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The column moved slowly across the top of what was left of Liberia. The route was yoyoish: north to Voin-jama, south to Zorzor and Gbarnga, then north to Ganta, then south to Saklepea and Tappita, then east to Tobli. They finally crossed over into Cote d’lvoire and brought the column to a halt in Toulepleu, where they were met by a small contingent of army troops. Since the engagement with the guerrilla troops, several weeks past, the Rebels had encountered no more trouble.

A smiling army colonel walked up to Ben, saluted smartly, then extended his right hand.

Ben returned the salute, then took the hand while the colonel’s men cheered.

“It is so nice to see a friendly face, Colonel,” Ben said.

“Welcome to our country, General Raines. We have been following your progress with much interest. Following as best we could, that is.”

“Well, we only had a couple of minor run-ins with guerrillas in Liberia.”

“The People’s Army of the Democratic Front? Or some such nonsense as that?”

“That’s the one.”

“A pack of idiots, the lot of them. Collectively, they

 

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have managed to destroy their country and cause us no small amount of grief in the process.”

“We saw very few people on our way across Liberia, Colonel.”

“Many fled the fighting.” He shook his head. “But many more were slaughtered in ethnic cleansing. Isn’t that such a polite way of describing genocide, General?”

“But it’s politically correct, Colonel.”

Both men started laughing at that and a new friendship was born on a rainy afternoon.

“Come,” the colonel said. “We can start our journey to the capital in the morning. Right now, let’s get you and your people setded in and fed and rested.”

“And while we’re doing that, you can bring me up to date on what Bruno Bottger is doing.”

The colonel cussed for a moment. “That bastard!” he spat out the word. “He sent people into this country in an attempt to subvert our political process. We hanged them all.”

Ben looked at the man and smiled.

“Those we didn’t shoot,” the colonel added.

“They’ve managed, in the face of great adversity, to correct many of the woes that faced their country for several years,” Ben said to Dr. Chase that evening. “Also, just before the Great War, many of the French businesspeople returned. And that helped.”

“I wonder why they moved the capital from Yamoussoukro back to Abidjan?” Nick asked.

“Probably ‘cause no one could pronounce it,” Cooper said from across the room.

“Go back to reading your girlie magazines, Cooper,” Jersey told him. “This is an intelligent conversation. That lets you out.”

 

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Cooper gave her the bird and she returned two of them.

“All right, children, calm down,” Chase chastised the pair.

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Ben told him.

“I’m older,” Chase popped right back. “That gives me special privileges.” He smiled, pushed back his chair, and said, “And with that, I bid you all a good night.”

His security people were waiting just outside the door, and they trailed along a few steps behind him.

“I don’t think we’ve got much to fear in this country,” Ben said. “But nonetheless, we’ll post our own guards to augment the one provided by the good colonel.” He smiled. “I’ll sleep better.”

His team all laughed at that. Everybody in the Rebel army knew that Ben Raines required less sleep than anyone; he had been that way all his life. Just a few hours’ sleep was all he needed. And despite being middleaged, he could keep going far beyond many men half his age. His team knew, too, that Ben never slept deeply. Any unnatural sound would wake him instantly.

The colonel did not try to hide any illness or hunger as he and his security force led the column south toward the capital. Whenever Ben signaled for a halt, whether for an hour or for several days, he never hesitated.

“With the addition of the medicines and food you are providing, maybe we have more than a fighting chance to make it,” he confided in Ben one afternoon. “We’ve been spending most of our resources on defense … fighting to keep the communists out of our country.”

“And you’ve done a good job of it,” Ben complimented the soldier.

 

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“At the expense of our people. I will tell you a hard truth, General. We are almost out of everything. The fight with General Field Marshal Bottger-or whatever that bastard is calling himself now-has just about wiped us out. When we heard the news about your coming to Africa, the entire country rejoiced. I must warn you that once we reach the capital, there will be a holiday and a parade in your honor. I hope you do not take offense at us for doing so.”

Ben clasped the man’s shoulder with a big hand. “Colonel, that will be wonderful.”

The colonel sighed with a relief that Ben did not fully comprehend. “That is a load off my mind, General.” He looked at Ben for a moment and with a straight face said, “We were afraid you would be offended. Americans are such strange people with very weird customs.”

No liberating army ever received such a welcome as the Rebels received in Abidjan. The people turned out by the thousands, lining the highways and streets. They were dressed in their finest and their sincerity touched even the most hardened Rebel.

“We’ve made another friend in Africa,” Ben radioed to Cecil after the parade and a short first meeting with the president of Cote d’lvoire. “Not that you didn’t know that already.”

“He contacted me, Ben,” Cecil replied. “I told him you would assess the situation and we’d start trade talks after I talked it over with you. The parade and holiday was already planned long before you reached the country. The president at first wanted to cancel the event, thinking you might take it the wrong way.”

“It was wonderful, Cec. It touched us all. You’ve started the surplus grain ships moving this way?”

“That’s affirmative, Ben. They should dock within a

 

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few days. I ordered them loaded as soon as I spoke with the president. I knew you would approve.”

“I certainly do, ol’ buddy. Get some businesspeople moving this direction ASAP to assist in the rebuilding of this nation. This is an important port and we want to always be welcome here.”

“Will do. A flight will be leaving within 48 hours. I’ve spoken with the French and they pledged their full support. They’re working with us in a way they never worked with America before … at least not in my memory.”

“You’re the politician, Cec. I’ll leave all that up to you and your cabinet. I’ll just fight the wars.”

“I think you’re getting the better end of it,” Cecil said wistfully. “How about our little surprise? You ready for them yet?”

“Not yet. Keep them under wraps until I bump you. Is everyone fully trained and combat ready?”

“You bet. Rarin’ to go.”

Thousands of miles away, Ben chuckled. “Won’t that set Bruno’s fascist ass on fire?”

“I certainly hope so. Literally as well as figuratively. What do you have on tap for tomorrow?”

“Meeting with trade people. Which is why I want some help over here. What the hell do I know about oil-palm kernels and coffee, cocoa, and bananas?”

Cecil was still laughing when he signed off.

Many of the younger Rebels spoke French, since in the SUSA school system, the studying of foreign languages was a requirement, not an elective subject. In the SUSA, kids began taking foreign language courses in the early grade school years. Since Cote d’lvoire was one of the French-speaking countries in Africa, the troops got along easily with the residents.

 

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By the end of the first week, the Rebels had been completely resupplied and the Ivoirians were unloading emergency food and medical supplies from the recently docked freighters sent by the SUSA, the French, Germans, Britons, and a few other aligned countries.

Back in the States, Cecil reported that the government of the newly reunified states was furious with the Europeans for aiding the Rebels. The reunified states were unable to send anything in the way of aid since they were just barely producing enough to feed themselves. Instead, the politicians were stressing the importance of being politically correct, teaching sensitivity training, enforcing new and highly restrictive gun-control laws, kissing the butts of criminals, and all that other important stuff that liberals love to jam down the throats of everyone … or stick up the ass of citizens, whichever orifice would accommodate the foolish babblings of the reunited states’ left-wing nincompoop politicians.

Ben toured the city of Abidjan and was impressed. It was clean and functioning. The streets and highways were well maintained, considering the country had been all but isolated for years.

After being resupplied, Nick and his 18 Batt left the city and headed back north, to travel the far north of Cote d’lvoire just south of Burkina Faso. Paul Harrison’s 17 Batt was traveling through Burkina Faso, and Ben had been warned that his troops would find death, sickness, desolation, and civil war there. Many of the refugees had tried to settle in Cote d’lvoire but had been driven away; the country could just barely feed their own-and the several million refugees who had fled across the borders and been allowed to stay-on very meager rations. Cote d’lvoire just could not handle any more.

“It was a hard and cruel thing for us to do,” the

 

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president explained. “But our own people’s safety and security must come first.”

“I fully understand that,” Ben told the president. “What about Ghana?”

The president waggled his right hand from side to side in a very European gesture. “They are doing not quite as well as we here in Cote d’lvoire. But they are surviving and resisting that son of a whore Bottger’s advances. They will be very grateful for the medicines you bring and the doctors to see the sick. Ghanaians are still a very friendly people. I doubt you will experience any trouble.”

“Togo?”

The president frowned and shook his head. “Togo is a no-man’s land, and has been for years. It is a country ripped apart by civil war. All we really know about Togo is that it is a place to avoid if one values his life.”

“But unfortunately for us …” Ben trailed that off.

“I know. You must go. And it is a fine and noble mission you are on. You and your people will be in all our prayers, General Raines.”

Ben smiled. “We’ll take all the help we can get, Mr. President.”

It was only about a hundred kilometers from Abidjan to the Ghana border; the roads were in good shape and the column made good time. When they reached the border, Ghanaian border guards were waiting to escort them to the capital of Accra. Doctors were waiting with the border guards and after a brief conference with Dr. Chase, the convoy rolled on. To save time, the medical supplies would be offloaded in Accra and the Ghanaian military and civilian doctors would then spread out across the country, seeing to the sick and the needy.

The column stayed on the coast road and the towns

 

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and villages they rolled through were in good shape and the people appeared to be in pretty good physical shape.

“We won’t tarry long here,” Ben told his team. “Cote d’lvoire and Ghana are working closely together to reach some sort of normalcy. The supply ships have docked and are being offloaded as we speak. Everything is orderly and without trouble. Togo is where the fighting starts.”

“Why don’t we just avoid the damned country?” Anna asked.

“Personally, I wish we could, but we can’t,” Ben told her. “We’re going to help the civilians where we can, and fight the various guerrilla factions when it can’t be avoided. Luckily, Togo and Benin are small countries. We’ll stay along the coast, avoiding the interior. But Nigeria …” He shook his head and sighed. “… That’s where we’re going to get bogged down and have to start slugging it out.”

“When will we be able to resupply by ship?” Cooper asked.

“Good question, Coop. I don’t know the answer. Maybe in Cameroon. Certainly not before then. But the other battalions are making do with air drops and landings when the airports are useable. So shall we. Hell, we’ve had it easy compared with some of our people.”

“So quit your bitchin’,” Jersey told Cooper.

“Who’s bitchin?’ ” Cooper cut his eyes to Jersey. “I’m asking a question, that’s all. Go back to daydreaming about men and close your mouth, will you?”

Cooper was safe to pop off to Jersey as long as he was driving, and he knew it. However, Jersey had a long memory …

“Save your fighting for when it’s needed,” Ben cooled the situation. “And believe me, it’s going to be needed.”

 

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The pair ignored him, as he knew they would, because their quarreling was all in fun. They’d been picking at each other for as long as the team had been together.

“You got a fat mouth, Cooper,” Jersey said.

Cooper pursed his lips and made loud kissing sounds.

Jersey feigned gagging.

Ben smiled and the convoy rolled on.

“Where’s all the lions and elephants and apes and stuff?” Cooper asked.

“Mostly in the interior, Cooper,” Beth answered. “We might get to see some animals in Nigeria. Right, boss?”

“It’s a good possibility,” Ben replied.

“Cooper thinks he’s going to see Tarzan come swinging out of the trees,” Jersey said.

“I can be Tarzan, my precious desert blossom,” Cooper replied. “You can be my Jane.”

“What a disgusting thought,” she popped right back.

“Can any of you visualize Cooper in a loincloth, swinging through the trees with chimpanzees?” Corrie said with a laugh.

“Now you’re hurting my feelings,” Cooper said, doing his best to maintain a wounded expression.

“Cooper,” Jersey said, “I don’t believe your feelings could be hurt with an axe.”

Ben tuned the kibitzing pair down to a low murmur in his mind and stared out the window. He knew the closer the convoys drew to Bruno Bottger’s territory, the fiercer the fighting would become. The easy run for the Rebels was about to come to a halt.

Abruptly.

 

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Ben and his 18 Batt spent exactly one day in Ghana’s capital, Accra, before pulling out and moving on, heading for the war-torn country of Togo. Ben had been advised in Ghana that when the column reached the border, the good roads would vanish. The Rebels would find bridges blown, highways reduced to rubble, and civil war raging all around diem.

“Togo and Benin have been at each other’s throats since the Great War,” Ben said aloud, as die column neared the border. “Their forces have killed each other off in record numbers. When Lome was sacked and burned the capital was moved to Togoville. The Ghanaians retaliated by destroying Porto Novo so the capital was moved up-country to some place, which we will, hopefully, avoid.”

“Abomey,” Beth said.

“That’s it.”

“It’s about seventy-five or so kilometers from the coast,” Beth added.

“Thank you,” Ben said.

“Scouts report a welcoming committee of sorts waiting for us at the border,” Corrie said. “About fifty or so strong. No tanks. No mortars or machine guns that the Scouts can see. Just light arms.”

“Slow the column. Tanks up and spearhead,” Ben

 

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ordered. “We’ll give those at the border something to think about.”

The main battle tanks soon rumbled past, the commanders talking with the advance party of Scouts on another frequency. At a hand signal from Ben, Cooper gunned the engine and pulled in behind the last MBT.

“This is not going to make our security people happy,” Beth said, twisting in the seat and looking behind her.

“They’ll get over it,” Ben replied.

“The border guards ran away,” Corrie said. “Scouts are taking down the barricades now.”

“I thought the sight of the MBTs might have a sobering effect on them,” Ben told her.

The column rolled on across the border and entered the country of Togo. The roads immediately became cracked and bumpy, in many instances the hard surface missing altogether.

“Lome just a few miles up the road,” Corrie said. “What’s left of it, that is.”

“Says here,” Beth said, reading from a very tattered tourist brochure, “that Lome is a city of half a million. And it was West Africa’s financial capital. The way to say good-day in Mina-which is spoken by about a third of the population-is Sobaydo. “

Drizzle from the gray skies abruptly changed to a torrential downpour, sheets of slashing silver slowing the column down to a crawl as the roads worsened.

