138 Seventeen
A piece of torn-off wood or plaster slammed into the side of Ben’s helmet and the force of it knocked him a half step to the side. He shook his head to clear it and looked up just in time to see a man trying to climb through the remains of the window. Ben gave him a quick burst of 5.56 rounds at very nearly point-blank range, the lead taking him in the upper chest and shoulders. The attacker screamed in pain and fell back, his weapon, an AK-47, Ben observed, dropped inside the room.
Another man climbed partway into the room and Anna shot him in the face, knocking him back outside into the gunfire-sparked darkness.
Jersey was staying busy with her CAR, spraying the movement-filled night with pain and death.
Beth cussed and stuck the muzzle of her CAR into a man’s face just as he leveled his weapon, preparing to give the room a burst. The 5.56 rounds dissolved the attacker’s face into a mass of blood and he was dead and cooling before he hit the outside ground.
Cooper was rapidly clearing his perimeter of all living things with his SAW.
Corrie was firing her CAR from the hip and talking into her headset at the same time, steadily receiving reports from all over the airport.
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The attack broke off as suddenly as it began, the darkness-shrouded enemy running away, disappearing into the night.
“Hold positions,” Ben ordered. “No pursuit.”
Corrie instantly relayed the orders.
After a few seconds, Ben said, “Give me some prelims on casualties.”
“Checking now,” Corrie said. “Be another minute or so.”
“Is it all right to get up now?” Ford asked from his position on the floor.
“Not yet,” Ben told him. “A couple more minutes.”
“But you’re standing up,” Marilyn protested.
“I never got down there.”
Marilyn muttered something under her breath, too low for Ben to hear, but he had a pretty good idea of the content. He smiled in the darkness.
“Half a dozen wounded, no dead,” Corrie reported. “We have a number of prisoners.”
“And we won’t get a damn thing out of any of them. Okay, people. You can get up. But don’t go outside and stay ready to hit the floor again.”
“Why won’t you get anything out of them?” Marilyn asked, brushing herself off.
“Because they don’t know who they’re working for,” Ben replied.
“What do you mean?” Stan asked.
“Just that. They’re mercenaries. Only the people at the top know who’s paying them.”
Vehicles were being pulled around to Ben’s CP, headlights on bright, illuminating the area all around. The bright beams picked up dozens sprawled in death and several trying to crawl away, too seriously wounded to stand up. Rebels were already moving among the dead, gathering up weapons and ammo. The weapons would be given to the newly formed police of the city. The bodies of the dead would be tossed into the beds of
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trucks, trucked away and stacked up in a field away from the city, and buried in a mass grave at first light. The wounded would be taken to the MASH tents and treated. Then they would be turned over to the civilian police. What happened to them after that was of absolutely no concern to Ben.
But it was to the press. “What will happen to the prisoners?” Ford asked.
“After we’ve treated them, they’ll be turned over to the local police.”
“And then?” Marilyn asked.
“I don’t know. This isn’t my country. It’s theirs. Ask them.”
“I shall.”
“You do that. And while you’re doing that, ask who is paying these mercenaries to attack us. And find out why they’re so interested in killing me.” Ben turned away from her and met the eyes of Paula Preston. He held his steady gaze on the woman until she dropped her eyes. “I’d like to know. Wouldn’t you, Paula?”
The question seemed to startle her. “Ah … of course. Yes. Certainly.”
“I thought you would.” Smiling, Ben walked outside. He had planted the seed. Now he would wait to see how his garden grew.
There were no more attacks against the Rebels while they were in Conakry. The prisoners the Rebels captured that night knew nothing about who was in charge beyond their immediate officers. The Rebel doctors tended to their wounds and then turned them over to local authorities. If the press ever found out what might happen to the prisoners, they did not inform Ben as to their findings. Ben suspected the locals told the press to go suck an egg … or words something along that line.
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Ben prepared to pull his 1 Batt out and continue south.
Next stop, the country of Sierra Leone.
