops. If the
creeps take the bait, many of their people will be in the
harbor area, ready to defend and repel the enemy that
isn't out there. That's when the gunships will strike very
hard and very quickly, throwing everything they've got into the
docks and warehouses. Then the guns on ships will
take over. By that time, all the special teams will be
striking from the rear, and we'll be hitting them from the
front. There is it."
  "I'll start getting the ships ready to sail,"
Therm said, standing up.
  "We'll start getting our teams geared up,"
Ike said.
  "And start laying out plans on where to place the
special teams," Georgi said.
  "Wait a minute!" Ben said. "Settle down.
None of you have arguments?"
  "Argue about what, Dad?" Tina asked him.
"You've just outlined what the Rebels do best.
Mean, sneaky, dirty, nasty, underhanded,
unconventional tactics."
  "I certainly am glad I took after my
grandfather," Buddy said, an innocent look on his
face. "I would never, ever, come up with such a
vicious plan as that."
  Amid the laughter, Ben picked up a
helmet and threw it at his son.
  The creepies were thoroughly confused. All
attacks by the Rebels had ceased, except for some
occasional and ineffective small arms fire, and
towed artillery and trucks were pulling out. Then they
began receiving reports from what few sympathizers
they had left along the coast that ships were being readied
for sail out of the port of Wexford.
  "I was right all along," a Judge said
smugly. "I told you all repeatedly that Ben
Raines would not destroy the landmarks and churches. I
told you he would finally launch an attack from the
sea." He chuckled with dark satisfaction and stuffed
his mouth full of freshly cut human flesh.
  "It's a trick," another Judge said. "Ben
Raines says one thing and does another. He
follows no rulebook."
  "I don't think it's a trick," a third
Judge said. "I believe that Ben Raines has
seen he cannot take the city without destroying landmarks,
so he is going to launch troops from the sea, opening
a fourth front. But this fourth front will be the
largest. So we must shift people and do it quickly."
  "Let's vote."
  Five Judges in favor, one against.
  "You're all making a very grave mistake," the
lone dissenter said. "You're all forgetting that I
came out of America last. I have much more experience
in fighting the Rebels than any of you. Listen
to me, please. Ben Raines is like a shadow in the
night. Deceptive. He'll make you believe
you're seeing something that isn't there. Anybody who can
convince a hippie to take up arms in a fight for
order and rules has a glib tongue indeed."
  But the others were not to be swayed.
  "Order the shifting of defenses," they decreed.
  "They bought it," Ben said with a grin, after reading the
reports from the lookouts stationed on high rooftops
in Rebel-held territory. "The cannibalistic
bastards fell for it."
  "Thermopolis says some of those old
rust-buckets down at Wexford will probably
disintegrate ten seconds after the ruse is done,"
Buddy said. "But he says they're ready for
sailing. How can a ship sail without sails?" he
mused aloud.
  "Take it up with Thermopolis," his father told
him. "I know nothing about boats. I don't like
boats."
  "Ships," his son automatically
corrected him.
  "Ships, boats, whatever. They float on
water and I don't trust them."
  "Me neither," Cooper said.
  "They're really shifting creepies around,
General," Dan said, walking into the room, a
clipboard in his hand. "These are the latest reports
in; just got them handed me. The creeps are massing
at the harbor."
  "Start the loading tonight," Ben told Corrie.
"No lights. Throw up a tight security screen
around Wexford Harbor and at full dark, start
playing those tape recordings we made of the troops
when they pulled out of here." He smiled. The
Rebels pulled out, all right-about ten miles inland.
"Have everybody there load and unload about twenty
times; make lots of noise."
  Dan chuckled. "Sorry for finding all this
commotion so amusing, General. But this is something that I
always snickered at in the cinema."
  "So did I, Dan," Ben admitted. "Are
your people ready to go?"
  "Oh, yes. Q. Everyone is ready."
  "You all will cross the canals tomorrow night. In
thirty-six hours we'll all know how good
this plan was."
  "It'll work if none of the teams gets caught and
talks."
  Ben handed him a packet. Dan arched an
eyebrow. "Cyanide pills, Dan. Compliments
of Dr. Chase. Each team member gets one.
They're in waterproof bags. You don't want
to be taken alive by the creepies."
  "Quite right," the Englishman said, putting the
packet in a side pocket of his BDU jacket.
"I'll see they are dispensed."
  "Good."
  Dan held out his hand and Ben shook it. "We'll
be rather busy for the next twenty-four hours or so,
General. So I shall see you at the link-up point,
sir." He stepped back properly and gave Ben
a very snappy salute, British-fashion.
  Ben smiled and returned the salute-American
fashion-and Dan executed an about-face and left
the room.
  Ben called his personal team together, including the
lieutenant who commanded his personal platoon and the
platoon sergeant and squad leaders. "I want
to remind you all that there will be no radio traffic
concerning this operation. None. Just to tell you
how important silence is, every team member going
across those canals has a cyanide pill in case
he's captured, before or after the plan goes
into operation. You know what creepies do to captured
Rebels.
  "When we go in, people, we are going to go in very fast.
For the first few blocks, at a run. We'll be
advancing behind the tanks. And make no mistake
about this: I will be leading my battalion. We are
going to push the creepies hard and take no
prisoners. A lot of the time, some of us will be cut
off from the others. Go light on food and heavy on
ammo. Two canteens of water per person.
Take only your ground sheets. Those will be used
to carry out our wounded and to cover and carry out our dead
... when we get the time.
  "Everybody keep a very low profile until
jump-off time. Tomorrow night, our people will start moving
back in in small units. Our tanks will be moving
up closer, but they won't really pour on the
  throttle until the bombardment starts just before
dawn. The bombardment will cease at dawn, giving the
gunships time to do their magic, then the bombardment will
once again commence from the ships. By that time, we'll be
running hard into creepie territory, and the
creepies will know that they've been suckered.
  "People, their backs will be against the wall, a wall of
water. They have no place to go, they know we don't
take creepie prisoners, so it's going to be one
mother-humpin' fight." Ben eyeballed them all for a
moment. "That's it."
  Ben rested well that night and was up at his usual
hour long before dawn. It was good that he did rest,
for the day seemed to take three times its normal
length to pass. That night Rebels began moving,
returning to the area of their battalions, but staying
well back of the front lines.
  "Going to exclude my battalion from this
assault, too, General?" Thermopolis' XO
asked over coffee.
  "You'll be bringing up the rear, but no, you damn
sure won't be excluded this time. I want you and
your people along here, taking and holding Christ Church and
spreading out and opening the south end of Grattan
bridge. And hold it, Captain. That bridge is
vital."
  "When did you change the plan, General?"
  "About ten minutes before I called you to come up
here. We're going to secure everything between the Liffey
and the Grand Canal. And if possible,
we're going to do it all tomorrow."
Chapter Fourteen
  Ben was up before any of his team the morning of the
assault. He took a spit-bath out of a pail of
water and brushed his teeth, then carefully dressed.
He put body armor on between his t-shirt and his
cammie shirt, then slipped into his battle
harness. By the time the rest of his team was up, he and
Jersey were sitting and talking, having coffee.
  Corrie checked with communications; it appeared that
all the special ops teams had made it and were in
place.
  "One hour to jump off," Ben said. The stars were
fading in the early morning sky.
  Somewhere in the building, someone coughed nervously as
Ben was putting a couple of high protein,
vitamin-packed snack bars in his pocket and
filling his canteens with fresh water from a drum.
  Ben had laid aside his M-14 and once more
returned to the 9mm Car-15, simply because he
could carry twice the ammo and the weapon was lighter and
easier to handle. This operation would be, for the most part,
a short-range, house-to-house and
face-to-face confrontation. He checked his
Beretta 9mm side-arms and hooked a
couple
  more grenades onto his harness.
  Cooper was checking his Stoner and hooping bandoliers
of ammo across his chest. Linda loaded her shotgun
up full and, like Coop, wore bandoliers of
magnum shotgun shells across her chest. Jersey was
ready five minutes after she laced up her boots.
She was sitting quietly, drinking coffee.
Corrie was checking out her lightweight backpack
radio. Satisfied, she slipped it on and checked
her weapons. Beth was writing in her journal; she
was the unofficial historian of the group.
  Buddy walked in, loaded with weapons and ammo,
a bandana around his head. Ben was seconds away from
giving his son an ass-chewing when the young man grinned
in the semidarkness of the hall and held up his
helmet.
  "Why'd you leave the Eighth?" Ben asked.
  "General Ike told me to," Buddy
responded. "Me and part of the Pack are to stay with
you. Sorry," he shrugged. "I have to do what the
ranking officers tell me. Right?"
  Ben was sandbagged and knew it. "Right," he said.
"Turn around."
  Ben checked his son's battle harness,
then turned to allow Buddy to check his.
  "Ships are in the harbor, standing by," Corrie
told Ben.
  Ben looked at his watch. "Corrie, tell
everyone to get into position, please."
  She spoke a one-word code phrase,
"Boots," and then repeated it.
  "Laced," came the reply. It was repeated.
Corrie looked at Ben.
  "Outside to the line," Ben said.
  The Rebels moved outside into the cool Irish
morning.
  "It's going to be a fine day," Ben said, looking
up into the sky. "Clear and sunshiny. Certain
tribes of plains Indians used to have a saying before
a battle-"It's a good day to die." his
  "Meaning, of course," Buddy said, "for the other
fellow?"
  "Not necessarily," his father told him, then
walked away to chat for a moment with members of the Command
Platoon.
  "Jackie," Ben spoke to a squad leader.
"How you feeling?"
  "Rarin' to go, General," she said with a smile.
  "Won't be long now." He walked
on. "Lieutenant," he said.
  The words had just left his mouth when the artillery on
board ships began pounding the harbor area. Ben
sensed someone standing just behind him and to his right. He did
not have to turn around to know that it was Jersey.
  "You ready, Little Bit?" he asked.
  "Just about time to kick ass, General," she
replied.
  Chuckling, Ben walked on, speaking to Rebels
as he approached them, Jersey right behind him,
Corrie right behind her.
  "Communications reports lots of creepie
chatter," Corrie said. "They're getting awfully
nervous about those rope ladders being heaved over the
sides of the ships."
  "Good. Tell our mortar crews to get ready with
smoke."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Tell those tanks that are laying back to come on
in as soon as the smoke is fired."
  "Right, sir."
  Ben pointed toward the ground. "Secure that boot
lace, soldier," Ben said to a Rebel. "You'd
look funny falling on your ass during a charge."
  Embarrassed, the Rebel knelt down
and quickly retied the lace.
  Ben turned and walked back to his team. He was
handed a fresh cup of coffee in a tin cup.
  The harbor area was beginning to burn from the Willie
Peter being dropped in on the old buildings. The
eastern sky was glowing in the now gray of nearly
dawn.
  Ben adjusted the strap on his helmet,
resettling his chin in the cup. "Won't be long
now," he said to no one in particular. "The birds
are up."
  Gradually, the thundering bombardment from the ships
began to abate. Soon, all could hear the whapping
of the big blades of the helicopter gun-ships as they
began their approach toward the targets, coming in at
speeds of over a hundred miles an hour. The
choppers began raining down death from the skies.
  "Fire smoke," Ben ordered. "Special
operations teams up."
  Seconds later, the fluttering of mortars
hummed overhead and the rockets exploded several
hundred meters in front of the line, filling the air
with smoke.
  "Tanks in," Ben said, and the first tank sections
roared up and past the battle line.
  "Let's go!" Ben shouted, and charged into the
swirling smoke of no-man's-land.
  It did not take the Judges very long to realize
that they'd been had by Ben Raines.
  "There are no troops leaving those ships!" a
radio operator screamed into his mic. "There
appear to be no assault troops on them."
  The Judge who had opposed the reshuffling of
troops hung his head and slowly shook it. "I
tried to warn you," he whispered. "I tried to tell
you about Ben Raines. But none of you would listen to me.
Now we pay the ultimate price."
  "Troops back from the harbor," the Judges
screamed.
  "It's too late," the dissenting Judge said.
"It's too late."
  "Well, what the hell do you suggest?" one of his
fellow Judges screamed.
  "That we prepare ourselves to die as well as
possible."
  The attack from the Rebels came so quickly that many
of the creepies manning the front lines were crushed
to death under the tracks of the tanks before they could do more
than scream at the 60-ton monsters roaring down
on them out of the swirling smoke. The
screams were crushed in their throats.
  The First, Third, and Eighth Battalions
charged across the no-man's-land and Eight
Battalion swung north to cover the Grattan
Bridge and Christ Church Cathedral. Ben
dropped off a platoon to cover Saint
Patrick's Cathedral and plowed straight ahead,
while the Third Battalion dipped south and quickly
secured four blocks of territory before the
creepies threw up a defensive line and tried
to hold.
  But the special ops teams had surfaced all
over the place and had been busy cutting throats and
manning what were once creepie heavy machine gun
and mortar positions. Now the creepies found themselves
surrounded in their territory and fighting on all
fronts.
  The helicopter gunships had returned to base,
rearmed, and now flew back to raise hell with those
creepies trying to leave the harbor area and assist
their fellow creeps in the city proper.
  But the chopper pilots had other plans. They
turned a three-block-long area into a searing
inferno. Rebel engineers had altered the extra
fuel pods and replaced them with napalm
bombs. The napalm had to be dropped manually, and
their accuracy wasn't worth a damn, but if they
came within a block of their targets, the pilots were
happy.
  The creepies were very unhappy about the whole
situation.
  There were still thousands of the sect called Believers
within the city, but they were cut off, confused, disoriented,
and in many cases leaderless. Many elected to hole up
right where they were and fight to the death.
  When the chopper pilots had dropped their napalm
loads, they went headhunting and went in low. They
knew that anything moving between the center of the city and the
Irish Sea was a bogey, and when they ran out of
ammo and had to return to base, a lot of those who were
moving before the helicopters came were no longer moving
when the gunships left. The 30mm rockets
make a terrible mess out of a human body.
  The older helicopters were armed with .50 caliber
machine guns and M-60's-called Pigs-manned
by door gunners. They, too, had a field day
chopping up creepies before they were forced to return
to base.
  Ben and his people hit their first real snag only a
few blocks east of St. Pat's
Cathedral when a heavy machine gun opened up and
killed two Rebels. The body armor the
Rebels wore was good, but it wasn't good enough to stop
a .50 caliber round.
  Two Dusters rolled up and put an end to that
nest, but other creepies were setting up a line and the
Rebels' advance was momentarily halted.
  The Rebels were ready for a halt. They had been
running very nearly all-out for ten blocks and Ben and
some of the older Rebels thought they was going to die very
soon if they didn't stop.
  "Jesus!" Ben said, when he had caught enough
breath to risk speaking. He looked at his son. The
young man had broken into a sweat, but that was about it.
  "Feeling all right, Father?" Buddy said with a wide
grin.
  "I'm not sure I even
like
anybody under forty," Ben grumbled, but did so with a
smile. "Do you even have a heart and lungs, boy?"
  "Yes. And if you'd quit smoking those nasty
cigarettes and gulping whiskey every night, you'd be in
better shape."
  "When I want a lecture, boy," Ben
panted out the words, "I'll go find Lamar
Chase. Corrie, get us some reports,
please."
  "I'm under forty," she said with a smile.
  "Oh, I trust my team," Ben said. "It's
Romeo
  here," he jerked a thumb at Buddy, "I'm not
sure about."
  He waited while Corrie bumped all batt
comms and compiled the information.
  "Those units south of the Grand Canal have pushed
up to within five blocks of the canal. Those north of the
Liffey have pushed down approximately ten
blocks. The harbor area is burning out of control,
as is a three-block area just to the west of the harbor.
Our special ops people have secured little pockets
all over the city."
  "All units between the river and the canal hold
what they have until those spec ops teams have radioed
in their positions," Ben ordered. "We don't
want them killed by friendly fire. Also ask what they
think their odds are of holding what they've taken.
Let's get that done, Corrie."
  Ben caught his breath and took a few sips of
water while Corrie and Beth worked. Corrie
called out the locations and Beth marked them
on an old city map. Ben looked at the bodies
of the two dead Rebels sprawled in the street and
silently cussed. He knew both of them
personally.
  "General," Corrie said. "We now control
both sides of all the remaining bridges. All
spec ops teams report they can hold at least for
several hours. The teams now have control comhowever
precariously-of all major churches and landmarks.
The creeps appear to be confused and leaderless. Many
of them are setting up what seem to be last-ditch
stands."
  "Get as many of those locations as possible. How
about hostages?"
  She shook her head. "Negative, sir."
  Ben tapped the brick of the street. "Underground,
probably. Just like in New York City. All
right, folks, let's start clearing the buildings. I
intend to have the grounds of Trinity College cleared
by this afternoon."
  Grudgingly, the creepies backed up under the
onslaught of the Rebels. Their small arms fire
was no match for the awesome firepower of the Rebel
tanks. They backed up, but they had precious little
backing room left them. There were those who
tried to use the sea to escape. Machine gun fire
from Rebel patrol boats chopped them up and left
them for shark bait.
  Across the Irish Sea, in locations all over
England, Wales, and Scotland, warlords and
mercenaries and street punks and Believers listened
to the frantic talk from the creepies on their
short-wave radios. Ben Raines and his Rebels
were grinding the Night People up like hamburger meat,
efficiently, brutally, and mercilessly.
  Many of the Irish collaborators still trapped in
the city tried to give up. The commanders of the Free
Irish Army ordered them shot on sight. The punk
biker Maddy shuddered.
  "Them blokes ain't takin' no prisoners,
mates- Rebels nor Free Irish."
  "Has anybody got a copy of the Geneva
Convention?" Duane asked.
  "Conventions," another gang leader corrected.
"The Rebels don't pay no attention to that no
way. Believe me. I was in Dallas/fort
Worth when the Rebels took them cities. Then
I run up into Kansas and that was worse. I come
over here with a bunch of other guys and damned if Ben
Raines and them
  Rebels didn't follow a few years later.
That son of a bitch ain't content with cleanin' out
America and Canada. He wants the whole
goddamn world!"
  A female gang leader called Lulu studied
her purple-painted fingernails for a moment. "So
what's it gonna be?" she finally asked. "Ever
since Raines hit Ireland all we've done is
sit about on our arses. We've made no plans,
elected no leaders, formed up no battle lines
... nothing. We'd better get crackin', people.
We either step lively or we're dead."
  "All right, Lulu," Butch Smathers said.
"You got a plan, let's hear it."
  "We set up teams of people who do nothing but
monitor radio transmissions from the Rebels
... twenty-four hours a day. Write down or
tape everything. Ireland is about to fall. Oh,
they'll be fightin' in Dublin for several weeks,
doin' mop-up stuff, but that city is through. We're
next. We've got to figure out where they're
gonna land when they come over here after us. We got
to start layin' in supplies and ammo. We got
to assign people to do specific things. Butch, you was in
the Army. You was a paratrooper. Can you
run this operation?"
  Butch sighed. "I was a corporal, Lulu, not
a general. But you're right on everything you said. I
figure we got a month "fore the Yanks come
over here. My bunch has been ready. We've
trained for years for this. But my bunch don't make
up but about five percent of all the gangs in
England. If we all come together, I think we could
maybe whip Raines."
  "I'll take orders from you, Butch," Lulu
said. "Count me and my gang in as part of yours."
  "Okay," Poole said. "I'm in."
  Slowly, the others in attendance agreed to take
orders from Smathers. Butch pointed to one of
Lulu's girls. "Lizzie, you was in the BBC
when the shit went down. I'm puttin" you in charge
of communications. You get in touch with all the gang
leaders on this island. We got to meet and we got
to get organized and we got to do it fast."
  "I'll get right on it," Lizzie said.
  "We got a lot to do and a short time to do it,"
Butch said. "Let's move, people."
  The Rebels sensed victory now, and they
pressed the now panicked enemy harder. The
Judges and their most faithful followers
had moved under the city.
  Leaderless now, the creepies on the surface could
do nothing but fight very fierce and very short battles
with the Rebels. They had no place left to run.
  "Street punks and creepies control Trinity
College," Corrie reported that to Ben.
  "Wonderful," Ben said. "I'm sure they've
spent their time educating themselves." He checked his
CAR-15. "Let's go give them their final
exam."
Chapter Fifteen
  The Rebels hit the grounds of Trinity
College from all sides and turned the hallowed
grounds into a killing field. They tossed grenades
through long shattered windows, kicked in doors, and
went in shooting. The creepies and street punks
who had aligned with the Believers had never faced
anything like the Rebels. For years they had given no
mercy or pity to their slaves and the girls and boys and
women they had raped and abused and tormented and then
handed over to the cannibals.
  Now they received no mercy or pity from the liberating
Rebel Army.
  Some tried to surrender. It was a futile
gesture, for the Rebels had found some of the
creepies' holding areas for their human food
source.
  The Rebels had already been fighting angry, now
they were outraged, disgusted, and appalled, and the killing
fever was high. It did not take them long to take the
old college grounds. A few creepies and
punks were still holed up in most of the buildings, but the
grounds were in Rebel hands.
  Ben and his team headed for the library in the Long
Room.
  "That's not secured, General!" a Rebel
yelled.
  "It will be in a few minutes," Ben told him,
and kept on running.
  A burst of automatic weapons fire sent the
team scrambling to the ground. "Second floor,
people," Ben called, as he lifted his CAR and gave
the windowless frame a burst. Then he was on his
feet and running. He reached the building and jumped
in through the open doors, rolling on the floor, the
rest of his team following, ducking left and right,
seeking whatever cover they could find.
  "Bastards," Ben said, his eyes sweeping the
place. The floor was literally ankle-deep in
priceless volumes. "That's what I was
afraid of."
  A Free Irish soldier who had gotten
separated from his unit and had linked up with Ben's
team hissed his hate at anyone who would do such a
thing.
  "They always do it," he said. "The terrible bastards
always destroy the books."
  "Destroy the books and you control the minds,"
Ben told him, as his eyes continued to sweep the
seemingly deserted ground floor of the Long Room.
"Take away the guns and you control the body."
  "Second floor," Cooper whispered. "About
one o'clock."
  "For once you're right, Coop," Jersey told
him.
  Linda's shotgun roared and the street punk
screamed as buckshot ripped into his chest. He
staggered first backward, then forward, and pitched headfirst
over the railing, falling to the floor below and landing on
his belly.
  "I hope he landed on books I never cared
for," Ben said dryly.
  Lead started chipping away at the railing just above
their heads. A single shot from a Rebel sniper
rifle cracked. Probably a 7mm
magnum. A creepie stumbled on the second
floor landing, and fell over, and his foot caught in
the spokes of the railing. He dangled there. He
wore nothing under his dirty gray robe.
  "That's not exactly a turn-on," Beth
remarked.
  Rebels from Ben's personal platoon began
appearing at either end of the Long Room. The firing
outside on the campus grounds was growing lighter as
Rebels began mopping up.
  More Rebels entered the building and began fanning
out, a dozen of them taking up positions around Ben and
his team. Ben rose to one knee and looked at the
mess, then looked at the Free Irish soldier.
  "Get some of your people in here to care for these books,"
Ben told him. "Your entire history is trashed
on the floor." He put a hand on the man's
shoulder. "The punks and dickheads did the same in
America, if that's any consolation."
  "They'll never get the chance to do this again in
Ireland," the man said, steel in his voice. "The
first politician who stands up and announces he's
in favor of gun control is very likely to get
shot."
  By the end of the day, what creepies and
street punks and collaborators remained were all
hemmed up in an area no more than six blocks
wide and four blocks deep. But the Rebels had
no way of knowing how many creepies had gone
underground, how long their tunnels were, and how many
escaped into the countryside.
  "It'd be a safe bet to assume that several
hundred, maybe several thousand, got away," Ben
said. "But it's very difficult for them to live outside
the cities. They do stand out," he added.
  "In more than one way," Ike agreed. "You can
smell the bastards a block away."
  "I'd bet on several thousand escaping,"
Georgi Striganov said. "The taking of Dublin
was just too easy."
  "Yes," Ben said, looking at a map. "What
they've probably done, or plan to do, is work their
way north and try to cross over at the narrowest
point of the North Channel into Scotland."
  "We have conflicting reports about the creepies in
Northern Ireland, General," Pat O'Shea
said. "We just can't get an accurate fix on it."
  "Maybe we could encourage them to stay in
Northern Ireland," Bobby Flynn said, not at
all kindly in his opinion of conditions in the
north. "That would be one solution to the problem."
  "Now, Bobby," Pat said with a laugh.
  "Well, they left behind enough weapons to re-arm the
entire population," Ben pointed out. "And enough ammo
to keep you supplied for years. Once we get
England cleaned out, your two countries can work together.
It's never going to be the way it was before the Great
War-at least, not in our lifetime. We'll help you
restore power and water and get sewerage treatment
plants back in operation. Where did Jack get his
gasoline?"
  "From the platforms in the North Sea," Bobby
told him. "Several refineries are still operating in
England. Punks and thieves and hooligans they
  might be, but they've enough smarts to keep those
going."
  "You know where they're located?"
  "Oh, yes." He pointed to several locations on
the big wall map. "Right there."
  "And they're heavily guarded?" Dan questioned.
  "Very tight security, sir," Pat said.
"English resistance forces say you can't get within
five miles of those places."
  "Somehow, I think we'll manage to get a bit
closer than that," Dan said with a smile.
  "Oh, quite!" Ike mimicked.
  "Blow it out your arse, tubby," the Englishman
told him.
  Ike grinned, then his grin faded as he watched
Ben turn from the map and walk to a window, staring out
over the old campus of Trinity College.
Rebels had cleaned out the second floor of one
of the buildings and Ben was using it for his CP.
  "What's wrong, Ben?" Ike asked.
  "Too easy," Ben replied. "They just rolled
over and let us walk on them taking this city.
They're up to something. I just don't know what it
is."
  "But we beat them, General!" Bobby Flynn
said. "We whipped them proper, we did."
  Ben was silent for a moment, still looking out the window.
He slapped his hands together and finally said, "No. But
I believe they wanted us to think we did." He
shook his head. "Corrie, give the word for all
Rebels except for One and Three Battalions
to get the hell out of the downtown area. Spread them out
all over the city and prepare for a hard
counterattack." He turned to face his commanders.
"Get tanks up here fast and tell all
  CO'S to dig in tight and right." He
looked at Ike. "Get back to your commands,
gentlemen. I think all hell is going to break
loose come night. Move!"
  While they were filing out, Ben said to Buddy,
"Get down into the basement, take a team with you,
double-check all suspected creepie holes, and
booby-trap them solid." To Corrie, "Have
supply round up every perimeter banger we have and get
them out to all units. I want everyone resupplied
with everything we might need, and I want it done like
yesterday."
  He picked up his 9mm spitter and checked it.
"When you're finished, Corrie, we'll all take
a little stroll around campus."
  "Anything in particular we're looking for, Ben?"
Linda asked.
  "I don't know. I only know I'll
recognize it when I see it."
  They came to a manhole and Ben squatted down,
inspecting the heavy cover. "There is no grit or
trash between the lip and the cover," he said. "This thing was
used not very long ago."
  "Might be booby-trapped," Jersey said.
  "Probably is," Ben said, standing up. "From the
bottom side." He smiled.
  "You think that's funny, Ben?" Linda asked.
  "In a perverse sort of way, yes." He
walked away and spoke to a Rebel sergeant for a
moment. The sergeant grinned and nodded his head.
  Ben returned to his team. "Corrie, have the
welding of manhole covers stopped immediately."
  "Yes, sir." She wasn't at all sure why
the general would want that, but ...
  "Let's get back to the CP," Ben said. "I
have a lot of radioing to do."
  It was a quick afternoon, but to any creepie who might
be watching, nothing really out of the ordinary. Just
troops moving around, inspecting this and that. But while
it looked innocent enough, the troops weren't
dawdling; they were moving with a definite purpose.
Ben had thought of some perfectly horrible ways in
dealing with the creepies who might be coming out of those
manholes during the night hours. Ben thought it was
amusing. So did Jersey. Dr. Chase just shook
his head.
  "Sometimes I worry about you, Raines," the old
doctor said. "I really do."
  Ben had ordered Ml8 mines, called
Claymores, to be readied. At dusk, every
Claymore the Rebels had would be placed
around as many manholes as possible, at fifty
to seventy-five yards, four to a hole. Behind the
mines, dug in and fortified, would be Rebels manning
heavy machine guns, carefully placed for maximum
crossfire. The Rebels would hold their fire
until the creepies realized there were no more mines and
again started their stinking way out of the ground.
  "We've all seen how quickly they pour out of
hi-dey-holes," Ben told his people by scramble-net.
"Give them time enough to get a crowd above ground, then
cut them down and don't stop firing until no one
is moving. Tomorrow, we'll decide on pumping
chemicals into the system and flushing them out. Now
play along with me on this next bunch of
bullshit."
  Ben looked at Corrie. "Take me off
scramble,
  Corrie. Let's see if they buy this
gambit." Corrie put him on an open
frequency. "This is General Raines. I want
to congratulate all of you for a job well done. You
have soundly defeated an enemy who outnumbered you.
I'm proud of you. Tonight, you all can go to low alert and
relax. This city is now in Rebel hands!"
  All around the city, Rebels cheered and
clapped their hands and shouted right on cue. Ben
looked at Linda and grinned. "What a bunch of
hams."
  "Whoopee!" his team shouted in unison.
  The Rebels quietly began getting into position
and laying out the mines. Then they sat back and
waited.
  From a window on the second floor of his CP,
the room void of light, Ben watched the street, his
team spread out left and right of his position. In
selected areas of the city, Rebels partied and sang
songs and danced for a time after dark, just enough of them
hopefully to convince the creepies the entire contingent
had relaxed their guard.
  After a time, the Rebels began turning down their
lamps and making a big production of getting ready
for bed. They were being watched from a few well-chosen
vantage points; there was no doubt in anyone's
mind about that.
  Slipping on a headset, Ben bumped Dan.
"How's it look where you are, Dan?"
  "Quiet as a church, General."
  "Ike?"
  "Nothing movin', Ben."
  "Georgi?"
  "Our sensors are picking up a lot of
scurrying around under our feet, Ben."
  "Same here, Dad," Tina reported. "West
reports movement under the streets."
  "General," Corrie said. "We have movement under
the streets in our sector."
  "Therm?"
  "We have bogies under us, Ben."
  "Danjou?"
  "Definite movement in the sewers and tunnels,
General. Rebet reports the same."
  "All right, people," Ben radioed to his commanders.
"They're about to open up this street dance. Let's
make sure the band is all tuned up."
  "Manhole covers are opening in all
sectors," Corrie said calmly, monitoring the
frequencies.
  Ben clicked his M-14 off safety.
  "Spotlights are ready," Corrie said.
  Vehicles had been parked so the streets could be
easily illuminated by headlights and spotlights.
  "Creepies coming out, sir," Corrie said.
  "Jesus, would you look at them," Cooper said,
behind his Stoner. "They're like roaches."
  "Well, we're about to step on them,"
Ben said. "Just about ...
now!"
Chapter Sixteen
  The Claymores blew and thousands of steel
fragments tore into creepie flesh. Those closest
to the blast were literally ripped into shreds. But the
creepies did not pause in their pouring out of the
holes. They just kept right on coming, screaming out their
wild hatred for Ben Raines and the Rebels.
  The Rebels opened fire and the streets were
suddenly filled with stinking dead and dying Believers.
And still they continued to pour out of the underground of the city,
screaming and racing toward death.
  "Un-fucking-believable," Cooper muttered,
holding back the trigger on his Stoner and letting the
lead fly.
  On the ground, the booming and sparking of grenades
turned the night surreal.
  It was, as was once the saying, like shooting ducks
in a barrel. Rebel fire was so intense, few
creepies could get out of the manhole area. They were
forced to climb over the bodies of their own dead, which were
now two and three deep, and once there, faced the
harsh light from dozens of vehicle headlights and
spotlights.
  The Rebels shot them dead.
  No one among the Rebels comincluding Ben
  Raines-knew why the creepies behaved as they
did. They could, on occasion, plan good, solid
military moves. Then, as on this night, they
behaved very irrationally, racing headlong into certain
death.
  The warm summer air became choked with
gun-smoke, the odor of unwashed bodies, the
crashing and roaring of grenades, the screaming of the
badly wounded, and the stink of death. The hands and arms of
Rebels became sore from the gripping of weapons,
and shoulders ached from the pounding of recoil.
  Still the creepies poured out of manholes all
over the city, screaming their hate and rage. But they
were far fewer in number now, and the Rebels were still
unrelenting in their deadly hail of fire.
  Gradually, the firing lessened in the city. "Tina
reporting all firing has ceased in her section,"
Corrie called, her eyes smarting and tearing from the
acrid bite of gunsmoke. "Rebet reporting
no more live creepies in his T.o."
  Ben stood up and rubbed a sore shoulder. The
M-14 could punish a shooter. As his ears
adjusted to the sounds of normalcy, he
became aware that no more shooting was occurring in his
section. He looked down from his second story
vantage point at a scene that never becomes
acceptable to the human mind: hundreds of torn and
ripped bodies clogged the streets and sidewalks
and weed-grown patches of ground.
  "Un-fucking-believable," Cooper said again, as
he stood up and stretched aching muscles.
  "Get me casualty reports," Ben
requested. Only faint pockets of gunfire now
reached his ears.
  "Prelim reports from all batt comms say no
Rebel dead and only a very few wounded," Corrie
said.
  Their faces were grimy from gunsmoke and their eyes
gritty from strain and smoke and stink.
  "All personnel stay at their posts," Ben
ordered. "But I think it's over in this city.
We'll mop up commencing in the morning."
  The sight was macabre and the odor was disgusting.
Hundreds and hundreds of stiffening bodies
sprawled in the streets.
  "Dr. Chase is hollering about a health
hazard," Corrie said to Ben.
  "Tell that old fart we're moving as
fast as we can," Ben replied. "We've only
got so much equipment. God damn it, I can't work
miracles."
  Corrie's reply to Dr. Chase was put much more
diplomatically.
  The bodies of the dead creepies were being scooped
up, loaded into the beds of trucks, and hauled off
to be buried in a mass grave outside the city.
The weapons of the dead were being collected, taken
down, cleaned, and then given to the Free Irish.
  The morning had turned very warm and Ben had ordered
everybody working with the bodies to get into gas masks;
the stench of the dead was very nearly overpowering. He stood
on the sidewalk outside his CP.