The team rode in silence for a few minutes. On the roof of the big wagon the hammering rain was making normal conversation all but impossible. Then, as abruptly as it began, the rain tapered off to a quiet steady fall.

“Scouts nearing the city,” Corrie reported. “Seeing signs of some habitation. The few people they’re seeing

 

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look like walking dead … near starvation. Scouts want to know if they should locate a CP for you?”

“Yes,” Ben said softly. “We came here to help the people. So let’s try. And have the Scouts check out the airport and port facilities, if any. Corrie, we’ll pull the column over now and wait for a report.”

Ben unassed himself from the wagon and walked back to where Chase’s vehicle was pulled over, motioning for the chief of medicine to get out and join him. The men walked over to what remained of some sort of small business and stood under a sagging awning.

“I’ve ordered a halt here, Lamar. Do what you can for the people.”

Lamar stared at Ben for a moment. “Band-Aids on a sucking chest wound, Ben.”

“I know. But at least we’ll leave remembered as helping when and where we could instead of as some conquering army.”

“We’re going to need a hell of a lot more food than we’re carrying.”

Ben sighed. “I know. Two cargo ships are paralleling us a few miles off shore. They’re filled to capacity with supplies. If at all possible, they’ll dock.”

“All right, Ben. Find my people a secure location.”

“Will do.”

The city of Lome had been looted and savaged and shelled and fought over numerous times and finally burned. There wasn’t a hell of a lot left.

Engineers started working on the airport and promised to have one runway opened ASAP. The port had been wrecked, with dozens of small craft having been sunk in the harbor. Emergency supplies would have to be offloaded at sea and brought in by small boat. A very slow process.

The people who remained in the ruins of the city were a pathetic lot, sick and starving and existing with-

 

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out hope. They had been eating rats and snakes and just about anything else that walked, crawled, or flew … including, in some cases the Rebels found, each other.

As soon as word spread about the Rebels being there to help, not to make war, the refugees began pouring in from the countryside. And it took less than twenty-four hours for that news to spread.

Lamar Chase’s makeshift hospitals were soon very nearly overwhelmed, many of those brought in were near death, and far beyond any medical help. They were given shots to ease their suffering and placed under whatever shelter could be found to get them out of the rain and to die in peace and some sort of comfort … young and old alike.

Surprisingly, there was very little trouble from the gangs that roamed the countryside. They stayed far away from the ruins of the city.

“They know better than to start trouble with us,” Ben told Cecil one afternoon. “They know they’re directly responsible for all this human misery and know I’ve ordered them shot on sight. And I will do so, cheerfully. How is the press outside the SUSA reporting all this?”

“They’re not saying much, Ben. We’re intercepting the reports from the press traveling with you and they’re filing human interest stories. I think many of them are seeing a side of the Rebels they didn’t know existed.”

Ben chuckled, but it was without mirth. “Yeah. When they first showed up, they looked at us, and treated us, as if we were a bunch of bloodthirsty pirates, second only to Attila the Hun.”

“One screw-up and they’ll be right back looking at us in that manner.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Not one little bit.” Ben signed off just as Dr. Chase walked in.

 

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“Scouts report the gangs are gathering about halfway between here and Notse, waiting for us,” Corrie said. “At the junction.”

“What strength?”

“About five hundred so far, but several thousand are in position to move in very quickly.”

“What junction?” Chase asked.

“The bridges over Lake Togo have been destroyed. We’re going to have to head north, then take a secondary route into Benin. What kind of arms, Corrie?”

“Light arms, mostly. A few heavy machine guns. But Scouts report they do have some mortars.”

“Ammunition is going to be critical for them,” Ben said. “Unless Bruno is supplying them, and that is something we must always take into consideration. Personally, I think he is supplying them, using them for cannon fodder in the hopes they’ll get lucky with some ambush. All the other batt corns are reporting the same thing: small bands of guerrillas constantly harassing them. There is too much of a pattern developing here for it to be coincidence.”

“Then we’ve going to have to contend with the threat of ambush from here on in,” Chase said.

“Every day, Lamar. I told you it would get worse the further south we went.”

“So you did, Ben. So you did.”

“And there is something else: we’re going to have to be constantly alert for guerrillas to be mixed in with the civilians we stop to help. And …” he sighed, “… no matter how careful we are, some civilians are going to get caught up in the cross fire, and get hurt or killed.”

Lamar’s sigh matched that of Ben’s. He opened his mouth to speak, then obviously thought better of it and closed it. He shook his head in frustration and walked out of Ben’s CP. He paused in the door and looked

 

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back. “We’ll have done all we can do with what we have in another day and a half, Ben. I’m shutting down a couple of outlying clinics now. We’ll be ready when you give us the signal.”

“How many people? …”

Lamar cut him off abruptly. “They’re dying, Ben. There is nothing we can do for about forty percent of them except make them comfortable and ease the transition into death. Babies are dying because their mothers are dry and can’t nurse them. Why in God’s name do people continue to have babies in the middle of a fucking famine when hundreds of others are starving to death all around them?”

Ben did not offer any reply, knowing that in all probability, Lamar was not finished.

“You give the orders you have to give, Ben,” Lamar said. “And you don’t feel guilty about it. You are not obligated to carry the ills and the woes and the goddamn stupidity of the people who inhabit this world on your shoulders, and by God, neither am I. Good night.”

“Anybody got anything to add to that?” Ben questioned his team.

“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” Anna said, laying aside an oily cleaning rag. She closed the bolt on her CAR and walked out the door, hurrying to catch up with Dr. Chase.

Ben smiled, very thinly. “Corrie, advise the company commanders we’ll be pulling out in about thirty-six hours. We’ll have done all we can do here.”

 

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“Every battalion meeting resistance,” Corrie said, as the column put Lome behind them and were advancing north toward the junction at Notse.

“It’s begun,” Ben replied. “Cooper, pull over so Corrie can establish an uplink. When that’s done, Corrie, ask what type of uniforms the enemy is wearing and if there are any whites leading the groups.”

The column waited until the portable dish could be set up and Corrie could check with each battalion. “No standard uniforms, boss,” she finally reported. “Some are wearing ragged remnants of uniforms but most are in civilian clothes. There are a few whites who seem to be in command.”

“Bruno’s advisors,” Ben said. “He’s either sent some of his own officers up to train and take command, or he’s hired mercenaries. Probably the latter. All right, Corrie. Thanks. Let’s get this show back on the road.”

The column rolling once more, slowly on the nearly nonexistent highway, Ben said, “Bump the Scouts and assess the situation at the junction.”

“Scouts report a slow troop build-up all around.”

“So this is not going to be an ambush?”

“Doesn’t look that way.”

“And they’re being obvious about it,” Ben questioned.

 

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“No longer making any attempt to conceal their movements.”

“Odd,” Ben muttered. “They have no tanks, no artillery, only a few mortars and machine guns, and they’re setting up to go head to head with us. That makes no sense.”

Ben opened his map case and carefully went over a map of the region. There was no other route open to them. Ben could not ask for reports from eyes in the sky because the helicopters were all grounded because of the unpredictable weather. Anyway, most of those assigned to Ben had been forced to return to Ghana because there were no other safe landing areas for them to refuel and have maintenance done.

It was all ground work for the Rebels now.

“When we get within range of the junction,” Ben said, “we’ll set up artillery and pound the crap out of the enemy positions. But we’ll be alert for any flanking movements or an attack from the rear. I think that’s what they’ve got in mind. Just as soon as the Scouts report us able to fight our way through the junction, we’ll make a run for it and smash through. If my hunch is right, we’ll catch those attempting to flank us and come up behind us flatfooted and can put some breathing room between us.”

“One hour until we can be in any sort of effective range,” Beth reported, doing some calculations without being told.

“Good enough. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that I’m right about this. Corrie, tell the Scouts they’re going to have to act as FO’s.”

“Right, boss.”

“My company will face north with the artillery, the others will set up left and right and take up rear guard positions.”

“Advising now,” Corrie replied.

 

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“It’s a pretty good bet that those coming up from behind and flanking will be lightly armed. They’re having to move too fast over lousy terrain to be carrying anything heavy. Maybe a few mortars, but that’s all. When we stop, I want every mortar and Big Thumper we’ve got ready to bang ASAP.”

Corrie was talking to the company commanders even as Ben was speaking. The team had been together so long each member could practically sense what the other would do. With Ben and Corrie, it was almost as if they were hooked into some sort of invisible mental link.

“Forty-five minutes,” Beth said.

“Scouts reporting heavy concentration of enemy build-up nearly complete at junction. They’re dug in tight.”

“In a few minutes, they’re going to wish they’d dug those holes a lot deeper,” Ben said.

“We have movement behind us,” Corrie said. “Scouts who dropped back report a large concentration of troops moving slowly. Maintaining distance. Their vehicles are old, and of various makes, but chugging right along. Scouts have counted fifty trucks, most of them deuce-and-a-halves. All filled to overflowing with troops.”

“Say a minimum of seven hundred and fifty troops coming up behind us.” Ben smiled. “Tell my XO to take over, Corrie. And alert my company we will be falling back to engage the enemy … sort of.”

Corrie hesitated.

Ben chuckled. “Load us up with rocket launchers and claymores and several Big Thumpers. Cooper, there is a small town just up ahead the Scouts have checked out and found deserted. That will be perfect for an ambush. You pull off there. Get on with the orders, Corrie.”

“Ten-four, boss.”

 

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Corrie ordered the column on, with no break-off other than Ben’s company. She was asked if she wanted several of the tanks with the column to join Ben in the ambush.

“No,” Ben said. “We’ll handle this. The rest of the column has their orders. Carry them out.”

Cooper cut off the road and parked the wagon behind what remained of a building. The other vehicles peeled off and ducked in behind buildings or crashed through the brush and vegetation around the town and disappeared.

“Some of those trucks will have to be winched out when this is over,” Ben said, unassing himself from the front seat of the wagon. “And we’ll probably lose half a day or more doing that. But what the hell? Nobody here has any pressing engagements elsewhere, do they?”

The team laughed at Ben’s sometime odd sense of humor and began unloading weapons from the supply truck that always followed Ben’s vehicle. Anna took her Big Thumper, Cooper his SAW. Corrie, Beth, and Jersey swapped their CARs for regulation M-16’s with bloop tubes. Ben pulled out his old M-14 and a rucksack filled with magazines. Then they quickly followed Ben into the deserted old remains of what had once been a store and took up positions. A rusted old soft-drink sign was still attached to the front of the building, above the front awning. It creaked on rusted braces in the warm light wind.

The monsoonal rains had not yet begun their daily pounding of the earth and only a very soft drizzle was falling.

Within a very few minutes, the Rebels had all taken up positions in and north and south of the town. The vehicles were hidden and the brush and other vegeta-

 

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tion that had been smashed or driven down by the heavy trucks pulled back and secured in place.

The village appeared to be deserted, just another civilian casualty of war.

It was a death trap for the unsuspecting.

“Enemy column’s ETA twenty-five minutes,” Corrie said.

Ben nodded his head and rolled a smoke. “Tell the people to grab a quick smoke if they want to. Piss now if they have to. Smokes out in five minutes and everybody in position.”

Ben rolled a cigarette, lit up, and asked, “Corrie, Scouts are certain the enemy convoy has no recon working forward?”

“Positive, boss. They’re rolling along pretty sure of themselves.”

“Somebody fucked up,” Ben muttered. “They didn’t do their homework; didn’t study the tactics of their opposition. Bad mistake.”

“They won’t make another one,” Jersey said, chomping on a wad of gum.

“Very true, Jersey,” Ben said, after blowing a smoke ring and watching it disappear in the wind that silently sang through the glass-smashed windows. “If we’re careful and don’t spring the trap too soon. Corrie, tell the troops north of the town to be sure and knock out the first several vehicles. The commander of this force will almost certainly be in one of those vehicles. And we don’t want to give them a chance to radio what’s happening. Lots of ‘if s’ involved here.”

“Enemy convoy has increased speed,” Corrie said. “Fifteen minutes.”

“They’re getting anxious,” Ben replied. “Bad move on their part. Shows another sign of lack of professionalism. They’re going to roll right into this.”

“They won’t roll out of it,” Anna said grimly.

 

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Ben looked at his adopted daughter. Anna was as cold as ice, as usual.

Ben cut his eyes to Beth, looking at him. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled knowingly. Anna was a warrior, pure and simple, through and through, but one who would always pick the right side, Ben was sure of that. Her years of struggle to survive as a child against the evil of the forces of the nearly overwhelming numbers of warlords and gangs back in her home country had seen to that.

Anna had laid out a long belt of 40mm grenades, filled with anti-personnel grenades. She sat back and waited.

Ben checked his old M-14, known affectionately as a Thunder Lizard, and slipped the fire selector to full auto. It was a punishing weapon to hold and fire at full auto, but it laid down a devastating field of fire.

Cooper had his SAW bi-podded, an extra canister of ammo nearby.

Ben’s team was ready.

“Ten minutes,” Corrie said.

Ben took his position by the window-or what was left of it-nearest the south wall. He stayed well back from the window, in the shadows, and would remain there until the ambush was sprung.

All around the battle-scarred little town, the Rebels waited, silent and motionless.

“Five minutes,” Corrie said softly.

The rain continued to fall, but it had been reduced to only a drizzle.

Finally the Rebels could hear the truck engines as the enemy convoy approached the town.

“Showtime,” Cooper said, pulling back the bolt on his SAW, chambering a round.

The Rebels in town would let the first fifteen or so trucks in the convoy roll on through. The Rebels in

 

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position on the north side of town would start the ambush. At the first yammer from machine guns, the first crump of grenades, the first whoosh from a rocket launcher, the entire stretched-out company would open up on the unsuspecting convoy. And the quiet, gray-sky, drizzly day would turn into a death trap.