Nick’s 18 Batt was only a day’s drive away from the west coast of Africa, his doctors seeing to the needs of the people in Mamou and Dabola, and Paul Harrison’s 17 Batt a day’s drive from Nick east at Kouroussa and Kankan. Ike was a continent away in Somalia, in what he described as the shithole of the world. There weren’t that many people left in Ike’s sector, for a decades-long civil war, drought, famine, and disease had just about wiped out the entire population of the country. Ike reported that the wild animals were once more reclaiming the land.
“You sure you people wouldn’t like to travel with Ike for a time?” Ben asked the press, a hopeful note in his words.
“Thank you, no,” Marilyn replied, speaking for the entire group.
“It was just a thought.”
Ben and his 1 Batt moved out just as the rainy season struck the land with full fury.
“Shhittt!” Jersey summed up the feelings of everyone as she stared out the window of the big wagon at the silver torrent hammering at the countryside.
“How long is this mess supposed to last?” Cooper questioned.
“Months,” Beth informed them.
“Double shit,” Jersey said.
“Well, we can take some consolation in the knowledge that it isn’t that far to Freetown,” Ben said.
“The country is a mess,” Corrie said. “Civil war still raging all over the place. Same with Liberia, the Ivory Coast, and Ghana.”
“It’s going to be heads up time for all of us from now on,” Ben warned the team. “We’ll be under threat of attack every hour of every day for our food, our sup-
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plies, our equipment and our weapons. We’re not going to be able to let down for an instant, for any reason.”
Anna muttered under her breath.
“What’d you say, Anna?” Ben questioned.
“I said, ‘then why bother with it?’ “
“Because it’s on the way,” Ben replied. “We can’t very well avoid it.”
“Well, we don’t have to stop except to bivouac,” Anna persisted.
“And that may be all we’ll end up doing,” Ben told her.
“Even with the press along?” Jersey asked.
“I think the press is going to get very weary of being shot at, Jersey. And if several of them get wounded, or killed … well, we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Won’t make any difference,” Anna said. “If they see one hungry child or sick person, they’ll immediately start pissing and moaning and demanding we do something.”
Ben didn’t reply, but he silently agreed with his adopted daughter, and knew the team felt the same way. They’d been putting up with liberal reporters for years and could just about predict their every move … or thought.
The reporters from the SUSA, on the other hand, realized that fate often dealt good people a lousy hand in this card game called life, and sometimes one just had to look away and keep on walking, for there reaches a point in the human condition where any kind of help is only a stop-gap measure; a Band-Aid on a sucking chest wound. Giving a tetanus shot to a person who is dying of starvation is a waste of time, money, and supplies. Realists understand that; idealists never will.
Beth jumped in verbally between Ben and Anna, before Anna could say more. “This month we’re going to have twenty days with rain-of the monsoon type, remember-next month twenty-five days, and the next
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two months it will rain every day. Isn’t that something to look forward to?”
“You’re a real bringer of joy, Beth,” Cooper said, squinting his eyes, trying to see through the deluge that hammered at the wagon.
“I do try!” Beth replied brightly.
“I roger that,” Corrie said, then leaned forward. “Boss, flybys confirm that the bridges connecting Lungi and Freetown have been destroyed.”
“Damn!” Ben muttered. “How about the city itself? Are we getting any last minute reports out of there?”
“Nothing since last week, when we intercepted that radio transmission about Freetown being under siege and not being able to hold out much longer.”
Ben rode in silence for a few slow miles, the only sound the drumming of the heavy rain on the roof of the big wagon. Finally he sighed and said, “We’ll bypass Freetown. We already knew that Lungi has been sacked and looted so many times there is nothing left. Corrie, bump the Scouts and advise them to avoid Freetown.” He opened a map. “Where are the Scouts?”
“Waiting on the north side of the Little Scarcies River.”
“The bridge still intact there?”
“Affirmative to that.”
“Tell them to hold the bridge open for us and wait for us there.”
“Yes, sir. A reminder that what is left of Kambia is a ghost town.”
“Yes. I remember that transmission. Cooper, stay on this road, the Port Loko highway. We’re not going to get within a hundred miles of Freetown. I’m not going to get us involved in some damn civil or tribal war if I can avoid it.”