Reluctantly, for he hated the damn things, Ben
slipped on his gas mask and told Corrie
to issue the orders that everyone do the same.
  "Corrie, order water trucks and generators
up and start hosing down the streets. We've got
to wash this slop off. When that's done, we'll hook
up hoses to the exhaust systems of our vehicles
and start pumping carbon monoxide into the tunnels
to drive out the
  remaining creepies."
  Over the long years of fighting the
creepies, the Rebels had learned that was the
easiest way to force the Believers out of their holes.
  "I want all battalions of the Free Irish
to start house-to-house, building-to-building
searches," Ben said. "Pat and Bobby have stated that
it's their country, they should bear the brunt of finishing
the fight."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Get me a damage report on all landmarks
and historical sites, too."
  "I got it just a few minutes ago from
Communications," Beth said. She lifted a
clipboard. "It's pretty bad. Of the
six-thousand-plus paintings in the National Gallery
of Ireland, less than half can be restored, so the
experts say. Dublin Castle was trashed.
Marsh's Library was vandalized and some of it burned.
It's going to take a lot of work to restore St.
Pat's Cathedral. None of the landmarks and
historical sites went untouched."
  "It could have been worse, I suppose," Ben
said.
  "Thermopolis reports finding a band of war
protesters."
  "He would," Ben muttered.
  "He's doing his best to keep them away from you."
  "He'd better."
  "They're demanding a meeting with you, and they're
demanding that you take your army and leave Ireland
immediately."
  "Make a note of that, Beth. We'll get to it
in about a month and a half."
  "They're going to have a concert tomorrow night. They'll
circulate a petition declaring that war is
unhealthy."
  "I've heard that before."
  "They're going to go among the troops to ask that as
many as possible desert."
  Ben smiled.
  "You find that funny, Ben?" Linda asked.
  "It'll give Dr. Chase's people something to do."
  "What do you mean?"
  "Stitching up busted heads and repairing the broken
teeth that will surely happen when Rebel gun
butts impact with heads and mouths."
  "And you'll let that happen?"
  "I surely will."
  "You won't stop it?"
  "I surely will not."
  "It's their country, Ben."
  "Then they can fight for it as the Free Irish have
done and will continue to do."
  "You are stifling legal dissent, Ben."
  "No, I'm not. If they want to stand in the
street and wave placards and sing songs and make
speeches, that's fine with me. But the first time they get
up in a Rebel's face and call them a
baby-killer or some such shit as that, they're going
to get hurt."
  She stared at him for a moment. "I'll never understand
or like this side of you, Ben."
  "You want to stay here, don't you, Linda?"
  The question rocked her back for a moment. "Why ...
I don't know, Ben. I have thought about it."
  "Come on," he said, taking her arm. "Let's
get to a car, roll up the windows, and turn on the
air conditioning. We can get out of these damn masks
and talk."
  "Sure, Ben," she said with a smile. "I know you
pretty well. You're going to try to slip away from
your bodyguards. It'll never work."
  "I bet I give it the old college try."
  But before he had even left the campus, two
Dusters were blocking his way. He looked behind him.
Cooper was there with his team, and his platoon
was behind the wagon, and behind the wagon were two
MBT'S.
  "You just tell us where you want to go, Eagle," the
Duster commander said, "and we'll damn sure get you
there and back."
  "Away from this smell."
  "That's easy. Follow us, Eagle."
  The Dusters led them back through the Liberties and
to the edge of the city where supplies were being stored. This
was a very secure area, and Ben drove until he
found a good spot to park. He and Linda got out.
The smell was there, but tolerable without the masks.
  "Linda," Ben said. "We've had some good times
together. I don't love you and you don't love me.
But we do like each other. And that's probably more
important in a relationship. You came along just in
time for me. You got me over some very bad spots.
And maybe I was just as good for you. I like to think so.
You've turned into a good soldier, and I was proud
to have you as part of my team. But this outfit is not for you,
Linda. You've been kidding yourself for some months now.
I've seen it, and so have the others. Chase and I have
spoken of it."
  "No hard feelings, Ben?"
  "Oh, no, Linda. None. My
God, I've got wars to fight and battles to win.
You've got to set out to save the world from itself."
  "Now you're being sarcastic."
  "Just a little bit. We're opposites, Linda.
We attract, but it's a dangerous attraction.
And I think, if you want to stay here in Ireland, the
people would
  love to have you. They are in desperate need of
qualified medical personnel. And Dublin is
going to be a long time rebuilding."
  "Will you ever settle down, Ben?"
  "When I'm too old for the field."
  "Ben, that'll be
years!"
  "That's right."
  "I'll miss you, Ben."
  "And I shall miss you. But at least we're parting
friends. If this had gone on for months more, we would have
been at each other's throats and it would have been a
bad ending to a good relationship."
  "How, ah,
do
we end it?"
  "You gather up your gear and report to Dr.
Chase. He's swamped with work and will
welcome you. I'll make myself scarce until about
noon so there won't be any bumping into each other,
creating awkward moments."
  She touched his arm. "Ben ... take care of
yourself."
  "You, too, Linda." He waved at a
Rebel. "Drive the lady back to my CP,
please."
  Ben walked back to his wagon and got in the
front seat. "Corrie, tell those nursemaid
tanks we are going to inspect the city. Drive,
Coop."
  "Yes, sir!"
  "I guess I'm a lousy matchmaker,
Raines," Chase said, sitting in Ben's office,
his feet up on the desk. Both of them were having a
taste of Irish whiskey. "Tell you the truth,
though, you do look relieved."
  "I am. It was going sour."
  "Was it Jerre?" Chase asked softly.
  "Oh, no, Lamar. Jerre is dead. She will
always be a
  part of me, but I've buried her. No ... it just
wasn't working. Linda is a fine lady, and somewhere
out there," he waved his hand, "is a fine
man waiting for her. It just isn't me."
  Chase drained his glass and stood up. "Well,
back to work for me, Ben. See you." He stalked out
of the office, looking for some young Rebel to frighten
half out of his wits by roaring at him, and then walk
away, chuckling.
  Ben looked out the window. The creepie bodies
were gone, the streets hosed down. Ben had elected
not to fill the tunnels with exhaust fumes.
Sensors had shown there were so few Believers left
they weren't worth fooling with. O'Shea had told
Ben the Free Irish would take care of any
left. The scent of death was still in the air, but it was
fading. A good rain would clear it away forever, and that
was what the meteorological people were predicting for the
next couple of days.
  Smoot came to him and rubbed against his leg. Ben
played with the Husky for a few minutes until Ike
came in and Smoot was then all over Ike.
  "What's up, Ike?"
  "The invasion of England."
  "I certainly hope you have a plan, "cause
I damn sure haven't got one."
  Ike looked at him and grinned. "One that you're
happy with, you mean."
  "Yeah. Where's the rest of the crew?"
  "They're on the way." The news of Ben and
Linda splitting the sheets had spread throughout the
Rebel contingent like an unchecked brushfire. But
Ike knew if Ben wanted to talk about it, he would
bring it up.
  "Any large-scale invasion is out," Ben said,
toying with a pencil. "Small teams are going to have to
  cross, and that's going to have to be coordinated with
airdrops. We have to assume that the punks and
creeps in England have eyes and ears over here. So just
as soon as we start refresher jumping, that news will
be radioed to England. Not much is going to come as a
surprise to the crap over there."
  The rest of Ben's battalion commanders walked in
and poured coffee and took chairs. Tina gave her
father a strange look but said nothing about the split-up
... for now.
  Ben stood up and moved to a large map of England
thumb-tacked to the wall ... compliments of the National
Geographic Society. "The way I see it
is like this: we've got to go in where they least expect
us. Trying to put myself inside the enemy's heads,
I'd think of attacking the larger ports and seizing
them so we can off-load equipment from
transport ships. So that's exactly what we're
not
going to do." He turned to face the group.
  "We're going ashore in small groups. We
take the countryside first, saving the larger towns and
cities for last. Our first order of business is
to secure a port. If we fail to do that, we're
dead. But it's got to be a port that those defending the
island feel would be too small or unimportant
for us to take right off the bat. Or," Ben said with a
smile, "one that is so large they would never dream
we'd attempt to take first. We'll talk about that.
  "Once the teams are in place, we'll start
checking out drop zones for the jumpers. We're going
to have to work closely with British Resistance
Fighters on this. And we're also going to have to assume
that many of their units have been compromised. Dan is
taking a team and going in early to work with the BRF,
ferreting out any who are suspect.
  "When we decide on a port, the operation has
to be timed letter perfect. We've got to have teams
striking from inside the town and paratroopers coming in
fast to beef them up. Ships are going to have to be standing
by, but well off the coast, so as not to give away
our landing site. Engineers are going to have
to be ready to go in and repair the equipment on the
docks that we need to off-load. All in all, it's
either going to be a great success or a massive
fuck-up that's going to get a lot of people killed for
nothing. And it looks like it's going to be early fall
before we can jump off."
  "Don't forget securing a place for my
medical teams, Ben," Chase spoke up.
  "You wouldn't let me forget that, Lamar," Ben
told him. "All right, people, loosen your battle
harnesses and freshen your coffee. Tablets and pencils
are on the conference table in the next room, and every map
we could come up with is available. So come on,
we've got a long skull session ahead of us."
Chapter Seventeen
  The session wore on into evening, with dozens of
plans tossed out and rejected. The air became
thick with cigarette and pipe smoke. Chase finally
gave all the smokers a good cussing and left the
room, saying he'd be goddamned if he was going
to die from secondhand smoke.
  "There was a naval base at Plymouth," Ike
said, his voice a little hoarse from all the talking and
sometimes shouting. "Let's look at that a little
closer. What do we have on it?"
  "BRF says it's still in good shape, although much of the
equipment hasn't been used in a long time," Beth
said. "It had a population of about 225,000 before the
Great War. The airport is still in good shape, although
inhabited by creepies."
  "Well, the other sites we've talked about are
just too damn small," Ben said. "We're going
to have to land a lot of equipment and do it fast." Ben
stood up and looked at the large wall map for a
moment. "What's this country north of the city like,
Dan? It doesn't appear to be heavily
populated."
  "It isn't. That's the Dartmoor. A lot of
good DZ'S there, General. And some good country
to hide in."
  "Splendid."
  Dan rose and walked to the map. "Right here," he
pointed a blunt finger, "is, or was, a national
park. There is also one here, and here. Here is
Savernake Forest, about two thousand acres or so of
trees, huge oaks and beeches. There is quite a
contingent of BRF operating not just out of these forests, but
in timbered areas all over the country. And there are more
forests in England than Yanks have been led
to believe," he added with a smile.
  "Good, Dan. Good." He looked at Pat
O'Shea and Bobby Flynn. "Plymouth all right
with you gentlemen?"
  "Suits me, General," Bobby said with a
smile. "Just as long as I don't have to do no
jumpin" outta no damn airplane. I'll
swim across if I have to, but I'll not fling my
body outta no plane comunless it's parked on the
runway. Patty, here, he was in the paratroopers.
I always said he didn't have the sense God give a
goose."
  "You want to jump in, Pat?" Ben asked.
  "Sure! But I'll have to brush up some. It's
been many a year since I swung under the silk."
  "The man is a fool just as sure as I'm
a-sittin' here," Bobby said. "Absolutely
daft, he is."
  Rebels began prowling the now slowly being
restored libraries in the city, looking for any
book that could tell them something about England. Ben
issued orders that any maps found be brought to his
CP, inspected, and then copied many times. Every
commander, from batt comms on down to squad leaders, had
to have maps of every area of England, Scotland, and
Wales.
  Those who were jumping in began refresher
  courses, including Pat and about a hundred of his
Free Irish fighters. Ben was not jumping in, much
to the relief of all concerned-which was everybody.
  He had not seen Linda but heard that she was very
happy with her work-helping tend to the needs of the
hundreds of malnourished and abused Irish children at
a clinic. Ben silently wished her well and
tucked her away in the gallery of beautiful women
he had known down through the years.
  Then he settled down to pore over a mountain of
work on his desk. And Ben despised paperwork
nearly as much as he despised anything in the world.
  Ben began working out the logistics of this operation.
And its success hinged on establishing a solid
hold in Plymouth. Ben felt he could not land
paratroopers too many hours before the invasion. Even
if the enemy did not see the jumpers, they would
certainly hear the planes, and that would be a
giveaway.
  He issued orders to search Ireland and find any
plane that would fly. Just before the invasion, he would send
planes all over England, from north to south,
to confuse the enemy as to the Rebels' real
objective.
  The ships carrying the Rebels in would leave many
days before the invasion. They would sail out of
Gal-way, then turn south and, once clear of the
southernmost tip of the island, cut east through the
Atlantic; then, once past the Isles of
Stilly, turn toward Plymouth. While that was
taking place, dozens of smaller boats would be
crossing the Irish Sea and discharging teams of
Rebels all up and down the west side of the
English coast.
  When the plans were as nearly perfect as Ben could
make them, he dropped the news on his team.
"We're going in first wave with the smaller craft,"
he told
  them matter-of-factly. "I'll be coordinating
the invasion from the shore."
  About sixty seconds later, his field phone
started ringing. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
Ike yelled in his ear. "We'll secure the port
and
then
you can go in."
  "Nope," Ben told him. "I go in first. And
that's that."
  "I forbid it!" the Russian,
Striganov, growled. "I absolutely forbid
it."
  "Don't be a fool, General!" Dan told
him.
  "No!" Rebet said.
  "Unthinkable!" Danjou snapped.
  "Irresponsible!" the mercenary, West, said.
  Thermopolis and Tina said nothing. Thermopolis
had long given up trying to tell Ben anything, and
Tina knew better than to argue with her father. Buddy
just put a finer edge on his already razor-sharp knife
and kept his mouth closed.
  "Kick-ass time!" Jersey said.
  The XO of Dan's Three Battalion, who
would be leading the Third, since Dan would already be in
England commanding the Special Ops teams, said
nothing.
  "That's the way it's going to be, people," Ben put
an end to the arguments. "So just settle down and get
your people ready to go."
  Since Thermopolis would be in command of the ships, and
Dan's XO would be in charge of the Third, they would
be the last battalions into England.
  "God damn it, Raines!" Dr. Chase roared
at him. "Who the hell do you think you are,
John Wayne?"
  "Be quiet," Ben told him. "I can't think
with all your hollering and snorting."
  "Who's John Wayne?" a young Rebel
asked.
  The jump training was over, the supplies had been
brought in and shifted from ship to ship, everyone had their
orders and knew what to do. Dan and his special
ops teams had left for England. Jump-off time for the
invasion was only a few days away.
  "I feel rather foolish commanding this armada," Therm
told Ben. "Every ship's captain out there has more
experience than I do."
  "I know you, and I trust you," Ben replied.
"So don't sweat it. When the ships are docked,
you're back in command of your battalion and you'll
wish you were back at sea."
  "That is probably very true."
  "How is Rosebud?" Therm's hippie wife.
  "Rosebud is fine. Stop changing the
subject. I'll only put this to you once, and that will
be the end of it: You're really going in first wave?"
  "That is correct." He looked at the slip of
paper Therm had handed him. "This ETA is firm?"
  "As firm as I can plot it. The sea
is unpredictable, Ben. It's approaching fall,
and it can get rough this time of year. I gave us some
leeway, so I can promise you that we will be in
position no later than the time and date I gave
you. I personally checked out the trawler you and your people
are using going in. It's a fine little vessel."
"Little
vessel!" Cooper said. "I'm sick already."
  "Shut up," Jersey told him.
  "I got to go see the medics and get some seasick
pills."
  "Oh, hush up and sit down. It's all in your
head," Jersey said. "And that's about all that's in your
head."
  "You're a cruel person, Jersey," Cooper
said. "I don't see how your boyfriend puts up with
you."
  "True love makes the stormy seas calm,"
Thermopolis said with a smile.
  "Shit!" Jersey said. "Love doesn't have
anything to do with it. It takes the edge off, that's
all."
  "How crude!" Emil piped up, then beat a
fast retreat out of the CP at one look from
Jersey's dark eyes. No one knew
exactly what Jersey's heritage was, but Ben
would bet a hundred dollars she had some Apache in
her.
  Ben held out his hand and Therm shook it. "Let's
start getting the people on board, Therm. The weather
experts say it's going to start raining late tomorrow. I
want as many as possible on board before that happens."
  "See you in England, Ben."
  Ben and his team began checking equipment, then
double-checking. They would be taking only emergency
rations, carrying extra ammo and grenades in place
of bulky food packets. As Ben had expected,
Buddy showed up.
  "Don't holler at me, father," the young man
spoke from the open doorway of Ben's CP in
Galway.
  "I know, I know," Ben replied. "Ike told
you to cover me like a blanket."
  "Ike did, Dan did, Rebet did,
Danjou did, West did, Tina did, and
Striganov did ... all very forcefully. It was
beginning to sound like a recording."
  "How many of your Rat Team did you bring?"
  "I brought two squads. It was difficult
choosing the best because they're all very good at
what they do. They all wanted to come, but I thought that
would be defeating the purpose of this mission."
  "You thought correctly. Have you seen the trawlers
  we'll be going over on?"
  "Yes. Aren't they rather small for the open seas?"
"They're workhorses, son. Tough as Jersey."
Buddy looked at the diminutive bodyguard.
"Then we certainly have nothing to worry about," he said
drily. "Damn right," Jersey said, closing the
bolt on her M-16.
  "That was meant as a compliment," Buddy said.
  Jersey smiled. "I know."
  Ben spent a day driving from airport to airport
checking out the planes that would fly diversion the night
of the invasion. Some of them didn't look as though they
could get off the ground, and he wasn't too sure
about the men and women who would be piloting them.
  "I didn't know you could fly, Lucy," Ben
asked, looking at the dilapidated old cargo
plane that looked suspiciously like the one he was in
once while working for the Company, and flying Air
America.
  "I couldn't until about two weeks ago," she
said with a grin.
  Ben could see Ike's fine hand in all
of this. "You've had only two ... weeks' flight
training?"
  "Right, sir. I'm hell on taking off and flying
this crate, but not so good on landing. So I've
decided not to land."
  "Ah ... right!" Ben said. "Ah ... Lucy,
has somebody invented a new way to survive
crashing?"
  She laughed at the expression on his face.
"No, sir. What me and my team are going to do is
this: when we get near our DZ, I'll set this
bird on auto and we'll jump. The plane will
crash out in the North Sea."
  Ben took off his beret, scratched his head for a
moment, and then chuckled. "How many others are
planning on doing likewise, Lucy?"
  "Oh ... "bout fifteen teams, General."
  Ben patted her on the shoulder. "Carry on,
Lucy, carry on."
  Ike's Two Battalion was loading when Ben
reached the docks; Tina and Rebet's
Battalions were waiting to load. Ben called
Ike to one side.
  "If something happens to me, Ike, you're in
charge. Orders to that effect have been typed
up and I've signed and dated them."
  Ike nodded his head. "West and Danjou have
sailed; they'll be landing right behind you and yours, Ben.
Striganov and his bunch behind them. Then me and Tina
and Rebet. Keep your head down."
  "I plan to."
  They shook hands and Ike joined his battalion.
  Ben's Husky, Smoot, and Dan's mutt,
Chester, were on the ship with Thermopolis, being taken
very good care of by Rosebud and others of the
Thermopolis clan.
  Ben pointed to a row of trawlers. "That's us.
Load your gear on board, Cooper, park the
wagon over there and a cargo ship will hoist it on
board."
  "When are we leaving, General?" Cooper asked.
  Ben smiled. "Tonight."
  The trawlers caught up withand pulled ahead of the
deliberately slow-moving bigger ships carrying
West and Danjou. Striganov and West were right behind
them. Chase's medical teams were scattered out on
all ships. Ben lifted a hand of greeting and good
luck in the darkness, knowing that West and Danjou were
doing the same, although neither could see the other.
  They had pulled out about five that afternoon in
a driving rain, shortly after the skies had darkened
down to near night. The skippers of the trawlers
figured thirty to thirty-four hours to Plymouth comt
was at twelve knots. The skipper of Ben's
trawler had grinned and pointed to the engine compartment
hatch.
  "We all put in new engines, General. This
old girl will give you eighteen knots if you ask
her."
  "Fourteen knots would put us in Plymouth
harbor in thirty hours even," Beth said. "That would
put us close at midnight."
  "That's perfect," Ben said. "Can you do it,
Skipper?"
  "You bet I can. The seas are uncommonly
smooth for this time of year and the stars they've come out
a-twinkling. You people just settle down and enjoy the
ride." He looked close at Ben. "What was
all that pukin" a few hours ago?"
  "Cooper," Ben said. "He gets sick very
easily."
  "Then he'd best pray we don't run into no
bad weather. This old girl will give him a bad time
of it."
  "We'll just shoot him," Jersey said
with a straight face.
  The skipper took Ben to one side. "That young
lady there who just spoke comis she as mean as she
looks?"
  "Meaner," Ben told him without cracking a
smile.
  "She looks like one of them wild red Indians
I used to read about."
  "She is. Cochise was her great-grandfather."
  "You don't say!"
  "Oh, yes. She takes scalps, too."
  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" He went
back to the wheelhouse, muttering and giving Jersey
  some cautious looks.
  "They're going to know we're coming," Buddy said
to his father.
  "Yes. But they won't know where we're going.
At two o'clock tomorrow morning, at my signal, teams
all over Britain are going to start raising hell from
north to south, east to west. At 0230 the
paratroopers will land north of Plymouth and start in
our direction. And we'd better, by God, have a
firm toehold on the docks."
  "Yes, I'm sure that the sight of all eighty
of us will strike terrible fear into the hearts
of the defenders."
  Ben chuckled in the night. "The BRF will be
attacking the city hard from the east, the jumpers will be
coming in from the north, we'll be attacking from the south,
andwiththe sea to the remaining side -- more or less-that
pretty well boxes them in."
  "All those crates you had put on
board-inflatable boats and motors?"
  "That's right."
  "So these trawlers, they'll never actually enter
Plymouth harbor, will they?"
  "Right again. We'll motor most of the way and
paddle the rest. Our skipper is cutting some time
off by not skirting the Isles of Scilly; we'll go
between them and Land's End."
  "It's chancy, isn't it, Father?"
  Ben looked at his son for a long moment before
replying. "V."
  Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that
faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we
understand it.
Abraham Lincoln
Chapter One
  Ben soon found himself reassessing the known enemy.
They obviously did not have pilots to fly
patrol; they did not have crews out working patrol
boats. The skipper had told him that radar sites
all along the coast had never been used since the
Great War.
  "Shit-headed street punks," Ben said, sitting
under the shade of a stretched canvas over a part of the
deck.
  "Beg pardon?" Buddy asked, looking up from his
chess game with Jersey-he was losing again.
  "Street punks," his father repeated. "That's who
we'll be fighting. And of course, the Believers."
  Jersey moved a piece and looked up at
Buddy, smiling victoriously. Buddy shook his
head. "You've got a fine mind, Jersey. When the
war is over, please attend college and put that
mind to work."
  "This war'll never be over, Buddy," she told
him, stowing away her small chess set. "We'll
be doin' this until the day we die. Tomorrow, next
month, next year. You can bet that now that the
Rebels have left America, there are thousands of
mercenaries, warlords, punks, gangs,
dictators, all over
  the world, and all making plans to attack the
United States. We'll finish up in
England, and it won't take that long; probably
"til mid-winter, and then we'll go somewhere else
to fight again. France, Hawaii." She shrugged her
shoulders. "Who knows? But by that time, General
Jefferys will have hard intel that someone is planning on
attacking America and we'll sail back to do it
all over again. We'll clean it up again, and then
we'll sail off somewhere else to fight somebody
else's battles for them. That's what Americans
-- and a precious damn few of her allies-have always
done."
  Buddy stared at her for a moment. "So you think
we'll all be back in America by ... when?"
  "A year, tops."
  Buddy looked at his father. Ben smiled. "She's
probably right, son. Irish intel and the BRF
told me that a few large ships pulled out of
Irish and British waters before we arrived. Then
after the invasion, more ships left. Right before we took
Dublin, still more ships pulled out. One hit an old
derelict mine and was sunk. The survivors told
the BRF they'd been heading to Hawaii to link up with
gangs there. So I imagine that Hawaii is our
next stop."
  "Palm trees, coconuts, and hula
girls," Cooper said, having recovered from his
seasickness. "Especially the hula girls. That's
for me."
  "Any hula girl that would take up with you would have
to be mentally retarded," Jersey told him.
  Cooper shot her the bird and she returned it,
twice.
  Ben glanced at his watch. "Eight hours
to jump-
  off time, folks. Let's start inflating those
boats and loading equipment."
  The trawlers carrying Ben and his teams reached their
destinations an hour and a half early. By ten-thirty
the teams were in the landing craft and preparing to shove
off. And it was a good thing they were early. The seas were
picking up and it was going to rain just about the time the
Rebels reached shore.
  "You'll make it before it gets really rough,
General," the skipper called from the railing.
"Godspeed to you all."
  "Everybody got their life vests on?" Ben
shouted.
  Everybody did. Cooper had two.
  "Let's do it," Ben ordered.
  The rubber boats roared off into the
darkness, the rolling and swelling vastness of the sea all
around them. Each boat towed a second filled with
equipment that was lashed down tight. It cut their
speed considerably, and they were forced to stop a half
dozen times before they found the right towing length and could
adjust to it. Then they were on their way.
  Long before they reached the dark shoreline, the sounds
of planes reached them, all flying in from the west.
  "I hope one of those pilot-less bastards
don't crash on us," Beth remarked.
  "That thought did cross my mind," Ben said.
  Lights popped on in and around Plymouth and wild
shooting could be faintly heard. But the shooting quickly
died away as the planes flew on and disappeared
into the darkness.
  A light rain, no more than a drizzle, began
to
  fall. One by one, the lights on the shore blinked
out as those in the small city felt the danger had
passed.
  "Idiots," Ben muttered. "Kill the
engines," he called.
  The night was suddenly very quiet.
  "Paratroopers on the ground," Corrie said.
"Special ops teams moving."
  "Paddle," Ben ordered, unlashing a paddle.
  It was hard work, especially since they were towing a
craft, but the shoreline soon leaped into view.
  "Rat Team ashore," Ben whispered.
"Everybody else rest their muscles."
  They bobbed on the water for a full fifteen
minutes, easy targets should the docks be guarded
and a flashlight be directed their way.
  "There is no one on the docks, General,"
Corrie relayed the message from the Rat Team.
  "What?"
  "Nothing, sir," Corrie repeated. "The
docks are deserted."
  "My God, but we're a lucky bunch.
Let's go, people," Ben said, picking up his paddle.
"Hard now."
  The rubber rafts were pulled ashore and the Rebels
quickly unlashed their equipment and loaded up.
  "The Colonists have arrived, Your Majesty. Just
hang tough." Ben looked at his team. "Welcome
to England, folks. Corrie, get me the
paratroopers" position."
  "The main force is about ten miles north of the
airport," she said. "Pat and his contingent of Free
Irish went wide of the DZ and landed right in
the
  middle of a small village. Scared the crap out
of a bunch of folks. Pat went right through a thatched
roof and landed in bed with a man and his wife. Almost
gave them a heart attack."
  Everyone around who could hear chuckled at that. Pat
was a pretty good hand at cussing, and they all
imagined he did some fancy swearing when he hit the
bed.
  "Dan and his team have taken over an old building
that used to be a lunatic asylum about fifty
klicks north and east of here. They've been there
three days and nights and haven't spotted a thing."
  "We heard shooting," Cooper remarked. "We
know they're here. So where the hell is everybody?"
  "Pulled back into the cities," Ben said. "But
they've got to have patrols working comsomewhere. They can't
be this stupid." He stood up from his kneeling on the
ground. "Let's secure the docks, folks."
  The Rebels did not encounter a single person as
they worked the dock area. Ben set up his thin lines
and laid out Claymores. And did it all without
firing a shot.
  Ben knelt down in the hollow emptiness of a
huge old warehouse and studied the map of the
harbor and the area around it. He came to the
conclusion-again-that there was no damn way a unit this
size was going to hold the harbor for any length of
time.
  Ben tensed. He smelled the bastard coming up behind
him. A stinking creepie. He threw himself to one
side just as the creepie jumped for him, the knife
flashing through the air. Ben rolled to his boots,
stepped forward, and kicked the creep in the
  nuts. As the cannibal doubled over, his mouth
open to scream out the pain from his busted balls, Ben
rared back and socked him on the jaw. The smaller
man dropped like a stone and Ben stepped back,
rubbing his knuckles.
  "What the hell, General?" Jersey said,
running through the open door of the warehouse. She
pulled up short at the sight of the creepie on the
dirty and littered concrete floor, Beth,
Corrie, and Cooper right behind her.
  "So we do have people in the harbor area," Corrie
said.
  Outside, the wet night was shattered by gunfire
and screaming.
  "Corrie," Ben said. "Give the signal.
All units attack, all units
attack."
  Buddy appeared in the open doorway. "If you
don't mind, Father, would you and your team kindly step
outside and give us a hand? We seem to be under
attack by a rather large and hostile group of people."
  "God damn it!" West roared through a
bullhorn. "Get those boats over the side and
get in them. Move, God damn it, move!"
  It was a strange invasion by modern standards. The
Rebels had only a few military-type landing
craft, and those had already shoved off. The rest of the first
two full battalions were getting to shore in rubber
dinghies and anything else they could throw over the side
and hook a motor to.
  As Ben always said, "It was a hell of a way
to run a war."
  Thermopolis received a frantic message from
Emil, who was captaining the ship carrying Rebet's
Six Battalion. "The goddamn ship is dead
in the water, Therm. We hit something. Probably
a nearly submerged old tub. It bent the shaft and
probably sheered the blades off the prop. We
ain't goin' anywhere, brother."
  "What is your location, Emil?" Ike broke
in.
  "Right off Lizard Point, General."
  "Put your troops ashore there and tell them
to fight their way north to Bodmin. Secure it."
  "That's a ten-four, General."
  Rebet's men began tossing dinghies over the
side and scrambling down ladders.
  "Lower the lifeboats!" Emil yelled to some of
his people. "Abandon this tub. We're going ashore with
Rebet."
  "May God have mercy on my soul," Rebet
muttered.
  "Get that equipment over the side!" Striganov
roared like an angry bear. "The general is under
heavy attack." Striganov jumped over the
side, holding onto the rope ladder. His boots
missed the rung and he fell into the cold waters of the
western edge of the English Channel. Luckily he
was wearing a life vest and he popped to the surface,
flailing his arms and cussing in Russian.
  One of his men tossed him rope and pulled him
in. The young soldier could not get the grin off his
face. He tried, but he could not wipe it clean.
  "You think it's funny?" Georgi roared.
  "Yes, sir," the Russian Rebel said
honestly, and
  then burst out laughing.
  "Well ..." Georgi said, heaving himself into the
boat. He lay on the deck of the lifeboat for a
moment, then a grin cut his craggy features. "I
guess it is, at that. Come on, son, we have a war
to fight. Wet drawers and all," he laughed.
  "Striganov just fell into the ocean," Corrie
told Ben, during a slight lull in the fighting.
  "Is he all right?"
  "Oh, yes, sir."
  Ben shook his head. "Anything else I need
to know?"
  "Emil's ship is dead in the water. Rebet
is taking his battalion ashore at Lizard
Point. Ike's orders."
  "Who's picking up Emil and his bunch?"
  "No one. Emil gave the orders to abandon ship
and he's joining Rebet's battalion."
  "God grant him the strength to maintain his
sanity. You in contact with the jumpers?"
  "Still north of the airport, traveling as fast as
they can. Some of them have commandeered bicycles and are
pedaling their way in."
  Ben ducked his head and laughed. The idea of
heavily armed paratroopers riding into combat
on a bicycle was funny to him.
  "They're trying an end-around," a Rebel
called from Ben's right. "Between warehouses at two
o'clock."
  "They're in trouble," Ben said.
  The words had just left his mouth when the Claymores
blew and parts of street punks were slammed against the
old wet walls of both warehouses.
  "This way!" the voice was barely audible over the
  screaming and moaning of the wounded. "Watch them
mines. The rest of you, follow me."
  He tripped a wire and one side of a warehouse
blew up in a flash of fire and debris. Ben
looked at Buddy.
  "I found a bag of fertilizer and several drums
of gasoline," his son explained. "I thought the
fertilizer might be too old to work. I was wrong."
  "How much gas was in those drums, boy?"
  "Fifty-five gallons in each, I
suppose. They were full."
  The old wood of the warehouse was burning brightly
now, and the Rebels could clearly see dozens of
bodies lying in unnaturally twisted positions.
  A dozen street punks rushed Ben's position.
An M-60 started belching out lead. The
punks folded up and went down like dominoes.
  "Fall back!" someone shouted. "It's the
invasion. Jesus Christ, look at all them people in
the bay. Back to the city, back to the city."
  Ben turned around. Rebels from Four and Seven
Battalions were storming ashore, climbing over
old rusting cars and trucks and machinery.
  "God must be on our side," Ben muttered.
"Either that, or we're dealing with the dumbest bunch of
bastards on the face of the earth."
  "The first of Rebet's troops have landed and not a
shot has been fired," Corrie said. "They have
encountered no resistance whatsoever. Dan's teams
are now engaged in a firefight with an unknown
group."
  West and Danjou came panting up to Ben's
position. "Where is all the resistance?" West
asked, catching his breath.
  "It came and went," Ben told him.
"Corrie, advise our people to disarm all remaining
Claymores they set. Danjou, West, have your men
stay to this side until that is done, please.
Buddy, take your Rat Team and Scouts and see
what's up ahead of us. And somebody clear out a
building and make some coffee. We've
got a toehold in England, people. But it's a big
damn island."
Chapter
Two
  By morning, the entire dock area and several
blocks all around it on all sides had been
cleared. Not that there had been all that much to clear out.
The only shot fired was when a very large rat -- about
the size of a well-fed housecat comran across a
Rebel's boot in a dark, cobwebby, and musty
warehouse and scared the crap out of him. The rat got
shot.
  "I wonder how it got so large?" the Rebel
questioned.
  "Probably by eating body parts thrown away
by those damn creepies," his buddy told him.
  "Barf!"
  The paratroopers had reached the edge of town and were
setting up positions. And the street punks in
Plymouth who had not thrown in with Butch and the others were
scared.
  "Corrie," Ben asked, "have you found the
frequencies of the punks in this city?"
  "Yes, sir. Several of them. They're a real
smart bunch." She said that with the sarcasm
dripping. "With the most advanced communications
equipment in the world at their fingertips, they're using
CB'S."