“Play with the big boys,” Ben muttered, his eyes following the first truck as it passed through the town, “and you’re very likely to get your nose bloodied.”

Jersey was the only one of the team to have heard the quiet words, she cut her dark eyes to Ben and smiled.

Ben winked at her.

Then the enemy convoy stopped before the first truck could clear the northern edge of the small town.

“Crap,” Ben muttered. “Now what?”

“What is the matter?” a white man yelled, jumping from the fifth truck in the packed-up-close column.

“The engine is overheating!” came the shout from the lead truck.

“I don’t give a damn if it blows up,” the white officer yelled. “We’re too close now to stop. If the engine fails, we’ll leave the truck and spread the men out among the other vehicles. Now get that goddamn thing moving.”

“All right, all right! Keep your fucking pants on, will you?” came the insolent reply.

“The officers certainly have a great deal of respect for each other, don’t they?” Jersey whispered.

Ben smiled his reply.

“Now what’s wrong?” the first white officer yelled after a few seconds. The enemy column had not moved. The waiting Rebels could hear the sound of a grinding starter.

“The truck won’t start. I told you the engine was overheating. Now it’s locked up, I believe.”

 

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“It isn’t locked up, you idiot. Oh, never mind. We can’t wait. Push …”

The sound of an engine bursting into life cut off his words as the lead truck’s motor roared.

“Finally. Roll it, roll it!”

The truck’s engine died. The sound of it was so clear it was heard up and down the street.

“Oh, good God!” the officer yelled impatiently.

The starter began grinding.

“Hell with it,” the officer shouted. “Everybody out and the second truck push that vehicle out of the way. We’re wasting too much time. Move it, goddamnit, move it!”

“Colonel!” another voice entered the conversation. “Colonel!”

“What is it?” the now identified commander shouted.

“Something is very wrong here.”

The colonel paused for a heartbeat, looking slowly all around him. He shook his head and yelled. “What are you talking about?”

“There are tire tracks leading left and right off the street. They disappear into the brush and jungle.”

“Tire tracks?”

“Yes, sir. From heavy trucks. Colonel, they’re all up and down the street. Just look, see for yourself.”

“Now it gets interesting,” Ben muttered. “I hope everybody is on their toes.”

“I don’t see any damn tracks!” the colonel yelled. “Where are they?”

“You’re looking at the hard pack in front of that old store. Move left or right where the earth hasn’t been packed down by years of parking. You’ll see them. It’s all very strange.”

“The man is an idiot,” Ben muttered. “I would have put the tracks together immediately.”

 

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“Oh, very well. I’m looking.” The colonel began walking slowly south, mumbling about a waste of time.

Ben lifted his Thunder Lizard.

“By God!” the colonel yelled. “I see them. It’s probably just …” He paused. His training as a soldier finally kicked in and jogged his brain. “Oh, shit!” he shouted. “Ambush!” he screamed. “Ambush!”

Ben shot him and the gates of Hell swung open, inviting all who would enter to step right up.

 

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The colonel was slammed back by the heavy rounds from Ben’s M-14. He fell on his back in the mud and did not move. Anna cut loose with her Big Thumper and the two trucks that were parked directly in front of the old building exploded in flames and death and the screaming of wounded men. Cooper shifted the muzzle of his SAW and opened fire on the third, parked south of the burning trucks, before the soldiers who were under canvas in the bed could leap out and run for their lives. The 5.56 rounds hammered out pain and death. The others in Ben’s team sent grenades from their bloop tubes into the parked enemy column at almost point-blank range.

The Rebels lying in wait north of the town did not have to have a signal to know what had happened. They were moving instantly, working closer to the north edge of the town, throwing up a defensive line left and right of the highway.

The jaws of the death trap had been sprung and the dangerous, predatory beast caught in the snare could not free himself and had no place to run even if it could. Those caught could do nothing now except die.

From front and back and both sides, the Rebels hammered out death by bullet, grenade, and rocket. Many of the trucks caught on fire and the fumes from the

 

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fuel tanks exploded. The ammunition and mortar rounds they were carrying exploded and lead and shrapnel was flying in all directions. The din was deafening and the smoke teared the eyes. The wounded were screaming and the sergeants and officers were yelling orders which could not be heard five feet away and conditions were so confused and disorganized no one would have paid any attention to them if they could be heard.

The Rebels methodically picked off any of the enemy who tried to flee the scene of destruction and death. Ben ended a burning man’s race with death with one round from his M-14. The man was enveloped in flames from his feet to his hair and was running in blind agony.

The smell of burning and cooking and charred human flesh and hair was thick in the damp air, clinging close to the ground, offensive even to those who were long accustomed to the smell of death.

The carnage seemed to go on for hours, when actually it lasted less than five minutes. Five minutes to snuff out hundreds of lives. Ben was reminded of the old saying: “You pays your money, you takes your chances.”

The ambush was almost one-hundred percent effective. Perhaps twenty or twenty-five men escaped into the brush and jungle, running in sheer panic to escape the death trap.

“No pursuit,” Ben ordered, his voice strange in his head after the yammering of combat.

Automatically, Ben ejected the nearly empty magazine from the belly of his Thunder Lizard and slipped in a full one, clicking it into place. He walked to the door and looked out through the swirling smoke, staring impassively at the sprawled bodies and those few who were wounded and trying to crawl away. A few were crying out for help in English, others were calling out

 

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in a language Ben did not understand, but he was reasonably certain the vocal content was the same.

Ben slung the M-14 and pulled his canteen out, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink of water. He was conscious of eyes on him. He searched the death scene until he found the man who was staring at him.

“Water, please,” the man called.

Ben walked over to him and knelt down. The man must have taken at least eight or ten rounds in the chest and belly; he was soaked in blood. Ben pulled the wounded man’s canteen from his web belt and unscrewed the cap, holding it to the man’s lips. Water to a man gut-shot is dangerous, but what the hell? Ben thought. This guy will be dead in a few minutes. The blood staining his lips was pink and frothy-lung shot.

“You are the devil, Ben Raines?” the man gasped out the question.

Ben smiled. “That’s me.”

“You live up to your reputation, General.” Then the man closed his eyes, shuddered once, stiffened, and died.

Ben placed the canteen on the ground next to the man and stood up. “I’ve been called worse,” he said to the dead man, then turned and walked away.

Some of the Rebel deuce-and-a-halves were able to back out of the brush and jungle without getting stuck in the soft earth. Rebels were already using them to wench out trucks that were mired up.

“How many people did we lose?” Ben asked, as Cor-rie walked up to stand beside him.

“None. Five wounded. None of them seriously.”

“We lucked out again.”

The rest of Ben’s team joined him and stood watching as the dead were unceremoniously dragged off the road and tossed into ditches. They would not be buried. The wounded-those the medics thought might have some

 

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chance of making it-were patched up and carried to huts and houses. The dying were given a shot to ease the pain and left alone to wander off into that long sleep.

Several times Ben heard the whispered words among the wounded: “That’s the devil himself over there.”

Ben ignored the comments and walked away, over to where his own wounded lay, being treated. Their wounds were not serious, certainly not life-threatening, and all five would be up and ready for limited duty within a few days. He chatted with the wounded for a few moments, then walked on.

“The animals and the carrion birds are sure gonna have a fine time here when we leave,” Jersey remarked.

“That they will,” Ben replied. “But I don’t believe the dead will notice.”

“Those enemy troops at the junction have fled, boss,” Corrie reported. “Running away in all directions.”

“Somebody caught up in the ambush kept their cool and was professional enough to get off a radio message. With the element of surprise gone, those at the junction wanted no part of us. Good. Just maybe we can get out of this country without another fight.”

“I wouldn’t bet any money on that,” Anna said, standing nearby.

“No,” Ben replied. “I don’t think I would, Anna. We’re going to have to be heads up at all times from now on. Corrie, how many of the enemy trucks are serviceable?”

“Maybe half a dozen.”

“Load all the collected weapons, ammo, and what supplies we can salvage from the ambush into them. Let’s get out of this damn place ASAP.”

His team knew what he meant: the awful smell of deadi hung everywhere and clung to everything; especially the odor of burned human flesh. And the after-

 

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noon rains had not yet come to wash and cleanse the earth. It was time for a lunch break, but no one wanted to eat here.

“Corrie, tell the companies ahead of us to hold up at the junction; wait for us. We’ll be pulling out of here within the hour-hopefully.”

“It’ll be about forty-five minutes, boss.”

“That’s even better. Damn, this place stinks!”

A medic walked up. “General, the one white who survived the ambush wants to talk to you. He’s hard hit and probably isn’t going to make it.”

“All right. Lead the way.”

The officer looked to be in his early forties and had been hit twice in the chest and twice in the belly. The doctor attending him met Ben’s eyes and shook his head, then walked away. Ben knelt down beside the man.

“An honor, General Raines,” the dying man whispered. “You are truly a worthy foe. You might even be a match for Field Marshal General Bottger.”

“How many damn titles does that nut have?”

The officer smiled: a bloody curving of the lips. “Whatever suits him at the moment, General Raines. But he pays well and while he might be just slightly insane, he is a brilliant field commander.”

Ben didn’t argue that. He knew Bruno Bottger’s tactics well and knew he was not a commander to take lightly.

“Then you are not one of Bottger’s regulars?”

“No. I’m Austrian by birth. A professional soldier by the grace of God.”

“You’ll fight for whoever pays you the most money.” It was not a question.

“That is correct. Politics does not interest me at all.”

“How many men can Bottger field?”

“Several hundred thousand regulars and several hun-

 

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dred thousand natives who joined him after he arrived on this shithole of a continent.”

Ben smiled faintly. “Does he have an air force?”

“Yes. Jet fighters. Not that many but he has training programs and factories working around the clock as we speak. All of the south of Africa is his new homeland, so he’ll be ready for you and your Rebels, General.”

“I’m sure he will be. What happened to the people of South Africa, the white population especially? And I’m talking about all the whites south of here?”

“They fought us. We killed off most of them. Pity, they were good fighters, too. There are still many of them left, but they’re disarmed and helpless. They know that if they oppose us, they die. It’s just that simple. Once you disarm a nation, the citizens are virtually helpless.”

“Yes. That’s what the liberal politicians in the United States tried to do.”

“But you and your people, among others, rose up and fought them.”

“Tooth and nail.”

“You were better organized, General. Despite the efforts of government enforcement agents. Oh, I followed your exploits carefully. I always admired your courage and tactics.”

The man’s voice was growing weaker.

“You will face growing resistance the further south you go, General.” The dying officer coughed up blood and for a moment, Ben thought he wasn’t going to be able to continue. He fought for breath and settled down. “And then from the Congo River south you will meet Bottger’s legions. And he will stop you eventually. Oh, you might push him back a hundred miles or so. Two hundred miles, perhaps, if you’re very, very lucky. But this is one fight you cannot win. But you will be a

 

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very worthy foe for him, and he will respect you for that.”

Ben said nothing. He waited.

“You might be able to strike some sort of deal with him, General. Have you given that any thought?”

“No.”

Again, the dying man smiled that bloody grimace. “No? I thought not. Widi you, it is all or nothing, correct?”

“Something like that.”

“I would keep a deal in the back of my mind, General. I really would.”

“I don’t make deals with thugs.”

“So I have heard, General.” Weakly, the man lifted a bloody hand and saluted Ben. “Good-bye, General Raines. I’ll see you in Hell.”

The officer closed his eyes and died without a shudder or another word.

“Could be,” Ben said, rising to his boots. “It sure wouldn’t surprise me.”

 

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Ben’s company joined the others at the junction and cut east toward Abomey. On the way to the border, Scouts reported seeing patrols of enemy soldiers, but there were no further attacks against the column while they rolled through Togo.

At the Togo/Benin border, the column halted. There were no border guards.

Ben got out and walked toward the raised barrier at the crossing, joining a group of Scouts.

“Looks as though no one’s been here for a long time, General. No cigarette butts, no discarded ration containers, no nothing. It’s strange,”

“Corrie, is Nick meeting any resistance?”

“Nothing,” she reported. “He’s waiting at the border crossing at Ouake. It’s deserted. No signs of life.”

“Paul’s 17 Batt?”

“They’re still in Burkina. About seventy-five miles from the border of Nigeria. They’re reporting no trouble.”

“Mike’s 16 Batt?”

“Waiting at the Mali/Niger border. Taking a break. No trouble.”

Ben was silent for a moment. He rolled a smoke and lit up. A couple of minutes passed before he spoke. “Get

 

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a link set up, Corrie. I want a report from every battalion.”

The portable satellite was set up and Corrie spent the next half hour talking over hundreds of miles. Then she reported to Ben.

Ben sat for a moment by the side of the road, which had been swept for mines and cleared. “For several days, every battalion stretched across Africa was under either full attack or hit and run actions. Then suddenly, nothing. We know there are small patrols out watching our movements, Scouts from every battalion have seen them. It’s a coordinated effort; you can bet with certainty they are not acting independently of each other …”

The rains came thundering down in a gushing torrent, preventing Ben from finishing his thought. Tents and tarps had already been set up and Rebels scrambled for cover. Ben and team, Dr. Chase with them, ran for the squad tent that had been set up for him. Corrie set up her equipment on a folding table and sat down. Portable generators were cranked up and the coffeepot was filled up and turned on.

“Tell the cooks to set up and get busy,” Ben ordered. “We’re going to be here for at least the night.”

Ben did not have to order guards out. That had been done within seconds after the column had halted. Now tanks began moving into position around the camp and several hundred yards away from the center of the encampment, perimeter bangers were being strung and claymores carefully placed.

Within minutes, the camp was as secure as human hands could make it.