“The press is going to love this news,” Jersey warned.
“Fuck the press,” Ben said. “I’m going to tell them
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when we stop that if they wish to go to Freetown, they are certainly free to do so … on their own.”
Cooper cut his eyes to Ben for a second. “They just might take you up on that, boss.”
“I sure as hell won’t make any attempt to stop them.”
The weather probably had much to do with it, but the column came under no hostile fire on the way to what was left of Kambia. The column picked their way through the ruins of the town, seeing no signs of life, not even a dog or a cat, and continued south toward the Little Scarcies River.
“Nothing happening here, General,” the Scout in charge of the detachment told Ben when they arrived late that afternoon. The roads were terrible and getting worse the further south they went. “We haven’t seen anybody.”
“As soon as we get some shelter up, you people will be relieved so you can relax a bit. Thanks, gang.”
“No sweat, General.”
That evening, the cooks prepared only coffee and kept huge urns of it hot all night. The Rebels, including Ben, ate field rations. There was no point in cooking, for by the time anyone carried their trays or mess kits away from the mess line, the food containers would be filled up with water.
And the rain continued to come down in silver/gray sheets with no signs of abating.
“Screw this,” Ben abruptly said, when the column was only a few miles from Port Loko. “Corrie, tell the Scouts to hold up and wait for us. We’re going to get out of this damned rain for a change.”
Port Loko had been the scene of many battles, that was evident by the bullet and shell pocked buildings, but there were enough structures left standing to afford
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some welcome shelter from the rain and for the cooks to serve up a hot meal.
The Rebels took turns standing naked in the rain, soaping up and rinsing off, then the welcome feeling of dry clothing, at least for a short time. Then a hot meal. Even if the beef was canned, the potatoes were fresh, the bread just baked, and the gravy hot and good.
But what bothered them all, even though it was mentioned in quiet whispers, was the absence of people.
“Scouts report they found a boneyard,” Corrie told Ben softly, after moving to his side. “Just outside of town. Hundreds of skeletons. Men, women, and children.”
“Let’s go take a look.” Ben struggled into his poncho and picked up his CAR.
“All of them shot, General,” the doctor said, standing up from his inspection upon Ben’s arrival. “You can see the slugs in some of the skulls.”
“Tribal warfare,” Ben said softly, squatting down and sticking the muzzle of his CAR into a gaping eye socket. He shook the skull and the slug rattled about. “Probably. But I don’t imagine we’ll ever know for sure. How many you estimate here, Doctor?”
“Five or six hundred, give or take a hundred. Hard to tell the way the bones have been scattered by foraging animals.”
Ben stood up. “Well, at least here we know what happened to the people. Perhaps never the why, but at least the what.”
Ben walked off, muttering about ignorance, butchery and barbarism. For once, the press had nothing to say as they gathered around in the rain, standing silently, filming the scene for their viewers back home.
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At Port Loko Ben told the press about the conditions in Freetown. “Any of you who wish may go to Freetown if that is your desire. I won’t stop you.”
“You will provide escort?”
“No. I will not.”
A silence greeted Ben’s statement, then a few members of the press protested. But the older hands said nothing. They understood that Ben was under no mandate to provide them security. He had not asked for the press and considering that, Ben and the Rebels had been very accommodating thus far.
Four members of the press stood up, one stating, “We feel it is our obligation to visit the city and report on the events here.”
“Good luck,” Ben told them.
The four press types took their crews and pulled out the next morning. They were never heard from again.
From Port Loko, the column crossed the Rokel River and headed for Moyamba Junction. The Rebels found a few people still in the town and the doctors went to work. Ben and team, trailed by several members of the press, walked around the town during a break in the rains. There wasn’t that much left to see in the battle-ravaged town.
“General,” Stan Travis asked, as they strolled along.
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“How many people would you estimate have died on this continent since the Great War?”
“Stan, I have absolutely no idea. But I would guess several million at least. Perhaps as many as ten times that number. I doubt that anyone will ever really know. And we really don’t know what has happened in Asia, China, South America, or what used to be known as Russia.”