  Ben grunted. He looked at the BRF commander
who had joined them during the night, coming into the harbor
by motor launch. He and his men were all tough-looking
and handled their weapons in the seemingly casual way
an expert does. "This is the way we do it,
Drake," Ben told him. "You might not like it, and
I don't particularly care whether you do or not. It
works for us. We usually give the enemy one chance
to surrender. After that, we don't take prisoners.
There have been exceptions, but not many. How do you want
to play this?"
  The Englishman stared at Ben, knowing then that all
the rumors about him were true. Ben Raines was a
hard man. "It's your show, General. If you can
live with it, so can I."
  Ben nodded his head. "Corrie, use your, ah,
CB and contact whoever is in charge of the gangs."
  "Standing by, sir," she said, after only half a
minute.
  Ben took the mic. "This is General Ben
Raines. To whom am I speaking?"
  "My, my, ain't you the proper one,
now," the jeering voice came out of the speaker. "To
whom
is I talkin', huh? Well, you talkin'
to Ace. What's on your mind, Mister Big-Shit
General?"
  "I'm talking about whether you live or die,
punk. And this is your only chance to surrender. Lay
your guns on the floor, on the sidewalks, in the
street, wherever you may be, and come walking out with your
hands in the air. This is the only chance you are
getting."
  There were several moments of silence from the city.
Ace finally came back on the air. "You gonna
kill us all, General?"
  "Every goddamn one of you," Ben said, enough ice in his
voice to cause Drake to take a step back
away from him.
  "Supposin' we fight you and see that we can't
whip you, General? Can't we pack it in then? I
mean, we soldiers just like you, man."
  Several Rebels laughed at that.
  "No, you're not," Ben told him. "You're a
bunch of no-good murderers, thieves, rapists, and
God only knows what else. I have absolutely
no use for any of you. I shouldn't even
offer you surrender terms. But I will, one time. And this
is that time. Take it or leave it, punk."
  "I ain't no punk!" Ace screamed. "But I
do run this city. So fuck you, Raines. Just fuck
you, man. Fuck you!"
  "Fellow seems to have a rather limited
vocabulary," Buddy remarked.
  "He won't have it long," Ben replied.
"Corrie, give the orders to take the city."
  The gangs in the city were well armed, but they had
no real knowledge of warfare, guerrilla, urban, or
conventional. Ben Raines' Rebels smashed into the
city. Tanks rolled in first, with the Rebels
following. The street gangs who controlled
Plymouth took one look at what they faced and were
horrified.
  "Jesus Christ, Ace!" a gang member
yelled. "That's a real fuckin' army."
  "So is we," Ace replied. "We stand and
fight." He looked around him. "But not here. Fall
back to the center of town."
  Ace had just exited the building near the harbor
area when an MBT, cannon lowered,
  blew the old home apart with HE.
  The creepies were the only ones to put
up much of a fight. But there were few of them remaining in
Plymouth. Most of them had slipped out hours before the
invasion began, heading for London and Birmingham and
other cities. They left their prisoners behind, after
hosing them down with machine-gun fire. The members
of the cannibalistic sect were the most vicious and
utterly worthless bunch of people the Rebels had ever
fought. The Rebels had tried to rehabilitate some
of them and had yet to find one who would respond
to treatment.
  Ben Raines had then given the orders: any
creepie found would be shot on sight.
  The taking of Plymouth was the easiest any
Rebel could remember. By nightfall of the first day,
most of the gang members had fled the city, using
alleys and tunnels dug or enlarged by the
Believers, or by using escape routes the smarter
ones had mapped out long ago.
  "They left their children behind," the news was reported
to Ben. "Dozens of them. The bastards and bitches just
deserted their own kids."
  Ben had expected that. He'd seen it too many
times back in America to be shocked. "As we
secure the countryside, we'll find foster homes
for them. Take them to that hospital Chase
is cleaning out." He shook his head. "It's always the
children and the old people that suffer the most in war. Seems like
I'd be used to it by now."
  By noon of the third day of the invasion, Plymouth was
declared secure. "Incredible," Striganov said.
  Ben's Rebels were reporting from all over the
surrounding countryside that thugs and punks and other
assorted human crud were surrendering in large
numbers; the Rebels were taking so many prisoners it
wasn't uncommon to see one Rebel, wearing an
expression of disbelief, walking along behind two
dozen prisoners with their hands on their heads.
  Ben ordered all prisoners to be turned over
to the British Resistance Forces.
  "You try them," Ben told the commander of the BRF.
"You do what you want to with them. But I tell you this
much right now: The Rebels are arming the general
public. And we're arming them well. Don't even
entertain the thought that society will return to what it
used to be here, or anywhere else the Rebels have
been. We're not expending time and effort in building
prisons, and I've a hunch the good people of England will
follow our lead. I don't want to have to come back
here in any other capacity except as a visitor
seeing the sights."
  "You don't believe in giving a person a
second chance, General?" a woman asked.
  "That depends on the crime, lady."
  Rebels had secured several smaller coastline
towns on the westernmost tip of Wales, and Ben
shifted two battalions over to that section of the
country, one of them Thermopolis and his Eight
Battalion, now that he was no longer needed
to captain the big ships.
  If the hardworking and tough people of Wales had had
access to firearms, the thugs and punks and creeps
would never have taken that section of the country. But England
had long had very restrictive
  guns laws-decades before the Great War-and its
citizens never had a chance when the criminals made
their move. Politicians never seemed to learn that
criminals paid absolutely no attention to gun
laws.
  The Rebels in and around Plymouth began the
awesome job of clearing out the countryside and pushing out
of Cornwall and into Devon County.
  "No stinking damn politician will ever take my
guns again, General," an elderly farmer told
Ben, after he had stopped to chat with the man.
"By God, they'll have to kill me to do it."
  "You can bet that when some order is restored, someone
will sure try," Ben replied.
  "They'll rot in the ground shortly after they do,"
the man said grimly.
  "The next town up is infested with human
vermin," the man's wife said. "Their behavior is
disgusting."
  "We have just the cure for lice, ma'am," Ben
told her. "We've found they respond well
to lead."
  She laughed, gave him a piece of pie, and
wished him luck.
  "Says here," Beth said, reading from a tattered
old tourist guide as they rolled up the road, "that
the next town on this highway has good food and
hospitality."
  "Sounds delightful," Cooper said. "You
suppose they'll roll out the red carpet for us,
General?"
  "Somehow, I rather doubt it."
  "Buddy says hold the column and for us to come on
up," Corrie said. "He's on the outskirts of the
town now. The gang holding the town is going
to fight."
  "Why does he want me up there?
Tell him to take the damn town."
  Corrie relayed the order and listened for a moment.
"The gang leader has marched the citizens out and is
hiding behind them. People of all ages, including young children
and babies."
  Ben muttered a few highly uncomplimentary
phrases about thugs in general. "Corrie, ask
Buddy if there is a back door to this town."
  "That's ten-four, sir. Rebels could work their
way into the town through the woods and slip in that way."
  "How far off this road?"
  "Just off this road. Take a road running
straight back west just after crossing a bridge.
We'll see a stone fence running alongside for
extra concealment."
  Ben smiled. "Tell my son to keep these
goons busy with conversation. Let's go, Coop.
Corrie, tell my bodyguards to lag behind a good
quarter mile. When we stop, they stop. No
tanks. That's a direct order. I want to check
out the woods and the stone fence."
  They parked on the low side of a small hill and
got out silently, being careful not to bang any
doors. They squatted down behind some thick brush and
inspected the scene. They could see no one
posted at the rear of the town.
  "Surely they wouldn't be that stupid," Ben
muttered.
  He carefully inspected the area through binoculars
and could see no sign of life.
  "Corrie, tell the platoon to come up on
foot, fast and silent. Stay in the ditch, close
to the brush."
  Ballard, the platoon leader, was the first at
Ben's side.
  "Lieutenant, we're going in the back door,"
Ben told him. "Nice and quiet." He pointed
a finger at him. "Your people, follow my people. Let's
go, gang."
  "I ain't gonna tell you this but one more time,
dude," the thug in charge of the town told Buddy.
"Carry your funky ass on away from here."
  "You're not English, are you?" Buddy asked.
  "No, I ain't. Now move, "fore I start
killin" these folks here. They belong to me, I can
do what I want to with them."
  "They're your slaves?"
  "That's right. Now carry your ass like I told you,
man."
  Ben and his people had left the woods and were
now in the town, working their way toward the pile-up of
people near the junction. Many of the homes they passed had
bullet-holes in them, windows gone and doors
missing. This town had been the center of many battles
over the years.
  "Across the street," Ben whispered. "Just to the
left of that stone cottage. See the two men?"
  "I see them," Ballard said. He motioned for
two Rebels to go.
  The other Rebels waited while the pair worked
their way across the street and got into position for a
silent shoot or a throat cutting -- whichever
seemed more appropriate. The two Rebels
Ballard had sent carried silenced pistols for
close-in work.
  A few moments passed before Corrie received the
word. "It's all clear over there, General. They
say
  we can cross over now.
  In teams of three and four, the Rebels crossed
the littered street at a run. They passed by the
bodies of the thugs, each with a tiny hole in his head
from silenced .22 caliber auto-loading pistols.
  "Hey, slick," the gang leader said to Buddy.
"Are you retarded or something? I told you
carry your ass on away from here. Are you nuts? You
wanna die?"
  "We all have to die sometime," Buddy told him.
He was inwardly seething with rage at the sight of the
ragged and bruised and starving children and old people. He
kept his composure only with immense effort.
  Buddy estimated about one hundred male gang
members and probably fifty to seventy-five
female members, all heavily armed. The women were
some of the trashiest- and sluttiest-looking females
Buddy had seen so far.
  Buddy picked up movement far behind and on either
side of the gang, all spread out on the road and on
both sides of the junction. Rebels, silently
working their way toward the crossroads, led, of
course, by his father.
  Buddy's Rat Team was spread out left and right
of him.
  "Man," the gang leader said. "I'm gettin'
tired of jackin' around with you. I'm fixin' to start
shootin' these slaves if you and them others don't
carry your asses on away from here. You got ten
seconds to move." He lifted his pistol and
pointed it at the head of a weeping young girl.
  "All right!" Buddy said. "We're
backing off. Let's go, team."
  As he spoke, Ben and his platoon were drawing
closer.
  "And I mean get totally out of sight and leave
me and mine the hell alone in this town," the punk
shouted.
  "I assure you," Buddy said, "that in a few
minutes, you will never be disturbed again. And that's a
promise."
  One of the female gang members grabbed at her
crotch and hunched her hips at Buddy as she
grinned an invitation.
  "You have to be joking," Buddy muttered, as he and
his team began slowly backing up.
  Ben and his people were almost in position. If only one
gang member cut his eyes left or right, or
looked behind him, the ambush would be compromised and a
lot of civilians would be dead. Even if they
didn't, Buddy knew that several of the slaves would
surely be cut down by gunfire, some even by friendly
fire.
  "You ain't movin' very fast," the gang leader said.
"Shove off, prick."
  "We're surrounded!" a punk yelled, whirling
around and spotting the Rebels on all
sides.
  "Hit the ground!" Buddy yelled at the
slaves, as a Rebel bullet punched a hole
through the head of the gang leader.
  The men and women dropped flat to the road,
pulling their kids down with them as lead began whistling
above their heads. The gang members panicked and
tried to run. They didn't make it as Rebels
comwho had been silently working their way
into position-popped up all around them.
  It was over in a minute, and as always, the silence
  after combat was slightly unnerving. Corrie
radioed for the medics to come up as Rebels began
checking over the slaves. The enemy received medical
attention last-Ben Raines' orders.
  One elderly man had been killed and one woman
received a slight flesh wound.
  "It could have been a lot worse," Ballard said
to Ben.
  "Yes. We got lucky," Ben said, looking
around him at all the human garbage lying in their own
blood. Many were still alive. The medics ignored them
until they had checked out the civilians and the
Rebels.
  "Bastards," the woman who had made the
obscene gesture to Buddy said. "Heartless
bastards."
  "You're calling us heartless?" Jersey said to her.
"Hey! I know you. We chased your ass out of
Texas. Dallas/fort Worth area. I
remember your ugly face. You were ram-rodding a
gang of street punks over there. Yeah."
  The woman had a hole in her side and was
obviously in great pain. But her hatred for law and
order and justice overrode her pain. She spat
at Jersey. The spit fell short of Jersey's
boot.
  "You spit on me, bitch," Jersey warned her,
"and I'll punch your ticket right now."
  "What are you going to do with us?" a punk moaned from
his position on the road. He had taken a 7.62
round in the leg and the leg was twisted and broken.
  "Turn you over to the British Resistance
Forces," Buddy told him. "They'll deal with you."
  "Oh, man," another whimpered. "They's gone
back to hangin' folks over here. We're all
  Americans, just like you. Cut us some slack,
man."
  Buddy turned his back to the punk. He had an
almost overwhelming urge to shoot the bastard.
  "You're General Ben Raines," a punk said,
looking up at Ben. "I seen you before, back in
Colorado. How's about givin' us a break,
boss?"
  Ben turned away without replying and walked over
to the group of abused civilians. They were a
pitiful sight, but one that he'd witnessed more times
than he cared to remember.
  "You're all from this general area?" he asked.
  They were.
  "We'll patch you up," he told them. "And
we'll supply you with food to eat and grain
to plant. And we'll arm you. After that, it's up to you.
It's doubtful that we'll be back. Don't ever
let anyone take your guns again. No government,
no politician, no punk. You all had the will
to fight, you just didn't have anything to fight with.
Don't let it happen again."
  Members of the BRF showed up and gave the
prisoners some very hard looks.
  "Don't let them people have us, General!" a punk
shouted. "They'll hang us. For God's sake,
please don't."
  "For
God's
sake?" Ben said. "You, calling on God? He
must be getting a good laugh out of this. And He
probably needs one. Mount up, people, we have miles
to go."
Chapter
Three
  Rebet and his battalion, aided by the BRF,
quickly secured everything in the southern part of
Cornwall and pushed on to reach Ben's One
Battalion. Battalions were regrouping now, the
small teams scattered all over England linking up
with units of the BRF. The Rebels soon learned
that the thugs and punks and human garbage had no
stomach for a fight with the Rebels ... at least, not in
the country.
  "They never seem to learn,"'* Ben said, rubbing
his eyes and leaning back in his chair. "They can't
understand that cities are death traps for them."
  "Yeah, Ben, but in this case, they don't have any
choice in the matter," Ike said, at a staff
meeting. "We thought we'd seen bad in Ireland.
But, Christ, the punks and creepies have really
raped this country ... literally."
  Ben nodded his agreement. The advancing Rebel
army had found living conditions to be
appalling in most areas. The thugs and assorted
crapheads were literally starving the people to death, forcing them
to work the gardens and fields, and then taking the food,
leaving the citizens not quite enough to get by on.
  The people told the Rebels that the creepies had a
number of large breeding farms around the country, but
none of them could tell the Rebels where they were
located.
  Dr. Chase had been livid with rage upon seeing
the hundreds and hundreds of malnourished children. And
he had laid it on the line to Ben.
  "Don't bring any enemy wounded to my
hospitals, Raines. None. I'll personally
cut their stinking no-good throats with a dull
scalpel."
  "All right, Lamar. I'll give the orders.
What have you seen that's set you off so?"
  "I've seen
babies
who were raped and sodomized." Chase's words were
filled with loathing. "Boys and girls. Every
deviant sex act known to humankind ... I've
seen the aftermath of it here on this island in only the
short time we've been here. I've seen
battle-hardened doctors and nurses who
have been with us since the beginning break down and weep
at the stories from the mouths of children. I've personally
witnessed hardened Rebel veterans with tears running
down their cheeks as they carry in kids, or what is
left of them, after being assaulted, tortured,
maimed, mutilated, and left for dead. I have yet
to hear one child, one adult, male or female,
tell me of one single act of compassion from the
disgusting, perverted ...
filth
who have taken over this land. I've had my say.
Goodnight. If you need me, I'll be at the main
hospital in Torbay."
  Ben issued the orders declaring the death sentence on
any punk, thug, warlord, and the like who offered even the
slightest resistance to the Rebels.
  By this time, his communications people had
  every frequency used by the enemy locked in. Ben
went on the air and laid down the options available
to the lawless. There were only two choices. "You will
surrender now and take your chances in a court of
law, or you will be hunted down by the Rebel Army,
the British Resistance Forces, and the Free Irish
Army, and you will be killed. We will stand down for
twenty-four hours to give you time to make
up your minds and seek out a Rebel, BRF
unit, or Free Irish, and surrender. At the
end of that time, no one will be taken prisoner. That is
all."
  "He's bluffing!" the warlords told their already
spooked followers. "He ain't gonna just shoot us
down like animals."
  "No," London Lulu said, after hearing the
same from some of her followers. "He ain't bluff
in". We've had it, mates."
  "What do you mean?" one of the group asked.
  "The British courts will hang us, or the
Rebels will shoot us. It's just that simple."
  "But England done away with the death penalty a long
time ago."
  "Don't try to think, Sammy," Lulu told
him. "You ain't no good at it. This is a new
order comin' out of the ashes, people. All them sobbin',
hankie-stompin' folks that went easy on the
likes of us is gone. There's gonna be law and
order now. And the only way that's gonna happen is
for them out yonder to get rid of us. You follow me
now?"
  "They ain't gonna take us in London,"
another said. "There ain't no way that's
gonna happen. We know ever' alley and tunnel
there."
  "They took every major city in America,"
Lulu
  reminded them all. "And they didn't even slow
down doin' it. No," she said, shaking her head.
"I got to get with Butch and we got to map out a
retreat route."
  "This is it," Butch told her. "I've got people
out now gathering all the small boats they can find.
We'll stash them all up and down the coast. When the
end is looking at us comand it will, kid; we can't win
this-we'll set out at night for France and link up with
them over there. Raines is going to clear the
countryside first, saving the cities for last."
  "The cities is gettin' all clogged up,
Butch. People are comin' in from the country by the
hundreds."
  "I know. Those coming into London are being spread out
on a line from the city down to Brighton. They're
blowing bridges and cutting up the roads west of their
positions. As those who elect to fight protecting
their turf fall back from Birmingham,
Nottingham, Manchester, I'll position them
north of the city on the east side of the
river. I'm already blowing the bridges, leaving just a
few of them open for retreat. Once them that's coming
is across, those bridges will go."
  "It'll buy us some time, for sure," Lulu said.
"But what if Raines decides to launch another
attack by sea?"
  "Then we're fucked."
  Lulu smiled at him. "Speaking of that ..."
  Butch patted her denim-covered butt. "Might
as well."
  "You're so romantic, Butch."
  "They're going to try to retreat using the
Channel,"
  Ben said, after reading intel reports.
"Probably using hundreds of small boats that
would be impossible to intercept and destroy at night.
Especially if it's foggy and they'll wait for that,
bet on it. What do we have on this Butch Smathers
fellow?"
  "Not much," Georgi said. "But he's had some
military training. He's making some smart
moves."
  "All the special units are back with their
battalions," Ike said. "As well as those who
jumped in. Thermopolis and his Eight
Battalion have cleared the county of Dyfed in
Wales and opened the ports there. He reports that
resistance has been extremely light. His people found
one of the creepie breeding and fattening farms," Ike
said, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth.
"Physically, the people are fine. Mentally, they're in
rough shape."
  "What is the word on those in Bristol?" Ben
asked.
  "They're digging in for a fight," Tina told him.
"My battalion is standing by just south of the city.
We've cleared Bridgewater."
  "That's the last town of any size in Devon,"
Ben said. "But Bristol is another matter. That's
a good-sized city. Over half a million before the
Great War."
  "But a lot of the thugs ran like rabbits,
General," the commander of the BRF pointed out. "Our people
tell me that no more than thirty five hundred
to four thousand hard-core criminals remain in the
city."
  "How about the general population?"
  The man shook his head. "I have to say that those who
chose to remain were slaughtered.
  Either that, or traded to the Believers."
  "The birthplace of America," Ben spoke the
words softly. "A treasure-house of historical
importance."
  "Not anymore," the BRF commander said. "It's
been trashed and looted and vandalized over the years.
Take it down, General Raines."
  "That's the consensus of the people, Commander Drake?"
  "It is, sir."
  "Out of the ashes," Ben muttered. "We'll try
to save the more important landmarks. Where is the
Methodist Chapel located, Commander Drake?"
  The man smiled sadly. "It isn't,
anymore, sir. The hoodlums burned it."
  Ben sighed. When something like that occurred, the loss
was deep, for history could never be replaced. "What
else have the bastards destroyed?"
  "Nearly everything that was priceless and precious
to us," the man replied. "England will not be rebuilt
in our lifetime. These thugs and hoodlums have done more
damage than the Nazis did more than half a
century ago."
  "The university?" Ben asked.
  "Trashed and vandalized. The books were all
destroyed. They heaped them in piles and burned them.
I have eyewitness accounts of that."
  "What do your people say about the punks' armaments?"
  "Light weapons. A few mortars and rocket
launchers. The tanks and other modern equipment were
simply too complicated for them to master. But the
taking of Bristol will not be a walkthrough."
  "No," Ben agreed. "It never is. All right,
we'll use three battalions, plus armor and
artillery. My One Battalion, Dan's
Three Battalion, and Georgi's Five
Battalion. The rest of you, hold your lines.
Commander Drake, your BRF people will continue the
sweeping of the countryside down to the coast. All
right, people." Ben smiled and looked over at Jersey,
sitting in a chair by the door, her M-16 across
her legs. "What do you say, Jersey?"
  Her dark eyes twinkled. "Kick-ass time."
  Those in Bristol who had chosen a life of
crime and pitched their lot in with the Believers knew
the sands of time had very nearly emptied the glass when
the mist of dawn was abruptly shattered by incoming
artillery rounds that rained down on their heads like some
hideous storm.
  Ben was throwing heavy artillery and mortar rounds
at the center of the city while his Rebels smashed
into the suburbs north and south of the river and
caught those there by surprise. Those who tried to flee
toward the east ran right into two battalions of
Free Irish who cut them down with heavy machine
gun fire. To the west lay the heavily patrolled
Bristol Channel.
  Ben ordered the thundering pounding to continue for an hour.
Then he ordered tear gas to be dropped into the center
of the city, canister after canister of it. For blocks
in any direction, people were staggering around, unable to see.
Then Ben ordered pepper gas to be dropped in, and
that really caused the punks and crud and creepies
some problems. The gas was by no means lethal, one
  simply felt that death would be a relief from the
choking and stinging.
  When the creeps and crud staggered into a
free-fire area, the Rebels cut them down. Some
of the Brits (but not many) with the BRF thought this to be a
bit on the barbaric side, and certainly
ungentlemanly, but they kept their mouths shut and
maintained a stiff upper lip.
  "This offend you?" Ben asked a newly arrived
observer from the BRF.
  "To be truthful, yes, it does. But nothing that
I can't live with," he added dryly.
  "Want to get a little closer?"
  "I thought you would never ask, General," the
distinguished-looking gentleman said.
  Ben had tried to pinpoint the man's age, but it was
hard to tell. He might be anywhere from sixty
to eighty.
  Ben and his team and the BRF observer moved to within a
block of the battle lines, which made the frontline
Rebels awfully nervous. Ben ordered body
armor and helmet for the seemingly unflappable Mr.
Carrington and made the much older man get into the
protective gear. Carrington carried an old
bolt-action rifle which looked to Ben to be about a
hundred years old.
  "Ah, Mr. Carrington," Ben asked, pointing
to the rifle. "Will that thing shoot?"
  "My heavens, yes. Certainly, it will. It
functioned quite well at Dunkirk."
"Dunkirk!
That was more than half a century ago! I wasn't
even born then."
  Carrington looked at Ben, a twinkle in his
eyes. "Quite right," he said, then returned his
  attention to the battle lines up the street.
  "Bastards!" a scream cut the morning's chill.
"Dirty, rotten bastards and bitches,
all of you!"
  A man appeared out of the fading fog of tear gas
and pepper gas carrying an M-16. Carrington
lifted his rifle, sighted in the man, and cut him
down.
  "Good show," Ben said.
  "Thank you, General," Carrington said, as he
worked the bolt and rammed home a round. "I do like
to pull my weight."
  The streets suddenly filled with Rebels, all
running back toward Ben's position. "Get the
general out of here!" one yelled. "We're about to be
overrun. They're trying a suicide attack."
  Ben jumped out onto the sidewalk. "Stand your
ground!" he yelled, stopping the Rebels.
"Spread out left and right of me. Corrie, get
Dusters up here."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Oh, jolly good, I say, General,"
Carrington said. "This is just the place for a to-do,
I should think."
  "Quite right," Ben said. The English manner of
speaking is very contagious. "Corrie, call up
gun-ships."
  "Yes, sir. Calling up gunships."
  "Here the buggers come, men!" Carrington said, then
looked around him. Jersey was staring at him. She
shook her head. "And, ah, ladies. Stand firm
now for God and the King."
  "Right," Cooper said, from behind his bi-podded
Stoner. "And for Ben Raines and America."
  "Quite right, lad," Carrington said, a flush to his
cheeks.
  They could hear the screaming and cursing mob quite
plainly now.
  "Hold your fire," Ben shouted. "Hold your
fire until they're in the middle of the block.
We'll take the first wave and the choppers can have the
rest."
  "Marvelous things, those helicopters."
Carrington's voice could just be heard over the
rantings of the thugs and creepies as they rounded the
corner and began the charge up the last block
to Ben's position. "Wish we'd had them during World
War Two."
  "Fire!" Ben shouted, and there was no more time for
conversation that would have gone unheard anyway.
  The ground floor of the old building reverberated
with the sounds of weapons on full auto comall but one.
Carrington was calmly working the bolt and
making each shot count. "Damn!" he said. "I'm
all out of ammunition. Drat!"
  A Rebel medic couldn't hear his words, but saw
his predicament. He crawled over and handed the man
two .45's from his kit and a bag full of clips.
  "Oh, good, lad! Thank you." And Carrington was
back in business with a vengeance, blasting away with
both hands full of autoloaders.
  The mob was right on top of them when the Dusters
clanked up, lowered their cannon, and went to work.
Overhead, helicopter gunships were just arriving and
cutting loose with everything they had.
  Thugs and punks and creepies and other assorted
street slime hurled themselves through the glassless
windows and the fight was hand to hand, eyeball
to eyeball.
  Knowing he was much too old to engage in this
  type of nonsense, Carrington backed up,
loaded up both .45's, and began picking his
targets in the gunsmoke-filled room. And he was
deadly accurate.
  Jersey kicked a thug in the balls and then shot
him in the neck as he bent over, puking.
  Beth had a Beretta 9mm in each hand and was
holding her own in a corner of the room.
Corrie had slipped off her backpack radio and
was swinging her empty CAR-15 like a club, and doing
some terrible damage to jaws and heads. Ben shot a
creep in the belly and another one point blank in
the face before a punk jumped on his back and rode
him down to the dirty floor.
  Ben flipped the man from him and Carrington blew
the back of the punk's head off with a round.
  "By God!" the Englishman said. "I haven't
had this much fun since Mum got her dress tail
caught in a revolving door and took her right down
to her bloomers."
  Ben got to his boots as he realized the room
was empty of live creeps and crap. "Load
up," he ordered.
  Corrie found her radio under the body of a dead
punk and looked at it. "Busted," she said.
"Took a round straight through."
  "We're cut off, General," a Duster commander
yelled through a hole in the wall. "The street
gangs did an end-around and we're going to be all
alone for a time."
  "Get on your radio and order constant patrol
of this area by gunships," Ben told him. "How's
your 40mm ammo?"
  "We're in good shape, General."
  "All right. Button down as tight as you can."
  Ben looked around him. The floor was two and
three deep in places with dead punks and creeps.
  "We've got two dead and five wounded,"
Corrie told him. "One of the wounded is serious and
needs surgery right now."
  "Not anymore," one of the medics called.
  "Three dead," Corrie said.
  "Let's get these stinking dead crud out of here,"
Ben said. "Careful in handling them, now. Strip
ammo and weapons from them and stack them in the next
room."
  "It's clouding up real fast," Lieutenant
Ballard said. "Starting to sprinkle."
  "If it comes a downpour, that'll work to the
advantage of the crud," Buddy pointed out. "And
severely limit visibility for the chopper
pilots." He smiled through the grime on his face.
"Of course, I'm pointing out the obvious."
  Carrington had taken a dead Rebel's
M-16 and another Rebel was showing him how
to operate it. "Complicated piece of weaponry,"
he remarked.
  "How are Dan and Georgi faring?"
Ben asked Corrie.
  "Heavy fighting, sir. But in small pockets
all up and down the line. Every time they shift, the
crud shifts with them. A lot of small units are
cut off, just like us."
  "Pretty good," Ben said. "Someone on the other
side is starting to think."
  "Here comes the rain," a Rebel called.
  "And with it will come the crud," Ben said, clicking his
CAR off safety and moving to a empty window.
"Get set, people. It's going to get real busy here
in a moment."
  "Drat," Carrington said, looking at his watch.
"And they'll be interrupting our elevenses, too."
  "Do what?" Jersey asked.
  "Morning teatime," Ben said with a smile.
  "Precisely," Carrington said. "Terribly
boorish of them, what?"
  "Oh, yes," Ben agreed. "They have no
appreciation of the finer things in life."
  "Quite right," Carrington said. "For an American,
General Raines ... you'll do. You'll do."
Chapter
Four
  "If they'd played their cards right,"
Ben said after the attack, "they could have done some
damage to us. They had years to learn tactics, but
they blew the time away."
  The creeps and street crud had charged out of the
rain screaming and cursing the Rebels in small
pockets all over the city. They ran right into the
guns of the Rebels. The Rebels stood their ground
and gave the enemy everything they had at their disposal,
and that was plenty. It broke the backs of the creeps
and thugs in Bristol.
  The remainder of Ben's battalion punched through
to his position just after noon and took the pressure
off. Ben set up a CP on the second floor
of what had once been a department store and the
Rebels began mopping up.
  Mr. Carrington took a Tommy-burner out of
his kit and began heating water for his tea.
  Rebels began collecting the bodies of the dead
crud and creeps and tossing them into the beds of
trucks. They would be taken out into the countryside and
buried in a deep mass grave.
  "Three thousand enemy dead in this city,
  General," Beth informed Ben. "So far."
  "Tell the other batt comms to attack their
targets commencing at dawn tomorrow. We'll
catch our breath here for a couple of days and then move
on."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Gloucester had a population of about seventy
thousand or so before the Great War. So there's sure
to be some nasties waiting for us. Send Buddy and his
Rats on down to check it out. No heroics on his
part, Corrie. Those are my orders. Just check it
out and report."
  "Right, sir."
  Mr. Carrington strolled in. "I've just met
two of the most astonishing people I have ever encountered," he
said. "A man named Emil and his keeper, a
beatnik, I believe, called Thermopolis. This
Emil fellow, is he mentally sound?"
  Everyone in the room laughed. Ben said, "There are
some who would argue the point. But yes, he's stable
... most of the time, that is."
  "Tell me about this Thermopolis."
  "He's a hippie. And he'll go back to being a
fulltime hippie when the wars are won."
  "I see. I think. I would have stayed to chat
longer with him but that horrible music that was playing in the
background rather jangled my nerves. What is that
incomprehensible throbbing called? It sounded
like fourteen cats fighting over a ball of yarn."
  "It's rock and roll, sort of. But not the rock
and roll that I grew up with."
  "If one could somehow contain that wailing and blithering
and caterwauling and ship it to
  the enemy, the war could be won without firing another
shot."
  Thermopolis and Emil came in and Carrington
skirted them carefully and went outside.
  "That's a strange man," Emil said, jerking a
thumb toward Carrington. "Talks funny, too."
  Carrington beat it back inside the CP.
"We're being invaded by a band of leather-jacketed
hooligans on motorbikes," he announced.
  Ben chuckled. "No. They're part of this outfit.
That's Axehandle and his boys and girls."
  Carrington shook his head. "You have a very strange
army, General. Very odd indeed."
  Ben enjoyed a laugh at that. "You'll get no
argument from me on that, Mr. Carrington. But you'll
have to admit, we get the job done."
  The old man smiled. "That you do, General. That
you do."
  Ben toured the devastated city. It was evident that
his artillery had destroyed a lot of
buildings, but what was even more evident was that the
creeps and crud had done a lot more damage over
the years. It was vandalism for the sake of vandalism,
without reason.
  All the churches were gone. Every last one of them, from
once magnificent cathedrals to small chapels
... the street punks and creeps had destroyed them
all. In museums and art galleries and curio
shops, it was the same. Paintings and valuable books
had been ripped and slashed and burned. Statuary had
been toppled and smashed.
  Now only occasional gunshots could be heard; the
Rebels had just about concluded the mopping up of
Bristol. No prisoners taken.
  "He's saving us for last," Butch told a
gathering of warlords and self-styled mercenaries and
street punks. "Just like I figured he would."
  "All them people that was in Bristol," one warlord said,
"and no more'un a couple of hundred got out
alive. Scares me. It really does."
  "It ought to, mate," Butch said. "And you stay
scared, too. It might help keep you alive. You
keep this in your mind: the Rebels ain't taking no
prisoners. None. The deadline is past. Those are
hard people out there, being commanded by a hard man.
And don't think you can surrender to no English man
or woman, neither. "Cause most of them,
more'un likely, will kill you just as fast as a
Rebel. They ain't likely to forget what-all we
done over the years. Everywhere the Rebels go,
they're arming the people. They're settin" up what they
done in America. Them outpost things."
  "Butch, I got me an idea," Morelund
said. "Let's let Raines and his Rebels have the
island. Hell, man, we've ruint it anyways.
We'll go to Hawaii."
  The roomful of punks all began talking at
once. Finally Butch shouted them into silence. "That's
a great idea, Morelund. Now maybe you'll
tell me how we're gonna get there."
  "By ship!" Morelund said, exasperation in his
voice.
  "Do you know how to run one?" Butch challenged.
  "Well ... no. But, hell, they can't be that
hard."
  "Does
anybody
here know how to run one of those great ships?" Butch
asked.
  No one did.
  "Well, folks," Butch said, eyeballing the
motley-looking group. "I guess that means we
fight right here on English soil."
  "I guess that means a lot of us will die right here
on English soil," another said in a quiet
voice.
  "That's right," Butch said. "When civilization
broke down, we all had a choice. Didn't
nobody force us into doing what we did."