“Scouts are five miles inside Benin,” Corrie said, raising her voice to be heard over the drum of heavy rain on the canvas above their heads. “Nothing. And the road just stopped. They’re facing brush and forest.”

“Shit!” Ben cussed. “We’re going to be forced to cut

 

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south and take the coast road. Exactly what I didn’t want to have to do. Or else cut north for a hundred or so miles and take the highway over to Savalou. If we’re attacked by any kind of force along the coast highway, we could be in serious trouble. We could be forced back, or surrounded on three sides with the Atlantic at our backs and no place to run. We would then have to be evaced by sea, leaving all our equipment behind. And that just might be what the guerrillas have in the back of their minds and to hell with Bottger’s orders.”

“But we don’t know for sure, right?” Dr. Chase asked.

“We sure as hell don’t, Lamar.”

“About fifty or so civilians approaching from the Benin side,” a guard called. “About a third of the bunch are kids.”

“Check them out carefully for weapons,” Ben said, walking to the flap and pulling it back.

“Time to go to work,” Lamar said, rising from the camp chair.

“Get a translator in here,” Ben ordered. “Pump them for information.”

For once Lamar didn’t argue with Ben about bothering his patients.

Ben walked out seconds behind Lamar and looked up the road, Benin side. He knew after only a glance there was nothing to fear from this bunch. They were some of the most emaciated looking people he had yet seen in Africa. And he also could tell, even from this distance, that several of the kids being carried in the arms of their mothers were dead.

Ben stepped back into his squad tent and returned to his portable desk. Anna remained at the opening of the tent, looking at the pitiful sight. Ben studied her in the dim rainy light. There was no expression on her lovely face. She had not only seen it all before, she had lived with it for years, struggling for survival in the old

 

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country, before Ben picked the little waif out of a lineup of street hoodlums and took her under his wing.

Anna stepped out of the tent and slogged away through the mud, heading away from the border crossing. Ben thanked Beth for the mug of steaming coffee she placed in front of him and turned on the lamp, powered by the portable generators. He opened a map case and selected a map.

He suppressed a groan as he studied the route along the coast. Then he laid the map aside and shook his head. They would not take it. Too risky. They would head north to Savalu, then south to Dassa-Doume, northeast to Save, and enter Nigeria that way. If, and it was a big If, the bridge over the Oueme River was intact. If it had been destroyed? … Well, they would find out in a few days, or a week, it all depended on the roads.

“Refugees coming out of the brush by the droves now,” Cooper called from the flap of the tent. “Several hundred of them.”

Ben again walked to the open flap of the squad tent and looked out into the rainy afternoon. Cooper was sure right about the numbers of people: hundreds of them, probably about a third of them children.

Ben turned away from the open flap, then hesitated for a couple of heartbeats before looking back. Something had caught his eyes, something that aroused suspicion in his mind. But what? Ben looked more closely. He could see nothing in the knot of ragged people that would present a danger.

The knot of ragged people.

The knot of ragged people … that thought nagged at him. Yes, that was it. Why were they all so bunched up? He’d never seen starving, sick people so tightly bunched.

“Something is wrong here, Coop,” Ben said. “I don’t

 

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really know what it is, but something is very wrong about that crowd of people.”

“They sure are bunched up tight, boss,” Beth said, peering around Ben from inside the tent.

Corrie had heard the exchange and was alerting the company.

To the untrained eye, it would appear that nothing was happening within the compound. But plenty was happening. Tanks were slowly swinging their turrets and gunners were taking their places, manning .50 and 7.62 machine guns, inside and out of the massive MBTs. Rebels were quietly pulling back bolts on their weapons, chambering rounds. Cooks were laying aside large spoons and ladles, removing huge pots from the fire, and moving closer to their weapons.

“If my bread burns, I’m gonna be pissed,” one cook mumbled irritably.

“Give that stew another stir or two,” another cook called from across the mess tent. “I don’t want it sticking.”

Ben had cleaned his M-14 and put it away, back into its hard-shell case. Anna had seen what was going on and slipped in the back flap of the tent. She handed her adopted father his CAR and a canvas magazine pouch.

“This tent is likely to be shot all to pieces,” Ben said. “Everybody back out of here and head for good cover. I’m pretty sure the center of that knot of refugees is filled with guerrillas.”

“Gonna be a lot of dead civilians,” Cooper muttered.

“I hate people who use innocents for cover,” Anna mumbled darkly. “They are sorry excuses for human beings.”

“I agree, baby,” Ben said. “Now get your butt out the back of this tent. Move!”

Ben and team exited out the back and circled around,

 

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away from the border crossing. They took cover in a ditch that was half filled with water.

“Shit!” Jersey said, bellying down in the muck and the water.

“You could always come live with me, my pretty little horned toad,” Cooper said. “And we could retire from the army and raise little Indians.”

“Horned toad!” Jersey exclaimed. “I can’t believe you called me a horned toad. \bu have sunk to a new low. Cooper, have you ever seen a horned toad?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Come to think of it, you remind me of one.”

“Handsome devils, aren’t they?”

Jersey made a gagging sound and dropped the subject. Cooper just could not be insulted.

The refugees had crossed the border and were still all bunched up. The Rebels at the crossing were herding them toward the MASH tents. But the MASH tents had been evaced of all medical personnel and those civilians who had been lined up had been pushed aside, the Rebels getting them out of harm’s way as best they could.

“Combat boots,” Anna remarked from her position next to Ben. “I can see some of those in the center of the refugees are wearing combat boots.”

“We can’t do a damn thing until they break from the civilians and open the fight,” Beth bitched.

“Steady,” Ben cautioned in a low voice. “They’ve got about fifty or so yards to go before they can do anything. If they broke free now, the damage they could do to us would be minimal.”

“It’s gotta be a suicide team,” Cooper said. “Nothing else makes any sense.”

“I have to agree with Cooper,” Jersey said. “Will wonders never cease.”

“They’re all clear of the old checkpoint now,” Corrie

 

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said. “They’ll be near the center of the compound in a few seconds.”

Ben could see those fifty or so guerrillas-perhaps more than that-in the center of the frightened refugees, now pushing them into a faster pace. One woman carrying an obviously starving child fell and those behind her moved to one side to keep from stepping on the woman.

Suddenly there was a burst of shouting from the center of the refugees and about seventy-five men leaped from the now disorganized groups and began running in all directions, frantically pulling weapons and grenades from under their ragged coats and shirts.

The men and women and children who made up the refugees began screaming in fear and shouting in their own tongues and running in all directions, preventing the Rebels from opening up with any type of effective fire.

“Select fire and pick your targets carefully!” Ben shouted, pulling himself up onto one knee in the muddy ditch. “Watch for human bombs. This is a suicide run.”

Anna reached up and grabbed hold of Ben’s web belt and pulled him back down into the cover of the ditch. “That wasn’t too smart, General Ben,” she chided him. “You trying to get shot up so you can go back home?”

Ben glanced at the young woman and smiled. “Thank you, Anna. I have been properly chastised.”

“Look out!” Corrieyelled, just a second before a half-dozen guerrillas jumped into the ditch.

One landed beside Ben and Ben clubbed him with his CAR. The clubbing seemed to have no effect on the man. The guerrilla’s eyes were wild-looking. Ben jammed the muzzle of the CAR into the man’s open mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing out the back of the man’s head and splattering Jersey and Cooper with blood and brain and bits of bone.

 

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Another guerrilla had wrestled Anna down into the ditch and was trying to drown her in the foot or so of water. The man suddenly screamed and lost his grip on her throat, both hands going to his belly. He arched backward and Ben could see the upward rip in his belly where Anna had used her razor-sharp knife to get the man off her.

In the split second Ben observed all this, Anna came sputtering to her knees in the muddy water, the obscenities flying from her mouth. “I lost my fucking weapon!” she shouted, and began groping in the water for her CAR.

Ben did not have time to see if she located the weapon. Another guerrilla jumped on his back and rode him down. Ben could not understand why the men were not using their weapons, but didn’t have time to contemplate that question. He reached up and grabbed the man’s neck and twisted and jerked, throwing the infiltrator off him.

Corrie turned at just that second and shot the guerrilla fighter in the head with her 9mm. Things had gotten so close-in pistols were more practical than rifles.

Somewhere in the circle that made up the Rebel compound there was a terrific ground-rattling explosion and seconds later a bloody part of a man’s shin and ankle and booted foot landed near the edge of the ditch. One of the guerrillas, rigged as a human bomb, had set himself off. Parts of the man had dropped all over the compound. Ben did not have time to assess the damage done, if any, but judging from the sound of the explosion, the man must have had a massive amount of explosive wired to his body.

Ben had pulled his 9mm from leather and holding his CAR in his left hand, not wanting to lose it in the muddy waters of the ditch, was picking close-in targets and pouring the lead to them. He did not have to look far for the

 

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enemy, for they were all around him, with more guerrillas pouring out of the brush all around the compound.

Those who had been hidden in the brush, probably in tunnels, didn’t get very far, for they were running smack into claymore kill zones, the deadly anti-personnel mines set up all around the compound. Those lucky enough to escape the claymores were running into machine-gun fire from Rebel posts set along the outer defense perimeter. But enough guerrillas were making it through.

“It’s gonna get nasty,” Ben panted the words.

“It’s done got nasty, boss!” Cooper yelled, pulling himself off a dead guerrilla he had killed with a knife.

“Enemy troops approaching from the road!” Corrie yelled. Her headset was still working, although it was twisted and the microphone dangling. “I can hear but can’t communicate,” she added.

There was no time for Ben to worry about who might be coming up or down the road, for half a dozen guerrillas were making a suicide run toward the ditch, one of them very bulky around the chest and waist. Ben suspected the man had wrapped explosives around himself. Even at a distance of many yards, Ben could tell the man was hopped up on something: a powerful local brew or some sort of dope to give him courage. Didn’t matter which, he was running straight for Ben and his team.

Ben leveled the 9mm and started putting rounds into the running man. Ben put round after round into the bomber, but the slugs didn’t seem to faze him. Finally one of the slugs must have hit the detonator, for the last thing Ben would remember for a long time was a tremendous flash of light.

Then …

Nothing.

 

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Ben awakened with a terrible headache. Throbbing. Some little man was inside his noggin beating on a bass drum. Ben opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground, and the ground was wet. Come to think of it, Ben was wet all over. Took him awhile to understand it was raining. Ben tried to sit up and when he did, his head felt like it weighed a ton and would fall off his shoulders at any moment. He did not try to get up; just sat on the wet ground and let the rain pound on him for a few more minutes.

During that time he looked around him. He did not know where he was. And that was not all. He did not know who he was.

An,d that frightened him.

Then memory started returning to him in tiny fragments, snatches of sudden remembrance, bursts of recollection. The fight at the border. Infiltrators among the scared and sick and starving refugees.

Ben suddenly was very thirsty. He tilted his head back just a bit-he didn’t want it to fall off-and swallowed some of the rain, a few drops at a time. Tasted good.

Then he remembered he was wearing a canteen. He felt for his canteen. Gone. So was his web belt and with it, his pistol and knife. He reached up and felt of his head. His helmet was gone and there was a cut, a long

 

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gash really, running down the side of his head from the top to just above his left ear. Must have been a hell of a piece of shrapnel that hit him, traveling at about nine hundred or so miles per hour, give or take a few hundred mph.

He looked around him. No familiar landmarks. He was nowhere near the border and the compound.

The compound. It must have been overrun. But that would have taken one hell of a large force. So … knowing that because of the monsoonal rains and lack of bases for fuel and maintenance, Ben had no eyes in the sky to pick up on troop movement, Bruno moved his guerrilla forces up to the border, scattered them all around, probably in tunnels, and waited.

Ben looked down at his feet. At least he still had his boots. But what the hell happened to his web belt, his battle harness? He didn’t know; might never know. He looked at his watch. The date couldn’t be right. He blinked, looked at it again. Almost an entire day and night had passed. Impossible. But there it was. Almost to the hour.

He’d been out for twenty-four hours.

Ben was suddenly hungry. Ravenous.

He felt in his right-side cargo pocket, found a candy bar and ate several bites. Then he got immediately sick and puked it up.

Concussion, he thought. And a bad one. Or maybe his stomach just rejected the richness of the chocolate.

He struggled to his feet and swayed for a moment. He fought back the feeling and spread his feet. The swaying stopped. Ben’s sense of direction had always been superb and that much was still working … he was reasonably certain of that. He felt sure the border was … that way, he concluded, turning and facing the west. He started walking, very slowly, still slightly unsteady on his feet.

 

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A hundred yards on and he saw the first of what he knew in his heart would be many, many dead. It was a Rebel sergeant who had been with Ben for several years. Ben carefully knelt down and first removed the man’s dog tags, sticking them in his pocket. Then he took the sergeant’s web belt, which still had a holstered 9-mm pistol hooked to it and two full magazines for the pistol, two canteens, a small first-aid kit, and a sheath knife. He went through the man’s pockets and found two survival bars, a compass, and a small waterproof container of matches.

Ben stowed them in his cargo pockets and walked on. There was nothing he could do for the man.

After walking for about another three hundred yards, he rested for ten minutes, then forced himself to move for another several hundred yards. During his second rest stop, he noticed a body in a depression in the earth about fifty feet away. Animals had been eating on it. He wondered if there were hyenas around? He had no desire to tangle with a pack of hyenas. Ben walked over to the body. Another Rebel. Ben knelt down and forced himself to remove the battle harness from the man. He tried to keep from looking at what was left of the man’s face. Birds had pecked his eyes out and something had eaten out the softness of throat.