“Do you plan to visit those areas?” Marilyn asked, in a surprisingly civil tone of voice.
“Yes, if I live that long, Ms. Dickson. Of course, a lot hinges on what happens back home.”
“You’re speaking of the reunification of the States, General?” Ford asked.
“Yes.”
“Your section is the last holdout,” a reporter Ben didn’t know stated.
Ben smiled as they continued strolling along through the deserted town. “The SUSA is a sovereign nation, sir. We have our own constitution and bill of rights, both patterned after the original documents; indeed they are almost identical-except ours give the law-abiding citizen a lot more rights. We will not rejoin the Union.”
“Under any conditions, General?” Alex Marsh asked. It was the first question he’d asked since Ben got all over his case miles back.
“We are a separate nation, Mr. Marsh. We intend to remain that way.”
“The United States of America might use force in order to preserve the Union, sir,” another reporter said.
“They might, indeed,” Ben replied, never stopping his walking. “But when they do it will be the end of America as any of you know it.”
“Is that a threat, sir?”
“That’s a fact, son. A fact.”
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*
Within twenty-four hours, newspapers all across the reunited USA hit the streets with the glaring headlines: GENERAL RAINES PROMISES WAR IF USA USES FORCE AGAINST SUSA.
SUSA THREATENS WAR AGAINST AMERICA
WAR TALK BETWEEN SUSA AND USA DEEPENS TENSIONS
WAR LOOMS ON HORIZON
“Horseshit,” Ben said, after hearing the news. “The only way there will be a war is if the reunited states start it. We won’t.”
“You think the reunited states really want a war with us?” Anna asked.
“Some politicians do. But they won’t be the ones to fight it. They never are. Cecil says a recent poll shows the people outside the SUSA fairly evenly split about it… which sort of surprises me. You would think after suffering through the worst war ever fought on American soil and several years of all sorts of deprivation, the last thing any of them would want would be more war. It shows how much the rest of the nation hates the South … and how much they hate me.”
“And our way of life,” Beth added.
“Oh, yes. Let’s don’t forget that. They hate it because we have full employment, almost zero crime, a laidback way of life, easy-to-understand laws, a workable healthcare system, no bureaucracy … and that’s just hitting a few points.” Ben laughed aloud as the column rolled along through the rain.
The Rebels had passed through towns of varying sizes and had seen few signs of life. The old festering tribal hatreds and years-long civil war had just about wiped out the population except for the towns along the coast, which the Rebels had decided to avoid. Rebel analysts
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had concluded that at the present rate, the country would be finished in a few more years.
Ben studied a map for a few moments, then folded it and stuck it back in a map case. “We’ve got to be resupplied with food, water, and medical supplies. But Liberia is out of the question for flights in or out or for docking facilities along the coast. The country’s been torn apart by civil war for a decade or more. Fly-bys show the old international airport at Monrovia unusable. Docking facilities are nil. Warlords have been controlling the country for years and have wrecked it. That’s why we’re taking the northern route, and will link up with Nick Stafford and his 18 Batt. We’ll crawl along the top of the nation until we reach the border of Cote d’lvoire, the old Ivory Coast. That will probably be the most stable country we’ll find anywhere. And won’t that be a relief.”
“Then we travel south to Abidjan?” Cooper asked.
“Right. We have no choice in the matter. It’s our best bet for a port and they have a good airport.”
“But getting through Liberia is going to be a tad hairy, right?” Jersey asked.
“I think you’d be safe in saying that.”
Ben spat out a mouthful of mud and wiped his muddy face with an equally muddy hand. All in all it was a futile gesture.
“Shit!” he cussed, then wiped a sleeve across his face. That helped.
Ben’s 1 Batt had linked up with Nick’s 18 Batt between Foya and Kolahun and within minutes had come under attack from a large force, pinning down the Rebels and splitting the columns. The roads were a mess: tanks bogging down every few miles, trucks getting stuck along with them. Everyone in the column was
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soaked through and through, with mud all over them. Several thousand highly pissed-off Rebels were in no mood to fuck around with anybody.