  "But we had to eat," a street punk said. "There
wasn't no jobs or nothin'. There wasn't no
law to make us behave. They wasn't nothin'."
  Butch leaned his elbows on the lectern and
chuckled. "Eakes, that is the biggest pile of
horse-shit I've heard in a long time. There
ain't no excuse for what we done. There ain't
any. We're criminals because that's what we want
to be. We've had a long run. More'un ten
years. Now it's time to pay the price for that
decision."
  "Killin' us is a goddam high price to pay,"
Eakes said sullenly.
  "And how many people have you killed over the years?"
Butch asked, a smile on his cruel mouth.
"Fifty, a hundred, a thousand? More than
that? Probably. How do you excuse that?"
  "We ain't axin' for no prizes for what we
done," a burly warlord called Santo said, standing
up. "But now that we's about to be caught or killed,
why can't the law treat us like they used to? I mean,
give us some jail time and rehabilitate us and
turn us loose?"
  Butch laughed. "They really did a splendid
job of rehabbing us, didn't they? Aren't we a
bunch of model citizens? We've really worked
to restore law and order to England, haven't we?"
He slammed a
  fist onto the lectern. "God damn it, people!"
Butch shouted. "We're criminals. We're
rapists. We're kidnappers. We're slavers.
We're murderers and street punks and thieves and
everything that's mean and rotten and no good in this world. And
we became that because we
wanted
it. Stop lying to yourselves. Make up your minds that
we've got to contain Raines and the Rebels, giving
us time to get across the Channel, or we're going
to die. All of us."
  "We're gonna die anyway you cut it up,"
a street punk said. "We can't beat the
Rebs. I'd as soon you just shot me now and got it
over with."
  "All right," Butch said. He jerked out a .44
magnum and blew half the punk's head off. The
street punk's feet flew out from under him as his
brains splattered those closest to him. He hit the
floor, dead cooling meat.
  "Anybody else?" Butch challenged.
  The roomful of crap was silent for a moment.
"Jesus, Butch!" Eakes finally said.
  "Don't Jesus me." Butch's voice was as
hard as the lead that had punched through the punk's head.
"I ain't your lord. But I just might turn out to be
your savior. You've all got to listen to me and do
what I fucking tell you to do! A long time ago there
was some Yank that said we either hang together or hang
separately. Well, that fits us nicely. If
we don't hang together, we shall certainly hang one
by one."
  "All right. All right!" Duane said, getting
to his feet. "I vote we make Butch the
supreme commander of this army. We all follow his
orders and do it without question."
  "I second that," Mack said.
  The vote was taken and it was unanimous.
  "All I can say is, I'll do my best,"
Butch said solemnly. "Now somebody drag
Jakes out of here before he starts to stink. We got a
lot of planning to do."
  Ben and his battalions headed for Birmingham, which
was not going to be nearly as easily taken as
Bristol.
  Birmingham was the second largest city in England
before the Great War, with a population of over a
million. While many of the gangs that had occupied the
city had fled to London, several thousand hard-core
gang members still remained.
  The Rebels rolled through quiet little English
villages on their way to the city, many of the
villages ravaged and empty, homes and shops
looted dozens of times and then burned or vandalized.
The Rebels had extra food trucks with each
battalion, and stopped often, handing out food to people who
had been beaten and enslaved, and were gaunt and starving.
  Ben recalled that piece of pie the elderly
woman had given him days back and wondered if
she'd used the last bit of food in the cottage
to make it. Ben got more and more depressed as the
miles rolled by.
  "All right," Ben finally said, still many
miles away from Birmingham. "Hold up here."
He gathered Dan and Georgi around him and then got
all the batt comms on the horn. "We've got
to assist the British people in putting their lives back
in order. It isn't enough that we roll through
victorious and
  hand out food and clothing and then we're off again.
We're going to have to stop and linger; study what each
village and town needs, and then do it. We've
chased the creeps and the punks into the cities. Fine.
Let them stay there. We'll get to them in due time.
First, let's help the good citizens of this country."
  "General," Corrie said, "Buddy reporting a
town just up ahead where the warlord didn't leave. He
and about fifty of his thugs are still in the town."
  "Well, tell Buddy to take the town."
  "By force?"
  "Corrie, that's usually the way we do it."
  "Buddy says you'd better come up there,
General."
  "Give me that headset, Corrie. Eagle
to Rat. What's your problem?" Ben listened for a
moment. "Ten? Ten what, boy?" He listened for a
few seconds. "Are you saying that the warlord is ten
or twelve years old? Are you putting
me on? Fine. The same to you, too. Good. I'll
just do that." He handed the set back to Corrie.
"Mount up."
  The long columns of Rebels and their mighty
machines of war rumbled forward, stopping at the edge
of the town. Ben got out and walked to his son's
side. Buddy handed him binoculars and Ben focused
them, then refocused them. He sighed and returned the
binoculars.
  "Those are children down there, boy."
  "That's what I told you, Father. Eight, nine,
ten years old."
  "Well-armed children."
  "I believe I said that, too."
  "That's a goddamn fifty-caliber machine gun
  they've got set up on the edge of town."
  "I know, Father. It took four of them to carry it
over there and set it up."
  "Well, how do you plan on taking the town,
boy?"
  "Me? I'm not running this show. You are. You
take the town."
  "Corrie," Ben said, stalling for time, "do we have
communications with the, uh, enemy down there?"
  "Yes, sir," she said with a smile.
  "You think this is funny, Corrie?"
  "Yes, sir." Then she doubled over laughing.
  Dan strolled up and assessed the situation. He
took a bullhorn and walked to the head of the
column. "You children down there!" he called, his
voice booming over the quiet landscape. "This is
Colonel Dan Gray. Formerly of the Queen's
Special Air Service. Now you've all had
your fun playing at war. It's time to settle down
and get back to school and games and things like that. War
is serious business. Very serious business. You children
could easily be hurt playing with those dangerous
weapons. Come on out now and we'll have some tea and
cakes and assist in finding proper homes for you. I
..."
  The big fifty started yowling, the slugs clanking
off tanks and coming dangerously close to Dan.
"Son of a bitch!" the usually unflappable
Englishman yelled, and dived head-first into a
water-filled ditch.
  The Rebels close in hit the ground and hugged
tanks for cover. Dan lifted his head out of the water
and yelled, "I'll whale the tar out of you children!
  They'll be some sore butts this evening, I
promise you that."
  The fifty hammered again, the slugs knocking
chunks out of the stone wall above Dan's head.
  "Blow it out your arse!" a child's voice came
over the speaker. "This is General Bennie Mays.
This town is ours. Move on with you."
  Buddy, lying on the road, turned his head to stare
at his father, who was also on his belly, on the road.
"Suggestions, Father?"
  "At the moment, son, no."
Chapter Five
  The column backed up and Dan sent a few of
his Scouts in to grab a kid. "And try not to hurt
any of them," Dan added. "I want that pleasure
when I lay a belt across their butts."
  The Scouts brought back two, a girl, ten
years old, and a boy, nine. The Scouts were bleeding
from being bitten and kicked, numerous times.
  "Get those bite wounds tended to promptly,"
Dan told his people.
  The kids were brought before Ben. They were defiant,
but scared as well. Ben looked at the weapons the
Scouts had taken from them, then stared down at the
raggedy and obviously malnourished boy and girl.
"All right, now, children. What's your story?"
  The boy and girl exchanged glances and
remained silent. Ben pointed to a camp table and
chairs that had been set up. "Sit," he told
them.
  While the Scouts had been gone, Ben had
ordered hot food prepared. Two heaping plates
of food were set before the kids and two tall
glasses of cold milk.
  "Damn me eyes," the girl said. "Wouldya just
look at them vittles."
  "Help yourselves," Ben told them. "There's
plenty more where that came from."
  "This real milk?" the boy asked.
  "Honest-to-God, from a cow."
  Ben watched them dig in. They had never been
taught table manners-or had forgotten them, ignoring
the fork and grasping the spoon like a shovel. Their
clothing was nothing more than rags, their faces and hands
grimy with dirt, and both of them had fleas. Ben
resisted an urge to scratch.
  "Do you suppose your friends down in the town would like
something to eat?" Ben asked, sitting down at the table
with a cup of coffee.
  "I "magine," the girl said. "They ain't
nothin" to eat on in the town. Them people's poorer
than us."
  "Yeah," the boy said. "All they got is some
bread, and not much of that."
  Ben was silent for a time, watching the hungry kids
wolf down their food. They were just kids; they both
had milk mustaches.
  When they had slowed in chowing down, Ben asked,
"You been in the outlaw business long, kids?"
  "We been survivin' ever since I can
remember," the boy said. "Runnin' from slavers,
runnin' from them cannibals, runnin' from men who
want to do bad things to us. All the time runnin'.
Finally we come up on Bennie. Then we found some
more kids and hooked up with them. Then the Yanks
invaded and there was guns everyplace. We pick
"em up when we find 'em. You're General Ben
Raines, ain't you?"
  "Yes. I am."
  "You gonna kill us?" the girl asked.
  "Of course not," Ben said with a smile. "I'm not
  here to hurt innocent people. Only bad people."
  "Well, you found an island with a shitpot full of
'em," the boy said.
  Dan had changed into dry clothing and walked up.
The girl spotted him first. "Uh-oh," she said.
"I think we're in trouble, Jackie."
  "No, you're not," Dan said, smiling at them.
"Not unless you were behind that machine gun, shooting at
me."
  "Oh, no. That wasn't us. We're not big enough
to handle it," the girl said.
  "What are your names?" Ben asked.
  "He's Jackie," the girl said, jerking a
thumb at the boy. "I'm Lacy."
  "No last names?" Dan asked, taking a seat.
  Lacy shrugged her slender shoulders. "We
don't know them if we have any."
  "Dear God," Dan said.
  "God?" Jackie spat out the word. "There ain't
no God, mister. All that talk is nothin" but
sheep-shit."
  "We can talk about that later," Ben said, noting the
shocked look on Dan's face at the boy's
outburst. "Lacy, tell me something, please. And
tell me the truth."
  "You want to know if we hurt anybody down in
that town, right?"
  "You're very quick. Yes. That's part of what I'd
like to know."
  "Naw. We didn't hurt nobody. We
ain't never hurt no good people. We wasn't
even gonna take their food, "cause they had so
little of it. Bennie's scared of you and your soldiers,
though. He's ... well, he's about half crazy.
He's the oldest. He's about ... oh, twelve,
I guess. The cannibals, they eat his
  parents. Him and his sister escaped and the gangs
caught them. They done bad things to both Bennie and
his sister. They left him in a ditch thinkin" he was
about dead. He ain't never seen his sister since then.
What they done to him, I guess it messed up his
head. He don't trust no full-growed person.
I asked him once what he was gonna do when he
growed up. He went crazy, sort of. Screamin'
and hollerin' and jumpin' up and down. Then he just
fell down on the ground and went to jerkin' and foamin'
at the mouth and then got stiff as a board. Then
pretty soon he just got up and went on about his
business."
  "He's sick, Lacy," Ben said. "He
probably has what is known as epilepsy. We
have medication for that. But how would we get it to him?"
  "No. He ain't got that neither. What he's
got is a big knot on the side of his head. And
it gets bigger ever' month. Right here." She pointed
to her temple.
  "Tumor," Dan said. "He's probably
epileptic as well."
  Ben nodded his agreement. Jackie was busy working
on his second plate of food. Lacy said,
"Stop that, Jackie. You'll get sick and you know
it." When he continued gobbling down the food, she
jerked the plate from him just as Buddy walked up and
whispered in his father's ear.
  "All right," Ben said. "Do it."
  Buddy walked away.
  Ben smiled at Lacy. Her hair was so dirty
he couldn't tell what color it was. "How would you
kids like a hot bath and clean clothing?"
  Lacy narrowed her eyes. "Let me tell you
something,
  General. I ain't no whoor and I ain't
suckin' dicks for food or clothin', neither."
  "Good Lord!" Dan said, jumping up from the chair.
  "Hey," Lacy said, cocking her head and staring
strangely at Dan. "Where are you people from,
anyways? How do you figure a lot of kids stay
alive "ceptin" by usin' their bodies? But I
tell you what: I can write my name and read some
words. I taught myself that."
  A lot of Rebels had gathered around,
silently listening to the words of the kids.
  "That's good, Lacy," Ben said, his voice
husky. He cleared his throat. "Lacy, no one
here is going to molest you or make any kind of
sexual suggestion to you or to Jackie or to any child,
for that matter. We no longer tolerate that kind of
behavior in America. People who molest children don't
live very long in the new society. All I asked
was if you would like a hot bath and some clean clothing."
  "I sure would," Jackie said. "I got fleas
on me and I stink."
  Lacy stared at Ben through wise eyes. "You're
not a devil."
  Ben laughed. "Well, now, some people might
disagree with you on that. But who told you I was a
devil?"
  "Bennie."
  "Well, Bennie is an awfully sick boy.
And if he'll let us, we'll help him."
  "He won't," Jackie said. He reached for the
plate of food that Lacy had taken from him and she
slapped his hand away. "I'm still hungry!" he
protested.
  "Save it for later. They'll be a lot more
hungry times, boy-o."
  "No, there won't," Dan said, his voice
surprisingly gentle. "Your hungry days are
over."
  Jersey smiled at Lacy and the girl returned
the smile.
  Jersey stood up, walked around the table, and
held out her hand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned
up."
  Dan held out his hand to Jackie. "Come on,
lad. It's bath time for you."
  Both kids stood up and turned to go. Lacy
paused and looked back at Ben. "You sent that
handsome young man off to take the town, didn't you?"
  "He's my son, Lacy. And yes, I did.
But it will be done without anyone being hurt. I
promise you that."
  "I don't know why I believe you, but I do."
She and Jersey strolled off toward a hot bath.
  Jackie jerked away from Dan and made another
grab for the plate of food and Ben snatched it away
just in time. "You'll have plenty of food later on,
Jackie. You, and all your friends down in the town.
That's a promise."
  "We ain't the only ones hungry in this land," the
boy replied.
  "I know."
  When Ben again saw Jackie, about an hour
later, he at first didn't recognize him as the
boy walked hand in hand with Dan.
  Rebels began bringing snatched and gagged kids
  out of the town, some of them kicking and biting and
scratching, most of them coming along peacefully as they
realized the Rebels, who had slipped up on them
like ghosts, were not going to hurt them. They were first fed,
then deloused and bathed, then they received haircuts and
clean, fresh clothing. Clothing for the kids was beginning
to be a problem because of their size, so Rebels took
out needle and scissors and thread and began altering
spare uniforms and what civilian clothing they had with
them.
  When the young General Bennie Mays began an
inspection of the town he thought was his, he was shocked
to find that the only territory he now controlled
comprised about one block on the edge of the village and
his troops now numbered seven. Behind him lay a
solid line of Rebels. He was so frustrated he
put his swollen head down on a stone and wept.
  "Come on, Bennie," a girl's voice reached
him through amplification. "These people ain't gonna hurt
nobody. They're real nice folks.
They done give us food and clothes and treated us
right. Give it up, Bennie. They got doctors
who say they'll help your head."
  "Turn the machine gun around and kill them
Rebels who slipped up behind us," Bennie ordered
through his tears.
  But his troops refused. "We're givin' it
up, Bennie," an older boy said. "All of us.
Chuck just jammed the big gun. It ain't gonna
work no more. It's busted."
  "You try to walk away from me and I'll kill
you!" Bennie raged through his aching head.
  "Then you ain't no better than the people who's been
chasin' us all this time," another boy said.
  "I didn't mean it," Bennie said, laying his
pistol on the ground. "I didn't mean it. I'm
scared."
  They argued for a few moments, not paying any
attention to their surroundings. When they looked up again,
they were completely ringed by Rebels.
  "Steady now, boys," Buddy said. "Keep your
guns on the ground and stand up slow. We have hot
food, clean clothing, and baths waiting for you.
You're safe now. Everything is
all right.
I promise you." He waved another contingent of
Rebels forward.
  The boys had never seen so many soldiers. It
seemed to them they were looking at thousands. Actually,
it was only about twenty-four hundred making up the
three battalions. But to the kids it was much more than
that.
  They surrendered without incident. Even Bennie was
awed by the Rebels. The Rebel doctors checked
Bennie and after a bath, sent him back to the main
hospital after alerting a neurosurgery team. They
gave him a tablet that soon put him to sleep so the
helicopter ride would not frighten him to death.
  Ben rode into the small town and talked with the people
there. They were in very bad shape, with no food, and
until the Rebels arrived, no hope of finding
any. It was late fall in England; the winds were
cold, and soon snows would fly. The punks and
crud had taken everything the villagers had grown that
summer, leaving them nothing.
  Ben sent the kids to the rear, left a team behind in
the town to assist the villagers, and pushed on.
  All over England, Rebels were finding the most
  appalling of conditions among the survivors. It
was not that the people did not have the will to fight, for they
certainly did, they just didn't have anything to fight
with. When the world fell apart a decade back, those
of a criminal nature sought out and found guns
by raiding military armories and police stations, or
just killing those who had guns and taking them.
  The governments of America, Canada, England,
France, Germany, and many other countries had banned
the personal ownership of firearms, so when the Great
War came, the law-abiding citizens of those
countries got what they always got from big
governments: fucked.
  And the lawless took over.
  "Corrie," Ben said. "Order every ship that can
sail to put to sea and bring back food and clothing and
blankets and fuel. We'll divert some of the
materials that were to go to Ireland over here. We're
going to need massive shipments of medicines,
including vitamins. We're going to need flour ...
oh, shit! We need everything."
  In the cities, in now armed and fortified camps
of the creeps and crud and human garbage, the warlords
monitored the almost stalled advance of the Rebels.
They knew that once the Rebels personally witnessed
the terrible conditions in which the lawless had left the
citizens, they would be fighting with deep
rage in them. There would be no mercy, no pity, no
compassion shown the lawless.
  The thugs listened to their short-wave radios and
cringed at the news: Pontypool, Wales.
Hanged ten this day. Ross On Wye. Shot
twelve. Tiverton. Executed nine.
  "Where in the hell is the lawyers and appeals and
such?" a thug questioned.
  "I think they're keeping their heads down and their
mouths shut," another punk answered. "I think
Ben Raines would just as soon shoot a lawyer as he
would us."
  "When's he gonna come at us?" Butch
Smathers was asked.
  "We're last," Butch said. "Raines is
gonna save us for last, knowin' that our food
supply will be down to nothing in the dead of winter.
We'll be cold and hungry, and our morale will be
low. Oh, he's a smart one, he is. He's a
black-hearted, ruthless man for sure, when it comes
to dealin' with the likes of us. We got to start killin'
dogs and cats and rats and smokin' and jerkin' the
meat. Tell them in the countryside to start roundin'
up all the cows and sheep and drivin' them close to the
city for pasture. It's gonna be a cold
winter, mates."
  Ben was studying maps when Ike and West walked
into his CP and poured coffee. A heavy mantle
of frost had covered the land that morning, and Rebels
were in winter clothes.
  "It's gettin' plumb borin' out there, Ben," the
Mississippi-born-and-reared Ike said.
"Resistance is the lightest I've ever seen it.
Went all day yesterday without firin' a shot."
  "Yes," Ben said. "But we've still got about
seventy percent of the nation to clean up. Look here.
Our recon flights show a battle line stretching
north to south from Burnham Market down to Brighton.
I think Butch's plan is to have the people still occupying the
larger cities to fall back as we take over, then
they'll hold while London is evacuated
by sea."
  "And they'll do that under the blanket of the nastiest,
foulest weather," Dan added, sipping a cup of
tea. "Our gunships will be grounded and we don't have
enough patrol boats yet to be very effective.
Smathers is a thug and a killer, but he is anything
but a fool."
  "Reading between the lines, you've found something more about
him."
  "All of it unpleasant. He's ex-army.
Paratroops. Went to a lot of special
schools, most of them dealing with antiterrorist
movements. He was in Northern Ireland. The
military had to pull him out; he was too quick
to shoot, and enjoyed inflicting pain on people. But the
real reason they pulled him out was because he raped a
thirteen-year-old girl. He claimed he was
interrogating her; Army doctors confirmed she had
been raped and sodomized. He was court-martialed
and ordered cashiered out of the service. But before that could
happen, the world blew up in everybody's face.
There is more, if you wish to hear it."
  "I've heard enough now to look for a corner to puke
in," Ben said.
  "Yes," West said. "What a delightful
person. I've done some terrible things in my life,
but I rather like to believe I conducted myself in an
honorable fashion." He smiled. "Most of the
time."
  "Let me add just one more thing," Dan said. "The
man has the I.q. of a genius."
  "That's not surprising," Lamar Chase said.
"Many criminals do. All kinds of theories about
that-which I shall not go into at this time."
  "Thank the Lord for small favors," Ike said.
  Dr. Chase smiled sweetly at him. The
smile resembled
  that of a weasel leaving a henhouse. "Isn't it about
time for your annual hemorrhoid check, Ike?"
  "That's your ass, Lamar!" Ike told him.
  "No," Chase replied. "That
your
ass, sailor."
  "I got to go," Ike said, standing up. "See you
people."
  He vacated the room to the sounds of Chase
chuckling.
  "You wouldn't really do that to Ike, would you,
Lamar?" Ben asked.
  Chase smiled again. Very sweetly.
  "Yeah, you would," Ben muttered.
Chapter Six
  Slowly the Rebels began working their way north
and Thermopolis and his Eight Battalion joined with
Ben and his command as they worked their way toward
Birmingham. Wales was now a secure area. And a
well-armed area. Ships were docking daily, bringing
in much-needed food and clothing and medicines and
blankets and fuel.
  Ben had ordered the battalions of the Free
Irish, along with Danjou's Seven, Rebet's
Six, and two battalions of the BRF, to face
off against those punks, crud, and crap who had
strung out along Butch's battle lines north
to south, and not to let anyone through from the west. He
told the batt comms to heavily arm each village
they cleared and to alert the people about what they were doing.
  Ben had a hunch that the villagers would take care
of any retreating punks long before they ever reached the
Rebel positions.
  That news did not surprise Butch Smathers.
"Oh, that Raines is a sly one, love," he said
to Lulu. "And low-down dirty mean, too."
  "Let's get out, Butch," Lulu urged. "Just
say to hell with it and leave."
  Butch shook his head. "Raines is keeping his
helicopters and spotter planes in the air over the
channel twenty-four hours a day, baby. And
he's taking his good time in getting to us. He's
deliberately letting us sweat. That's a wicked
man, Lulu."
  Lulu was scared and made no attempt to hide
it. Butch put an arm around her waist. "I've
got a plan, baby. Some of us are going
to make it. Not a great lot, but some of us. We'll
get out. I promise you."
  The thought of changing their lives and becoming
law-abiding citizens never entered the mind of either of
them.
  The battalions of Rebels and the ever-growing
numbers of the British Resistance Forces ringed the
city of Birmingham. No one was getting out, and
only the Rebels and the BRF wanted in.
Coventry, Nuneaton, Dudley, and Walsall
had fallen to the Rebels. South of them, punks and
crud and creeps had fled east, toward London.
But they found their way blocked by troops. They
tried to overtake villages and towns and were shot
to pieces by the townspeople. Those taken alive were
hanged.
  The citizens of England had endured too many
years of abuse at the hands of the lawless to forget or
forgive. Already, even before the land was cleared of the
criminal element, people were rewriting the law books and
electing officials and setting up police forces.
But as Ben Raines had
  done over in the Colonies, the laws would be
few, they would be clearly understood, they would not be
ponderous; and the police, for the most part, would
be used to come in after the fact, gather up the bodies
of those who could not or would not obey even the simplest
of laws, and leave.
  And as in America, there were those who did not agree
with the new order and refused to adopt the harsh
measures. That was their right and no one tried to stop
them. No one helped them, either. They were cold stone
alone in hard times. They received no aid from the
Rebels: no food, no blankets, no grain,
no medical aid for the adults, no nothing. The
Rebels owned the bat, the ball, and the glove-you could
either play the game their way, or go home.
  On a cold, blustery late fall morning,
Ben stood on the outskirts of Birminghan, lowered
his binoculars, and gave the orders. "Commence
shelling."
  Everything from 203mm artillery to 87mm
mortars began dropping their deadly payloads into the
heart of the city. The barrage was a never-ending roll
and crash of thunder and smoke and flames and
destruction.
  To those trapped in the city, it tore not only at
flesh and muscle and bone, it ripped nerves raw.
There was no place to run and hide and feel safe;
one could not get away from the booming crash.
The barrage went on all day, all night, all the
next day, and all the next night. Then, silence.
  From the center of the city, running for blocks in all
directions, there was nothing but rubble and
  smoke and flames and death. Those left alive in
the city staggered out into the streets and stood in fear and
awe, gazing through glazed eyes at what Hell must
look like.
  "Tanks in," Ben ordered. "Let's go."
  Resistance was almost nil. En masse, the
survivors of the continuous forty-eight-hour
bombardment stood in the rubble-strewn streets, their
shaking hands in the air. Hoping that the Rebels would not
shoot them on the spot. Weeping and trembling and
pissing and stinking in their fear. And praying that
Rebels would take them and not the BRF.
  "Turn them over to the British," Ben ordered.
  "Then kill me now!" one outlaw screamed in
panic. "Them people will hang us."
  "That's your problem," Ben told him in a cold
voice. "And I don't want to hear a slopjar
full of shit about your troubled childhood, or that the
coach wouldn't let you play, or that the prettiest
girl in class wouldn't give you the time of day."
  "You'll rot in hell for what you're
doin', General," a woman told him, standing with her
hands in the air. "The Lord preached love."
  "I'm not the Lord," Ben told her. "If you've
got a complaint, take it up with the real article.
You'll be face to face with Him soon."
  The prisoners were taken away to be tried in a
British court of law. Most would hang or be
shot, some would be tossed in the jug for the rest of their
lives. A few of the younger ones would be given a
second chance.
  The Rebels and the BRF began digging out the
  creeps who had retreated to the bowels of the city.
They pumped teargas and pepper gas and carbon
monoxide into the sewers and tunnels and basements and
shot the Believers as they staggered out. The Rebels
had learned a long time back there was no point in
trying to rehabilitate a creepie. It was a
waste of time.
  The Rebels found several locations where the
creeps had kept their human food source. Most
of the men and women and children had been reduced to babbling
idiots or something very close to it. They were turned
over to the British. There was very little anyone could do for
them except institutionalize them and care for them as
humanely as possible.
  The troops pulled out of the city. It was dead.
  "Let them in London sweat," Ben issued the
orders. "We take Scotland next."
  The Rebels and the BRF spread out west to east and
began their slow march north.
  "Looks like my ass is next," Glasgow
Scotty radioed Butch.
  "Looks like it," Butch replied.
  "Paratroops into Aberdeen," Ben ordered.
"Secure the seaport and the airport."
  "Watch for paratroopers," Butch radioed.
"Raines is a sneaky bastard. He'll send
jumpers in to attack from your rear."
  "Once the city is secure," Ben told
Dan, who would be commanding the jumpers, "start securing
everything north of the Grampian Mountains."
  "I've pulled my people out of the north," Scotty
said. "We're concentrated in and around Glasgow."
  "You're making a mistake," Butch warned him.
"Get the hell out while you still have time."
  "And go where?" Scotty asked bitterly. "That
son of a bitch who runs Edinburgh hates me as
much as I hate Ben Raines. I can't head over
there. We've done took everything worth takin' in the
north. I sure as hell ain't going
to North Ireland. So where does that leave me?"
  "Fucked, I guess," Butch said.
  "That just about sums it up," Scotty replied.
"Glasgow Scotty out."
  Butch clipped the mic and sighed. "Raines has
got a lot of England to cover before he reaches
Scotland. But reach it he will. I don't like you,
Scotty. But I wouldn't wish Ben Raines and the
Rebels on anybody."
  "Butch! Butch!" an aide called. "Switch
to our coastline frequency."
  "Go ahead, coastwatcher."
  "Raines has got a whole bunch of old
rust-buckets runnin', Butch. He's stretchin'
them out from just off the Suffolk coast all the way down
to Kent. There must be a hundred of them. He's got
them rigged for helicopter landin's. Got pads on
them and everything. And they're all armed with heavy
machine guns and mortars and stuff."
  "The choppers?"
  "No, God damn it, Butch! The
ships!
They're floating forts. He's taken what looks
like turret guns off old British tanks and
mounted them
  suckers on the ships. And he's got twin
40mm Bofers on "em, too. Butch, he's
trapped
us."
  "Just calm down and hang tight, coast-watcher.
Keep me informed. Butch out."
  "Has he, Butch?" Lulu asked.
  "Has he what?"
  "Trapped us."
  "He's put the lid on, Lulu. But he
hasn't screwed it down tight. Not yet. He's
got to be thin. Real thin. He's got troops
all over the island, and now he's got them at
sea."
  "And that means what, Butch?"
  "I don't know. Maybe we can punch through and
scatter, get away that way. I don't know. I
got to think on this, Lulu. Raines don't hardly
make mistakes. But he may have made one this
time."
  Not really. The crews manning the ships were not
Rebels. The blockade was Mr. Carrington's
idea, and the average age of the crews on board ship
and behind the guns was sixty-five. It turned out that
Mr. Carrington was actually a retired
British admiral. He'd been a young
sixteen-year-old sailor stranded on shore and had
picked up the first rifle he'd found and fought with the
Army. Now, some sixty years later, he just rounded
up a bunch of his cronies, from all branches of
service, and put them to work. They all needed something
to do anyway.
  "Look lively on deck, boys!" Carrington
shouted from the bridge. "Stop that dawdling about and get
that equipment secured. Tight and right, now. Hop
to it."
  "Hop" was not the right choice of words, since some
of the men had trouble walking. But they managed. They were
British, after all.
  Back in the 1960's, it was "The Russians
are coming, the Russians are coming." Now it was,
"The Rebels are coming, the Rebels are coming." The
Rebels were rolling thirty and forty miles a day
north, oftentimes without even firing a shot. When the
punks and crud and crap heard the Rebels were in
striking distance, their resolve broke wide open and
they fled north, toward Scotland.
  Ben called a halt when he discovered they were
outdistancing their supplies. He halted the
convoys and told Ike and Georgi and
West to take their battalions and plenty of
artillery and see about Liverpool, which from his position
lay just about due west.
  "And check out the tunnel that connects Liverpool
with Birkenhead, if it's still intact. If it is,
that's where you'll find some creepies."
  "And the Beatles," Ike said with smile. His
smile faded. "If the city's full of crud,
Ben?"
  "Take it down."
  "Sherwood Forest is not far from here," Beth said.
"That sure rings a bell with me. Why is that,
General?"
  Ben smiled. "Robin Hood and his Merry Men,
Beth. Take some people and go look at it if you like."
  She shook her head. "No. I'd rather keep it the
  way my mother used to read it to me. I remember
now. I think it was my mother."
  Like a lot of people who were young when the Great War
hit, Beth had blocked out a lot of her past. It
was the kids who had just been born when the world
collapsed who had the worst of it by far-like Lacy and
Jackie and Bennie.
  "Be a hell of a fight when we do hit
Scotty's position," Thermopolis said
that evening. He and Rosebud had come over to visit
friends in Ben's One Battalion.
  "It'll be a scrap for sure." He looked up
as Corrie walked in.
  "Dan and his jumpers have secured the airport and the
seaport at Aberdeen, General. Resistance was
practically nil. Planes will be leaving in the
morning to resupply him, and the ships that you ordered out
of port ahead of Dan are only a few hours
away from Aberdeen." She hesitated and Ben
caught it.
  "What's wrong, Corrie?"
  "We're getting a lot of traffic out of the
Continent, General-none of it good. Dr. Chase
says they may be facing another plague over there,
one that could make the Black Death outbreak in the
fourteenth century look like a case of chicken
pox."
  "What did he call it, Corrie?"
  "Bubonic and pneumonic. He's ordered
vaccines to be flown over here from the States,
General."
  "Flown?"
  "Yes, sir. Another group just graduated
flight school and they're rarin" to go."
  "All right, Corrie, thank you. Oh, have
Lamar crank up some labs in Ireland and start
producing the vaccine ... why are you smiling?"
  "He did that yesterday. But he needs whatever is
coming over on the planes. How do you treat this crap,
anyway, General?"
  "Hell, I don't know. With antibiotics,
I suppose. And I'm sure that old goat will
personally line up all the troops to see me get
the first shot-in the butt."
  "Drop your pants and bend over," Chase told
Ben the following morning.
  "Well, at least you didn't line up the
troops and have them watch," Ben said.
  "I thought about it."
  "I'm sure you did."
  Chase popped him and Ben straightened up.
"What is that stuff, Lamar, antibiotics?"
  "Antibiotics comwiththe exception of penicillin
-- are used to
treat
the plague, Ben. What I gave you is a vaccine
to prevent you from getting the disease. I've got teams
setting up now all over Ireland and England to give
shots. Get this island secured quickly,
Ben. And I mean fast. We've got to inoculate
every decent man, woman, and child or we're going
to lose thousands."
  "And be at risk ourselves?" Ben added.
  "Not really. It's controllable. What we've
got to watch out for is the pneumonic strain. It's
nearly always fatal."
  "Why doesn't penicillin work? I thought that was the
magic bullet."
  Chase sighed. "Because it isn't broad enough. Do
you know what I'm talking about?"
  "No."
  "Then stick to fighting wars and leave the medicine
to me."
  "Okay," Ben said with a smile.
  "I've started a flea eradication program and
while we're at it we'll give the dogs and cats
their shots for rabies and other canine and feline
diseases. And we'll start a rat eradication
program."
  "Good luck. That's been tried for centuries and
so far as I know, nothing has worked yet."
  "O ye of little faith," Chase told him, then
left the CP to start giving shots to Ben's team.
  Moments later Corrie came in,
rubbing her butt. "That man has the touch of someone
shoeing horses," she said, and Ben laughed at her.
  Beth followed her in. "Doctors give lousy
shots," she said, then lifted a clipboard. "Ike
reports contact with creepies only in
Liverpool. It seems that the street punks have
fled north into Scotland. Ike says the city
appears to have been trashed, much of it destroyed.
He's going to start bringing it down."
  "What's the word from Dan and his jumpers?"
  "He's secured his objective and is moving out
into the countryside."
  "Corrie, advise all batt comms that as soon
as the inoculation program is accomplished, we'll
move out. Ike, Georgi, and West will work the
coastline and we'll drive straight up from here.