Ben didn’t know the man’s name, but he had been a medic and still had his first-aid kit with him, the strap looped over one shoulder. Ben took that and the man’s holstered pistol and spare magazines. The medic had two ration packs in a rucksack. Ben slung the rucksack and removed the man’s dog tags. Now he had two pistols, four canteens, a well-stocked first-aid kit, and something to eat. He pulled the man’s poncho from him and then moved away from the body and walked on for about a hundred yards until he found some thick brush. He took a stick and poked around under the brush,

 

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not wanting to come nose to fangs with a large venomous snake … something Africa has plenty of.

When nothing slithered out, Ben crawled in. He was very very tired but wondered if he should sleep. A moment later, that decision was made for him. He didn’t wake up until four the next morning.

He crawled out of the brush, stiff and sore, and stood in the silent pre-dawn hours. Then he squatted down and using a flashlight that had been hooked onto the sergeant’s battle harness, rummaged around in the first-aid kit until he found a bottle of aspirin. He shook two out and then ate one of the candy bars. This time he kept it down. Then he took the aspirin and walked on. He had to change direction because of a swamp and several yards later, literally stumbled onto the dirt road that he knew paralleled the main highway. About two miles separated the two. Ben guessed it was a logging road.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He sat down on the side of the old highway and took a drink of water and wished for a hot cup of coffee and a smoke. In that order.

The sky began to lighten and Ben found himself looking at a dead man. Another Rebel. Ben took the man’s dog tags and batde harness. He did not have a rifle, but did have two full magazines for his 9mm in a web pouch. He also had a rucksack filled with food, grenades, a small gun cleaning kit, and several packs of cigarettes. Ben sat by the dead body and smoked.

Then he walked on as the sky changed from silver gray to full light. He passed several more dead Rebels and stopped at each one to remove the dog tags. The bodies had been stripped of everything except underwear; even their socks had been taken.

Ben’s head had stopped throbbing, and he was experiencing only a slight ache. He knew he was going to

 

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have to stop and clean out his wound sooner or later, and that was not something he was looking forward to.

The carrion birds were beginning to circle ahead of him, off to his right, and Ben knew he was not far from the ambush site. Ben found what appeared to be a path through the brush and took it, reaching the main highway. He stayed in the brush for several minutes, listening and watching. He could detect no sight or sound of human life, but he could smell the unmistakable odor of the dead.

Staying in the brush, Ben cautiously made his way toward the border crossing. As he rounded the curve, now only about a hundred yards from the east edge of the Rebel encampment, he braced himself for what his eyes would soon see and his mind be forced to register.

Still in the brush, Ben came to a halt at the almost unbelievable sight in front of him: what appeared to be hundreds of naked or near naked bodies lay swollen and bloated everywhere. They had been stripped of everything the guerrillas might possibly use. The vultures were feasting on the bodies, flies covered what the carrion birds had ripped out and not eaten.

Ben was forced to sit down on the edge of the road for a moment in an attempt to regain his composure. Many of the dead had been with him since the beginning of the dream of a new nation.

Now they were gone.

He willed himself to rise, to walk slowly toward the horrible scene. On the way he picked up a large stick and began whacking at the buzzards. Some of them were so bloated from eating dead human flesh they could not fly. They just waddled away a few yards and stared at Ben balefully.

Many of the vehicles were gone, taken by the guerrillas. Just about as many had been burned, destroyed during the fighting, which must have gone on for hours,

 

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perhaps all day, the Rebels fighting to the last person. Wisps of smoke still drifted out of the hatches of many of the tanks. The commanders, or the last person alive, knowing the tracks had been blown off, disabling the MBT, had pulled the pins on grenades, killing themselves and destroying the interior of the tanks rather than let them fall into enemy hands.

Ben stood for a moment, literally trembling with rage at the awful sight that lay all around him in the African morning.

He forcibly willed himself to calm down.

He pushed personal survival ahead of his emotions.

He began slowly walking the encampment, checking each bloated body, gathering dog tags, looking for anything that the enemy might have missed that he could use to survive … and Ben was going to survive. Somebody was going to pay for this, and when Ben found them, they would pay the ultimate price. He would write their names in their own blood across Southern Africa.

As he walked, turning over bodies when he was forced to do so to make a visual, Ben found small articles that the enemy had missed; articles that he could use in his own quest for survival and revenge.

He found ration packets that were still sealed, first aid, supplies, bottles of pills that the Rebels had to take every day to ward off local diseases. He picked up 5.56mm rounds as he walked, putting them in his pockets; the same with discarded magazines. Even though he did not have a rifle, he’d get one. Somewhere.

Ben picked up several small bottles of water purification tablets. They would be indispensable when he started out on his own. A mess kit, a tiny one-cup coffeepot, heat tabs, waterproof containers of matches, an entrenching tool, a machete, a small camp axe.

He walked on.

A numbness, a deadness of soul, began to overtake

 

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him as he beat away the carrion birds and looked into the face-if the body had a face-of the dead. He soon realized he could not take all the dog tags. There were hundreds of dead. He emptied his pockets of the weight he did not need, leaving the metal identification tags and neck chains scattered on the muddy ground.

And he cursed the knowledge that he did not have the means to bury his friends.

He found signs where larger animals had dragged off bodies into the brush, and he cursed again.

He could not find Dr. Chase. He could not find any of his team.

But he knew that meant nothing. They might have been dragged off into the brush to be eaten later. They might have been taken prisoner. They might have been badly wounded and staggered off to die alone in the mud and jungle as Ben had done, he supposed. He still had not been able to figure out exactly how he came to be several miles from the encampment. Maybe he never would. To hell with it. He had more important matters confronting him to worry about that. He was alive, and he intended to stay alive.

He found a walkie-talkie under one of the trucks and a fresh battery pack. But he could not find a rifle.

In a rucksack, he found several pairs of clean socks that would fit him. But he could not find a rifle.

In another rucksack he found clean underwear that would fit him. No rifle.

Then in a burst of remembrance, he recalled that just before he was hit, Anna had dropped her CAR into the muddy waters of the ditch and up to the time he was dropped into blackness, she had not found it. Maybe? …

He located the ditch and began carefully searching the muddy, bloody water, pushing his hands deep into

 

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the muck. Then he smiled as his hands touched metal. Found it!

He pulled out the CAR and stepped out of the ditch, walked to what remained of a tent. Enough was left to provide him some shade. Then, he took down the CAR and carefully cleaned and oiled the weapon, then reassembled it. It worked just fine. Ben was back in business.

He slung the weapon and once more began prowling the encampment. He found a pup tent, ground sheet, and blanket. He continued to pick up and carefully wipe off each 5.56 round he saw. A couple of grenades. An unopened package of flashlight batteries. Other small but important items that could help keep him alive. He found a small hand mirror; probably from a woman’s kit.

He found a roll of toilet paper and continued his prowling among the dead.

He did not attempt to count the dead. There were too many. Ben’s 1 Batt had been destroyed. He would have to rebuild, and he sure as hell planned to do just that.

He found signs that the enemy had used rocket launchers in their attack.

He kicked a carrion bird away from a woman’s body and beat the ugly flesh-eating bird to death with his heavy stick. He did not dare use his rifle or pistol for fear the shot would be heard by the enemy.

Ben noted that the civilians who had been used to hide the first wave of attackers were dead. Men, women, and children.

He returned to the tent lean-to and began putting together a pack. Then he hefted it. Heavy, but he could carry it.

Then he steeled himself and opened his head wound. He almost lost consciousness but managed to maintain some degree of alertness, albeit through a cloudy haze

 

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of intense pain. He inspected the wound with the tiny mirror, cleaned it and closed it as best he could, then bandaged the gash. He gave himself a shot of antibiotics and then sat for a time, letting the waves of pain dissipate while he gathered his strength.

Ben ate a portion of a ration pack, took two more aspirin, and began filling magazines with the rounds he’d found. After a few minutes, he realized he was once more hungry and finished the ration pack. That’s when he smiled and knew he was getting better.

Ben made one more walking tour of the carnage and found about fifty more 5.56mm rounds that he’d missed. He knew there were many, many more in the churned up mud, but he didn’t want to take the time to grope around hunting for them.

Besides, he had things to do.

And people to track down and kill.

 

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Ben headed north, choosing that direction for several reasons. He did not want to plunge deeper into enemy territory by heading east, and he had a strong suspicion that his was not the only Rebel battalion to have been hit by Bruno’s guerrilla forces. If the latter was true, Ike would stop the advance for a few days, and Ben just might, might, be able to hook up with Nick’s 18 Batt, which was a couple of hundred kilometers north of Ben. That was a long shot, but Ben felt he had no choice in the matter.

About five miles north of the ambush site, Ben found two more Rebel bodies in a ditch. They had managed to get this far before collapsing and dying from their wounds. Ben left their weapons and took their ammo pouches and rucksacks, which contained food packets and grenades and other small items. He walked on. He would inspect the rucksacks when he stopped for a rest period further on up the road. He did not want to tarry anywhere close to the bodies, for they were badly bloated and had been eaten on by small animals and carrion birds. Their faces had been gnawed and pecked and torn at so badly Ben could not recognize either Rebel.

Ben came to a small village, stopping a couple of hundred yards from it, ducking into the brush, and squat-

 

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ting for a time, inspecting the tiny settlement. He could detect no signs of life. Staying off the road and in the brush, Ben approached the village cautiously. His caution was needless, for the village was deserted.

Ben prowled what was left, and found nothing that he might use, which was just as well, for he was overloaded as it was. He walked on.

The road north was a secondary road, not paved, and in very bad shape. That was yet anodier reason Ben chose to head north: the road was fine for walking, but would have been hell on vehicles.

Ben stopped to rest, choosing a spot deep in some thick brush, after poking around in the brush with a long sturdy walking stick he had picked up just north of the ambush site. When nothing growled, slithered, or came charging out, Ben crawled into the brush and prompdy went to sleep, for he was still in a very weakened condition.

He awakened two hours later, and ate part of a ration pack. He took another antibiotic pill and crawled out of die thicket, walking back to the road, about a hundred yards from where he had rested. He headed north.

He walked at a leisurely pace, for he was in no condition to push himself physically. Ben figured he was making about four miles an hour, and he stopped whenever he felt fatigued. Several times that day he turned on the walkie-talkie but could receive nothing. The silence came as no surprise.

The afternoon rains came, and Ben slogged on: a solitary figure on a lonely road.

With about an hour of daylight left, Ben came to an-otfier tiny deserted village. He chose die hut furthest from the road, almost in die brush, and spread his ground sheet and blanket. Then he ate part of a ration pack while he brewed a cup of coffee in the tiny one-cup pot, using a heat tab. When the coffee was brewed, Ben

 

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enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Then he carefully cleaned his CAR, his pistols, and in the last rays of light, went through the two rucksacks he had taken from the dead Rebels in the ditch.

Another roll of toilet paper, which was a good find. Water purification tablets. Malaria pills, another good find. Several more grenades. Ration packs. Half a dozen full magazines of 5.56mm rounds.

Ben put the contents of both rucksacks into one, and then carefully buried the empty rucksack. He did not want a team of guerrillas to find it, put two and two together, and be on his trail. He was in no shape for a fight. Yet.

Ben slept soundly and well, awakening about two hours before dawn. After seeing to his morning toilet, and then standing outside the hut and listening for several minutes, Ben brewed another cup of coffee and ate a small breakfast. He took another antibiotic pill and packed up, carefully smoothing out the dirt floor of the hut, obliterating all signs of boot tracks. Outside the hut, Ben sat down and changed socks, carefully rubbing his feet for several minutes and sprinkling a bit of foot powder between his toes. Then he laced up his boots and once more headed north.

At noon, he came to the river and was relieved to find the old bridge still standing. But he did not immediately cross it. He squatted in the brush and watched the bridge for half an hour. There was no movement, foot traffic, bicycle, or motor vehicle. When he was sure there were no guards on the bridge-something he found very strange-he hurried across and then rested on the other side; the jog across the bridge had tired him. While he was resting, the wind changed, bringing with it the unmistakable odor of death. Ben followed the scent to its source. He found about a hundred ci-214

 

vilians, men, women, and children, lying in a depression in the earth. They had been lined up and shot.

“Centuries-old tribal hatreds,” Ben muttered. “Ethnic cleansing. No wonder I haven’t seen any people.”

He walked on, even though he was very tired. He wanted to put a couple of miles between himself and the stench of rotting human flesh before sitting down to rest and eat a bite.

When he could no longer smell decaying human flesh, Ben struggled out of his pack and sat down just off the road. He ate a high-energy bar and sipped some water, taking another antibiotic pill after eating, then he picked up his pack and moved back into the brush. The rains were due to begin at any time, and Ben just did not feel like slogging through the mud and pouring rain.

He found a place that was nearly surrounded by thick head-high brush and strung up his lean-to under the low branches of a tree. He laid out his ground sheet, covered his blanket with another piece of a ground sheet, and crawled under the cover and promptly went to sleep.

The heavy rains awakened him once, but after looking around him and seeing and sensing nothing, he went back to sleep. He woke up with about an hour of daylight left, heated up water, then dumped in the contents of a soup packet. While he ate his soup and lunched on crackers, he heated up a cup of coffee and enjoyed that with a cigarette. Then he took his malaria tablets and crawled back into his blankets. He was asleep in a few moments.

The sound of voices woke him.

He couldn’t understand the language, but instantly guessed they were not friendly. He looked at the luminous hands of his watch. 0430. He had slept the night through and felt good. Ben knew he was well on the

 

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way to full recovery. He wasn’t there yet, but he was getting closer each day.

Then he heard the sound of a vehicle and was out of his blankets faster than a snake, speed-lacing his boots. He picked up his CAR and moved silently through the brush to within a few yards of the road. The vehicle was a HumVee-a Rebel HumVee. But it had come from the north, not the south. He knew that really proved nothing, but he had a suspicion that Nick’s battalion had come under heavy attack. He hated to think that Nick and his 18 Batt might have suffered the same fate as Ben’s 1 Batt, but it was something that had to be considered.