Ben was under a deuce and a half filled with supplies, on his belly in the muddy road, his team left and right of him.
“How many damn people hit us?” Jersey asked. “The two columns together must be five miles long. That’s a hell of a force.”
“Somebody’s throwing everything they’ve got at us,” Ben said, raising his voice to be heard over the hammering rain and the yammer and clatter of weapons on full auto.
Cooper cut loose with a burst from his SAW and out of the corner of his eyes, Ben saw three or four figures fold up and go down.
“Stupid bastards,” Cooper said, his words just audible over the sounds of weather and battle.
“18 Batt just dragged a wounded prisoner in,” Corrie said, working her way close to Ben in the mud. “They say the man is nothing but skin and bones. Doctors say the prisoner is suffering from malnutrition. The prisoner says all they want is food.”
“Tell the doctors the bastards might be hungry, but they’re still strong enough to pull a fucking trigger,” Ben replied.
A wide grin split Corrie’s mud-streaked face. “I will relay your message.”
“You do that.”
A long burst of gunfire kicked up mud and water and small stones very close to the truck, flinging the debris into Ben’s face. Ben wiped his face and cussed, then out of sheer frustration, he leveled his CAR and gave the brush and jungle close to the road a full magazine of 5.56 rounds. He doubted he’d hit anything, but the
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action made him feel better. He ejected the empty and fitted a full magazine into place. He waited.
“Nick’s 18 Batt coming under what appears to be a suicide charge,” Corrie said. “They’re holding.”
A couple of minutes later, the sounds of battle faded, leaving only the drum of rain. “Maintain positions,” Ben ordered. “No pursuit. Scouts out.”
Five minutes ticked past without a shot being heard. Corrie said, “Scouts report the enemy has withdrawn. They left their wounded behind.”
“Ask the Scouts how the dead and wounded are fixed for ammo.”
“Scouts report all weapons and ammo were taken by the enemy.”
“They’re low on ammo as well as food,” Ben said, crawling out from under the truck. “Bet on it. This was a desperation attack.”
Ben began walking toward the front of the column, his team slogging along with him on the muddy road, the mud clinging to their boots in great globs, making their feet appear to weigh fifty pounds each.
“The enemy,” Ben said, “at least this bunch, don’t have rockets. We didn’t sustain a single rocket hit. Corrie, ask Nick if they received any grenades.”
“Not a one,” she quickly reported.
“Whoever they are, they’re out of nearly everything. Okay. Let’s get this show on the road. There’s a village or town just up ahead. We’ll patch up the prisoners and leave them there. The Scouts should be near the town now.”
“They’re stuck in the road just outside of the village,” Corrie reported. “Both vehicles mired up to the axles.”
“Wonderful,” Ben said wearily. “All right. Tell them we’ll be along as quickly as possible. How about our wounded?”
“Two dead. Five wounded.”
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“Let’s get moving.” Ben stamped his feet, trying to dislodge the clinging mud. “If at all possible.”
It wasn’t much of a town, but most of the buildings were still standing and the doctors quickly set up shop and began working on the wounded … Rebel wounded first, then the enemy. That was a Rebel rule, adhered to hard and fast, without exception.
The Rebels played by no rules other than their own. They were bound by no convention or treaty. Just another reason why so many around the world, who had studied the Rebels, did not want to tangle with them.
Ben stuck his head inside a small house and almost burst out laughing. Marilyn Dickson and Paula Preston were sitting on the bare floor in a side room, out of sight of the male reporters, who were behind the house, naked, soaping as they stood in the rain. Both of the women were covered head to feet with mud.
“Enjoying the trip, ladies?” Ben asked.
Marilyn solemnly lifted her right hand and gave him die finger.
Ben laughed at her and walked on.
“Hoity-toity bitch is human after all,” Jersey remarked.
“I think she is, Jersey.”
Ben turned into the building Lamar Chase had set up for a hospital. Lamar looked up from his inspection of a case of some sort of medicines, carefully packed against breakage. “We lost one of our people, Ben. The other four will make it. But we’re going to have to hole up here for a couple of days.”
“Suits me, Lamar. How about the prisoners?”