Tina, Thermopolis, the Wolf Pack, and the
remainder of the BRF take the east side of the island
  and work north. We'll all regroup just south of the
Cheviot Hills for the assault on Scotland. And
Corrie ... advise Admiral Carrington and
all others patrolling the English Channel by sea
or air that no vessel is to be allowed through from the
Continent. We can't risk it. Order any boats,
ships, whatever, to turn around and head
back. If they refuse, sink them."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben sat alone in his office, staring out the window.
That was a hard decision to have to make, for not all the people
fleeing the Continent would be outlaws and creeps. But
when you ran the show, there was no one left to hand the
buck. You made the decision, and you lived with it.
  "Shit!" Ben muttered.
Chapter Seven
  Personal pets of the Rebels, and there were many, from
chickens to gerbils, were carefully bathed and sent
back to the rear for safekeeping in a flea-free and
rodent-free area. Smoot and Chester were being
looked after by the hospital staff at Chase's main
unit, which had now been relocated in Ireland.
  Ike had set back outside of Liverpool and
let artillery and gunships devastate the city before
moving his people in to mop it up. It had been a hard
decision to make until he got word that the punks and
creeps had destroyed the churches and twin
cathedrals overlooking the Mersey, had burned all
the libraries to the ground, and in general had left the
city in a shambles. It was a much easier decision
to make after that.
  The Rebels knew they had not killed
all the Believers in Liverpool; there would be a
few still lurking deep in the bowels of the city, in
dark, stinking pockets. But the back of the hideous
movement had been broken, and when or if the
Believers again surfaced, the English people would be
ready, and more important, able to deal with them.
  "Colonel Gray says it's very boring up at
his location," Corrie told Ben. "He' says
he's spending most of his time trying to see the Loch
Ness monster."
  "Tell him to take a picture of it when he
spots it. And to stand easy, we're just about ready
to move. Waiting on Ike to resupply."
  On a cold, sleety morning, Ben crawled
into his wagon and looked at Corrie. "Let's
head for Scotland, Corrie."
  She lifted her mic and the columns surged
forward.
  "Did you remember to pack the tire chains,
Cooper?" Jersey asked.
  "Of course I did. What do you think I am,
an idiot?"
  Jersey smiled. "I'll let that one just die a
natural death. I'm feeling charitable this morning."
  Ben looked at her. "Are you sick?"
  "Feel great. I've decided to stop picking on
Cooper."
  "I think she's in love," Cooper said.
  "I just decided to start picking on Cooper,"
Jersey said. "Will you stop tailgating the damn
tank, Cooper?"
  Ben smiled. Everything was back to normal with his
team.
  The columns moved through what before the war was a very
heavily populated area. Now many of the towns were
deserted, utterly void of human life.
  "Eerie," Beth muttered.
  Even Ben admitted to himself that the silent
  villages and towns were working on his nerves.
  In Bradford and Leeds, the Rebel Scouts
finally found signs of life and radioed the news
back to the columns. "It's a trap, Father,"
Buddy said, calling in from the outskirts of
Bradford. "They want us to think they are solid
citizen types. But they just don't fit the mold.
It's a setup."
  "Ten-four, son. Back out of there. We're
rolling up."
  The three Rebel battalions rolled forward,
but-toned-up tanks spearheading, and stopped
at the edge of town. Ben smiled at the huge
banner that the people had stretched high above and completely
across the highway.
WELCOME GENERAL RAINES AND THE
REBELS.
  "My, my," Cooper said. "I wonder if they
have soft drinks and cookies, too."
  "They must think we're fools," Jersey said.
  The Rebels waited, advancing no further,
watching the crowd of men and women at the edge of town,
and watching until they got awfully nervous.
  While Dan was north, commanding the jumpers, his
battalion had linked with Ben's One. Ben also had
a contingent of Free Irish and BRF people. Since
he was light on infantry, Ben was heavy with armor
and artillery.
  Ben was amused as they played the cat-and-mouse
game. But he quickly tired of it. He got out of the
wagon and took a speaker mic. "Give it up,
people. You haven't fired at us, so I'll give you the
benefit of the doubt as to your intentions.
  Put your hands in the air and walk toward us.
Issue orders to those in the town to do the same. Do it
right now, or I'll level the town with artillery."
  The fifty or so men and women-mostly
men -- standing under the welcome banner exchanged
glances. Ben watched through binoculars as they spoke
briefly, then slowly pulled pistols from under their
coats and laid them on the pavement. All around
them, in the weed-filled ditches and fields, men
rose slowly from hidden ambush positions, their hands
in the air, and walked slowly toward the line of
tanks.
  "Let me see the people in the town start coming out,"
Ben's voice boomed over the cold landscape.
  "I got to reach under my jacket for a
walkie-talkie!" a man yelled, the words just
reaching the column. "Don't shoot."
  "Go ahead," Ben told him.
  "Same thing is happening in Leeds," Corrie
informed him.
  "Dan's XO reporting a mass surrender.
Not a shot fired so far."
  People began filing out of the town, hands in the air.
  "Bring that man with the walkie-talkie to me," Ben
said.
  The two men faced each other. One was
clear-eyed, clean-shaven, wearing clean BDU'S.
The other stank of old sweat and grime, his clothing
filthy, his eyes red-rimmed, and his face
showing the strain of years of crime and brutality.
  "Children?" Ben asked him.
  "We got some," the man said. "They're with the
women. We didn't think it would work. But we
didn't know what else to do. What happens now?"
  "You will be turned over to British
authorities."
  "In other words, we're dead."
  "Some of you."
  "We had a good thing goin' "til you popped
in."
  Ben looked at the man's slovenly appearance.
"Yes. I can see that you have been living in the lap of
luxury."
  "Beats work," the outlaw admitted.
  "Any sickness among you?" Ben asked, not
putting any emphasis on his words.
  The outlaw shook his head. "Some of the kids got
colds, that's all. Nothin" major. What's the
matter, General comand yeah, I know who you are -- you
afraid we'll contaminate your pure and precious
do-gooder army?"
  "Something like that." Ben turned and walked away.
He leaned against a fender and sipped hot coffee,
watching as BRF people tied the prisoners'
hands behind their backs and tossed them into trucks for the
long ride back to a prison in the south of the country
where the slime and crud were being held, pending trial.
  Buddy returned from his inspection of the town.
"Filthy," he said. "These people lived like
degenerates. We don't want to bivouac here."
  "No. We'll roll on. Our eyes in the
skies say there is a town just north of here that
appears to be deserted. Check it out."
  The town was void of human life and had been for
some time. The Rebels found a huge mass grave
on the edge of town and Ben ordered it opened. The
bones of men and women and children and even family pets
were uncovered.
  "They appear to have been shot," a Rebel
doctor said, after an examination of a few of the
skeletons. "And judging from the size of this grave,
there must be several hundred people buried here."
  "Cover it up," Ben said. "We'll probably
never know the why of it."
  "General," Corrie said. "Our eyes in the
skies say there is a mass retreat north.
Highways are clogged with vehicles."
  "Where are Tina and Therm?"
  "They've pushed all the way up
to Middlesbrough."
  "We can't send gunships in to strafe those
retreating because we don't know for sure who they are
comeven though we all have a good idea." Ben looked
at a map. "There's ian airport near there. Have
planes pick them up and take them to Aberdeen.
Also have planes pick up Georgi's people and set
them down at this airstrip here." He pointed to a
small town just north and somewhat west of the
Grampian Mountains. "Tell them to carry all the
supplies they can stagger with. And start supply
planes moving now. When they are in position, have them
move toward the south. Dan and Tina's
battalions will secure Dundee and Perth,
Therm's bunch will join Georgi and move down
to here, on the west side of the mountain
  range. That will give us four battalions
to hold from the north while we use troops, armor,
and artillery to smash in from the south."
  Troops began moving and shifting while the punks
and creeps and crud in the cities listened and waited
nervously.
  "Raines is boxing them in," Butch said. "It
won't be long now." He looked at a clipboard
filled with dispatches from communications. "I
wish I could figure out what is happening on the
Continent. There appears to some type of mild panic
going on over there. But I haven't the foggiest what
it is. It's baffling."
  "Whatever could it be?" Lulu questioned.
  Butch shook his head. "I just don't know. But
I got a feelin' in my guts that it's bad."
  "Butch!" the radio operator called. "Two
of them old tubs out in the Channel just sank a
couple of boats trying to make it across."
  "That don't make any sense. Why would
anybody over
there
want to come over
here?"
He frowned, his brow furrowing. "Folks, this is
gettin' weird."
  Using a small two-engine plane, Ben
crisscrossed the island south of the Cheviot Hills
as his troops got into place. Jersey and Corrie
sat in the rear seats.
  "How come you picked this old baby to fly in,
General," the pilot asked, "instead of a chopper?
I mean, I'm flattered, but puzzled."
  "I don't trust helicopters," Ben
said. "Or boats. Helicopters fall out of the
sky and boats sink.
  One engine quits on this plane, you can fly it
with the other one. Both engines fail, it glides and you
can land it on a highway. Now you know."
  The pilot, who was both fixed-wing- and
chopper-qualified, laughed. "Well ... I
guess you got a point, sir. I never looked at
it quite that way."
  Ben smiled. "Look down there, Jersey,
Corrie. That's highway A696. Pretty
impressive from the air, isn't it?"
  Rebel armor was rolling north, toward the
Cheviot Hills. The tanks and artillery
stretched for a long way. The road flashed under them as
they headed for the coast highway. The pilot circled
for a moment before he sat down on a grassy strip just
south of Berwick Upon Tweed, the northernmost town
in England before crossing the river into Scotland.
  "See those white cattle down there?" the pilot
said. "I read about them. They're wild. They're
called the wild white cattle of Chillingham.
They're led by a king bull and they're direct
descendants of the cattle that lived in Britain
thousands of years ago."
  "You're puttin' me on!" Jersey said.
  "No, I'm not. I read it in a tourist guide
and talked to folks in this area when I flew in
supplies. Even though these people were hungry, they
wouldn't kill those cattle. That kind of makes you
feel good about things, you know?"
  "Yes. Then there is hope for humankind yet,"
Ben said. "Unselfish acts like that can lift the
hearts of us all."
  "That's pretty, General," Jersey said.
"Did you ever write poetry?"
  Ben laughed. "When I was young and in love,
Jersey. It was really bad. Luckily, my father
found it and burned it."
  Jersey and Corrie exchanged glances. They
wanted Ben off the subject of love. Both knew
he was still in love with Jerre and probably would be
until his death. They knew that Ben publicly said
that she was behind him. They also knew-being females-that
Ben was lying, and both of them hoped that someday some good
man would love them as much as Ben loved Jerre.
  Ben met with his daughter, Tina, commander of Nine
Battalion, and Therm, who commanded Eight
Battalion. They were only minutes from lifting off
to the north.
  "Everyone in your command's been inoculated?" Ben
asked.
  "That's ten-four, Dad. And so have Dan and his
jumpers."
  "That's it, then. Every one of our people is secure and
most of the residents comt are not opposed to us, that
is." He shook hands with Therm and kissed Tina.
"You two be careful. Godspeed."
  It was a bitterly cold day, and the winds were coming
straight off the North Sea as Ben stood and
watched the cargo planes take off, make their slow
half circle, and turn north over the sea.
  "Let's get back," Ben said. "Jump-off
time is looking us in the face."
  "We play by the same rules," Ben told his
people. "We take it slow and clear every town and
village as we go. We make sure we don't have
any hostiles behind us when we pull out. We crash
through tomorrow at dawn and take Hawick and Dumfries
before nightfall. We're not going to get ahead of our
supply trucks this time. That's it."
  They needn't have worried about hostiles at their
backs. Dumfries and Hawick were void of
unfriendlies. Each town had only a few hundred
citizens left in it, all of them hungry
and sick and cold.
  "They left us several days ago, General," a
man told Ben. "Took every scrap of food we
had and fled north like frightened rabbits."
  "I'm going to probably destroy your cities,"
Ben told the man, and the others who had crowded around.
"I don't see the point of losing people to save a
building."
  "Then bring them down, General," a woman said.
"They're as useless to us now as horns on a hen."
  The medics checked out the people and the supply trucks
dropped off food, blankets, clothing, and fuel.
  "All units settled in for the night and reporting
no contact with the enemy today," Corrie told Ben.
"It's a milk run."
  Buddy shook his head. "They do it every time.
They're as predictable as a good watch. They run
to the cities. I don't understand it."
  "They're punks, boy," his father told him.
  "They feel safe with all that concrete and steel
around them. Street punks are like rats. They've
got to have a hole to run into and hide in. They're
cowards-just like most bullies. Anyone who joins a
gang is a punk. Have you ever seen a bully pick
on anyone his own size? I haven't."
  "But they must know by now that we're going to grind them
down."
  "I'm sure some of them do, son. But look how
we fight. We don't leave them any holes
to hide in. They don't have any place to run.
They actually help us box them in."
  A runner came in and handed Ben a note from
Communications. Corrie was relaxing away from her
radio ... at Ben's orders.
  "People are beginning to flee the Continent," Ben said,
reading the note aloud by a hissing gas lantern.
"Carrington's armada has sunk more than half a
dozen ships in two days. It must really be getting
bad over there."
  "You had to give those orders to sink those ships,
General," Jersey said. "You didn't have any
choice in the matter. You had to contain that plague."
  Ben smiled at her. "Thank you, Jersey.
Keep reminding me of that, please."
  A Scout came in and set her rifle down and
shrugged out of a light pack. "It's clear for forty
miles north up A74, General. Not one bogie
to be found anywhere. The industrial belt must be
filled up with punks."
  "Yes," Ben agreed. "The area from
Glasgow to Edinburgh is crawling with punks and
  other assorted two-legged vermin. But it won't
be for long."
  Corrie returned and Ben looked up in
surprise. "I thought I told you to relax."
  "You did. I went over to Communications to visit
with friends. It's jumping over there, General." She
sat down behind a bank of radios that was set up for
her nightly in Ben's CP'-WHEREVER that might be
comand slipped on a head set.
  "What's happening, Corrie?" Ben asked.
  "All up and down the European coast, starting
about an hour ago, there have been a series of
explosions. No one can figure out what's
happening."
  A runner from Communications hustled in and pinned a
map to a wall, then began placing tiny colored
flags along the coastline. "These are the newest
ones, Corrie," he said. "They're coming in fast
now. These were received by radio. Not confirmed." He
left the room.
  Ben walked over and studied the map for a moment.
"Those are ports. Get some birds up,
Corrie. I want to know what the hell is going
on."
  "Right, sir."
  Ben looked around the room. "The rest of you people
get some sleep. We've still got a war to fight."
  An hour later, they were all confirmed. All up
and down the French coast, fires were burning out of
control. Corrie received a communiqu@eand wrote it
out, handing the paper to Ben.
  He read it with his expression growing grimmer.
  "What is it, General?" Jersey asked. She
had paid no attention to Ben's order to go to bed.
  "The French Resistance forces are blowing all the
ships and ports along the coast. Same with other
resistance forces in Europe. They're trying
to contain the Black Death over there, keep infected
people from leaving by sea."
  "They're signing their own death warrants," she
said softly.
  "Yes," Ben's reply was just as softly given.
"In order to save others. What next, Lord?"
he asked. "What next?"
Chapter
Eight
  As usual, Dr. Lamar Chase had flown up
and was ready to set up a mobile field hospital
very close to the front lines. He was
summoned and was now speaking through an interpreter to the
commander of the Free French. Ben had coordinated
drop zones for the vaccine and planes had already left
the states. Ben had ordered vaccine flown in from the
states, and had put the laboratories working around the
clock.
  He listened as Chase conferred with the Free
French. "Save the vaccine for those who do not show any
signs of the disease. It's useless for those already
infected. Anyone showing signs of edema is gone.
Pneumonic plague is a killer ninety-nine
times out of a hundred. Save the vaccine for those showing
no signs and save the other medicines we're
dropping for the less severe cases of the infected.
Isolate the patients. We're dropping you
streptomycin, tetracyline, and sulfonamides
to treat the infected. Spray yourselves with a flea
repellent. Burn the dead. Burn down the
houses. Clear out trash and garbage. Then pray,"
he signed off.
  Chase turned to face Ben. "Don't let any
ships
  through, Ben. Not a one. We can't take the chance."
  "I understand, Lamar. Do we have any reported
cases here in England?"
  "A few. None up here. And I don't think
we will. But I have a strong suspicion that London
is only a few days, a week at most, toward
becoming a death city. Didn't you get reports
before we sailed that troops from the Continent had come
over to beef up London?"
  "Yes. But how about those that we know pulled out
by sea right after we landed?"
  Chase spread his hands. "Who knows?"
  "Wait a minute!" Corrie said, turning around
in her chair. "That might account for the strange
messages that Communications has been receiving. Or
had, I should say. They stopped about ten days ago."
  "What messages?" Ben asked.
  "They were garbled and hysterical and no one could make
any sense out of them. Communications pinpointed them as
coming from south of Cape Horn."
  "Can you recall anything else about them?" Chase
asked.
  She shrugged her shoulders. "The words were
"Sick, dying, alone." Then, "Ships
wallowing. All dead. All dead." That was the last
we heard. No more transmissions."
  "Ben, what do we have in South America?"
Chase asked.
  "Chaos. Wars. A total breakdown."
  "No one you could radio to sink those ships?"
  "Oh, no. Nothing."
  "Right now, those ships are floating flea
factories. The rats are eating off the dead.
They'll be enough dead flesh to keep them alive for
weeks, maybe months. Whatever inhabited land those
ships bump into ..." He shook his head. "God
help the people who might live there."
  "Can you imagine somebody boarding those ships?"
Jersey said, then shuddered.
"Jesus!"
  Ben moved to a world map and studied it. "Hell,
it's probably seven thousand miles from here to Cape
Horn. Even if we had the ships to send, it'd be
like that needle in a haystack. I guess we have
to leave it in the hands of the Lord."
  "Yes," Chase agreed. "But I have to conclude
that He hasn't looked too favorably on Earth
the past decade or so. Maybe this
is
Hell after all." He threw up his hands. "What
do I know? I'm just a doctor trying to keep
decent people alive in a world gone mad."
  Ben smiled. "You hear your own words,
Lamar? "Keeping
decent
people alive." You judge just as much as I do, and
I'm not sure that either of us has that right."
  Chase looked at him for a long moment. "Well,
Ben, maybe I don't have the right, since I did
take that oath when I became a doctor. Maybe
you don't either. But in this crazy, gone-wild world,
if mortal men don't make those decisions, we
may as well all go back to the caves and paint
ourselves blue."
  Ben nodded. "Maybe you're right, Lamar.
Maybe you're right."
  "When do you kick off this next campaign?"
  "Tomorrow morning."
  But it was the shortest and least bloody campaign
in anyone's memory. The news of the Black Death
now sweeping Europe had reached those in the cities
of Scotland. They didn't wish to die in some
horrible fashion any more than anyone else, so it
didn't take them long to decide which was the best way
to go. Ninety percent of them elected to throw down their
guns and walk out under a white flag of surrender,
knowing they would be given the precious vaccine if for no
other reason than to keep the disease off this
island.
  "Bastards!" Ben said. "Now we've got
to give precious medicines to crap like that while
withholding it from decent people. Goddamn sons of
bitches."
  Ben was so mad he stalked up and down the highway
like some enraged panther, while his Rebels gave him
a wide berth. Finally he calmed down long enough
to study a map for a moment. Then he turned
to Corrie. "What's up here in the Shetland
Islands, Corrie?"
  "I can answer that for you," Dan Gray said. "I
had my pilots check it out. They are totally void
of human life."
  "Get ships readied, Corrie," Ben ordered.
"We'll haul this human garbage up there and dump
them. Buddy!"
  "Sir!" Buddy jumped.
  "Take two companies up to the Shetlands and either
destroy or sail back everything that'll float.
We're going to isolate these people up there and see if
any develop the plague. I'll send ships up
with food and other provisions for them. But, I'll be
God-damned
if I'll waste vaccines and medicines on
trash like this."
  "Father, if just one of them has the Black Death,
they all will die."
  "Did you hear me, boy?"
  "Yes, sir!"
  "Then
move!"
  "Moving, Father. Like right now!"
  "You black-hearted son of a bitch!" a
motley-looking warlord screamed when he heard the
news. "We demand our rights. You hear me, you
bastard? We're prisoners of war."
  Glasgow Scotty sat on an overturned
bucket and kept his head down and his mouth shut.
He'd been a convict before the Great War and quickly
fell back into the con's role: you kept your mouth
shut and didn't make waves. He felt they were
getting a raw deal, but he was realist enough to see
Ben's point in doing this.
  "Shut up, cheese-dick," a Rebel guard
whispered to the warlord. "You want to die right here and
now?"
  "Fuck you, pretty-boy," the warlord said.
"Hey, Raines," he shouted. "You peckerhead.
I'm talkin' to you."
  But Ben was not going to be baited. "Split them
up and house them in those old prisons you found,
Dan."
  "Right, sir. It's better treatment than they
deserve, at that."
  "Hey!" a street punk yelled. "I'm
hungry, man."
  "Eat shit," Jersey told him.
  "They've packed it in," Butch told his
commanders. "Scotty and the rest of them surrendered
hoping to get vaccine for the plague and Raines
refused to give it to them. He's sending them all to the
Shetlands to isolate them."
  "At least they're alive," a warlord pointed out.
  "Sure. Until the British courts get
hold of them," Butch said. "Then they're dead."
  "I ain't gonna hand my ass over to Raines
on no platter," Acey said. "I got too many
marks against me to do that. They're gonna have to kill
me."
  "How say the rest of you?" Butch put the question
to them.
  It was unanimous. They voted to fight to the death.
  "There are no trees," Buddy reported back
to his father. Three days had passed. "And
there are no people, either."
  "How was the weather?"
  "Cold, but not as bad as one would think. I did
some reading on the Shetlands. It's very interesting."
He took another look at his father's face and
wisely decided this was not the time for a dissertation on the
climate of the Shetland Islands. "Scalloway and
Lerwick are ready to receive the, ah, guests. There
is not a boat that will float anywhere. Will they be
guarded, Father?"
  "Not by us. The BRF has agreed to man patrol
boats on a twenty-four-hour basis. Get the
outlaw leaders in here, son, please."
  Ben faced the group. "There are still a number of
sheep and Shetland ponies where you will be going.
  They damn well better be there when we decide
to try you. If one hair on their bodies is
harmed, I guarantee you all that I will strap
parachutes on you and drop you in the middle of the most
highly infected part of Europe."
  Glasgow Scotty and the other leaders of crud and
slime took Ben at his word. His face frightened
them, his voice frightened them, and just being in his presence
frightened them. Where they had at first been defiant,
they were now humbled and awed by being around the
highly professional Rebel army. They had
witnessed people of all faiths, all colors, all
nationalities, working together like smoothly running
machinery. They had yet to hear one racial slur from
anybody. It amazed them.
  "We ain't gonna hurt no one up there,
General," a woman said. "We're just hopin'
you'll forget all about us."
  "Lady," Ben said, "and I use that noun only
because I don't know your name and don't want to know your
name if I was in my own country, I'd shoot every
goddamn one of you and be done with it. But you're the
responsibility of the British now. And may God
help them find the strength to deal with scum like you.
Get this shit out of my office, Buddy."
  The next day, Ben and the Rebels began the job
of clearing the Scottish cities of the Believers.
  It was easier this time, for the warlords and street
punks had been eager to give their interrogators the
locations of the creepies and all the ways in and out of
their hiding places. The Rebels pumped tear-gas
and pepper gas into the sewer tunnels and basements and
all the dark and odious places where
  creeps lived their disgusting lives and practiced
their cannibalism.
  All along the once heavily populated and
urbanized stretch from Greencock to Edinburgh, the
air was heavy with the residues of teargas and pepper
gas and the smell of death. The Believers would stagger
out of their stinking holes and the Rebels would shoot them.
Or the Rebels would fill the basements with fire from
flame-throwers, seal the entrances and exits closed
with heavy explosives, or blow up the buildings and
turn the basements into sealed tombs.
  In London, the street punks and gang leaders
sweated it out, listening to Rebel chatter on their
radios. The Rebels talked on open
frequencies now, wanting Butch Smathers and the
others to hear them. They talked about how many
creepies they'd killed that morning or that afternoon or
that night, and how they died. It was pure
psychological warfare, and it was working. Many
trapped in London were breaking under the strain; a
half a dozen a day were sticking pistols in their
mouths and ending it. Many others were right on the edge of
insanity.
  "Come on and get us, then, you son of a bitch!" the
warlord Duane screamed into a microphone.
"Goddamn you all to hell. We don't want
to hear no more of your shit!"
  Commander Drake of the BRF told several of his
colleagues that Ben Raines was the hardest man he
had ever known.
  "He's what we need at this time," one Brit
countered. "He's giving us a second time. And
God forbid we repeat the mistakes of the past."
  Butch's troops, facing the Rebels, the
Free Irish,
  and the British Resistance Forces along the line that
stretched north to south, tried to goad the
freedom-loving men and women into a fight. They
screamed obscenities over the air to them. It
didn't work. Ben's troops silently stared across
the distance at the street punks and warlords and
outlaws.
  The skies grayed and began dumping snow over the
land, adding to the outlaws' woes. It didn't bother
the Rebels. They had fought for years in all sorts
of weather, from the blistering heat of the desert to the frozen
ground of Alaska. They had every piece of equipment
necessary to stay as comfortable as possible, under the
circumstances. They waited.
  London Lulu lifted a glass of whiskey
to her mouth. Her hands were shaking. She downed the
whiskey neat and banged the shot glass to the
table-top. "Why is he doing this?" she asked.
"Why?"
  "Take it easy, kid," Butch said. "Why?
He's punishing us for past sins. I've gone back
and read everything I could find about Ben Raines and some
of the books he wrote back in the old days. He
never believed in that sentimental slop from the mouths of
social workers and liberals and do-gooders. Raines
wrote that society should give a criminal at least
one chance to redeem himself. After that, if he fucked
up bad again, get rid of him. Raines wrote that
values should be taught in school as well as in the
home. He's a strange and complex man, Lulu.
I wish he had been in power when I was growing up.
I wish his views had been accepted and
practiced."
  "Would you have changed, Butch?"
  "Sure." He smiled. "That's the beauty of the
  Rebel philosophy, kid. One's options are
very limited. Go straight or get dead."
  "But he's not goin' to give us a chance to do that, is
he, Butch?"
  Butch shook his head. "He gave us that chance,
kid. When he hit the island, he gave us
surrender terms. We refused. What
happened up in Glasgow was a fluke. That mass
surrender took him by surprise. That won't
happen here. When he attacks, it'll be from three
directions: north, south, and west. When he gets
close enough, he's going to give us about a week or
so of heavy artillery. He's going to turn this city
into a shambles, and our nerves will be in a shambles,
too. Oh, he'll take prisoners. But no more
than a couple hundred."
  "Butch, let's appeal to the Brits out there.
They'll cut us some slack. I'm sure of it."
  "No good, kid. The BRF, they gave Raines
carte blanche. This is his show. Raines is this
island's lifeline, and they know it. They're not going
to interfere. It would be suicide and they know it."
  "It's funny, Butch. Not ha-ha funny, but
strange. We're sittin' here talking about our
deaths. And I don't want to die. I mean,
man, when that big door is slammed, it's over.
Jesus God, if they'd just give me another
chance, I'd change."
  Butch laughed and poured a drink of whiskey. The
whiskey was running out. The food was running out. They
had no medicine. "No, you wouldn't, Lulu. And
neither would I. Oh, we'd go straight for a
time; but not for very long. We'd see something that we
wanted, that belonged to someone else, and we'd take
it. Whether it was a car, or bike, or whatever. You
see, Lulu, we didn't have
  those hard options comin' up. And people like you and me, and
all the rest of this so-called army trapped in
London, we got to have ultimatums. Ben
Raines knows this. Ben Raines knows that you must have some
hard and fast and permanent rules that cannot be broken
or changed for anyone. That's the only way
democracy can really work. And he's proved that time
and time again."
  "Fuck Ben Raines!" Lulu said, her voice
hardening. "Them rules is too restrictive."
  "Actually, Lulu, they're not. They're just
rules that people like us couldn't, or wouldn't, live under.
Anyway, it'll be over soon. Then we won't have
to worry about it."
  "Jesus, Butch!" She fumbled for the whiskey
bottle. "How can you take it so
matter-of-factly?"
  "Because there is no other way to take it, Lulu.
We're trapped. We can't go north, south, east,
or west. Ben Raines is not going to accept our
surrender. And you know why? He's smart."
Butch tapped the side of his head. "There are two
reasons for it. One: With the island in such bad shape,
the survivors can't waste the time housing us, feeding
us, guarding us, providing us with medical attention.
Not after Raines leaves. Two-and this is what I
believe is his main reason for isolating Scotty
and the others, and for not accepting our surrender: Raines
believes we have the plague among us. And so do
I."
  "Oh, no, Butch. I don't want to die that
way. No!"
  "We'll never know for sure, love, but Raines
is giving us more of a break than he's giving
Scotty and the others. He's going to kill us quick.
Scotty
  and those others are going to die a slow and rather horrible
death. I don't blame Raines for it. I'd have
done the same thing. He had to get those people gone.
Now, for us here in the city, we can't do anything
except die honorably. And that is what I
intend to do. For once in my life, I am going to do
something honorable." He smiled. "Sort of."
  She stared at him. "And what might that be,
love?"
  "I'm going to kill just as many Rebels
as I possibly can, baby. We all are.
We're going to make suicide charges and do all
sorts of brave things once the Rebels enter the
city. I am going to die like the soldier I once
was."
  "Butch!" the door flew open and one of his men
stood there. "Raines is massing for attack, north
and south. His people punched through the line and stormed
Brighton this morning and took it. And they ain't
takin' no prisoners."
  "Well, love," Butch said, standing up and
picking up his Uzi. "Let us go do something
honorable."
  The messenger couldn't understand why the two were laughing
almost hysterically as they walked out into the snowy
morning.
Chapter Nine
  "Brighton is ours and almost half of Norfolk
County is in Rebel hands," Corrie said to Ben.
  "Commence the shelling," Ben said. He waited
until that order had been given, then stood up.
"Everything in the wagon, Coop?"
  "All loaded."
  "Let's go, gang."
  Before they had driven the few miles to the
front, Corrie received word that the lines of the enemy
were crumbling.
be
  "Tell our people to maintain their existing positions,"
Ben said. "Do not attempt to advance."
  "Can I ask you a question, General?" Beth said.
  "Sure."
  "The ones we send to the Shetlands comy suspected
they had the plague, didn't you?"
  "Yes, Beth, I did. And I suspect it's
reached London as well. Chase told me he
suspected the same. That's why we isolated the first
bunch as quickly as possible and got rid of them just as
fast."
  "And you think the BRF will find ... what, when they
finally dock there?"
  "I think they know already that those quartered
  there are dying. Another three or four days and it
will be over."
  "How will they enter then?" Coop asked.
  "In contamination suits, Coop," Jersey said.
"They burn the bodies while others start killing
rats and fleas."
  "But there were animals there," Corrie said. "You
warned them about harming them."
  "There were very few animals on the island where they were
put ashore. Buddy and his team made sure of that.
That talk I gave them was pure B.s.
Corrie, what's the latest from Admiral
Carrington?"
  "No further ships or boats have attempted
to cross the Channel from the Continent, General, and
none have tried to leave the English coast."
  "Butch and his people know by now that it would do them no good
to sail to Europe."
  "Why not advance our people now, General?" Cooper
asked.
  "You want to take a bunch of prisoners who are
carrying the Black Death, Coop?" Jersey
asked.
  "Ah ... right. I see your point, Jersey."
  Ben said nothing. He made the decision, he
alone had to live with it.
  As they were walking up to what would be Ben's CP,
a lovely old stone farmhouse the Rebels had
checked out and cleaned up, a runner from Communications
came up. "All enemy lines collapsing, sir.
They're all beating it back toward the city as fast
as they can travel."
  "Corrie, issue cease-fire
orders. I want them all in the city. Spotter
planes up and flying high and fast."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben sat down in a camp chair, accepted a
cup of coffee, and studied a map for a moment. When
Corrie was through issuing his first orders, he said,
"Order all available gunships up north and south
of London to strafe anything moving on the roads.
North between Thetford and Braintree, south, all of
Kent. Order our people at Brighton to keep their heads
down and their asses in one place. We know the
outlaws took all the transportation from the
citizens, leaving them bicycles only. Don't
strafe anyone pedaling along, please. As soon as
the spotters tell us the retreating forces are in
London, resume the shelling."
  "Raines didn't stop the shelling for
humanitarian reasons, you can bet on that," Butch
told Lulu and a few dozen others, as they sat
deep underground beneath the city. "That cunning bastard's
always got some sneaky trick up his sleeve."
  Somewhere close to where he sat, the darkness
punctuated only by a few flickering pockets of
candlelight, a man began to cry. A woman began
singing "Nearer My God To Thee" in a
quiet voice. Another man was praying.
  Butch looked down at his grimy hands. His
clothing, like everybody else's, was filthy. He
felt eyes on him and turned his head. A man he
knew only as Faro was staring at him.
  "Something on your mind?" Butch asked.
  Faro chuckled in the deadly silence. "We're
really something, aren't we, Butch?"
  "I don't know what you mean." Butch's reply
was short and sharply given.
  Faro smiled. "Sure, you do, Butch. I was
watching you. We're really something, aren't we?
Big-time
  outlaws, that's us. Big tough boys and girls,
that's us. Yet here we sit, in the tunnels with the
rats. Hear them scurrying about? We're dirty,
ragged, cold, hungry, facing death. But, by God,
we made our point, didn't we? We sure as
hell weren't going to play the establishment's game,
were we? And we didn't ..."
  "Aw, shut your trap, Faro!" a man said.
  "No," a woman said. "Let him talk. Go
on, Faro."
  "Oh, there isn't that much left to say. I just
see the dark humor in it, that's all."
  "You think this is funny, man?" another outlaw
questioned. "I think you're bonkers."
  "Yeah," another street punk stuck in his
opinion. "You ain't no better than the rest of
us."
  "Oh, I never said I was," Faro replied.
"But I'm not sitting down here feeling sorry for
myself, either. Whatever I get comand it will certainly be
death -I know I deserve. I'm a big enough person
to admit that."
  "Hey, man, we had to survive," another
popped. "We only done what we had to do."