Ben wanted that HumVee. For one thing, he was tired of hoofing it, and for another the HumVee might be radio equipped with the gear necessary to up-link with a satellite and talk to everyone. The walkie-talkie Ben had was an old squad type with a very limited range.

“What the hell is the matter?” a very authoritative and demanding voice yelled. “And speak English, damnit. Stop all that gibber-jabber.”

“We lost his trail, Captain,” one of the men spoke out of the darkness. “About two miles back. But we know he’s a Rebel by his boots.”

“It just might be that bastard Raines,” the obviously white voice said, softening in tone. “He was not identified with the other dead. The son of a bitch has more lives than a room full of cats.”

“Many got away, Captain,” he was reminded. “They vanished into the brush and can move like ghosts. Those who pursued them never returned.”

“I know all that,” the captain snapped. “All right. Get in. We’ll backtrack to where you lost his trail and pick it up again at first light.”

Now or never, Ben thought, raising the CAR.

He took the two enlisted men first, then shifted the

 

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muzzle and shot the officer, one of his rounds taking the man in the side of the head. Ben slipped out of the brush and inspected his morning’s work. The two enlisted men were still alive, but not for long: the rounds had taken them in the chest and throat. Ben picked up their weapons and laid them on the hood of the Hummer, out of their reach. He moved over to the officer and knelt down. The man was dead. Ben removed the man’s web belt, which had a pistol attached to it, and laid it beside the weapons he’d taken from the enlisted men. One of the enlisted men was dead and the other had lost consciousness.

Ben dragged the bodies, one at a time, off the side of the road and into the brush. Then he quickly broke his own camp and stowed his gear into the Hummer. He was delighted to see a case of field rations behind the front seat and other gear piled in the back. There were four full five-gallon fuel cans in the cargo space in the rear.

Ben got behind the wheel, cranked the engine, and sighed with satisfaction. The fuel tank was full. He dropped the Hummer into gear and moved out. He was back in business.

Ben drove for ten miles, then at a crossroads, pulled off the road and parked behind what had once been a store and a residence. The sky was beginning to lighten and he wanted to inspect the gear in the Hummer.

He sat for a few minutes behind the wheel, knowing he was grinning like a schoolboy and couldn’t stop. Hell, he didn’t want to stop.

He unassed himself from the Hummer and did a careful inspection of the old store and adjoining building. Both were deserted and showed no signs of having been occupied for a long time. There was nothing left in either building; they had been looted many times.

Behind the store, sitting on the back step, Ben heated

 

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a cup of coffee and while that was heating, ate a full ration pack and could have eaten more. He was rapidly regaining his strength. Pulling the bodies off the road had not sapped him as he was afraid it would. He took his daily medicine, then drank his coffee and smoked a cigarette while he watched the sun break the horizon. Then he began his inspection of the interior of the Hummer.

One of his bullets had punched through the thick plastic of the rear side door and penetrated the radio. It wouldn’t even turn on.

“Well, so much for that,” Ben muttered. “I can’t have everydiing I wished for.”

Then he began rummaging through the other gear. A full case of field rations on the seat, another on the floorboards. Ben didn’t have to worry about anything to eat for a time. A five-gallon sealed can of drinking water, with the date it had been factory sealed stamped on the can.

“Issued for his white troops only, I’ll bet,” Ben muttered, but he was glad to see the full can of water. It would last him for a long time if he was careful, and he certainly intended to be careful.

Ben found blankets and a tent. A portable stove and several cans of fuel for it. A rucksack filled with grenades. Then he smiled when he found a Heckler & Koch HK11A1 machine gun, chambered for the 7.62 round. This weapon could also take the 5.56 round and the lighter old Russian 7.62 round by replacing the barrel, bolt, and feed mechanism. But there were no spare parts for the weapon so this machine gun would take only the heavier 7.62 round. Which suited Ben just fine. There were five full one-hundred round cans of belted ammo in the Hummer.

“Playtime is over, boys,” Ben said. “The Eagle is back in business.”

 

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Eagle had been Ben’s code designation for a long time.

Ben found the tool kit and removed the front panel from the radio. The bullet, or as it turned out, bullets, had made a mess of the radio. It was beyond useless. Ben removed it from its brackets and carefully hid it with some junk in the old store. Removing the radio would lighten the load in the Hummer by about fifty pounds.

Ben found some clean socks and some dirty underwear. He kept the socks. He found a pair of new boots that were several sizes too small for him but he kept them anyway. He just might run across a Rebel who needed some boots. He found a map case and inspected it. The maps were far more up to date than the ones the Rebels were using. He found roads he didn’t even know existed. More importantly, he found enemy troops’ positions and hidden food and fuel depots clearly marked.

“Thank you very much, Captain,” Ben said, carefully folding the maps and slipping them back into the waterproof case. “You’ve been a great help.”

Ben laid several grenades on the seat beside him and stowed the rest. He squatted down and drank some water, while planning his next move.

Which was easy enough. “Keep moving on,” he muttered. He was bound to run into some Rebels sooner or later.

He once more tried the frequencies on his walkie-talkie. Nothing. Which was what he expected.

Ben cranked the engine and pulled out onto the road. Might as well keep going, he thought. It isn’t as though I have a lot of choice in the matter.

With a full tank of fuel and the extra cans, Ben knew he could travel about five hundred or so miles, give or take seventy five. But now that he had the locations of hidden fuel depots clearly marked on the maps he had,

 

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as long as he could evade the enemy, he just might keep going for a long, long time.

Of course, he might round the next bend in the road and run smack into an enemy patrol.

“Pays your money and takes your chances,” he muttered, and drove off into the unknown.

 

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Ben stayed on roads that ran along the border with Togo, and ran through no towns that were on the map. He passed through tiny villages and saw perhaps a total of a hundred people, all of them looking as if they might fall over dead from starvation or disease any moment. Ben did not stop. There was no point. There was nothing he could do.

By midmorning, the dirt road came to an end, intersecting with the main highway between Savalou and Djougou. Now it would get dicey.

Ben backed up and into the brush. He got out the map case taken from the officer he’d shot and rummaged through the papers, finally finding a map of Djougou. A population of thirty thousand before the Great War. No telling what it was now. It might be only a few hundred or a few hundred thousand. But there was a fuel depot there and he would need fuel.

Ben smiled. He felt an old familiar recklessness take him. He just might be able to bluff his way in and out. Hell, what did he have to lose?

He studied the map again. He was about a hundred kilometers from Djougou. The road appeared to be in fair condition, so he should reach the small city about 1500 hours, right in the middle of a driving monsoonal rain. That would work to his advantage … he hoped.

 

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“Okay, Raines,” he muttered. “Let’s have a go at it.”

Just before the compound was overrun, Ben had changed into regulation BDUs, and given his tiger stripe fatigues to the laundry crew to be washed. So he was wearing the same type of field clothing as Bruno’s officers. The collar insignia denoting rank was different in the two armies, so Ben was going to have to depend on his age and good deal of bluff to get through any checkpoints he might run into. Ben was very good at intimidation, so he wasn’t too worried about dealing with inexperienced enlisted men and junior officers. He just hoped he didn’t run into some field-sawy senior sergeant along the way. He didn’t feel there was much danger of that, since senior sergeants seldom manned checkpoints.

It was a needless worry. Ben did not run into a single checkpoint on the way to Djougou. About fifty kilometers from the city, the rains came thundering down and Ben drove on into the small city without a hitch.

Ben had memorized the way to the fuel depot, but naturally he got lost in the twisted street. He came up on a group of young soldiers, several whites and several blacks. Ben brazenly stopped and waved one over.

“Sir!” the young soldier said in perfect English, coming to full brace in the rain.

“The fuel depot,” Ben barked. “Where is it?”

The young soldier gave good instructions and added, “But you might have trouble getting someone to assist you, sir.”

Ben fixed the young man with a hard look. “Do you really think that I will have very much trouble?”

The young soldier took a deep breath. “Ah … no, sir. No, sir. I really think not.”

“Thank you,” Ben told him, returning the salute. “Carry on.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

 

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Ben filled up at the depot, swiped four more full five-gallon cans of fuel, stowed them in the rear cargo space, and was gone from the small city, having done it all in just about twenty minutes.

“It just takes a little bit of nerve, that’s all,” Ben said, leaving Djougou behind him. “And a lot of blind luck,” he added.

About fifteen miles north of Djougou, Ben ran into his first checkpoint. It was manned by two tough-looking African soldiers, both of them wearing some sort of tribal marks cut and tattooed into their cheeks. They were both surly and arrogant-acting. Ben pulled his sidearm from leather and held it in his right hand, out of sight. The 9mm was on full cock and ready to bang. He unzipped the thick upper plastic of the door and peered out at the men.

“Yes?”

“Get out of the vehicle,” one ordered.

“I don’t think so,” Ben told him.

The man lifted his rifle and Ben shot him in the face, the man dying without a sound. The second guard whirled around and Ben put two 9mm rounds in the man’s chest. The guard sat down hard on the muddy ground and looked at Ben, a very surprised expression on his face. Then he toppled over face first in the mud.

Ben couldn’t leave the two where they were. Any enemy tracker with half a brain would know Ben was heading north. He scrambled out of the Hummer and laid both dead men across the wide hood of the Hummer. He looked up and down the highway. No vehicle in sight. Ben pulled back out on the road and headed north, feeling just a bit conspicuous with two dead men lying across the hood. About a mile up the highway, he came to a nearly overflowing and fast-running creek. He stopped on the bridge and dumped the bodies into the water. They disappeared from sight. Ben got back

 

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into the Hummer and continued on his way, knowing with a sick feeling in his stomach that if Bruno’s men were working openly here, Nick’s battalion had been overrun and scattered.

How many more of Ben’s battalions had suffered the same fate?

Ben was afraid to even guess.

Bruno had carefully suckered Ben and his Rebels on, lulling them into a sense of false security. He had used the rainy season to finish moving massive numbers of troops north and had probably had the tunnels dug and supplied long before Ben and his battalions had sailed from the States.

Ben had always said he could never afford the luxury of selling Bruno short, and damned if he hadn’t done just that.

And Ben’s people had paid the ultimate price for his own short-sightedness.

The Rebels’ years-long unbroken stretch of luck had run out.

Ben’s face had tightened with rage with those thoughts, his big hands gripping the wheel turning white-knuckled.

He willed himself to calm down. Take it easy. Anger wouldn’t solve anything now. He had to keep a cool head. He forced himself to find something positive to think about and concentrate on that.

Miles went past in a torrent of warm rain and worsening highway. Ben had to slow his speed. He did not want to break down now. He drove on a few more miles. Where in the hell were the people? Where had they gone? Had Bruno’s horrible plans of massive genocide reached this far north? Could any human being actually be that callous?

Ben was a long-time student of history. He knew the answer to that question the instant it formed in his brain.

 

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Hitler was Bruno’s idol; Bruno considered Hitler to be the greatest man who ever lived.

Yes. Bruno was perfectly capable of killing millions of people, and that’s what he had done. He had used old tribal hatred among the African people to practice massive genocide. And those who carried out Bruno’s orders had aligned themselves with the Nazi bastard. So the Rebels weren’t just up against several hundred thousand of Bruno’s troops. They had walked right in and placed themselves against about a million troops-more or less.

Well, there was only one thing Ben could do about that: survive. Rebuild. Plan. Be smarter than Bruno. Be meaner than Bruno.

And the latter was something Ben could damn sure do.

Fifteen miles up the highway, Ben came to half a dozen burned out Hummers and deuce-and-halves and several Rebel tanks. His worse fears were being confirmed: Nick’s battalion had fought one hell of a fight, but had finally been overrun by sheer numbers.

Ben didn’t stop. There was no point. The scene before him told it all in silent volumes.

Ben steeled himself and drove on.

He had not faced the thought that his team might be among the dead, and he refused to do so now. His team was as slippery as quicksilver. If there was just one chance in a million that they survived, they did. That was something that Ben had to keep believing. He had to.

He drove on through the monsoonal rains. Came to another battle site. More wrecked and burned out Rebel tanks and trucks. Rotting bodies, bloated and eaten on by wild animals and carrion birds.

Ben kept his eyes on the road and drove on.

The bodies had been stripped of everything, right down to their underwear. It was obscene.

 

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Ben began looking for a place to hide for the night. It would be dark in about an hour. He came to what was left of a village and slowed, giving it a visual. He finally stopped and backed up, pulling in behind some falling down huts and houses. The rain had actually picked up in volume, limiting vision to only about a hundred or so yards. The fat raindrops were hammering out and flattening the tire tracks of the Hummer.

Ben took a chance and walked out onto the highway, looking at the village from the road. The huts he had parked behind completely shielded his vehicle. There was no danger of being spotted from the sky. Ben had not seen an enemy plane or helicopter since the fight at the border.

He found a dry spot in the hut directly in front of his Hummer and settled in for the evening. His thoughts were dark and ugly as he fixed his supper.

All right! Ben finally calmed himself down enough to think rationally. All right. Enough of this. Now think, Raines, damnit, think.

Not everybody was killed. Perhaps no more than forty percent of the two battalions had been hit.

So where did the survivors go?

Did they run off into the brush and jungle to form small hit-and-run guerrilla groups?

Maybe.

Were they captured?

That was a possibility that certainly had to be considered.

If they were captured, where were they being held?

Ben smiled, a cruel curving of the lips.

He damn sure knew how to learn the answer to that. But the person he questioned was not going to be very happy about it.

He ate his supper, heated his coffee, took his daily

 

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medication, and smoked a cigarette. Then he went to bed.

Tomorrow he would take a prisoner and learn the truth. One way or the other.

The soldier looked up at Ben through very frightened eyes. He had never seen such a savage look in all his life. One instant he had been standing guard at an intersection, the next instant something had struck him on the head and now he was trussed up like a pig awaiting slaughter.