“A couple of them will make it. The others died.”
“Other than their wounds, what about their physical condition?”
“They’re very malnourished. I don’t know what they’ve been living on, but it hasn’t been very nutritious.”
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Finally out of the rain, Ben rolled a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke in my hospital, Raines,” Lamar warned.
Ben ignored him and lit up.
“Asshole,” Lamar said.
“You smoked for forty goddamn years, Lamar, and smoked more cigarettes in a day than I do in a month. So shut up about it.”
“The older you get the more difficult you are to get along with, Raines. You’re becoming an insufferable prick.”
“So sue me.”
Lamar gave him the middle finger and walked off to see to the patients.
“Two rigid-digits in one day,” Ben muttered. “Must be something in the air.”
“Some raggedy-assed people in what’s left of field clothes approaching the town, boss,” Corrie said. “They’re under a white flag and do not appear to be armed.”
“Probably part of the bunch who attacked us. All right, let’s go see them.”
Raggedy-assed is right, Ben thought, as he approached the group, standing under the awning of a building at the edge of the small town. Their clothing was tattered and torn, and most wore some sort of sandals made from old tires.
“We need food,” one of the men said, speaking in near-perfect English, only slighdy accented. “We are hungry.”
“And what will you do after I’ve given you food?” Ben replied. “Go back to making war on your own people?”
“What we do is none of your business,” the man said, his tone a bit more harder and demanding. “This is our country, not yours. You were not invited here.”
“That’s right. And we’re only passing through. We
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help whenever we find sick civilians. But we won’t help either side of warring factions.”
“We can take all the food and all your guns, if we want to.” The man’s eyes had turned hard and mean.
“You can try,” Ben said softly.
The man pointed a ringer at Ben. “This is the only warning you will get. Share with us or die while you sleep!”
“Hit the trail,” Ben told him. “If you don’t understand that, it means carry your ass on away from here.”
The man’s face suddenly became a mask of rage, and for one quick moment, Ben thought the guy was actually going to try to jump him. The man fought his temper under control and managed a smile. “Soon we will be the best-equipped and best-fed army in the country. Then we will march on the capital and seize power. And you will all be dead, your flesh eaten by animals and your bones scattered.”
“Fuck you!” Ben told him, using the words that are almost universally understood.
“You have made the greatest mistake of your life,” the guerrilla told Ben. “But you will not have long to regret it.”
Ben yawned in his face.
The guerrillas wheeled around and marched off through the rain into the tangle of brush and jungle.
“They’ll be coming at us soon,” Ben said. “So let’s get ready to meet them.”
“Ah … look, boss,” Jersey said, cutting her eyes.
Ben looked. The guerrilla leader was standing at the edge of the forest, giving him the middle finger.
“Must be my day for it,” Ben muttered.
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“If they do attack us,” Nick said to Ben later on that afternoon. “They have got to be just about the dumbest bunch in Africa.”
“Dumb and desperate, Nick. Little men with big ideas.”
Tanks now encircled the town. Two battalions of Rebels were dug in, waiting to throw their considerable firepower at the enemy.
“What’s the latest from the other battalions?” Nick asked, after unwrapping a stick of gum and chewing for a moment to soften it up.
“Just like us. They’re all reporting more and more hostile encounters with guerrilla groups the further south we go. I’m betting the going will get slower and slower from this point on.”
“You think Bruno Bottger is behind this bunch making noises at us?”
Ben shook his head. “No. I think this bunch is a holdover from the early days of the civil war in this country. They’ve been having at each other since before the Great War.”
Nick looked at him. “You think they even know there has been a worldwide war and collapse?”
Ben chuckled at the thought. “Hell, Nick. The pos-
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sibility is remote, but they might not know. I hadn’t thought about that.”
Lamar Chase strolled up and stepped out of the rain to stand under the awning with the two men. “Our people are going to make it. Only one of the prisoners is still alive and I don’t hold out much hope for him.”
Ben glanced at the chief of medicine, surprise in his eyes. “One of the medics told me his wounds were not that severe.”