  Faro started laughing at that.
  "Son of a bitch is crazy!" Lulu said.
  "Make your point, Faro," Butch said. The
sudden silence was beginning to unnerve him. "Then shut
up."
  "I made it, Butch. And you know it."
  "Oh, preach to us, Holy One," a man jeered
at him. "Pray for our sins and offer us salvation.
Me, I'll take pussy anytime."
  The gloom filled with derisive laughter. Faro
only smiled.
  Butch's walkie-talkie crackled. He
lifted it and said, "Go ahead." He
listened for a moment. He sighed heavily and said,
"That's ten-four.
  "Raines has got helicopter gunships working
north and south of the city. They're choppin' up those
units far out. Them furthest from the city can kiss their
asses good-bye. Some of them run into an ambush:
citizens armed with axes and pitchforks. They were
hacked to death."
  "If he'd just give us a chance to surrender," a
woman sobbed, her voice breaking with fear. "I'd
go straight. I'd go to church. I'd be good."
  "The hell you would," Faro said, contempt thick in
his words. "You were a goddamn thief before the Great
War, and you'd be right back in business if Raines
pardoned you. Good God, people, stop lying to yourselves."
  "And what the hell were
you
before it all fell apart?" Lulu shouted at him.
"Just who the hell do you think you are, moralizing
to us?"
  "I was a minister," Faro said, shocking them all
into silence. "I spread the legs of every good-looking
woman in my congregation and lifted a lot of money
from the collection every Sunday. And you know what, people?
I'd do it again. I wouldn't change a thing.
Now, if asked, I would tell the Rebels quite the
opposite; but I'd be lying to save my butt.
That's the difference between us. I admit to being a
scoundrel. And contrary to what you all might think,
we are most definitely not going to visit Heaven."
  "You lie!" a man said, jumping up. "My
faith told me that if I confessed to my sins, I
would be absolved of them."
  Faro laughed and laughed, infuriating them all.
He wiped his eyes with a dirty handkerchief and said,
"Your religion is a very convenient one, isn't it?
Ah, but you go right on believing that, if you wish.
You'll believe it right up to the time the devil jams
a hot pitchfork up your ass. No, my friend, your
religion suckered you. God doesn't like to be
played with. God doesn't demand that we be
perfect; He just asks that we sincerely try. And
I would have to say that none of us here ... sincerely
... tried."
  "Who give you all the answers?" a man shouted,
his voice hollow and echoing in the dank tunnel under
the city. "Who made you some sort of goddamn
expert?"
  "Six years of hard study helped; but I'm no
expert. But I am pretty good at reading
between the lines. And when you read the Bible, you better
read between the lines."
  "I wish I had a Bible," a woman said. "It
would be a comfort to me now."
  "I'm sure it would," Faro said, his tone dry enough
to make the world's most perfect martini ... if he
just had a little gin. "I used to have trouble preaching. I
wanted to crack up with laughter when I looked down
into the faces of hypocrisy all looking up at
me. I saw people who, six and a half days out of the
week, willingly and knowingly committed every one of the
seven deadly sins: Pride, Avarice, Lechery,
Anger, Gluttony, Envy, Sloth, and on
Sunday morning they all dressed in their finest,
politely ignored the sick and old and hungry and
needy on their way to the House of the Lord, and lo and
behold, they were Christians for a few
  hours. They were washed in the blood and their sins were
swept away. Hallelujah, brothers and sisters,
I'm such a good person. It made me want
to puke. So I turned it into a game.
  "And after church, that afternoon, what would these good
Christians do, after they had feasted on a grand
Sunday dinner, while half the world starved? They'd
go out to the golf links and swill beer and
cuss and whack away at a little white ball,
telling filthy jokes and eyeballing the asses of the
ladies, who dressed as provocatively as they
could, knowing the men would lust after them, and wanting them
to. Or they would plop down in front of the telly,
spending the afternoon getting half-popped on beer,
watching the most ridiculous of games, go to movies
and watch half-naked, or totally naked, men and
women engaging in the most vile and degenerate
behavior ... oh, hell, the list is endless.
Depressingly so. I met a few good people while I
ministered, but not many. Not many."
  "Then why did you stay a minister?" Butch
asked.
  "For comic relief. I told you, it became a
game with me. I wanted to see just how long people would
actually continue this charade. Hell, they'd do it right
up to death's door, and then call for a preacher to hold
their hands. It was laughable."
  "I think you're disgusting," a woman told him.
"Pretendin' to be a minister of the Lord and liftin'
ladies' skirts all the while."
  Faro laughed at her. The earth above them began
to tremble from the impacting of artillery shells.
  "All them that was out is either dead, or they
made it to the city," Butch said, as the intensity of
  the incoming rounds picked up. He looked at
Faro. The man was smiling at him. "Insufferable
ass," Butch muttered.
  Ben kept the pressure on the besieged city, the
rounds crashing in twenty-four hours a day, a
never-ending thunder that tore and ripped open nerves of
those outlaws in the city. Artillery crews were
changed every half hour, to give them some relief from the
bombardment and to preserve hearing, even though the
Rebels wore ear-protectors.
  The devastation inside London was enormous,
comparable to the German blitz of the Second World
War. But Commander Drake had given Ben the green
light to bring the city down, and he had done so without
hesitation.
  After seventy-two hours of constant bombardment,
Ben ordered the shelling stopped. The silence took a
little getting used to after three days and nights of
pounding.
  Ben ordered planes to fly low over the city,
dropping hundreds of thousands of rat poison
pellets he'd had flown over from the packed
Rebel warehouses located all over what was
once called the United States.
Rebels saved everything. If they discarded it, it was
worthless. They used machinery until they wore it
out, then they rebuilt it and used it again. They had
billions of nails, millions of rounds of
ammunition, ten million commodes and toilet
seats, thousands of tons of brick and concrete
blocks; they had located, hauled in, fixed up,
and stored all the vehicles they could find, of all
descriptions. They had stripped hundreds of ware-
  houses of shingles and roofing felt and tar. On the
orders of Ben Raines, if somebody, someday,
might be able to use it, they took it and brought it to a
depot. They had millions of miles of all
sorts of wiring comname anything, anything at all, from
plutonium to pantyhose, and the Rebels had it
labeled and stored, somewhere.
  Ben had moved his CP about halfway between
London and Gatwick Airport, south of the city.
Thousands of Rebels, Free Irish, and British
Resistance Forces now ringed outer London on
three sides, while heavily armed patrol boats
kept watch in the Channel. No one was getting out,
and everyone knew why Ben was not attacking. Those
closest to the city could smell the stench of the dead. They
could see the smoke from burning piles of
bodies. It made good sense to the men and women of the
Rebels.
  Why risk Rebel lives when the Black Death
could do their jobs for them?
  Not that many of those trapped in the city had not tried
to get out, for many had. Not one had made it to within
five hundred meters of a Rebel position.
  "What happens when the city is dead, Ben?"
Georgi asked.
  "We fumigate it, time and time again, until
nothing could live in there, using a variety of
chemicals so the fleas cannot develop immunity to it.
Then teams go in wearing protective gear to assess
the damage, then we seal it off and let it rot.
That's my plan; the BRF may have something else in
mind. It's their country."
  The Russian studied the American for a moment.
  "What is troubling you, my friend?"
  "It is that obvious, Georgi?"
  "Yes."
  "We can't go back the way we came?"
  Georgi blinked. "What on earth is preventing
us from doing so, Ben? Or should I say, what on the
sea
is preventing us?"
  "Pirates."
  Georgi blinked a couple of times more. "Did you
just say
pirates,
Ben?"
  "Yes, Georgi. Pirates. As in,
"Ho, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum." his
  Georgi stared at him for a moment and then smiled.
"You are having a joke with me, old friend."
  "I wish. No, it's no joke. I'll tell
you now, then go over it more fully when we have a
briefing in a couple of days. Pirates are
operating out of Cuba, the Bahamas, Puerto
Rico, and those islands in the Lesser Antilles.
You know why you haven't seen Ike and Therm and
Emil for the past week?"
  "I wondered about it."
  "They're helping to get some smaller British
warships ready for the trip back home. They'll
serve as escorts. A lot of Brits and Irish
who were serving on these ships are going back with us."
  "The pirates are stealing people for slaves?"
  "Yes, among other things. It's like we've been
suddenly catapulted backward in time a couple of
centuries. From what Cecil has been
able to learn, their equipment is not fancy, but it can
damn sure sink us. They have cannon and are able
to launch torpedoes from the deck, and there are a lot
of them raiding all along the coasts of Central
America
  and the northern tip of South America. It's a
damn miracle we slipped through the first time. The
last supply ships that came through were attacked.
None was sunk, but several were damaged. Now they're
waiting for us. From now on, everything has got to sail
north of the Sargasso Sea- well north of it. As
for us, do you want to cross the upper part of the North
Atlantic in the middle of winter?"
"Hell,
no!"
  "It's moot anyway. We're not going back
home just yet."
  "Oh?"
  "No."
  Georgi waited.
  "We're going to Hawaii."
  "Around Cape Horn?"
  "Yes." Ben smiled. "With a few stops along
the way just to sightsee."
  "But of course," Georgi said dryly.
  Ben smiled. "Relax, Georgi. It's only
approximately twenty thousand miles away."
Chapter
Ten
  "With your permission, sir," Commander Drake said
to Ben, "we'll wrap up this campaign."
  "You certainly have my permission, Commander."
  The British Resistance Forces now numbered
over five thousand and growing.
  Commander Drake saluted smartly and said, "I
speak for all the people when I say thank you, General.
We are forever grateful to you and your Rebels."
  "Corrie," Ben said. "Have our people stand down. From
now on, we act as observers and advisers only."
  "Yes, sir!"
  "Anticlimactic, Ben," Ike said. "We
came in with a roar and leave with nary a whimper."
  "That's the way I like it, Ike. Another part of the
world is free and we suffered only minimal
losses."
  "My people want to sightsee, Ben."
  "As long as they go armed and in squad-sized
groups, it's fine with me. Tell them to have at it.
But I know what they're off to do."
  Ike smiled. "We're all
Americans, Ben. It's the
  American way to help a country once it's
liberated."
  Ben looked toward the city. Fires in London
were burning out of control; even ten miles away the
stench of death was in the air. Rebels, Free
Irish, and the BRF had burned a half mile
stretch of land on the west, north, and south side of the
city, then literally doused it with pesticides. There
wasn't an insect known to humankind that could cross
that area and live. Most would be dead seconds after
entering the zone.
  "Thousands are dead on the Continent, Ben,"
Chase informed him at a staff meeting. "No one will
ever know for sure how many died. But from the information my
people have received, we believe the disease has run its
course. We were awfully lucky, Ben. This could have
turned into a disaster."
  "You have adequate vaccines and medications for our
voyage, Lamar?"
  "Oh, yes. When do we shove off?"
  "It'll be another month, even with people working around the
clock. Those troop transports are going to be
heavily armed in case we come under attack from ...
pirates," Ben said the last with a note of
incredulity. Pirates in the twenty-first century was
just a bit too much. "If those sea-going bandits
attack this convoy, they're in for one hell of a
surprise."
  "The BRF have taken prisoners out of the city,"
Georgi said. "Amazingly, none of them are
contagious. But they say things got real bad in there
toward the end. Drake told them it was a pity they
all didn't die. The English attitude toward
crime and criminals has certainly toughened."
  Ben moved to a wall map of the world and
  picked up a pointer. "Tankers will be in the
center of the convoy for protection. We won't try
to break any speed records. This is our route,
gang. Madeira Islands, Canary, Cape
Verde. When we get clear of the northern part of
South America, we'll pull in closer to the shore
and see what we can see. We might send parties
ashore; we'll play that by ear. When we get
opposite the Gulf of San Jorge, we'll
cut down to the Falklands, then around the Horn and up
to Easter Island, over to Pitcairn, Tahiti,
up to the Marquesas Islands, then on to Hawaii.
  "From what our communications people have been able to pick
up, we're going to have a very tough fight of it
in the Hawaiian Islands. We can't pick up
any sign of resistance forces battling the outlaw
element.
  "I don't know what we going to find on these
smaller island chains we'll be visiting. If the
criminal element has taken control, we'll kick
them out. We now have proper landing craft-thanks to the
British-and the ships to handle them. This will be the largest
convoy to set sail since the Great War. A lot of
Brits and Irish will be going with us. Without them we
couldn't make this trip. Many have asked to join the
Rebels. Of course I said yes. They understand the
Rebel philosophy and agree with it.
  "Now, people, we had a lot of help and a lot of
luck taking Ireland and England. We're going
to need a lot more taking the Hawaiian Islands, because
we damn sure won't have much help. It's going
to be a very long trip, and very tedious. The British
have loaned us hundreds of books and we've
scrounged a lot of old movies and projection
equipment to help ease the boredom. We sail out
of
  Portsmouth. Start moving your people down there
immediately. Our job here is done."
  The Rebels left the smoking ruins of
London behind them and started their move south
to Portsmouth. So many Irish and English joined up
that a new battalion was formed. Pat O'Shea now
commanded Ten Battalion of the Rebels ...
complete with bagpipers puffing and honking and shrieking.
  The tankers pulled out first, followed by the supply
ships, then one by one the transports left the
harbor to the sounds of bands playing and people waving.
Several dozen Rebels had requested permission
to stay, including Linda, and Ben granted them their
wish.
  If she was at dockside when the ships left,
Ben did not see her.
  Commander Drake of the British Resistance Forces
and Mr. Carrington were at dockside when Ben's
flagship was tugged out. They saluted him as the bands
played, and he returned the salute. The armada
put the coast of England behind them on a cold and
snowy New Year's Day.
  Ben watched the coastline slowly disappear into the
mist. "We're off to see the wizard," he
muttered. "But I'm afraid the yellow brick
road is going to be stained with blood."
  "Isn't it always?" Lamar Chase said, leaning
on the railing beside Ben. "When hasn't it
been? There is always somebody, leading some force, that
rises out of the ashes of war. This time it was you."
  "Us, Lamar."
  "No, Ben," the old doctor said. "Y."
  "There is a camel walking along the beach,"
Buddy said, looking through binoculars at the shoreline
of one of the islands in the Canary chain. "A camel,
Father?"
  "Yes. They used them for draft animals."
Ben watched as the ladder was lowered and Ike scrambled
up. He knew what Ike was going to say and held
up his hand. "Easy, Ike. West speaks fluent
Spanish. He's taking a party ashore. I'm not
going."
  "That's a relief. Ben, we've been laying off
for more than an hour. I haven't seen any sign of
life."
  "Nor have we. These islands had a population of a
million and a half before the war. Somebody's there.
I'm sending West in after dark in dinghies, just in
case of unfriendlies."
  "Radio room has contact with the island, sir,"
Corrie said. "They are warning us away."
  "Tell them we are not a hostile force. Tell
them we wish to buy, or barter, for fresh
fruit."
  "They say to leave immediately or they will launch an
attack."
  "Repeat: we are not hostile. We wish to come
ashore, a small party only, and gather fruit."
  "Leave," Corrie said.
  "Ask them if they would like for me to blow their
goddamn island off the face of the earth," Ben said,
his temper rising. They had come in peace, had
broadcast repeatedly who they were and why they were here,
and wished only fresh water and fruit.
  When a giant offers you peace and friendship, only
a fool becomes hostile.
  "No response, sir," Corrie said.
  "Let's assume they have artillery capable of
reaching us," Ben said. "Tell the captain to get us
out of range."
  When the ships had pulled back well out of
range, Ben called for all commanders to assemble on
his ship. The Rebels had scoured Ireland and
England for every map they could find prior to this voyage,
and the commanders pored over them. "The city is Las
Palmas," Ben told them. "Population over two
hundred thousand before the war. We aren't going to soften
it up with artillery because I don't want
innocents hurt and killed comeven though there might not
be any innocents on the island. So we'll do it the
hard way. Ike, send your SEAL'S in at dark.
Dan, take your special operations teams in right
behind them. West, your people will go in directly behind them.
Once the docks are secured, I'm coming in.
That's the way it is. No arguments. We'll be
going in very fast and without a lot of knowledge of our
objective. And they'll be ready for us-make no
mistakes about that. Coordinate your operations and
study the maps of the town carefully before you leave this
ship."
  Ben stood by the railing, watching the sun go down
bubbling into the sea. He was dressed in full combat
gear, including inflatable life jacket.
Communications was scanning all frequencies and had
not picked up any long-range messages from the
island calling for help. What they had picked up was
inner-island chatter.
  A man who called himself Oso-the Bear-was in
control of the islands. His army, and it was a
fair-sized group of outlaws and malcontents and
  thugs of all nationalities, had enslaved the people and
were using them as forced labor, forced prostitution, and
forced everything else that was vile and inhuman.
All that was about to change.
  Orange and scarlet softly changed to hues of
gray and black around the ships.
  "No bogies anywhere on the water," Corrie
said.
  "What's over in that direction, General?"
Cooper said, pointing.
  "Morocco. We won't be going over there."
  "SEAL teams over the side now," Corrie said
softly. "Special Operations teams getting in
place."
  The island of Gran Canada lay silent and
without lights. A huge dark shape in the
peaceful-appeared subtropical night. It was about
to become anything but peaceful.
  "Special Operations teams over the side and
moving," Corrie said.
  The moments ticked by. "West and his people
sea-borne, General." Corrie said.
  "Just as soon as they are clear, order landing
craft up to the ship. One Battalion, stand by the
side," Ben said. "Let's go, people."
  "SEAL teams reporting they have made contact with the
enemy," Corrie said, as tiny flashes of light
could be seen on the shoreline. "Fighting is
intense."
  "Come on, people, over the side," Ben shouted,
climbing over the railing and grasping the rope ladder.
His boots quickly touched the deck of the landing craft.
  The flat-bottomed craft quickly filled and they
were off, heading toward the sights and sounds of battle.
  "SEAL'S and SP teams report they have a
toehold, but just barely," Corrie shouted over the
roar of the engine and the rush of water.
  "Tell whoever is running this tub to put us
ashore south of the battle," Ben shouted. "One
Battalion will stretch out along the coastline
highway. Advise West of the change in plans and
tell him to stretch his people along and north of the
docks."
  As soon as she had relayed the orders, Ike
started screaming in her ears. "General Ike is
pissed, sir," she told Ben.
  Ben grinned. "Naturally. Tell Ike to calm
down and to watch his blood pressure."
  "Machine-gun emplacements on the bluffs
overlooking the coast," Corrie said.
  "Put us south of there," Ben told her.
"Split the company. First and second platoons with
me, three and four go in behind the main force."
  She relayed the orders to the coxswain and all
felt the change in direction.
  They hit the wide beach running toward the bluffs.
The ruse worked, for all gunfire was concentrated about
a half mile to the north of their LZ. Stopping at
the crest to catch their breath, Ben motioned Buddy
to his side. "Take your Rat Team and check
down that road toward the city. Bring me back one
alive, boy."
  Buddy grinned at his father and was gone into the darkness
of early evening.
  Ben took that time to carefully look all around
him. Those who had taken over the islands, or at
least this island, had never really planned for any
invasion, so when the Rebels came, they rushed
everybody they could muster on short notice down
  to the docks.
  Buddy was back in only a short time, bringing with
him two utterly terrified bandits.
"De donde es ud?"
one asked, his voice breaking with fear.
  Ben spoke enough border Spanish to get by.
"America," he told him. "Do you want
to live?"
"Si, si!"
the man whispered.
  "Do you speak English?"
"Si.
Yes, sir. A little bit."
  "How many of you are there on this island?"
  The man looked confused. "Only me,
senor.
I am but one man."
  "No, damn it," Ben said. "How many others
... how many soldiers in your army?"
  "Ah! I don't know. Two, three thousand, I
guess."
  "I have twenty-five thousand waiting in ships out
there." Ben told the men a blatant lie.
  "Mother of God," the other man whispered. He
put both hands up. "We surrender."
  "You're already my prisoners," Ben reminded
him.
  "I surrender again. Sometimes battle is confusing
and people forget."
  "I have no intention of forgetting. Now, get up.
You're going to lead us into the city."
  "We are?" the first man asked.
  "You are. Move!"
  The Rebels began walking right down the
center of the highway, toward the ever-louder sounds of
battle.
  "I have a wife and eight children," the second bandit
said. "And my aged mother lives with us. How would they
eat if I am dead?"
  "You're a liar," Ben told him.
  The man shrugged his shoulders in resignation.
"Sometimes it works. It was worth a try."
  Ben chuckled.
  "Are you really the great American general Ben
Raines?" the first bandit asked.
  "Yes."
  Both men made the sign of the cross and said a quick
prayer. They knew all about Ben Raines and the
Rebels.
  "I have a great throbbing and much pain in my head,"
the second bandit said. "I think I am going
to pass out."
  "You're going to get a bullet in your ass if you
don't shut up and move."
  "Alfredo, we have fallen into the hands of
savages."
  "Evaristo ... kindly shut up your mouth and perhaps
we will not be killed."
  "That is a very good suggestion,
Evaristo," Ben told him. "Tell us when we are
approaching any spot where your soldiers might be
located."
  "They are not
my
soldiers, General. I ..." He shut up when
Ben placed the muzzle of his CAR-15 against his
cheek. "Si, patron. I will tell you and that is a
promise. It would be foolish of me not to do that,
since I am leading the way and any bullets meant
for you would surely hit me first."
  Alfredo sighed audibly. "He is the burden
I must bear, General. He is my first wife's
cousin, and she made me promise on her deathbed
to look after him. It was the most foolish promise
I have ever made. Since he seems to have been
struck mute, as well as stupid, I will tell you
that just up ahead,
  General, there is a machine-gun emplacement."
  "When was that put there?" Evaristo asked.
  "Yesterday. While you were drunk and in the company
of whores."
  "Left and right of the road, people," Ben ordered.
"Take it out quietly, Buddy."
  Lying on the ground by the road, Alfredo
whispered, "That is a very formidable young man you sent
ahead, General."
  "He is my son."
  "I should have guessed."
  "You don't sound like a terrible bandit,
Alfredo."
  "Oh, I am a most reluctant one. I was a
merchant seaman when the war broke out. We sailed
for weeks, trying to find a safe port. We hit
something in the night and a few of us made it to the
lifeboats." He looked at his first wife's
cousin. "Including this dodo. We landed here. Already,
bandits had taken over most of the island. The bandits
gave me a choice; actually, two choices.
Join them, or die. I consider myself a sensible
man. I elected to live."
  Buddy returned, wiping his bloody knife on
his trousers, the others in his team doing the same. "You
may proceed now, Father."
  Ben told the bandits, "Take the machine gun and
several cans of ammo. You two just joined the
Rebels."
  "We did?" Evaristo asked.
  "Be thankful, stupid," Alfredo said.
  "Let me get this straight," Evaristo
said. "We are now going to be fighting against the people we
were fighting for yesterday?"
  "That is correct."
  "I am confused."
  "You have always been confused, Evaristo. But you have the
strength of a bull. Pick up the machine-gun and
follow me. Be brave in battle now. For if we
win, we can leave this wretched place and return
to Mexico."
  "I am excited about that."
  "General," Jersey said. "If you had a choice
between these two and Emil, which would you choose?"
  Ben glanced at her. "Do you even have to ask?"
Chapter Eleven
  Ike had landed his battalion at the same spot
that Ben had put ashore, while Danjou and Rebet
had put their battalions north of the main docks and
begun a slow circling of the city. While other
battalions poured ashore, Ben and his small
contingent were walking down the main highway straight
toward the docks.
  "This is madness," Evaristo said. "General, we
are heading toward a thousand or more men fighting at the
docks."
  "Yeah, I know," Ben told him.
"Keep walking. Corrie, bump the SEAL'S and the
Special Operations teams and tell them we're
going to punch a hole on the south side of the docks.
That'll give our people a path to the highway."
  "Impossible!" Evaristo said. "We are much
too small a force."
  "Just carry the machine gun and try not to think,"
Alfredo told him. "There, General," he said,
pointing below them. Below them, the battle for the docks
raged. "But I do not know how you plan on us getting
down there undetected."
  "We walk down and set up directly behind them,
in those warehouses," Ben said. "Let's go."
  Evaristo made the sign of the cross and said,
"Tonight I will meet the angels."
  "You cavort with whores and drunkards one day and
talk about angels the next," Alfredo admonished
him. "We are not going to die. The General is not
going to walk calmly toward his own death, idiot."
  "I think this General is
un poco loco."
  "You might be right, Evaristo," Ben told him.
"Move. We're about to walk through enemy line,
Alfredo. You handle the language. Bearing in mind
that I do speak your language and if you
screw up, I'll personally shoot you."
  "5/",
patron,"
Alfredo said, as they approached several dozen
bandits. "I am taking these men and meeting the enemy
on the other side of the warehouses," he told the
bandits. It was so dark everyone looked the same; just
a dark blob in the night.
  "That is good, Alfredo," one of the bandits said.
"You have much courage. The
jefe
will be pleased at your actions."
  The Rebels walked on toward the warehouses.
"Set up all along here," Ben said.
  "I cannot believe we actually did this,"
Evaristo said.
  "It ain't over yet," Jersey told him. "Just
as soon as we open fire, we're gonna have
bogies all over us."
  "You really are a very lovely young lady,"
Evaristo told her.
  "Shut up," Jersey told him. "And get down
behind that machine gun."
  "I never before in my life have encountered such
savage women," Evaristo muttered, on
  his belly behind the machine gun. Alfredo fed the
belt into place and Evaristo jacked a round into the
slot.
  "Well, look at this," Ben said. "Here comes a
whole company of bandits, running to join their
compadres.
When they get even with us, open fire."
  "General," Alfredo said. "Evaristo and myself,
we have never killed anyone in our lives. We always
fired into the air."
  "To kill is a great sin," Evaristo said.
  "I have priests coming ashore very soon," Ben
told them. "They'll hear your confessions and forgive
your sins."
  "Okay," Evaristo said. "When do I fire?"
  "Right now," Ben said, and lobbed a grenade.
  The attack from behind and almost within their own lines
turned the dock area into chaos. The Rebels cut
down the running bandits, knocking them spinning and
screaming to the ground and confusing those who were facing the
invaders from the sea.
  Buddy and his team ran to the rear of the warehouse
area and cut toward the sea, coming up behind a thin line
of bandits who had several companies of Rebels
pinned down with heavy machine gun fire.
A half a dozen grenades and two dozen
M-16's spitting death fixed that situation and the
Rebels swarmed inland through the gap in the lines.
  The bandits began running back toward the city,
leaving their dead and wounded behind them.
  "Secure the docks," Ben ordered. "No
pursuit. They know the city and we don't. We'll
finish it in the morning."
  "They have gone into the hills,
patron,"
Alfredo
  said. "That is very rugged country back there." "Can
we go home now?" Evaristo asked.
  When dawn broke and the bandits saw just how many
Rebels there were, and several battalions never
left the ships, the fight went out of the majority.
They began surrendering.
  "What the hell are we going to do with them?" Ike
asked.
  "I don't know. We'll stick around until some
form of government is set up and we distribute
arms, then shove off."
  A priest sought audience with Ben. "Alfredo and
Evaristo," the priest said with a smile, "are
basically good men. They have never harmed a
soul. Evaristo is not, ah, well, he's slow,
I suppose would be the kindest way of putting it."
  "They won't be harmed by any of us," Ben
assured him. "We want to turn the running of this
place back over to the civilian population and
shove off as quickly as possible. Tell me about the
other islands."
  "Much the same as this one. Bandits and thugs run
parts of them. In other areas, the people have weapons and
keep them at bay. Weapons are the key."
  "We'll arm you with the weapons taken from the bandits.
From what I can see, conditions are pretty grim
here."
  "Very bad, General. We have plenty of medical
personnel, but no medicines. We've been cut
off from the rest of the world for a decade."
  "We cleared the British Isles, and I've
been in
  contact with them this morning. They're going to be
sending ships down soon and trade can once more
resume. Have you heard any news about conditions on
the Azores? There was no sign of life on the
Madeiras."
  The priest shook his head. "We have heard nothing
from them, General. But you are going to have a
lot of trouble when you land on the Cape Verde
Islands. Thugs and pirates control everything there."
  Georgi stuck his head into the room. "We found
the leader of the bandits, Ben. The townspeople just
hanged him."
  "Oso," the priest said. "So the Bear's reign
of terror finally ends. He was an evil man. But
he was a Catholic. So I must go. I will see you
before you leave, General."
  Georgi came in and poured a cup of coffee.
"Our troops are working with the citizens of the island,
Ben. They're tracking down the bandits and destroying
them. Dr. Chase says we cannot leave until he
and his medical people tend to the needs of the sick."
  "I know. He told me the same thing.
Medicines are on the way from the States, but God
alone knows when they'll arrive. Well, we'll
take this time to clean out the other islands. We'll
take the big island tomorrow."
  But those bandits on the island of Tenerife had fled
the coastline and headed into the rugged interior. Ben
ordered gunships off-loaded from the ships and the
hunt-down began.
  Ben hop-scotched from island to island -- Hierro
Ferro, La Palma, Tenerife, Gran
Canada, Gomera, Fuerteventura,
Lanzarote-as his troops, aided by locals,
hunted down and destroyed or captured the fleeing
bandits. As usual, wherever there had been outlaws and
warlords for any length of time, the people they conquered were
malnourished and sick. Among the adults, venereal
disease was rampant -- brought to the islands by the
bandits, and spread as the bandits raped their way through
the female (but not always) population, and certainly not
always adult women. To see a ten-year-old girl
or boy dying of syphilis was not something the Rebels
were accustomed to witnessing. After seeing a few cases
of that, the number of prisoners taken by the Rebels
dropped dramatically.
  The mopping up and clearing out of the bandits was slow,
dirty, and dangerous work, for they were dealing with the
hardcore now.
  Ben intercepted a radio message from a team
working in the rugged mountains of La Palma. "This is
the Eagle. What do you have?"
  "About a hundred bad ones, Eagle," a
platoon leader radioed back. "And they're
well-armed. I've got one Rebel dead, and
half a dozen more hit pretty hard."
  "You stay put. I'm coming in with the
dust-offs." He glanced at his team and winked at
Jersey as he picked up his M-14.
  She returned the wink, picked up her
M-16, and said, "Kick-ass time."
  The bandits, including the man who was
second-in-command before Oso got his neck
stretched, were holed up in a large stone house with a
magnificent
  view of the valleys all around. There was no way
the Rebels were going to breech, that near-fortress without
taking a lot of dead and wounded.
  As it was, the medivacs had to come in low and
twisting around the base of the mountains to avoid being hit
by bandit fire, and the wounded carried more than a mile
to the dust-offs.
  Ben studied the situation for a few moments. "All
right. They're got .50's on three sides, but that
south side is semi-blind for them. Corrie, I
want two Apaches in here, fully armed. Give
the pilots our coordinates, and emphasize this
grid here." He pointed to the map. "That's the
mountains I want them to hover behind until I give
the word. When I say so, lift up and give that
mini-mansion up there every damn thing they've got."
  He turned to the platoon leader.
"Son, when those gunships open up, we've got
to be in place to cream the survivors when they come
out. So the instant the gunships fire, we're going
to be running up that path over yonder with everything
we've got to get into position. Pass the word."
  "You, of course, will not be running up that path,"
Buddy said.
  "Who the hell says I won't?"
  "Merely wishful thinking, Father."
  "Wish for Holly Hunter or Julia
Roberts, why don't you?"
  Buddy blinked and stared at his father for a moment.
"What battalion are they in?"
  Ben shook his head. "Son, your education is
sadly lacking, I'm afraid."
  Buddy nodded his head. "They are attractive
women, I suppose."
  "V. Now go tell your team to get the kinks out of
their legs. We've got about three hundred yards
of exposed ground we'll be covering."
  The Apaches came quickly and settled down just behind
the crest of the mountain.
  "We're going to be running when you fire," Ben
told the chopper pilots. "So kindly make those
birds fly hot, straight, and true."
  "That's a roger, General. Will do."
  "All right, gang," Ben said. "Everybody in
place. Tell the pilots to rock and roll,
Corrie."
  As soon as the props were whining in lift, Ben and
team leaped in front of the platoon leader and were
running across the vacant expanse of ground.
  "God damn it!" Buddy yelled, and took off
after his father.
  The Apaches opened up, and it was hell on the
mountain for those bandits in and around the small mansion.
One entire end of the house blew into thousands of
pieces as rockets impacted and their chain guns
opened up, hurling 30mm rounds into the house.
  Ben did a little dance step as a bandit got his
range and opened up with an automatic weapon, the
slugs kicking up dust and dirt all around his
boots. But firing downhill is tricky, and Ben
made the rocks and timber without losing anything
except breath, and that was only temporary.
  Buddy and his team piled in behind him and laid down
covering fire for the others.
  "Head-rush," Ben said with a smile.
  "Whatever that means," Buddy said. "I am not
into the quaint colloquialisms of your
youth, Father."
  "Youth!" Ben laughed. "Hell, I was a grown
man when that expression came around. It means,
"Wow, what a kick." his
  "Sometimes I worry about you," Buddy muttered.
  "Come on, kid-of-mine," Ben said. "Let's go
make bang-bang with the bad guys."
  Buddy was still muttering as he followed his father up the
now-protected slope toward the mini-mansion, which was
smoking from the rocket attack.
  Ben rounded a brush-covered curve in the path and
came face to face with a bandit. His M-14 came
up and roared. The bandit was knocked to one side,
down and dead. "Left and right," Ben ordered.
"They've got to come this way."
  All could hear the sounds of running feet coming at
them hard. Ben took a grenade and held it up so
the others could see and follow suit. They pulled
pins together and let them fly. The explosives were
enormous, and the sounds of running feet was replaced
by the moaning of badly wounded.
  They waited until the others joined them. The
platoon leader waved people forward. Seconds ticked
past.
  "That's it," a Rebel called.
"We've got wounded bandits up here."
  "See if Oso's second-in-command is
among the dead," the platoon leader said. "What was
his name?"
  "Carlos," a Rebel told him.
  A civilian who was the guide for this contingent of
Rebels went forward and stared at the dead and wounded.
"Carlos," he said, pointing to a bandit
  who had taken the blast of a grenade in his chest and
stomach. He kicked the lifeless form, spat on the
body, and walked on.
  Ben had watched the reaction of the civilian
guide. "Nothing like being loved and respected," he
said.