And who was this savage-looking man squatting beside him, holding that razor-sharp knife?

“You speak English?” Ben asked.

Ben had dumped the sentry into the back of the Hummer and driven twenty miles up the road before pulling off into the brush and hauling the soldier out for questioning.

“Yes, sir.”

The sentry had been careless. Over-confident. Too sure of himself. The few victories had filled him with a false sense that all was well.

All was not well.

Ben Raines was alive and on the warpath.

“How many prisoners did you people take? And you’d better give me a straight answer when you open your mouth.” Ben held up the knife. “The thumb on your right hand gets cut off first.”

The soldier believed him. There was not a doubt in his mind kept this barbaric-looking man meant every word. So great was his fright, the soldier peed in his underwear.

“We took some prisoners. But not very many. They were transported south to a prisoner of war camp.”

“How far south?”

 

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“Several hundred miles.”

“Will they be tortured?”

“Certainly not, sir! Those are orders from the General Field Marshal himself. All Rebel prisoners will be treated fairly and humanely. I have seen those orders with my own eyes. I swear it.”

Ben believed him. Bruno had sense enough to know that if Ben learned any of his people had been tortured, Hell would be a luxury vacation spa compared to what Ben Raines would do … and Bruno knew even if Ben was dead, that crazy ex-SEAL, Ike McGowan would do the same, and if those two were dead, Dan Gray, that nutty Englishman, the former SAS officer, would take up the slack, and so on down the line.

What Bruno did not really understand was: scratch one Rebel, and they all bleed.

“Give the exact location where they’re being held.”

“I don’t know the exact location, sir. I swear before God and my mother’s grave, I don’t know.”

Ben believed him. The soldier was too young and too frightened and there was a ring of sincerity in his words.

“How many battalions were hit?”

“About half of them, I think, sir. But I don’t know for sure. I do know that many of the attacks failed and we lost a lot of native soldiers. The main thrust of the attacks were concentrated in the west. We were ordered, at all costs, to either kill or capture General Ben Raines. He …” The solider’s mouth dropped open and he paled under his tan. He had suddenly realized just who was questioning him. “Oh, my God,” he gasped. “You’re General Ben Raines.”

“That’s right, boy. I’m the devil in person.”

The soldier’s eyes were suddenly filled with fright. He, too, had heard Ben referred to as the devil. And he obviously believed the rumor.

“And whether I send you right straight to hell with

 

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this knife,” Ben held up the big-bladed knife, “or let you live, depends on you.”

“How do you mean, General?” The soldier’s voice was filled with panic.

“On whether on not you tell me the truth.”

“I swear to God, General. Every word I have spoken was the truth. I would not lie to you. I am not that big a fool.”

“Perhaps not. But you would lie to save your life, wouldn’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t, sir?” the soldier replied honestly.

Ben chuckled. “Good reply. Now tell me everything you know about the number of prisoners taken, where they are held, and anything else you know that I need to know.” Ben held up the knife. “And don’t lie.”

 

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The soldier could tell Ben little else, and he did not believe the young man was lying to him.

“You’ll be able to free yourself from these ropes in a few hours, if you work at it,” Ben told him.

“Yes, sir.”

Ben left the young man trussed up on the dirt floor of the hut and drove off toward the south, deliberately allowing the soldier to see what direction he was taking by circling around and driving past the door of the hut. Ten miles down the highway, he cut off onto an ill-defined old logging road and circled around, almost getting stuck half a dozen times. He returned to the highway an hour later and fifteen miles north of the hut and headed north toward Natitingou, Nick’s last known reporting site. But as he approached the town, Ben could not go a mile without seeing signs of a terrible batde.

There weren’t so many Rebel bodies, but dozens of vehicles and several tanks and APCs.

The soldier Ben had questioned had told him that standing orders were to carry off and bury their own dead, leaving the Rebels behind as a form of intimidation to any locals who might get it into their heads to come out of the brush and fight Bruno’s forces. Ben guessed that made sense, in a weird sort of way, since

 

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Bruno’s people had killed millions already, and those few natives left were slowly starving to death or dying of disease and most were too sick or weak to fight off a gnat.

About twenty miles south of the town, Ben cut off the main highway onto another highway that angled toward the northeast, but not before stopping at a wrecked deuce-and-a-half and finding one full five-gallon can of fuel somebody had overlooked. He topped off his fuel tank and drove on. The bed of the transport had been filled with dead Rebels, stripped down to their underwear. They were so bloated it was impossible to make out their features.

But where in the hell were the hundreds of Rebels who had escaped the battles?

In the brush and jungle, living off the land, hiding out until they could regroup, probably. They would stay well away from any highways.

But would the survivors head back west, or head east? Neither, he finally concluded: they would make their way north. Some among them would have managed to establish and maintain communications with other battalions during the fight, and would know that not all battalions had been hit. They would try to connect with those battalions.

Ben came to a sliding halt at a tiny village about forty miles north-northeast of the highway he had exited. His eyes had found a graveyard filled with makeshift crosses. He parked the Hummer behind a falling-down hut and walked through the drizzle to the graveyard. He could see dog tags hanging from the rickety crosses, the markers held together with rope and twine and strips of cloth.

The first dog tags he looked at belonged to Nick Stafford. The commander of 18 Batt had died fighting beside his people.

 

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Ben walked through the graveyard, looking at the dogtags; he knew many of the people who were buried there. Several doctors. Nick’s XO.

Ben shook his head and walked back to the Hummer, wondering who had buried the fallen Rebels.

He didn’t know and probably never would.

“Shit!” Ben said, filled with rage. He pulled back onto the highway.

The town of Kerou was nearly deserted, except for a few old men and women who were barely clinging to life. But Ben found an old fuel dump on die outskirts of town and topped off his tank, after he had searched for nearly an hour among the hundreds of barrels to find one tihat was half full.

It was dark when Ben finished at the dump and he drove about five miles outside of town and made camp in the burned-out ruins of what had once been a nice home.

He had seen no signs of Bruno’s forces and the fuel depot appeared to have been used up and deserted. That could possibly mean that Bruno’s people, when they pulled out, had no intention of returning.

But which direction had they gone?

Ben had him a hunch they headed back toward home.

He didn’t know why he felt tihat way, but the hunch was strong.

But not so strong that he could afford to let down his guard and become careless.

“Shit!” Ben said, as he poured a cup of coffee and dumped in the contents of a sugar pack from his accessory pack. His thoughts were of Nick. A damn good battalion commander, well liked and respected by his troops.

Cold in the ground.

“Valhalla just got another good soldier,” Ben muttered.

 

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Sleep was elusive for Ben that night. He managed a couple of hours and was on the road just before dawn. He was flagged down about halfway between Kerou and Banikoara by a priest and two nuns, all three wearing the rags of their faith.

“You might kill me for asking this,” the priest said, before Ben could say a word. “But I am not afraid of death. I know you do not shoot wounded men … or so I have been told. We have a badly wounded soldier in that hut over there.” He pointed. “Can you spare just a little medicine?”

“I’m an American,” Ben told the priest. “My name is Ben Raines.”

The jaws of all three religious people dropped open. They crossed themselves. The priest said, “Yes. You fit the description. Are you aware there is a great reward out for your capture?”

“No. But that doesn’t surprise me any. Take me to him. Sorry I can’t give you a lift. The vehicle is packed with supplies.”

“It’s only a few hundred yards, General,” a sister said. “Follow us.”

The Rebel was hard hit and dying. Ben felt it was some sort of miracle the man was still alive. For the first time, Ben was able to hear some of what had happened.

“Don’t bother changing bandages or giving me anything, General,” the Rebel sergeant told Ben. “It would be a waste of precious supplies. I’ve had it and I know it. Just listen if you will.”

Ben nodded his head.

“I prayed to God some officer would come along so I could tell my story. I guess God answered my prayers.”

“I guess He did,” Ben said.

“We never really had a chance, General. They came at us by the thousands. First it was suicide squads all mixed in with refugees. Then they came at us in what

 

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seemed like thousands; may have been thousands. It was hand to hand most of the time. Artillery was useless, so were mortars. Everything was close up.”

The sergeant paused for a moment to catch his breath. Ben waited.

“But we must have killed hundreds of them, General. Hell, I know we did. There were bodies stacked up like cans of beans in a grocery store. Still they kept coming. They’d climb over the dead and keep coming. It’s … like they were all popped up on something. Maybe some local dope. I don’t know. General? Is 18 Batt finished?”

“Nick’s dead. I found his grave among others.”

“Yes, sir. I saw him fall. We were among the last to get hit. Between the two of us, we must have killed at least a hundred. How about your battalion, sir?”

“We were overrun, Sergeant. We took a lot of casualties.”

“Your team?”

“I don’t know. I prefer to think of them as missing.”

The sergeant closed his eyes and smiled. “But we gave them hell, didn’t we, sir?”

“We sure did, Sergeant.”

The sergeant never opened his eyes again. An hour later, he died peacefully in his sleep. Ben had never left his side.

Ben rose to his boots. “I have a shovel in the vehicle. I’ll get it.”

“No need,” the priest said. “We have locals waiting about a mile from here. In the bush. We’ll see to his burial. The locals won’t come out as long as you are here. They’re afraid of you.”

“I’m not here to hurt them, Padre.”

“I know that. But they don’t.”

“Can I leave you anything? I can spare some food.”

The priest smiled and shook his head. “No. Thank you. But we’ll make it. You have a long way to go. The

 

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sergeant said something about a 17 Batt just across the border in Niger. The bridge is still standing at Malanville. And my people tell me it isn’t guarded.”

“Any word on where Bruno Bottger’s Nazis went?”

“They pulled out. Where, I don’t know. But except for roaming patrols, they’re gone.”

“I guess I’d better go. I still have not been able to make radio contact with any of my people.”

“The sergeant didn’t have any type of communications equipment with him when we found him. Sorry.”

“I am, too, Padre.” The men shook hands, Ben nodded to the nuns, and got back on the road.

Banikoara was a burned out town, with the stench of death hanging everywhere. Ben soon discovered why that was: part of Nick’s 18 Batt had made a last stand in die town, and Bruno’s troops had thrown everything they had at the Rebels, finally overrunning them after what must have been a fierce hand to hand battle.

The bodies of Rebels littered the streets. And they had all been stripped of everything, right down to their underwear, and some had even been stripped of that.

Ben stopped at every shot-up and disabled vehicle until he found one that had two full fuel cans. He filled his tank and stowed the second can in the cargo space of the Hummer and left the city of the dead behind him.

He cut over to the main highway at Kandi, no more than a wide spot in the road, with few stores and the remnants of one hotel, the Baobab 2000. Ben saw a few people, but they showed no great interest in him and he had no desire to stop and exchange pleasantries with them.

It was a hundred kilometers from Kandi to Malanville on the border. Halfway to the border, Ben pulled over at what remained of a lone store set in the middle of

 

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nowhere and tucked the Hummer inside the store. Doing that was easy: half of the back wall was missing.

Paul Harrison’s 17 Batt had been working just across the border in Niger. Paul’s last report was that the capital, Niamey, was in ruins and he was moving on and would wait for Ben’s column to line up south of his at a town with the unpronounceable name of Dogondouctchi.

Ben had a hunch that 17 Batt had met the same fate as his 1 Batt and Nick’s 18 Batt.

He wondered how many other battalions had been hit by Bruno’s forces, and how many Rebels had been lost?

He would know something for sure in the morning, but in his heart, he already knew.

Ben found the first of many dead bodies of Rebels he would see that day just past the bridge over the Niger River at Malanville … or rather, what was left of them. They were from Paul’s 17 Batt. They might have been part of a Scout team, but Ben couldn’t be sure: the bodies had been stripped and were unrecognizable. Every weapon, every piece of usable equipment, every uniform had been taken.

Ben drove on toward Dosso. There he connected with another highway that would take him Birni Ngaoure, change routes again, and into Dogondouctchi. Ben figured the mileage at just about a hundred and seventy-five kilometers from the bridge over the Niger.

He used a siphoning pump that was in the tool compartment of every Rebel vehicle to top off his gas tank from a shot-up Rebel deuce-and-a-half he found in the ditch and drove on. Ben did his best to keep his eyes from the naked bloated bodies in the cab of the truck. But he couldn’t keep the smell from his nostrils.

On the outskirts of Birni Ngaoure, Ben found the

 

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first signs of what a fierce battle Paul’s 17 Batt had waged with Bruno’s troops. The town had been destroyed by mortar and towed artillery, the heavy bombardment finally aiding Bruno’s troops in overrunning and killing what Rebels were left in the besieged town.

The sergeant the priest and nuns had found had been correct: the Rebels must have taken a terrible toll on the enemy troops, fighting right down to the last person standing, or able to pull a trigger.

And written on the bullet-pocked wall of a building were these words, scrawled in indelible ink: 17th HAD IT. 16TH UNDER HEAVY ATTACK. 15TH OVERRUN. 14TH HOLDING BUT NOT FOR LONG. It was signed Lieutenant James Preston and dated.

Ben had met Lt. Preston several times.

Ben shook his head and walked back outside just as the rains came ripping down. He drove on into the town. A dead town. Not one person could be found … at least not alive.

Ben looked into a bullet-pocked HumVee and saw a walkie-talkie on the floorboards. He almost turned away from it, thinking certainly it was useless, or booby-trapped, it was in such an obvious place.

Ben fashioned together several long sticks and backed away from the Hummer, crouching behind part of a wall. He began poking at the walkie-talkie, moving it around, turning it over. Nothing happened. Somehow the enemy troops had missed spotting the radio.

Ben retrieved the radio and put it on the seat beside him in his Hummer, then topped off his tank with a siphoning pump. Then he drove away from the town, stopping a few miles outside of town by the banks of a river. He got out, extended the antenna and keyed the talk button.