“The medic was right. It isn’t his wounds alone that are killing. His entire system is shot-to use a non-medical explanation. He doesn’t have the strength to fight off this latest attack on his body. But don’t waste your time feeling a bit sorry for him; I sure as hell don’t. All the man does is lie there and cuss us all.”
Nick stopped chewing his gum. “Why, Dr. Chase?”
“We’re capitalists, he’s an avowed Marxist-this entire bunch attacking us, or threatening to attack us is. One of those goddamn People’s Liberation Army groups, or some such shit as that.”
Ben grunted his disgust. He knew from long experience that anytime some group used the “Peoples”-whatever in their name, they were more than likely communist.
Chase looked out at the pouring rain. “They’ll hit us tonight, won’t they, Ben?”
“In all likelihood, yes. I don’t believe they have the strength or the firepower to launch another daylight attack. Today was a desperation move on their part; hoping to take us by surprise.”
“The prisoner told me we can expect a lot more of this as we move across this nation.”
“He’s probably right, Lamar. But we’ll be two battalions strong as we roll-or slip and slide, as the case may be-across what’s left of this country and into Cote d’lvoire. According to intel there isn’t a guerrilla group
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in the country strong enough now to do us much damage. But they’ll sure try.”
Cooper came running through the rain, sliding to a halt under the awning. “We found another mass grave, boss, about a thousand meters behind the town. The rain washed away the thin covering of dirt over the bones.”
“Men, women, and children?” Nick asked.
“Yes, sir,” Cooper said.
Lamar shook his head in disgust. “Centuries-old tribal hatreds. It’s pathetic.”
“Maybe something good will come out of it, Lamar,” Ben opined.
“I’d like to know what,” the doctor demanded.
“The animals are making a comeback. That’s something.”
Lamar stared at Ben for a moment to see if he was serious. He was. The doctor walked off into the rain, back to his makeshift hospital, muttering under his breath.
Ben smiled as he watched his old friend walk away, a heavy security guard around him.
“Boss, we’ve got everything at our disposal trained to bang,” Cooper said. “You really think this ragtag bunch will attack us tonight?”
“I do, and they will. Bet on it. They’ve got to have our supplies or they’ll die. They have no choice in the matter. It’s going to be short and savage and bloody. They’ll be fighting to the last round they have. When it comes, don’t let up.”
“It’ll be this way all across this screwed-up country, won’t it?” Cooper asked.
“I’m afraid so, Coop. And as I have warned, worse the further south we go.”
“You want to go view that mass grave?” Cooper asked.
Ben shook his head. “No. I don’t. I imagine we’ll be
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seeing a lot of mass graves before we butt heads with Bruno. And then when we’ve kicked that bastard’s ass, we’ll be uncovering mass grave sites all over the country he’s occupied. And you can tattoo that on your arm.” Ben looked up as the rain diminished somewhat. “Come on, gang. Let’s walk the town.”
With two battalions ringing the town, any attack the guerrillas made-without benefit of mortars, heavy artillery, or rockets-would be nothing more than a suicide charge on their part.
But he knew the guerrillas would try. And he also knew diey would fail; probably the Rebels would wipe them out right down to the last man.
Ben walked the lines of defense, stopping to speak to Rebels often, even if it was nothing more than to say hello. It was a great morale booster for the troops, and besides, Ben enjoyed doing it. But every time he did it, he always felt a litde sad afterward. He used to know every man and woman in his command; could call them by name. Now he didn’t even know everyone in his own battalion.
It always flung him back in time a few years, back to when the government thought they’d wiped out all diose who believed in die Tri-States philosophy of government; back to when Ben and a handful of others took to the hills and die mountains and die swamps and the plains of America and challenged die might of big government.
And they had won. By sheer determination and cussedness and the belief they were right, diey had defeated die forces of what had become a left-wing government
Now look at the Rebels, Ben diought, as he strolled along in the light rain. The most feared fighting force on the face of die eardi. And the SUSA the most pro-
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ductive and stable government anywhere in the world. And the most hated.