  While several battalions of Rebels hunted
down and destroyed the ragged remnants of the bandits,
other Rebels were turning volunteer citizens of the
islands into a paramilitary force and seeing to it that
free elections were held. Some degree of law and
order and justice and stability would be in place before
they left. Representatives from Britain and
Ireland sailed in and began talking trade between their
nations.
  Ben made preparations to leave.
  "Cape Verde Islands, Father,"
Buddy asked.
  Ben shook his head. "No. The British say
they'll handle that group for us. In exchange, well
check out the Falklands for them."
  From years of practice, once the Rebels
decided to pull out, they did so in a hurry, with very
little wasted motion. The convoy, now laden with fresh
beef in the lockers and various kinds of fresh
fruit, sailed out and headed south When they had
skirted the northeastern edge of South America, the
ships pulled in close enough to that continent to enable
Communications to monitor any traffic that might be
bouncing around in the air. And there was plenty of it.
  "Chaos in there, Ben," Ike radioed from his
ship. "But so far the convoy's remained undetected.
  Makes me sick that we can't help those people."
  "Someday, Ike. Someday," Ben radioed. "I
don't like it any better than you. All I can say
is, we'll be back."
  The days blended in, each passing day no
different than the one behind them or the one ahead of them.
Except for those working Communications and
Intelligence. All along the coast of South
America, those two departments of the Rebel Army
stayed busy, recording and then analyzing
each radio message received. They pinpointed,
whenever possible, each trouble spot for future
reference.
  Before the convoy reached the Falkland Islands,
Intelligence had the names of many of the warlord and bandit
leaders, the self-styled generals and colonels, where
they were, the size of their armies, and how much
territory they controlled.
  Standing by the railing, Ben could but mutter, "We'll
be back, people. Someday."
Chapter
Twelve
  "The captain says he's made this run many
times," Buddy said to his father. "He said we'll
lay off Port Stanley while teams go in to check
out the place. The islands cover over forty-seven
hundred square miles, yet Stanley is the
Falklands" only town. I find that amazing. Where
do all the other people live?"
  Ben smiled and handed his son an old copy of a
travel magazine. "Read all about it, son. And
then you'll know as much about it as I do. But you can take
your time, we still have many, many miles to go."
  Ben studied the young man's ruggedly handsome face.
This trip had been a real adventure for
him, and for many of the younger Rebels, who had never been
out of the shattered remains of the United States.
  Ben thought of the Rebels who lay in quiet
graves in Ireland and England and hoped they had not
died in vain, and of the ones who had been sent back
to America minus hands and arms and legs and vision.
  And he wondered for a moment how Linda was doing.
  He stood by the railing, deep in thought, and others
left him alone. What few reports they had
monitored coming out of Hawaii had been growing
increasingly grim. The islands were nothing more than a
safe haven for bandits and assorted thugs who had
enslaved virtually the entire island group.
Military bases had been looted time and time again
until now there was practically nothing left of
value on any of the installations. The cities had
been turned into cesspools, nothing more than
criminal havens where torture and slavery and
human degradation was so common no one paid any
attention to it.
  The islands were not going to be easy to take. The
terrain was rugged. He had spent hours studying
maps of the group and had warned his commanders not to think the
upcoming invasion would be a milk run.
  Chase joined him by the railing. "What
are you getting out of the Falklands, Ben?"
  "Not much, Lamar. There is some chatter, but
Intelligence doesn't seem to think there is any
trouble there. I hope that's true."
  "The British and the Argentines finally settled their
differences, I suppose. Even though it took a
world war to accomplish that."
  Jersey walked up, a puzzled look on her
face. "We're not too many days away from the
Falklands," she said. "I been studying some maps,
and I thought the weather would be colder than this, as
close as the Falklands are to the Antarctic. But it
doesn't seem to be getting colder."
  "It's spring, Jersey," Ben said. "It's
winter back home, but spring here."
  "Well, I'll be damned. Sure, I
remember that from grade school geography." She
grinned. "Now I'll go mess with Cooper's
mind."
  "Good luck in finding it," Chase called after
her.
  Rebel communications made contact with the
Falklands and were advised that what population remained
was in desperate need of medicines and doctors.
Communications told them to hang on, the
Rebels were on the way.
  "How many still there?" Ben asked.
  "They advised about four hundred men, women, and
kids. They had twenty-three hundred on the
Islands when the balloon went up. They didn't
tell me what happened to the rest."
  "We'll know soon enough."
  "Ben," Lamar said, "they may want to leave.
They're damned isolated."
  "We have room. We'll see what they say."
  They said no.
  The Rebels sailed into Port Stanley and the
medics and doctors went to work immediately upon getting
their land-legs back under them. But the people of the
Falklands did not wish to leave.
  "We know you cleared out the thugs from Ireland and
England, so we'll be getting supplies on a
regular basis now," the spokesman for the group
said. "So we'll be stayin'. It's our home,
General-for many, the only home they've ever known."
  "What happened to the others?"
  "Some left in ships. We never heard from them
again. Many died from lack of medicine. We're all
suffering from far too few vegetables. We grow
  some in hothouses, but mainly we've
lived on mutton and fish and squid. We've
coped, General. We simply had no choice."
  "No trouble from the mainland?"
  "No. None. We monitor them closely.
It's terrible over there, General Raines. It's just
been a total breakdown of law and order and
decency. At first, we prepared ourselves for an
invasion. But it never came. We had troops stationed
here, but when the war came, they sailed and flew out.
We don't know what happened to them. What really
saved us were the stores the military left behind. I
think we would have died if it had not been for that. But the
vitamins ran out years ago, along with the boxes of
bully beef, and the medicines became outdated and
dangerous to use. You people saved us, General. We can
never thank you enough."
  "I see you're all well armed," Ben said with a
smile.
  "Oh, yes. We have plenty of guns to go around,
believe me. We're few in number, but any
attacker will pay a dreadful price in the taking of the
Falklands."
  The Rebels repaired existing radio equipment
and also installed more modern equipment. Now the people could
communicate world-wide, and more important,
with the Canaries and with England. The Rebels stayed on
these lonely, barren islands for several weeks, giving
the doctors time to thoroughly check and treat every
resident, and some required extensive surgery.
The lone doctor on the Falklands had zero
supplies with which to treat the sick.
  "What about Easter Island?" Ben asked.
  The man shook his head. "We don't know. I
don't know if anyone is even alive up there.
Is that your next stop?"
  "Yes."
  "There is no natural harbor there. I suggest
you anchor off the coast of Hanga-Roa, on the
west side. And be careful. There was a leper
colony there, and they've been without medicines for many
years now." He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows?"
  Ben looked at Chase.
  Chase nodded. "Oh, yes, Ben, we have the
drugs to treat it. Sulfone and dapsone,
primarily. And before you ask, no, medical science
still does not know the mode of transmission of the disease.
What we do know is that it usually takes prolonged
and close physical contact to contract it. And many
work near it all their lives and never contract it.
It's a baffling disease, Ben."
  The Rebels left some of their fruit and
vegetables for the residents of the island-ships from
England and the Canaries were already on the way-and
prepared to shove off. There were lots of tears and many
lumps in throats on both sides as the convoy
steamed out of harbor. The residents had put together a
band of sorts, and they were playing as the convoy sailed
out of sight.
  The trip to Easter Island from the Falklands was
nearly five thousand miles. As highly trained as
the Rebels were, and as sharply as their killing
skills had been honed, had it not been for these stops
along the way, there would have been some blood spilled
among the troops due to the boredom.
  The convoy rounded Cape Horn, staying well
  away from land, and turned northwest into the South
Pacific Ocean. Ben and his troops settled in
for another long, boring trip.
  It was a bored bunch of warriors who lined the
rails just at dawn when Easter Island became a
tiny dot in a vast moving sea. The convoy anchored
outside the usual harboring area and the Rebels
stood by the rails, many with binoculars, and tried
to spot some sign of life. The island, only
forty-five square miles of it, lay
silent under the subtropical sun.
  "Communications has been scanning all
frequencies," Corrie told Ben. "Nothing."
  "They may be hiding," Ben said. "But I've
got a bad feeling about this place. Corrie,
tell the chopper pilots to give it a fly-by."
  It did not take the recon helicopters long
to traverse the tiny island.
  "No signs of human life, General,"
Corrie told Ben. "Cows, sheep, some
horses. No sign of human habitation."
  "Tell Dan to take his team in.
Helicopters will circle until the small
airport is secure and then land."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Oh, to hell with it, Corrie. Let's go
exploring."
  She grinned. "The team's all ready, General.
We sort of felt that would happen."
  Dan met him near the outskirts of a small
village on the western side of the island. "The town
is deserted, General-and has been for a long time."
  Ben entered the first house he came to. He had
experienced some eerie sensations in his life, but this
scene hit him hard. There were plates on
the
  kitchen table, knifes and forks and spoons laid
out properly. Hardened remnants of food lay in
the charred bottoms of pots on the stove. House
slippers were placed on the floor by the bed, and
nightclothes lay untouched on the turned-back bed.
  "Place gives me the heebie-jeebies,"
Cooper whispered.
  "Why are you whispering?" Jersey asked.
  "Why are
you
whispering?" Cooper countered.
  Nearly every house in the villages was very much the
same. Meals were in the process of being cooked when
whatever happened happened. There were few signs of
struggle or conflict, a few bullet holes, and
some expended brass on the ground. The Rebels
inspected the graveyards. No signs of any
hurried mass digging. The last marker was dated
1989.
  "That's years ago," Beth said, then felt
slightly foolish for pointing out the obvious.
  It did not take the landing parties long to scour the
island and conclude that it was void of inhabitants.
  "Tell the troops to start coming ashore so
they can feel earth under their boots again," Ben
ordered. "One battalion at a time. We'll
spend several days here and try to determine what
happened. But I doubt that we'll ever know."
  One thing that did puzzle Ben was that the leper station
had been destroyed by fire.
  "They probably all died of natural causes
and the islanders burned the place out of fear and
ignorance," Chase told him, looking at the old,
charred ruins.
  "Almost two thousand people lived on this island,"
  Ben said. "What the hell happened to them?"
  "What happened to the damn trees on this chunk of
real estate?" Jersey questioned. "There are no
trees."
  "Historians and researchers say this place was a
forest at one time," Ben replied. "But the islanders
cut them down to build platforms to use in hauling
those giant statues like that one over there." He
pointed. "There are over a thousand of them scattered
over the island."
  "What are they?"
  "That's a good question. No one really ever knew."
  "And now, no one will ever know," Dr. Chase said.
  "Big suckers," Coop said.
  "Some of them over fifty tons and about seventy
feet tall, if memory serves me correctly.
Beth, have someone chisel on a boulder that the
Rebels, a multinational force of soldiers
home-based in America, landed on this island on this
date and found it deserted, with no sign of human
life."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben walked around a small part of the island. He
didn't want to off-load a lot of vehicles because
without an adequate port, it was a pain in the ass.
He stood before a row of tall and stately statues,
their sightless eyes staring at ... nothing, he
assumed.
  "You know what happened here," he said. "But you
never give up your secrets, do you?"
  Ben stared at the tall and mute statues for a
moment,
  then turned and walked away. He was going back
to his ship. Damn island depressed him.
  Almost exactly one thousand miles to the west lay
Pitcairn Island, where back in 1790 or so,
Fletcher Christian and some of the crew of the HMS
Bounty
mutinied and made their way to this desolate
two-square-mile island smack in the middle of
nowhere. Ben and Rebels checked it out.
  According to the latest figures the Rebels had, the
population of Pitcairn Island, when the Great War
struck, was sixty-one. At first glance it appeared
to have changed little.
  Since there was no port, the Rebels went
ashore in motor launches. The man who met them
was not unfriendly, but then, neither was he bubbling over with
joy at the sight of the Rebels.
  "We are not armed," a man said, a peculiar
accent to his words. "We harm nobody and wish
only to be left alone."
  "Do you want our doctors to look over your
kids?" Ben asked.
  "No."
  "Do you mind if we look around the island?"
  "You have the guns."
  "That's not what I asked."
  "You have already frightened the young people."
  "Do you want us to leave?"
  "Would you?"
  "It's your island."
  The man turned around and walked off.
  "Okay," Ben said. "Suits me.
Back to the ship, people. Beth, log that we tried
to help the
  inhabitants but they refused. We will not be
back."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Wait, sir!" a man's voice called,
turning the team around. A young man was walking down the
boat ramp toward them. He reached them and held out
his hand. Ben shook it.
  "We are not all so rude," the young man said.
"Frank forgot one of our tenets: Speak gently
and with dignity. My name is Martin Christian. We
do have sick people here, and I would very much appreciate
your doctors checking them over."
  "We'll bring them in by helicopter. It's safer
than landing a launch here," Ben said dryly.
  The ride in had been rough, ploughing through crashing
surf to reach the tiny concrete jetty built
by British Royal Navy Engineers at Bounty
Bay.
  A landing pad was cleared in Adamstown, the only
town, and naturally, Chase was the first one off the
chopper and immediately started hollering and hollering to his
medical teams.
  "His bark is worse than his bite,"
Ben told a group of Pitcairners who had
gathered around him. He noticed that Frank --
whoever the hell Frank was-was nowhere to be seen.
  "What's your population now, Martin?"
  "One hundred sixty-five. We can't
support much more than that."
  "Birth control?" a young Rebel doctor
asked.
  "It's voluntary, but it works. The people know that
overpopulation would be the end for us all."
  "Easter Island is void of human life,"
Ben told him. "Certainly open to resettlement.
We'd help you."
  "We know. They were wiped out by pirates heading
  from South America to Hawaii. Those who were not
killed were taken as slaves, or for barter.
Especially the women and girls. The pirates
tried to come ashore here. After several of them drowned,
they gave up and sailed on. Your destination is
Hawaii, General?"
  "Yes. I expect a pretty good fight
awaits us there."
  "You don't seem too worried about it."
  Ben smiled. "We've been fighting for over a
decade, Martin. We've got it down
to a fine art, believe me."
  "Oh, I believe you. Before we ran out of
fuel, we used to track your movements all over the
United States."
  "We'll resupply you, set you up with new
radios, and arm you, if you wish."
  "Oh, I wish, sir. Oh, my, yes.
We've been lucky over the years. Very lucky.
But luck will run out someday. That's Frank's
problem. He thinks because of our poor docking
facilities here, we'll be left alone. He was
shocked to see the helicopter. He is not ...
worldly."
  Ben nodded his head. "Come on, let's start
making a supply list."
  "Oh, that's easy," Martin said with a smile.
"We need everything."
Chapter
Thirteen
  Ben sent two ships back to where they had spotted
a drifting tanker-about four days out from Pitcairn.
They had checked it and its cargo was diesel.
  Pitcairners are great scavengers, plucking from
the sea whatever washes up, and that was plenty. Their
homes are made from lumber thrown
overboard from ships. Now they were in terrible need of
repair. And they had 55-gallon drums that had
washed up stacked all over the island.
  "We'll use those to store the fuel in. But that will
only be a small portion of what's on that tanker.
I don't know what to tell you about the rest of it."
  Then Ike came up with, "Hell, let's beach
her on one of the uninhabited islands. We'll run
her aground on the lee side and you folks can take
what you need when you need it. We'll drain the forward
compartment before we beach her."
  "There you go," Ben said, as Martin and the others
laughed and clapped their hands.
  "That will be enough fuel oil to keep our generators and
tractors going for the rest of our lives."
  Then Ike sobered. "No, it won't work."
  "Why?" Martin asked.
  "If the old girl sprang a leak, you'd have an
ecological disaster on your hands."
  "Not necessarily," said a man who looked to be
about as old as God. But he moved nimbly to a
map of the islands. "Bring her in here, at this spot,
at high tide. After you have blown out a deeper
trough. This area is surrounded on three sides
by high rock walls. Enough explosives
here," he pointed, "and us working to build a sea
wall, would ensure the ship would be virtually dry and
aground for years and lessen the danger of a spill."
  A Rebel engineer studied the location carefully
and said it could be done.
  "So do it," Ben ordered.
  With Rebels swarming all over the island,
repairs were done quickly and done well. Ben ordered
a ship dispatched from the west coast with badly needed
medicines and supplies, and a doctor and two
medics agreed to stay on for a time.
  One of the few things the residents could tell the
Rebels about Tahiti was that like everywhere else, when
the Great War struck, the outlaws took over.
  "The French Foreign Legion had a small
detachment of men there," Martin said. "But the
hoodlum element quickly killed them all and began
taking over. Pirates operate out of the two big
islands, Tahiti and Moorea. They roam all
up and down the Tuamotu Archipelago. They might
even try to attack your convoy. Although I think that
would be a terrible mistake on their part."
  "The people on the Marquesas?" Ben asked.
  "That I don't know. We lost contact with them
years ago. But if I had to guess,
I'd say it was a pirate's haven."
  The men shook hands. "Will we see you again,
General?" Martin asked.
  "I doubt it. But you'll be seeing American
ships several times a year. That I can promise
you."
  "Godspeed, General."
  The Rebel convoy put the tiny dot in the vast
ocean behind them.
  The convoy had not traveled three hundred miles
from the tiny island when lookouts spotted three ships
coming up on them fast. Ben lifted binoculars and had
to smile, even though it was extremely dark humor.
  "The bastards are actually flying the Jolly
Roger," he said. "I cannot believe it. Battle
stations," he ordered.
  "All guns ready," Corrie reported.
  "Helicopters up," Ben said.
  "Yes, sir. General? The pirates are
ordering us to heave to and prepare for boarding parties."
  Ben chuckled. "Those simpleminded outlaw
bastards. My God, can't they see the size of this
armada?"
  "They are going to open fire, sir."
  "Tell them to strike their colors or
die."
  Corrie relayed his orders. Then listened
intently.
  Ben looked at her. "Well?"
  "Ah, sir, they say for you to fuck off."
  A cannon shell whistled overhead and landed
harmlessly in the sea.
  "Blow them out of the water, Corrie."
  Apaches launched missiles and the three pirate
ships took hard hits. One went down fast, the
other two were burning and taking on water.
  "Prepare to launch boats to pick up the
survivors," Ben ordered. "Apaches return
home. When the pirates are cleaned up, patched
up, and in dry clothing, bring the leaders to the
stateroom, please."
  "Some of them wont make it, sir," Corrie
pointed out. "Sharks."
  Ben could see fins slicing the calm waters.
"They definitely have a real problem," he said, then
walked away.
  The first prisoner Ben and the others in the stateroom
questioned was a big burly brute of a man with cruelty
and savagery etched on his face and in his eyes. His
head was shaved and he wore rings in both
ears and in his nose. His huge arms were covered with
tattoos, most of them highly obscene.
  "Ye let them good men die to the sharks, mate,"
the man said. "Ye's a cold-hearted bastard."
  "And you are a stupid-looking motherfucker," Ben
replied. "You're about two heartbeats away from
getting a slug right between your eyes. So you shut your
mouth until I tell you to open it. Is that clear?"
  The pirate was taken aback by that. He
obviously was not used to being spoken to in such a
manner. But before he could respond, Cooper stuck
his head into the stateroom.
  "We picked up a few of their prisoners,
General. Mostly women. They've been treated
bad, sir. Real bad."
  The pirate laughed. "We like to see how much pain
they can stand. It's a game. Some of them gets
dragged over the side and et on by the sharks. It's a
fun game."
  Ben stared at the man for a moment. "You openly and
freely admit to those disgusting practices?"
  "Hell, yes!"
  Ben was silent for a moment, studying the brute of a
man standing grinning arrogantly before him. "Get him
out of here," he finally said.
  "What's the matter, big-shit General?" the
ape sneered. "Does I frighten you?"
  "You disgust me," Ben said, his voice low. Those
Rebels in the room could feel the menace in Ben's
voice.
  "Well, la-tee-da," the pirate sneered.
"Ain't we the dainty one, though? I sure am
sorry that I dis-gust you. You want to kiss and
make up?" He puckered up thick wet lips and
made kissing sounds at Ben, leaning as close to him
as his restraints would allow. "Maybe you could suck
my dick, too."
  Ben looked at Ike. "Take him out and hang
him. Now."
  The pirate stiffened in shock. His face paled
under his heavy tan. He tried a smile. "Ah
... with you bringing law and order back to the world,
General, I kinda figured on a trial."
  "You figured wrong."
  "What about his body?" Ike asked.
  "Throw it to the sharks."
  "You cold-blooded son of a bitch!" the pirate
said, the words exploding out of his mouth.
  Ben smiled, his lips a thin line and his eyes
void of emotion. "How do you like it, now that
you've finally met someone as cold as you?"
  The man was cussing and shouting out oaths as the
Rebel guards dragged him to a makeshift
gallows.
  "We're turning out of the Archipelago,
General," Beth told Ben. "Heading toward the
Windward group of the Societies."
  "Won't be long now," Ben said. "I'm
surprised we haven't had more attempts to board."
  "The ships that have seen us have turned tail and
left," Coop said. "So you can bet they're waiting
on us."
  Ben walked to the communications room. "Anything?"
he asked the woman on duty.
  "Plenty, General. And none of it good. They're
sure massing for us. I was just finishing typing it up for
you." She handed him a clipboard.
  Ben quickly scanned the pages. "Well, they're
definitely waiting for us Get me an all-ship
hookup with the batt comms, please."
  Ben took the mic. "As you probably know by now,
the crud is waiting for us on the islands. Go over
our plans again, make sure you haven't missed
anything. Start issuing supplies. Make sure
everybody has water purification tablets
and they
  take two canteens of water in with them. We
all know the drill, so all I can add is, Good
luck."
  The outlaws on the islands that made up the
Society chain watched with dismay as the large convoy
of ships approached the big island of Tahiti and
slowly began circling, well out of range of
anything the outlaws had in the way of weapons. The
island was only thirty-three miles long, and the
convoy, made up of dozens of ships, appeared to the
outlaws to be much larger.
  "You got your passport ready, Ben?" Ike
joked as they stood by the railing, looking through
binoculars at the capital city of Papeete.
  Ben lowered his binoculars. "All ready,
Ike." He turned to Corrie. "What's the
chatter about on the island?"
  "They don't know what to do," she replied.
"I'm getting chatter from a dozen different groups.
Some want to surrender, some want to mix it up right
now."
  "Either way they want it is fine with me," Ben
said.
  They stood by the railing and waited.
  "Here's one who wants to talk," Corrie said,
handing Ben the headset.
  Ben slipped on the headset. "This is General
Raines. Say what's on your mind."
  "We'd like to make a deal," the outlaw said.
  "No deals," Ben told him. "You lay down
your arms and surrender or you die. Those are the only
two options that you have."
  "You are not offering much, General. Suppose we
choose to fight?"
  "Your funeral," Ben said flatly.
  "You have no right to come here and dictate terms to us,"
another voice spoke.
  "I don't intend to argue about it," Ben said.
"Make up your damn minds, one way or the
other."
  There was no reply.
  Ben returned the headset to Corrie. "I think
they're going to fight," he said to Ike. "The
special teams will go in at midnight and raise a
little hell. The rest of us will strike just before dawn."
He looked at a map. "We'll save
Papeete for the last. Take your battalion and go
in here at Teahu-poo, Dan's people go in up here at
Tautira, both parties work toward this
bottleneck here at Afaahiti. I'll take
my people and go in here and secure the airport and the town
of Faaa. Georgi will go in here at Mahina.
Rebet will take Paea, Danjou's people will land here
at Tiarei. Everyone else will stay in reserve.
The convoy will pull back for several miles before
beginning the shift. Give the orders, Corrie."
  Rebels began gearing up for action, and they were
ready for it. The weeks of inactivity had charged them
up and they were spoiling for a fight. On the island, the
outlaws watched and knew their years of terror were about
to end.
  Beaten, abused, enslaved, raped, and tortured
islanders whispered among themselves. "The American
Ben Raines and his Rebels are here."
  "Here?" came the astonished whisper.
  "Here. And now is the time for us to help them."
  Those who had put up with a decade of abuse
reached for their hidden machetes and axes and hatchets
and homemade spears. They had long memories, and
very sharp blades.
Chapter
Fourteen
  Ike and Dan sent their special operations people in
under cover of darkness with orders to terrorize
the outlaws and blow up a few things. The highly
trained hellions grinned and waggled their thumbs in
reply, then went over the side into rubber boats for
silent approach.
  "Let's get into position," Ben said.
  The transports began moving into position,
slowly encircling the island, getting ready for the
Rebels to make their pre-dawn strike. On the
island, in the towns and villages, the outlaws wiped
the sweat out of their eyes, wiped sweaty palms on
their shirts and pants, then gripped their guns. Many
of them never dreamed that the Rebels would ever leave
America, much less travel thousands of miles
to these islands.
  Now they were looking death in the face and not liking the
sight at all.
  The Rebels slept for a few hours, and most
did not have to be awakened at 0400. They were that
ready to go.
  Corrie walked up to Ben's side.
"Special operations report a lot of ships have
pulled out
  of harbors, sir. They took a north
by slightly east course."
  "Heading for the Marquesas," Ben said.
"They might convince those there to head for Hawaii.
We're going to have our hands full, no doubt about
that."
  "Small craft approaching from the island," the
captain's voice came over the loudspeakers.
"Coming at us at high speed."
  "Blow them out of the water," Ben said quietly.
  All around the island, the big ships began
unleashing their muscle. The small boats of the
twenty-first-century pirates had no chance against the
guns of the Rebels.
  "Prepare to take prisoners," Ben gave the
orders. He sipped at a mug of coffee.
  When the few surviving pirates were hauled on
deck, they lay looking up into the hard faces of the
world's most highly trained and motivated soldiers,
well-fed, groomed, eyes shining with good health.
  "Mercy," one said.
  "That's us," a Rebel told him. "Angels of
mercy, for sure."
  The pirates were jerked to their feet and shoved down
passageways, to be inspected by doctors and then
tossed in the brig. They would be tried by the island's
civilians once the area was secured. And the
Rebels had little doubt but what most, if
not all of them, would hang.
  Ben looked at his watch. "Prepare to jump
off," he said to Corrie.
  "Yes, sir. SP teams report the airport
area is ringed with outlaws. They haven't been able
to make much of a dent in their defenses."
  "Tell them to hold what they've got and keep
their heads down. We're on the way." Ben stepped
over the railing onto the rope ladder. "Let's
go."
  Ben's battalion struck left and right of the
airport and drove in hard, while only a very
light force struck directly in, but producing enough
firepower to make the outlaws think the main thrust was
coming at them head on and right out of the sea. They threw
everything they had at the smaller force. Ben closed the
pincers, and the small force of Rebels withdrew to either
side of the airport. By the time the outlaws realized
what had happened, they had but one direction to run:
straight into the sea.
  They threw down their weapons and sat down on the
ground, the concrete, the tarmac, and the floor, holding
their hands high above their heads.
  "Shit!" one Rebel bitched. "There ain't a
good fight to be had anywhere."
  The other battalions were experiencing the same
lack of resistance. When the outlaws saw the
massive numbers of troops coming straight at them,
the fight went out of most of them and they threw down their
weapons.
  Those who tried to run back into the jungles fared
much, much worse, as they ran into bands of
Tahitians who hacked them to death with machetes and
axes, beat their heads in with clubs and stones, or
drove spears through them. The
  citizens were in no mood to strike any sort of
bargain with those who had so tormented them over the long and
painful years since the Great War rocked the earth and
destroyed nearly all vestiges of civilization and
order.
  By noon of that day, Ben had assembled a dozen
men and women who appeared to be respected by their other
countrymen and comwomen and sat them down.
  "We're not here as conquerors," he told them.
"These are your islands. We'll stay until the
outlaws are rounded up and tried-and how they are tried
is entirely up to you people."
  "They will be hanged," one woman said.
"Promptly."
  Ben shrugged. "That's up to you. We're
leaving you all the captured weapons. I would suggest
you familiarize yourselves with them and get some sort of
organized resistance force together as quickly as
possible. We might never be back."
  That got them moving.
  Ben drove over to the capital city,
Papeete. It was nearly in ruin. The outlaws and
pirates had looted and vandalized everything. Ben
noticed the bodies hanging from lampposts and tree
limbs and power poles and sturdy awnings. He
made no mention of them.
  Ben sent those battalions he'd held in
reserve over to Moorea and they found much the same as
Ben and his people had on the bigger island -- very light
resistance and many, many prisoners. Ben ordered the
prisoners be turned over to the Tahitians. Let
them deal with the problem.
  They did. Very expeditiously.
  Ben set some of his people to training the police and the
newly formed citizen-soldiers who would make up the
Tahitian Army. Several hundred of the outlaws
and pirates had made it back into the rugged interior
of the two bigger islands.
  "Do we clean them out?" Ike asked.
  "No. Let these people do it. They know the
country, and I think they'll do a good job of it."
He handed Ike a thick folder. "Maps of
Hawaii and many of the towns on the islands. Pass
them around." He held up another folder. "Maps
of the Marquesas. Only six of the islands were
populated-at the time those maps were made, that is.
And the entire population was about seven thousand. I
don't have any idea what we're going to find over
there, Ike."
  Ike's sailor eyes quickly scanned the charts.
"About seven hundred and fifty miles from here."
  "Pretty good, Ike," Ben said with a smile.
"It's seven hundred and forty. Communications have
picked up a lot of chatter. We're going to have some
resistance, but many of the pirates have set sail, or
steamed, whatever, for Hawaii. Those islands are going
to be a real humdinger." Ben looked at his closest
friend. "You have something on your mind, Ike?"
  "Not really. I just never did like Hawaii. And
I always got the feeling that the true Hawaiians
didn't like me, either."
  Ben nodded his head. "You want to take your
  battalion on back to the States, Ike?"
  Ike looked startled, then laughed out loud.
"Oh, hell, no, Ben. But you know me;
you ask me a question, I'm going to tell you the truth.
I just never could shake the knowledge that it was their ancestors
who
ate
Captain Cook."
  Ben laughed at his friend. "Now, Ike, history
says they killed them. I don't whether they ate
him or not. Anyway, our ancestors burned people at
the stake as witches."
  Ike tried his best to look hurt. He didn't
make it. "Not mine, Ben. Mine just planted
cotton down in Mississippi."
  Order was very quickly restored on the islands. None
of the new groups of citizen-soldiers brought back
any prisoners from the interior, and Ben said nothing
about it. Neither did he say anything when men and women
who had collaborated with the outlaws and pirates were
executed. The Tahitians had learned a hard
lesson about justice when the criminal element had
taken over, and Ben felt that episode would not be
repeated.
  Rebel engineers worked side by side with
Tahitian engineers to restore power to the islands, and
communications were established with Base Camp One in
the States. Three weeks after the
Rebels sailed in, they sailed out, heading for the
Marquesas. Those islands would be their last stop before
they launched their assault on the Hawaiian chain.
  And Ben made it clear to his people that the
  assault on the Hawaiian chain was going to be a
piss-cutter. This time they could not stand back and
punish the enemy with artillery fire. They were going
to have to go in from the git-go and slug it out. The Rebels
were going to take casualties, and they probably would
be high.
  Ben never lied to his people, so they knew that when he
told them the battle was going to be a tough one, it
would be.
  The trip to the Marquesas was a short one, and the
convoy approached the small islands and slowed to a
crawl.
  "The pirates are getting antsy, General,"
Corrie told him. "There is a lot of nervous
chatter going on."
  "I'd be nervous, too, if I was in their
shoes," Ben said. "Corrie, tell communications
to advise those outlaws on the islands I will give
them one chance to surrender. If we have to come ashore
fighting, there will be very few prisoners taken."
  The sight must have been both awesome and
terrifying to those on the small islands. The outlaws
and pirates and thugs paled at the sight of the huge
ships with thousands of Rebel troops on board.
  Corrie listened for a moment, then smiled.
"General ... they have no stomach for a fight.
They're packing it in."
  "Well,
shit!"
Jersey said. "Are we ever going to see any
action?"
  Once again, the Rebels assumed the role of
  administrators and set about bringing order and
justice back to the people of the small island chain. The
only Rebel blood that was spilled came from the
bite of a vicious little sand gnat called the nono
fly. The bite is painless, but scratch it comand
scratch it you will comseveral hours later, and the welt will
burst, bleed, and become infected unless immediately
treated.
  "Irritating little bastards!" Ben muttered,
mightily resisting the urge to scratch.
  "I'd rather be fighting people," Cooper bitched. "At
least you can
see
them."
  Ben left the fate of the prisoners to the
Marquesans. And as happened on Tahiti, the
islanders dealt with them quickly. Ben did not ask what
they did with the bodies. However, not all were hanged
or shot, for the island's structures and roads needed
rebuilding. Many prisoners were put to work, under
heavy guard.
  "These people also practiced cannibalism," Ike
said, reading from a book. "Or their ancestors did,
rather."
  Ben smiled and slapped at a gnat. "Don't
worry, Ike. There isn't a pot on this island
big enough to put you in."
  Dr. Chase stood by the railing beside Ben as the
convoy began its last leg, toward Hawaii.
"What will it be like here fifty years down the road,
Ben?" His eyes were on the island, now rapidly
fading from view.
  "As isolated as they are, Lamar. God only
  knows. They are the most remote islands on the
face of the earth. But, with Tahiti once more with order
and law, the old link will probably be restored.
It's up to them, now."
  Corrie walked up. "General, Communications
says we have distress signals, in
English, coming from American Samoa, and the same from
the Fijis. The captain wants to know what course
to set."
  Chase laughed at the expression on Ben's
face. "It's still part of America, Ben."
  "Yeah. I know. All right, Corrie. Let's
go see Pago Pago. How far is it, anyway?"
  "A little over two thousand miles," Beth told
him.
  "Wonderful," Ben said dryly. "There is nothing
like an ocean cruise to clear one's head. How's
Cooper?"
  "Down below," Jersey replied. "Puking."
  The convoy turned west. But this time, unlike the
long voyage around the Horn, they began seeing ship
after ship, long dead in the water. Teams boarded the
ships, inspecting them and returning with the logbooks.
  Ben held the decade-old log of a freighter,
turning it around and around in his hands. His thoughts were not
of the logbook, however. They were of the old tourist
pamphlet he'd read that morning. About American
Samoa.
  "Corrie, are we still receiving distress signals
from Samoa and Fiji?"
  "Yes, sir. Those people must really be
taking a pasting to have held on this long."
  Dr. Chase looked at him. "What's on your
mind, Ben?"
  "It's a trap," Ben said, tossing the log to a
Rebel. "We're being set up."
  "Those calls sound pretty damned sincere
to me," Chase said.
  "Oh, I'm sure they are. But from whom?
Look, at the start of the Great War, the entire
population of those islands was only about thirty-five
thousand. Disease, pirates, outlaws, all those things
would have taken a toll. These calls are coming from
Pago Pago, right, Corrie?"
  She nodded.
  "A decade ago, three thousand population.
Say it's still that, although doubtful. Five hundred
would be men able to fight. Holding off hordes of
invaders all these days we've been at sea,
Lamar? Not likely."
  "But how would they fool us long enough to get us ashore
once we're there and have seen it?" Jersey asked.
  "Mock battles, at first. Then, as soon as
we storm ashore, the so-called enemy would retreat.
We'd follow, and they'd have us in a trap.
Corrie, I want Communications
to press those beleaguered people for details. I want
numbers, how many are defending, how many attacking.
How long they've been under attack, wounded, food
and ammo supplies left, where they want us to land,
the whole nine yards."
  "Right, sir."
  "And get all the batt comms on this ship,
pronto."
  "Right, sir."
  Ben smiled. But it was not a pleasant thing
to witness. "They want to play deadly games? I
can do that."
Chapter Fifteen
  Ben read the reports and knew he'd been right.
They were sailing into a trap. The answers to the questions
Communications had asked were too pat, too quick, and
too obviously a lie.
  "Eyes in the skies," Ben ordered. "Turn
them into flying gas tanks if you have to, but I want
them ranging out as far as they can safely go. We're
either being followed or closely tracked
electronically, or they've got attack
vessels tucked away behind some of these tiny islands.
You can bet your bippy on that."
  "Maintain course and speed?" the
Captain asked.
  "Right. Stay with it. Ike, you and Dan get your
special ops people ready to go in. Use your
mini-subs and underwater delivery vehicles.
Dan, your people go in silently and in blackface."
  Both men nodded and left the room.
  Ben lifted the reports and read them again.
"Bastards," he muttered.
  "We get some action this time, huh, General?"
Jersey asked.
  "You bet, Jersey. This will warm us up for
Hawaii."
  "This going to take long?"
  "It might take longer than we think. But the
big island is only about fifty square miles.
Shouldn't take us too long."
  "Are we going to this Fiji place?"
  "I don't know, Jersey. I just don't know."
  Corrie stuck her head inside the room.
"Bingo, General. Choppers found some ships all
tucked in nice." She moved to the wall map.
"Around this little bit of an island here." She pointed.
"Choppers veered off just as soon as the ships were
sighted. The spotters were using powerful binoculars,
so there is a good chance they weren't seen."
  "Good. We'll keep monitoring their distress
calls to see if there is any change in voice
timbre." He looked up as Buddy and Rebet
walked in. Ben pointed to the map. "When we get
here, sometime late tomorrow, we'll slow speed down
to dead slow or whatever it's called and launch our
night attack from that point. We'll go in right behind the
special ops people. One hour before dawn."
  "Who will be leading the assault?" Buddy asked.
  Ben looked at him and smiled.
  The pirates later confessed that they were sure Ben
and the Rebels would just sail right into Pago Pago's
deep-sheltered harbor, which is guarded by a
twenty-one-hundred-foot peak called Matafao.
Once there, the pirates planned to use fast little
torpedo boats to sink some of the Rebel ships and
block the harbor. How they planned on
  eventually removing the huge sunken transports
was something to which they had not given any thought at all.
  It was all moot anyway, as a pirate on
guard turned to a friend in the darkness. It was an hour
before dawn. "Cigarette, Marcel?" he asked.
  Marcel did not reply. It would have been nothing
short of a miracle had he said anything.
  "You asleep, hey,
mon ami?"
the pirate asked. He touched his friend on the shoulder
and the man fell over. The pirate dropped to his
knees in the gloom and touched the man's neck,
feeling for a pulse. What he found was stickiness.
His friend's throat had been sliced. He jumped up
and opened his mouth to yell. A wire was looped around
his throat and jerked tight, cutting off the shout. He
died a moment later as a knife was jammed into his
stomach and ripped upward, cutting the heart. His
body was lowered to the ground.
  Two of Ike's SEAL'S smiled at each other
and moved on.
  All around the edges of the U-shaped harbor, dead
pirates lay in their own blood, their throats
sliced wide open.
  Pirate commanders began to feel a chill as their
radio operators could not contact guardposts.
"Find out what's happening. Contact the lookouts
on the bluffs above the harbor."
  Silence greeted their calls. Dan's Scouts
had moved through the town like wraiths, climbed the
bluffs, and eased into position. Ten minutes before the
assault boats carrying the Rebels were to
  shove off from the mother ships, they went about
their deadly business.
  Then both special ops teams began blocking
roads. There is only fifty miles of paved
highway on the island, and once the intersections were
blocked, travel by vehicle was severely
hampered.
  Tension grew on the island and many pirates began
to panic, looking wildly around them as the silence
grew.
  "Assault craft approaching the coast!" one
of the few lookouts left shouted. "Jesus Christ,
I never seen so many boats. They's thousands of
troops."
  His words were a prelude to dying as a special
ops member tossed a fire-frag grenade into the
room and ducked as the lookout was splattered on the
walls.
  Charges planted by the special ops teams were
detonated, the explosions rocking the pre-dawn.
Rebels stormed ashore and set about their deadly
trade.
  "Squad one here," Ben called. He pointed
to a stone fence. "Set your machine gun there. You
two put some rockets into that house right in front of
us."
  The house erupted in shattered wood and stone and
body parts. Heavy machine gun fire hammered the
cool darkness.
  The pirate in charge, who was later identified as
a thug named Leo, screamed out orders, trying
to rally his forces. But his forces were demoralized and
scared, and many of them were already dead as the Rebels'
advance was sudden and merciless.
  They took very few prisoners. If anyone
greeted them with a gun in hand, they were dead on the
spot. There were a lot of dead in a very short time.
  Ben's team was on the move, and his platoon was
having a hard time just keeping up with him. Ben grabbed
up a pale and badly frightened little boy. The child
trembled in his arms. "Where are your parents, boy?"
  "Dead, sir," the child replied. "I'm the slave
of Leo. I jumped out the winder when the shootin'
began."
  "You're nobody's slave," Ben told him,
then handed the child to a medic. "Check him over and get
him back to safe lines. Come on, people."
  "God damn it, Father!" Buddy yelled from behind
him. "Will you slow down and hunt a hole?"
  "No," Ben called over his shoulder. "You either
lead, follow, or get the hell out of the
way."
  "I'm
trying
to follow," his son yelled.
  Everybody hit the ground as several heavy machine
guns opened up, the lead howling and whistling over their
heads. Ben and his people rolled for the safety of walls.
  "Grenades on three," Ben called. "Pass
the word."
  The count went down and two dozen grenades
blasted the grayness of dawning in the small town. The
machine-guns fell silent. Moaning drifted to the
Rebels.
  Ben was up and running for a grocery store comor
  what had once been one. He ran through the empty
doorframe, his CAR-15 rattling as shapes
spun around in the gloom, weapons lifting. It was
9mm slugs that spun them around. Ben dropped
to one knee, giving those behind him room to fire. The
old store trembled as M-16's, M-60's,
and Stoners roared and clattered. The rear wall of the
store was slick with blood and pocked with bullet
holes.
  Ben ran up the short block and ducked
into another store just as hostile fire opened
up from the second floor of a building across the
street. A dozen M203 grenade launchers
thumped in the dawning and the entire second floor was
blown apart.
  "Ike reporting one of the canneries is ours and the
second one is under hard attack by Rebet,"
Corrie said.
  Buddy had rallied a full platoon and came
running up to flop down beside his father, as the other
Rebels fanned out around Ben's position.
  "Where have you been, boy?" Ben asked, a smile
on his lips. "Resting?"
  "Very funny, Father. Quite amusing. What are your
plans now? Other than playing the hero, that is."
  Ben chuckled. "Taking the old hotel, one
block over and just up the street."
  "Now, if you have never before been here, as you said, just
how do you know that?"
  "I looked at a map, son. Let's go!"
Ben was up and running, his team right behind him, Buddy
and the platoon bringing up the rear, with
  Buddy doing some pretty fancy cussing, all of
it directed at his father.
  A line of pirates tried to run across the
street. Ben and his team cut them down and
left them flopping as they jumped over the bodies and
headed for the old Rainmaker Hotel. Every ground
floor window suddenly bristled with guns and the
Rebels hit the streets, rolling and ducking for
cover.
  "Launch the gunships," Ben spoke
to Corrie. "Take the hotel down. All
Rebels, back off a block. Now. Move!"
  The Rebels pulled back as the choppers came
hammering in, unleashing their terrible array of
weaponry.
  Within seconds, the old hotel was burning from the
rocket attack and pirates were running outside for
safety. Had they come out weaponless, they would have been
taken alive. But they chose to come out shooting. That
lapse in judgment got them Rebel bullets and very
quickly dead. The choppers headed for the airport
to give Striganov and his battalion a hand. Just
over an hour later, Pago Pago was, for the most
part, in Rebel hands.
  By the end of that day, it was apparent that the pirates
had killed a large part of the population of the island.
  "They were very cruel people, General," a man
introduced as Paale said. He had been in the
House of Representatives before the Great
War. "They tortured and raped and mutilated for the
fun of it. When they wanted to have target
  practice, they used the old and the sick for
targets."
  "Western Samoa?" Ben asked.
  "The same. It will not be so easy over there. Those
are two big islands. Twenty times our size."
  "We'll secure it," Ben assured the man.
  "How about trials and punishment for those taken
alive?"
  "That's up to you people."
  Paale smiled, excused himself, and went off
to aid in the hunt for fugitive pirates. Ben had
a hunch that justice was going to come down very quick and very
final.
  He turned to Corrie. "Have Thermopolis,
West, Danjou, and Dan's battalions
establish a beachhead on Upolu. We'll clean
up here and join them in the assault on Savaii."
  "Right, sir."
  Within minutes, the big ships had ceased their slow
circling and were heading for Western Samoa.
  "That wasn't no fair court of law!" a
pirate protested, his hands tied behind his back. "You
can't just take me out and hang me."
  "You want to bet?" a Samoan asked him,
prodding him along with the muzzle of a rifle.
  The pirate spotted Ben. "Hey! Soldier
boy. You can't let them do this to me. I'm
American. Just like you."
  "There is nothing about you that is like me," Ben told
the man. He looked at Jersey. "Now he's
going to tell me he was abused as a child."
  "Right," she said.
  "I was abused as a child!" the pirate said.
"Society made me do all them things I done."
  "Poor fellow," Beth said. "My heart just
goes out to him."
  Buddy looked at her. "I can see that you are
awfully upset about it."
  Beth took a bite of sandwich and washed it down
with water from her canteen. "Sure," she said.
  The Rebels were ice-cold emotionally when it
came to criminals. Whenever one of them wanted a good
laugh, Ben always kept copies of books and
newspapers and magazine articles for them to read.
The books and articles were collected souvenirs from
the 1970's, and '80's, all written by so-called
experts on the subject of crime. The Rebels
thought it hysterically funny when they read the
theories about why people turn to a life of crime and do
horrible things to other people. It cracked them up when they
read that because a coach wouldn't let a kid play, the
kid immediately went out and hacked his grandmother to death and
then got off without serving any time, or at best, a
few months or years. Hack your grandmother to death in
any Rebel society and you might have time to pray
(but do it quickly) before somebody slipped a noose
around your neck and stretched it.
  The Rebels knew for a fact, because it was a
fact, that people who entered into a life of crime did so
because they wanted to. Most of the Rebels now serving
had been through the most traumatic experience that
anyone could endure- the Great War and its hideous
aftermath comand
  they didn't turn to a life of crime because of it.
Most of them ignored the newly hanged bodies.
  Ben toured what he could of the island with Paale and
suggested that the two Samoas unite for more than just
safety's sake.
  "I think we most certainly will do that, General,"
Paale said. "We were talking about it when the
pirates came. We just were not prepared for them."
  "You will be when we leave," Ben assured him.
  The assault on Tutuila had taken
the fight out of the pirates who occupied the islands of
Western Samoa. They put up a half-hearted
resistance for a few hours and then gave it up before the
Rebels could even get all their troops ashore.
They were a sullen bunch as they were herded into groups and
placed under guard, awaiting trial. Most of them
knew what lay ahead for them, but this way, at least
they would be alive for a few more hours or a few more
days.
  "What's at Fiji?" Ben asked Paale.
  "More of the same as you found here," he was told.
"Although not on such a grand scale. The pirates could
not conquer such a large population. They control
maybe ten of the one hundred inhabited islands. With
us fighting with you, one of your battalions could
easily retake the chain."
  "We'll make it two battalions, just to be
on the safe side," Ben told him.
  Ike and West and their battalions, plus a
contingent of Samoan men, sailed off the next
  morning, the Samoans using pirate vessels.
The two battalions would link up with the convoy at the
Phoenix Islands.
  Ben and his people were one day away from sailing when Ike
radioed. "All gone, Ben," he
reported. "As soon as the pirates here got word
of our sailing toward Tahiti, they split for
Hawaii. They left a lot of gear behind and I've
distributed that among the islanders. I'm sailing this
evening. I'll check out the Wallis Islands while
you're checking the Tokelau Islands. See you,
Eagle. Shark out."
  Ben had met with Paale and the other leaders of the
island, including representatives from Western
Samoa. Trade would once more resume between them and the
United States mainland, for Ben and his people had been
starved for tuna. Before the Great War, American
Samoa had shipped nearly $300 million in
tuna to America. Rebel engineers had worked side
by side with islanders in helping to restore the old
canneries and Ben was leaving Rebels behind to make
damn sure no dolphins were caught and killed in the
nets.
  Paale had smiled at that. "You would kill a
man in a heartbeat, General. But you are more concerned
with a fish, hey?"
  "I think you know that a dolphin isn't a fish,
Paale."
  The man nodded his head. "Oh, sure. You know
what I mean."
  "We have a chance to save this planet, Paale.
Make up for the wrongs that were done to it. I intend
to see that I do my part in it."
  "You are a hard man, General." Ben smiled.
"Hard times, brother."
  "There are no signs of life, Father," Buddy
said, lowering his binoculars. They were anchored just off the
small atolls that made up the Tokelau
Islands.
  "There were about fifteen hundred people here before the war
Ben replied. "Get a landing party together, son.
Let's go check this out. Parties to inspect all
three atolls. It shouldn't take long," he added
dryly. "All three islands make up only
3.9 square miles."
  The Rebels inspected all the islands. They
found no evidence of human inhabitation ... there had
been none for years. Most of the homes were intact.
Hollowed-out coconut tree trunks, used for rain
catchments, were overflowing. The schools and
hospitals, on each island, were intact.
  Dr. Chase had tagged along. "They were pretty
nice hospitals, I'd say. At one time."
He picked up a metal medical chart holder and
opened it.
  "All that scribbling tell you anything?" Ben
asked.
  He closed the metal folder and tossed it on the
rat-chewed mattress. "Yeah. Fellow had a
hernia."
Chapter Sixteen
  The convoy became whole again after linking up with
Ike and West at the uninhabited atolls that make
up the Phoenix Islands. The convoy changed
course and headed for Kiritimati Island, better
known as Christmas Island, just about twelve hundred
miles from the Hawaiian Islands. The island had
an airfield, a good port, and before the Great War,
a large government-owned copra plantation. Now it
was deserted.
  As had become their pattern, the Rebels went
ashore and carefully inspected the island. Before the
war, the island had had a population of just over a
thousand. The Rebels could find no clues as to where the
inhabitants had gone, or why. And as before, Ben
ordered these words chiseled into stone: THIS ISLAND
INSPECTED BY THE MULTINATIONAL FORCE
KNOWN AS THE REBELS, THIS DATE, AND
FOUND IT DESERTED AND VOID OF
HUMAN LIFE.
  "I suspect we'll find nothing at Johnston
Island," Ben said. "But there were about four hundred
souls there when the war broke out. Let's go take a
look."
  They found the skeletons of about a hundred
  people, stacked in a large concrete block building
with the doors locked. But the Rebels could find nothing
to tell them why the bodies had been stacked there, or
what had caused the people's deaths.
  "This place was used as a chemical weapons
dump," Ben told the landing party. "Makes me
nervous. There is no telling what kind of crap is
stacked and stored and buried around here. All in the name
of peace, of course. Let's get the hell out of
here. Corrie, advise all Batt comms to gather
on my ship. We're only seven hundred miles
from Honolulu. We've got a lot of planning
to do."
  With the convoy under way and fresh coffee poured, the
battalion commanders gathered. Ben stood up in
front of a large wall map of the Hawaiian
Islands. He held a pointer. "Our communications
people had been hard at work. The big island of
Hawaii is where the majority of all pirate and
outlaw radio chatter is concentrated.
Maui and Oahu hold the next concentration.
Kauai and Lanai come next. We have received no,
repeat,
no
chatter at all from Molokai. That tells me we
have a landing site all ready to receive."
  "Why has there been no radio traffic from this
island, General?" Pat O'Shea asked, a
puzzled look on his face.
  "I can guess," Ben said with a smile. "But I
would rather you people put it together." He lifted his coffee
mug and took a sip.
  Georgi Striganov grunted, then smiled.
"When the pirates and outlaws and thugs first
  showed up," he said, "I would guess the
residents of Molokai played on their fears and
put up signs warning that the island was quarantined
due to an outbreak of Hansen's Disease.
Leprosy. Molokai is where the large colony
is."
  Thermopolis said, "So the islanders played on the
pirates' fear. They probably showed them
grossly exaggerated photos of quotestunquote
"victims," and that scared the shit out of the
pirates."
  "Precisely," Ben said. "Most intelligent
people know there is little to fear from the disease. But you can bet
the residents of Molokai played up the worst,
probably put on an Academy Award winning
performance and the pirates got the hell off that island and
to this day leave them alone. We've got a number of
native Hawaiians in our ranks. Find them and
ask for volunteers to go ashore and check out the
island. Get on that promptly. If what we think
is correct, we'll land there, establish a command
post, and begin launching assaults from all over the
island. If our thoughts prove out incorrect,
we'll just have to hit the bastards head on."
  Ben looked at Ike. "Might be a problem
getting them ashore."
  The ex-Seal smiled reassuringly. "No
sweat, Ben. We have ways of delivering them."
  Ben nodded and sat back down at the table.
"Let's kick it around, people."
  "If those people on Molokai pulled this off,"
Dr. Chase said, chuckling at the thought, "they've
pulled off the greatest con since the Piltdown
Man. For if memory serves me correctly, the
colony
  there closed down years before the war and
became a National Historical Park, with guided
tours and the whole bit. The people who remained on,
calling it home, were no longer contagious and were free
to leave. In addition to that, Father Damien, the
Belgian priest who really got the colony off the
ground and really cared for the patients, and restored
dignity to those confined there, was, ironically, the
only voluntary resident who ever contracted the
disease."
  "When was that, Lamar?" the mercenary, West,
asked.
  "Oh ... back in the late 1800's."
  "Back when Lamar was just a lad," Ben said.
  The crusty old doctor gave him the bird.
  When the convoy drew within a hundred miles of the
coast of the Hawaiian chain, the ships began a
long, slow circling. They had seen no other
vessels on the water, other than floating
derelicts, which they always boarded, inspected, and then
scuttled.
  "They'll be expecting us from the south," Ben said.
"So we'll fool them and come in from the northwest. I
was thinking of running between these two islands here,
Necker and Niihau, but if the pirates have any
sense, they've got patrol boats working
all up and down the southern coast. We'll swing
wide and come in at night to put ashore our people. If
anybody's got any objections, now is the time
to voice them."
  No one did.
  Ben nodded at Corrie and she called the
bridge, okaying the change in course.
  "Are the Hawaiians briefed and ready to go?"
Ben asked.
  "Yeah," Ike said. "They're anxious to go
home. Two lived on Molokai and have plenty of
family there. The Hawaiians probably will not
return to the States with us."
  "That's fine. I intend to leave Rebels on the
islands once we've cleared them. Only a few more
days, people." He grinned at Jersey, knowing what she
would say.
  "Yeah," the little bodyguard said. "Kick-ass
time!"
  The convoy was not spotted after it changed course, and
it gave the big island a wide berth, ran for half
a day, then cut west. The Hawaiian Rebels and
two special ops teams went over the side at
full dark and disappeared into the Pacific night. The
huge convoy backed off and began circling
while they waited for work.
  Ben was awakened at midnight. "You called it,
Father," Buddy told him. "That's exactly what the
residents of the island did. But the pirates have
grown suspicious over the years and now the island is
cut in half. The thugs and pirates control the
western half, and the eastern half is the so-called
confinement area of the sick. Of course, there are no
sick."
  Ben was instantly awake and dressing. "We start
going in now, son. Have the special ops people found a
harbor?"
  "They haven't, but the people who live there know of one.
I've got it marked out in the wardroom."
  "Let's go. Get my battalion up and ready
to move, son. Like right now. I'm sick of this damn
tub."
  Ike and the others yelled and bitched and kicked things
and behaved predictably when they learned that Ben and
his battalion were going in first. But it didn't do
any good.
  "Georgi and Thermopolis, your battalions
come in right behind me, followed by Dan and West,
Danjou and Rebet, Pat and Tina. Ike, your
battalion stays behind and mans the guns of
this convoy. You know the convoy is going to be
attacked."
  "All right, Ben." Once orders were given,
Ike would not argue with them. Usually.
  "The rest of you, get back to your ships." He
looked at the captain of the flagship. "Get us in
close, Captain," Ben ordered.
  "You'll be there before you know it," the captain said.
  "Take one day's rations," Ben told his
platoon leaders just before jump off time. "Food should
be plentiful on the island. I'm not sure about the
water, so take plenty of purification tablets. And
all the ammo you can comfortably carry." The Rebels
noticed that Ben was once more carrying his old Thunder
Lizard, the big M-14.
  Ben walked off to be alone for a few moments,
while the landing craft were being readied.
  "Landing craft are ready, sir," Corrie said.
  "Let's go," Ben said, and stepped over the
railing.
  The captain had brought them in as close as he
dared on this moonlit night. But the waters were calm
and the ride in was smooth and uneventful. The special
ops team signaled with a single strobe and the landing
craft veered slightly, slowed, and
crunched onto the sandy beach.
  "Welcome to Hawaii, General," a burly
man with a wide grin said, stepping forward and holding out
a hand. "And, sir may I add that we are damn
glad to see you."
  Ben shook the hand and stepped out of the way, allowing
his people room to exit the craft.
  "Jim Peters is the name," the man said.
  "What's the situation, Jim?"
  "First thing the pirates did was collect every gun
on every island. When we knew that our leprosy ruse
wasn't going to protect us very much longer, a few of
us, pitifully few, wrapped up our shotguns and
rifles and buried them along with what little ammo we
had. Outlaws are just like politicians, aren't they,
General Raines? Take the guns and you control the
people."
  Ben chuckled and slapped the man on the back.
"Jim, I think you're going to be a fine
Rebel."
  The men stood shoulder to shoulder, watching as Ben's
One Battalion silently stormed the beach and formed
up into columns. Jim would leave residents
to meet each landing party and guide them to their assigned
destinations.
  "We've got a pretty good walk, General,"
he
  told Ben, "but a safe one. This entire end of the
island is void of thugs and pirates and their ilk.
They're still frightened to death of Hansen's Disease,
especially when they learned that we had no more
medicines left to treat it."
  "Do you have anyone with the disease?" Jim laughed.
"No, sir. Not a soul."
  The Rebels made it ashore and then kept their
heads down until all battalions and mounds of
equipment had been safely off-loaded. Ike then
took the convoy out to sea. The Rebels stayed low
during the day and marched at night. Jim and friends
came up with horses and mules and burros to bring in
the tons of equipment that had been hidden in the lush
vegetation along the beach. Quietly, the Rebels
got into position on the east side of the highway that
marked the boundaries. Ben told Jim to pass the word
for the citizens to get ready to move west into the forbidden
zone at a moment's notice.
  "We can't possibly hope to get everybody out,
and you'd better understand that you will take civilian dead
and wounded."
  "I understand," Jim said. "We all
do."
  "We've got to take this harbor here at
Kalaupapa and also the airport for our attack
choppers to land and refuel. These four towns, plus
the harbor and the airport have to be taken
simultaneously. Or within moments of each other.
We're going to be moving very fast, Jim. And
believe me, when the Rebels start to move, anyone
  with hostile intent who gets in our way is
dead."
  "I understand."
  Ben looked at all the other leaders who had
gathered in the house just off of highway 450 and just
east of the town of Kaunakakai. "There is something
else you'd all better understand. These are Rebels
laying down their lives for you people. This is American
soil. The Rebels run America. These islands
will come under Rebel rule and Rebel law. There will
be no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Does
everybody understand that?"
  "It's clear, General," an elderly man said.
"Your way is harsh, but so are the times. Your laws
and rules are not nearly as harsh as the men and the women
who have enslaved our people, and murdered and raped and
tortured for all these years. They have
killed a full quarter of the population. They have
desecrated the holiest of our places. They have
raped tiny children. They have killed human beings for
sport. But you know all this. You and your people have been
fighting against these types for years. None of us will
interfere in any way. You have my word on that."
  The others nodded in agreement.
  "Everyone is in place, General," Corrie
said, walking into the den of the home. "Ike says the
convoy has, miracle upon miracles, not been
detected."
  "Thank you, Corrie. Get some rest. Jim,
tell your people to start making themselves scarce at dark.
We're going in at midnight. By dawn, I intend
to have two-thirds of this island in Rebel hands."
  The others raised eyebrows at that. They muttered
and mumbled and shook their heads at the statement. "But
that is impossible, General," one said. "This island
is fifty miles long and ten miles wide. And
your people are
afoot!"
  "We won't be afoot long, I assure you
all of that. Now get some rest. We're going to be
needing your help tonight. And it's going to get real
busy, real quick."
  Ben walked the edge of the highway. He was only
a mile from the town of Kaunakakai, on the
bottom of the island. Dan and two other
battalions were poised to strike at the harbor at
the top of the island. Several other small villages
had already been taken by the Rebels, silently and
deadly. Buddy and his Rat Team had moved in,
located the pirates and thugs, and taken them out with very
sharp knives.
  Ben glanced at his watch, then at Corrie.
He nodded his head. "Give the orders, Corrie.
Let's take this damn island!"
Chapter Seventeen
  The town of Kaunakakai was the largest on the
island, with a population of about twenty-five hundred
before the war. Its business district was three blocks
long. Jim and the others had pointed out the houses where
pirates would be sleeping, and Buddy and his Rat
Team had already pinpointed machine gun emplacements
and where the heaviest concentration of pirates would be
found.
  The Rebels waited until the town had been
blanketed with troops from one end to the other, then just
kicked in doors and started shooting. Caught totally
by surprise, the pirates and assorted
thugs and no-goods were chopped up like liver.
  Ben's M-14 covered a pirate who was reaching
for a rifle. "No!" the man yelled, swinging the
rifle around.
  "Oh, yeah," Ben told him, then pulled the
trigger.
  The force of the slugs lifted the pirate off his
knees and he staggered back, falling through a window.
  Many of the pirates and slavers never had a chance
to do much more than open their eyes before a machete,
wielded by a man or woman who, for years, had
been abused by them, neatly decapitated
  the thug. When the Rebels saw human heads
sitting on the porch, eyes open in shock and lips
pulled back in a macabre grin, they knew that
house was clear. They saw a lot of houses with those
bloody statements on the porch.
  "Find all the vehicles that'll run and get them
moving toward the edge of town," Ben told his people.
"That way." He pointed to the west.
  Jersey's M-16 rattled and two more
pirates went down, kicking out their lives on the
shoulder of the road.
  The Rebels' taking of the town was swift, and by the
old rulebooks of war, savage.
Initially, they did not give the pirates a chance
to surrender. Only when the mopping up began,
by Rebels held back in reserve for just that
purpose, would the slime be allowed to give it up.
  Buddy kicked in a door just as a man was
frantically calling on a radio. "The goddamn
Rebels are here, I'm tellin' you. Can't you hear
the damn shootin'? I ..."
  Buddy ended the transmission, the pirate's
life, and the usefulness of the radio with .45 caliber
slugs from his Thompson. He jerked a frightened
woman off the soiled sheets of the bed and slung her
toward the porch. Half a dozen citizens were
waiting there, stony-faced and hard-eyed. It would not be
a pleasant night for those who had chosen
to collaborate with the criminal element on the island.
  "They'll kill me!" the woman wailed.
  "That's your problem," Buddy told her, then
stepped off the porch and went trouble-hunting in the
night.
  There wasn't that much more trouble to be found in town.
Most of the pirates who'd escaped the initial
attack had fled into the night. And that was not terribly
smart of them, for hundreds of islanders waited in the
thick vegetation, machetes and axes in
hand. The island would run red with criminal blood by the
time the sun's light touched it several hours from now.
  Calling in those Rebels left in reserve
to secure the town and the harbor just a few miles from
it, Ben and his battalion headed out in commandeered
vehicles, racing up Highway 460 toward the
Molokai airport on Mauna Loa Road.
  All along the route, they saw islanders standing by the
sides of the road, all of them smiling and waving, and
many of them with bloody machetes and axes in their
hands. Only a few held hunting rifles,
pistols, or shotguns.
  In less than one hour, the Rebels had seized
control of the largest town on the island and two
harbors, andwiththe taking of the big airport, they would be
firmly entrenched on Molokai.
  On the islands of Oahu, Kauai, Hawaii,
and Maui and in isolated pockets on Molokai,
the thugs and outlaws and pirates who more or less were
in command screamed out orders and generally accomplished
nothing commainly because none of them really knew what the
hell was going on.
  There were thousands of criminals scattered all over
the Hawaiian Islands, but they really had no plan
of defense against an all-out attack from the
sea. They had spent hundreds of hours, in small
groups, discussing it, without ever coming up with anything.
  Now they were facing the most highly trained,
disciplined, and motivated army in the known world. There
were others to match the Rebels in size and discipline
and fighting ability, but they had not yet surfaced.
But they would-soon.
  "Where the hell did they come from?" a thug screamed
into a mic. "Why in the hell didn't our lookouts
spot them? Are these really Ben Raines'
Rebels? God damn it, will somebody get off his
ass and answer me?"
  Everybody with a radio started talking at once,
each profane and panicked signal walking all
over the other. Consequently, the criminal element
on the islands managed to accomplish nothing of
substance in these crucial first hours of the battle.
And that was exactly what Ben Raines was counting on.
  "Northern and southern harbors secure,
General," Corrie told Ben. "The airport
on the Kalaupapa Peninsula is in Rebel hands
and attack choppers are coming in from the ships."
  "Very good," Ben said. He and his team were riding
along in an old Cadillac stretch limo.
Leave it to Cooper.
  "Emil Hite thinks he might stay on this
island," Corrie said with a smile, after listening to a
transmission. "He just fell in love."
  "I wouldn't wish Emil on anybody," Ben
said. "Tell Thermopolis that I order Emil
to fall out of love and get back to Rebel
business."
  Bullets pocked the windshield and nearly tore
the steering wheel out of Cooper's hands. "Jesus
Christ!" Cooper hollered. He managed to get the
limo off to the side and it slid into a ditch, Ben
  and his team piling out into the dewy-wet vegetation.
  "Someday, Coop," Jersey said. "I keep
hoping you'll learn to drive."
  "Are there snakes in Hawaii, General?"
Cooper asked, looking around him.
  "I don't think so, Coop. I don't
believe reptiles ever made it here. Anybody
spotted that machine gun?"
  The machine gun opened up from across the road. A
few of those Rebels who had been following Ben's
limo chunked in grenades and the machine gun fell
silent.
  Buddy flopped down beside Ben. "Perhaps now,
Father, you might realize that you are not
invincible and allow someone else to take the point?"
  Ben stared at him for a few seconds. "You know,
son ... nobody likes a smart-ass."
  Then they both broke out in laughter.
  Buddy took the point, leading the way to the
airport.
  All that night and into the next day, the Rebels
fought and clawed their way to the airport and beyond, with more
and more pirate reinforcements arriving from the other islands
to beef up the badly demoralized thugs on
Molokai. The pirates sent old and reworked
torpedo boats and small armed cruisers out to try
to sink the huge convoy. They couldn't even get
close. The Rebels' attack helicopters
creamed them almost before they got away from port. Even
if the helicopters had not been able to fly, the huge
guns that Ike had
  ordered placed on most of the ships would have knocked
out the smaller craft long before they became a threat.
  The pirates gave up that idea as a very bad
one.
  When the huge cargo and transport ships came
in to off-load supplies, their escorts were Apache
gunships and PT boats that Ike had ordered
brought along from England. The PT boats
had been reworked and refitted with the most up-to-date
weaponry.
  It had been a long and sometimes very rough ride for the
skippers and crews of the patrol boats, but they'd
made it and were now proving invaluable.
  Finally, on the afternoon of the second day of the invasion
of the Hawaiian Islands, the pirates stopped them,
so they thought, and were jubilant about it. The pirates
had pulled back to a line running north to south, about
five miles west of the airport. What they
didn't know was that Ben had stopped the attack for
reasons of his own.
  "All right," Ben told his commanders. "It's time
to hit the other islands and start arming the citizens. I
want special operations teams on every island,
organizing resistance and pestering the crap out of these
pirates. I want to make their lives a living
hell. Every time they turn around, I want something
blowing up in their faces. Find out who the leaders are
and start waging urban warfare against them. Pure
terrorist tactics. Anything goes." The commanders
all grinned at that. If the Rebels were better at
one thing than another-and they were experts at all
types of combat comx was guerilla warfare.
  Ben looked at each batt comm. "At
the conclusion of this meeting, I am going to take my
battalion and Pat O'Shea's Free Irish,
and we are going to go down to the lines the crud have
withdrawn to, and kick the shit out of them. We are
going to run their asses right back into the sea. And then
we are going to hoist the new American flag all
over this island."
  The flag displayed huge red and white and blue
stripes, with an American bald eagle in the
center. It had been designed by an elementary
class back at Base Camp One ... in
honor of all the Rebels who had fallen in
battle.
  It took some getting used to, but Ben and the others
had been so moved by the efforts of the kids, the flag
had been adopted.
  "And then, people," Ben said, "we are going to free
these islands, and then we're going back home."
  That brought a round of applause from the
multinational commanders, who had all adopted what was
left of America as their home.
  Georgi Striganov, a big bear of a man,
stood up. The Russian looked over at Jersey
and smiled.
  She returned the grin. "Yeah," she
said. "Kick-ass time!"