The tour of defenses completed, Ben walked back to the small building he was using as a CP and sat down. He cleaned his CAR and his sidearm, and busied himself for a time filling spare magazines. Darkness would come soon, and with it, a suicide attack.
“Scouts report movement in the brush,” Corrie called. “Enemy appears to be getting into position for an attack.”
“How many of them?”
“At least several hundred.”
“No surprises?”
Corrie knew what he meant. “Nothing but light arms.”
“Claymores in place?”
“Affirmative.”
Ben glanced at the open door; or rather, where the door used to be. About an hour until dark. “Pull the Scouts in.”
“Scouts returning. No dead, no wounded.”
Ben nodded. Any hits would have been rare among the Scouts, for Rebel Scouts were among the most highly trained of all Rebels. They could move through any type of terrain with the silence and stealth of ghosts, usually leaving behind them a trail of dead enemy troops, throats cut in silent kills. The Scouts were not a large force, but they were highly effective, and among the most feared of all Rebels.
Both of Ben’s grown kids, Buddy and Tina, had been Scouts, working their way up through the ranks, before taking command of a battalion.
And Ben suspected that in another year or so, Anna would join the legendary Scouts. She had already dropped a couple of hints to that effect. Ben would not stop her if that was her choice, but neither would he
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ask that any slack be cut for her. That’s the way it was not only in the Rebel Army, but in the Tri-States itself. You pulled your own weight and didn’t ask for favors. If you couldn’t cut it, you admitted it and backed away. There was no stigma attached to it; you were just assigned to another job.
“Scouts back home,” Corrie said.
“Everybody take turns taking a leak,” Ben ordered. “Then everybody button up. It’s gonna get real hairy pretty damn quick. How about the clinic, Corrie?”
“Secure as we can make it.”
“The press?”
“We put them in with Chase and his medical people.”
“Good enough.” Ben looked around the room he and his team would defend. “Positions, everybody. Let’s do it.”
Ben and Cooper took the rear of the house. Anna was at a side window, Beth at the other side. Jersey at the front, facing the outer circle of the Rebels’ perimeter. Corrie would stay with the radio unless things got real dicey.
Ben took a sip of water and munched on a candy bar. Jersey stuffed several sticks of gum into her mouth. Anna was cold as an ice cube … as usual. Combat was her forte, and she made no apologies for it. Corrie was busy yakking softly with someone. Beth waited, no expression on her face. Cooper was behind his SAW, waiting.
A few tentative shots came from the brush and jungle. The Rebels did not bite. They waited.
“Give them about a minute of mortar fire, all the way around,” Ben ordered. “High explosive and willie peter. That should give them something to think about.”
The brush and jungle around the encircled town began erupting in flashes of fire and white phosphorus. Screams of pain from badly wounded and burned men shrieked out of the drizzling rain. Several wounded and
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bloody men ran screaming out of the brush directly into the close kill radius of a Claymore. The blast shredded the men into a mass of bloody chunks and stilled their agony forever.
Ben had ordered the main guns on the tanks dropped to their lowest elevation. “Give the jungle some HE and anti-personnel rounds from the tanks, Corrie,” he ordered.
The ground began trembling as the main guns began pouring out the rounds. Some of the anti-personnel rounds contained small grenades which either burst on contact or in midair. Other HE rounds were filled with shards of steel; both rounds were highly lethal … as the guerrillas in the brush and jungle found out. The 120mm rounds were cutting trees in two and sending the guerrillas running in all directions. Many of them made the mistake of running toward the Rebels. That was the last mistake they ever made as the dug-in Rebels opened up with everything at their command … which was plenty.
Within minutes the outer ring around the town was littered with the dead and the dying and what was left of the guerrilla force was fading back into the jungle. They had had enough, and Ben did not believe they would be back.
“Hold positions,” Ben ordered. “We’ll count the dead in the morning. Stay heads up, but I think it’s over.”
The Rebels stayed on alert all during the long night, but no more attacks came. When dawn broke, they began counting the dead. Ben stopped them at two hundred and fifty dead.
“We’ve broken the backs of the guerrillas. Take the weapons of the dead, scoop out a grave for the bodies, and shove them in.
“It’s over here.”