Nothing.

Ben looked at the walkie-talkie and grimaced. “Try

 

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turning it on, Raines,” he muttered in disgust. “That always helps.”

“This is Eagle,” he said, after setting the frequency. “Anyone out there interested in talking to an old bird whose wings have been clipped just a little?”

Ben came very close to weeping from relief when a voice came back. “You bet, Eagle. Keep your location to yourself. Too many radios in the wrong hands …”

Then the frequency was jammed up with voices as Rebel communication techs came on, all trying to talk at once. Ben leaned back against the side of the Hummer.

“Well,” he said to the waters of the river and the rain that drenched him. “At least we’re still in business.”

 

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It would have been useless to set the walkie-talkie on scramble, for Bruno’s people were surely monitoring and with the stolen Rebel equipment could listen to every word. Ben and the radio tech-wherever he was-talked in nonsense and baby talk until both knew the approximate location of the other. The location was determined by using the first, second, third and fourdi letter of each word spoken, depending on how the word was positioned in the sentence and then spelling them out. That was something the Rebels had worked out years back.

It shocked Ben to learn he was talking with the communications people of Jim Peter’s 14 Batt, located some hundred miles to the east.

So where were 15 and 16 Batt?

The tech hundreds of miles away did not reply, and from the silence, Ben knew.

Wiped out.

Where was Jim Peters?

Dead.

Buck Taylor of 15 Batt?

Badly wounded.

Mike Post?

Dead.

 

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Dead.

Jackie Malone of 12 Batt?

Badly wounded.

Greenwalt of 11 Batt?

Dead.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Ben exploded in plain English.

“Nobody else got scratched, General,” the tech replied in kind. If the Commanding General wanted to talk without using the code, the tech sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him he couldn’t.

“Calm down, Ben,” Ike’s voice took the place of the tech. “Save your anger. You’ll need it later. I have your location. Sign off for now. I’ll talk to you later. Check in now and then. Hang loose.”

Ben was left with a hundred unanswered questions, but Ike was right. No point in getting this close to linking up only to have some roaming patrol of Bruno’s close in on him.

Ben made a camp, fixed something to eat, heated some coffee, and was rolling a cigarette when several dozen Rebels came walking up the road, as nonchalant as if heading for a church dinner on the grounds.

“Howdy, General!” a sergeant called, waving. “Damn, but it’s good to see a friendly face. We intercepted your transmission and put the code together. Hell, we were only about half an hour away.”

They had rations of their own and a dozen or more vehicles hidden away in the bush, about two miles away. That was good news. But then they dropped some really good news on Ben.

“We’ve been talking in bursts with dozens of other Rebel units scattered all around,” the sergeant said. He was the sergeant major of Paul Harrison’s battalion. “Maybe three hundred or so, with plenty more Rebels in small teams all over the damn place. But they must

 

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be without any type of communications except for squad radios.”

“I have one of those in the Hummer,” Ben said. “We’ll try to contact them in a minute. What have you heard, Sergeant? How bad is it?”

“It’s bad, General.” He hesitated. “Almost all of your 1 Batt was wiped out. Maybe a hundred/hundred and fifty got away into the bush and jungle.”

“Any word on my team?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Dr. Chase?”

“Not a peep, sir.”

“Then you know about those battalions that got hard hit.” It was not a question.

“Yes, sir. We lost some fine people.”

“That we did, Sergeant Major. That we did. Thermopolis and his HQ Batt?”

“They didn’t get attacked.”

“Get the short-range walkie-talkie out of my Hummer and let’s start getting this new brigade organized.”

“New brigade, sir?” a young Rebel questioned.

“Yes. You people are now part of my new 1st Brigade. Get cracking.”

“Yes, sir!” The young Rebel was wearing a grin a charge of C-4 couldn’t dislodge as he rose to retrieve the walkie-talkie.

By the time darkness began covering the land, slightly more than four hundred Rebels had been located. He had again spoken with Ike, who had told him there had been no word about Dr. Chase and his doctors from 1 Batt or Ben’s team.

Buck Taylor, commander of 15 Batt, and Jackie Malone, commander of 12 Batt had been seriously wounded. Jackie had already been airlifted out and had undergone emergency surgery and was on her way back to the States. A rescue team was bringing Buck out now.

 

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Ike confirmed that they had lost at least six battalion commanders and at least five thousand troops-that number would probably go much higher.

One of the Rebels who had joined Ben just before dark shook his head at Ike’s assessment and said, “Try about fifteen thousand dead-at least.”

Ben looked at the Rebel for a couple of heartbeats. “Go on,” he prompted.

“I talked with a guy from 16 Batt who had talked with one of the survivors from 14 Batt. 14 Batt got hit hard. They lost probably two thirds of their people. A couple more people from 14 Batt confirmed that.”

Ben passed that word along to Ike.

“13 Batt got creamed, too, General,” another Rebel said. “My cousin’s with 13 Batt … communications. And that was my job with 15 Batt. My cousin stayed on the radio until they were overrun. His last words to me was, ‘God help us all. They’ve wiped us out.’ “

Ben passed along that information to Ike, and then signed off. He sat for a few seconds in silence, then asked, “What about the artillery with the battalions? Did the enemy haul it off?”

All the Rebels gathered around smiled at that. One said, “Yes, sir, they did … some of it. But most of it’s gonna be worthless to them. When we saw it was nearly over for us, and we were going to be overwhelmed, we either booby trapped the barrels to blow or destroyed the breech. They got a lot of vehicles and weapons, but damn litde else.”

SOP for the Rebels.

“Not many officers got away, right?”

“No, sir. Practically none of them. A few got captured. Most died fighting.”

“All right. Sergeant Major, post the guards and set up a relief schedule. The rest of you get some sleep.

 

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We’ll be moving out as soon as those few survivors from the south join us tomorrow.”

“Where will we be heading, General?” a Rebel asked.

“I don’t know,” Ben replied honestly. “Not yet. But we’re not whipped. If any of you are thinking that, put it out of your minds. We’re going to regroup and come back meaner than ever. It’ll take us a while to get resupplied and get used to the new reorganization. A couple of months probably. Ike’s got every available ship loading around the clock and heading this way. We just had a setback, that’s all. Now get some sleep.”

After the camp had settled down for the night, Ben sat off by himself, drinking coffee and thinking. Out of nineteen Rebel battalions, he had lost seven or eight. But he wasn’t sure how many troops had been killed. It would take several weeks for the final numbers to be tallied.

Bruno Bottger had won the first round, but the fight was a long way from being over. The Rebels surely suffered a bloody nose and a black eye and some bruises. But Bottger had not destroyed the Rebel spirit. If anything, in the long run he had probably strengthened it. For Ben knew his Rebels. And sadness over their losses would soon be replaced by a cold vengeful anger. The Rebels wouldn’t come in as great numbers as before, but they would come back with revenge on their minds.

And when the two armies finally did meet head to head on the battlefield, Ben had a couple of little surprises in store for Bruno Bottger.

But that was in the future. There was a lot of work to be done before that happened.

Ben crawled into his blankets and went to sleep. Tomorrow he would start rebuilding his army.

 

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“That’s everybody who would answer our calls and a hundred more who just straggled up or down the road and found us,” the sergeant major told Ben at midmorning. “I’m sure there are more Rebels out in the bush, but they don’t know we’re here.”

“All right. Once we get reformed and spread out again, they’ll find us. Get the column lined out. We’re heading for Niamey. We’ll get the airport cleaned up and ready to receive traffic. We have to start somewhere. Might as well be there.”

There weren’t nearly enough vehicles to comfortably carry all the troops, but the Rebels managed without complaint, packed in the beds and hanging onto the sides and riding on the fenders and running boards. Many had to be left behind. But as the convoy made its way slowly toward Niamey, they came upon Rebel vehicles that had suffered only slight damage. Ben left crews working on those vehicles after making certain the trucks had enough fuel to make the trip back to pick up those left behind and then on to Niamey.

Paul Harrison’s last report was that Niamey was in ruins, and he sure had pegged that right. Part of the city was still burning. Bruno Bottger had adopted a scorched-earth policy. Ben and his troops arrived at the airport at midafternoon-in the middle of a downpour-and immediately began clearing runways. Some of the trucks turned around and headed back, to pick up those that could not make the first run to the city.

Ben did not attempt any communication with Ike. They had agreed that if Ben came under attack on the way, he was to get on the radio. If Ike didn’t hear from him, Ben had made it and help would be on the way by noon of the next day. Either landing or circling. So the Rebels didn’t have time to waste.

Wrecked vehicles were shoved off the runways by deuce-and-a-halves while other Rebels formed lines and

 

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walked the lengths of concrete, picking up debris. The electricity had not worked in the city for years, so there were no runway lights. But the transport planes would be bringing in portable generators with the first flights. At dark the Rebels stopped working and ate some supper. To a person they were not in the best physical shape; many of them were near exhaustion. But the runways had been cleared and the planes could land.

They began landing at noon the next day. The first half-a-dozen planes contained troops, and Ike was the first one off. He ran over to Ben and the two men grabbed each other in a bear hug.

Ike finally pulled back and wiped his eyes. “Tell your people to stand guard, Ben. They must be worn out. My people will offload the planes. \fou got any coffee?”

Ben laughed. “No. We used the last of it this morning.”

“I can fix that in a hurry.”

The next two planes brought in cooks, doctors, and supplies. They were followed by more huge cargo planes, packed with supplies and weapons.

A pot of coffee made for Ben and Ike, and huge vats of coffee made for the troops, handed out with sandwiches that had been quickly made by the cooks within minutes of landing, Ben looked at Ike.

“All right, Ike. Give it to me straight, and don’t pull any punches.”

“Greenwalt, Gomez, Peters, Post, Harrison, and Stafford, all dead. Taylor and Malone badly hurt and on their way back to the States.” Ike stuck a stub of a cigar into his mouth and chewed it for a moment. “We lost between fifteen and twenty thousand Rebels, Ben. It will be weeks before the final numbers are crunched. 11, 12, and 13 Batts were almost totally wiped out. The other battalions that were hit suffered at least fifty percent losses … some higher.”

 

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“How many officers and senior sergeants made it out?”

“Only a handful of each.”

“Well, we’re looking at a complete reorganization. How about Bruno and his people-where are they?”

“They pulled out, heading south. Ben, we must have killed a hundred thousand of Bottger’s people. I’m serious. We destroyed the equivalent of five full divisions. I don’t have to tell you how Rebels fight.”

“We didn’t hurt him, Ike. He used African troops for cannon fodder. I doubt if he lost a hundred and fifty of his own people. And we’ve still got the gangs of punks between us and Bottger.”

“And what’s left of his African army.”

“Yes. What does Cecil have to say?”

“He’s speeding up the training at our bases. It’s about all he can do. He let out a whoop when I told him you were still alive and on the warpath.”

“My team and Dr. Chase?”

Ike shook his head. “We’ve got them MIA, Ben.”

“Well, if any team can make it, my team can. And that old crotchety bastard, Lamar Chase, is hard to kill. I’ll say no more about it.” Ben shook himself like a big shaggy dog. “Ike, get on the horn and advise all Batt Corns to hold what they’ve got. No further advance. I want teams of Scouts out right now, penetrate as deep as they think is safe, burrow in, and keep their eyes wide open. I want Indian talkers with the Scouts and the same with communications at all times. That ought to thoroughly confuse those Nazi sons of bitches.”

Ben took a bite of sandwich. “I figure we’ll stand down for two to three months, Ike. It’ll take that long for fresh supplies to reach us and for the troops to get used to the new reorganization. And that will put us just about out of the rainy season.” Ben looked at his

 

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long-time friend. “We’re going to brigades, Ike. Ten of them. It’s past time for it.”

“I agree, Ben.”

Ben forced a smile. “It’s my army, I can designate a brigade to be any strength I damn well please.”

Ike laughed and clasped his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll get right on it, Ben.”

After Ike had left, Ben sat for a long time, staring out the broken window.

His thoughts would have caused Satan to cringe.

 

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Ben was up long before dawn, as was his usual custom. He dressed and walked down to the mess tent, pulling a mug of coffee from one of the huge urns. These cooks were new to Ben, and he to them, and they were just a bit in awe of him. He ignored the quick and curious stares (one does not stare directly or for very long at the commanding general of the Army) and took his coffee to one of the folding tables that had been set up, choosing one in a far corner of the big tent.

Ike came in a few minutes later and filled a tray to overflowing with food and sat down across the table from Ben.

Ben smiled at the food piled on the serving tray. “Not too hungry this morning, hey, Ike?”

“I am kinda off my feed, Ben,” Ike replied in all seriousness. “The strain, I guess.”

Ben shook his head at the amount of food the ex-SEAL could consume and sipped his coffee. “I’m sure that’s it, Ike.”

“Have you settled on brigade designations yet, Ben?”

“Yes. To keep the confusion down to a minimum we’ll start with 501 and run through 601. Unless you’ve got a better way and I’m sure open for suggestion.”

Ike shook his head. “Sounds good to me. You checked with communications this morning?”

 

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“No. You?”

“No. I’m the 502nd Brigade?”

“Yes.”

“Were you advised about the refugees lining up outside the airport during the night?”

Ben looked up from his rolling of a cigarette. “No. How many?”

“Only a few at first. It’s up to about a thousand now. But they’re very subdued and not causing any trouble. They’re a, well, really pitiful bunch.”

“I can imagine. We’ll do what we can for them. That’s part of the reason we’re here.”

“We’ll have planes coming in every twenty minutes starting at first light.” Ike suddenly pushed his tray from him. “Aw, shit, I’m not hungry. I haven’t been able to eat since the attacks. I fill up my tray, take two bites, and lose my appetite.”

“The attacks weren’t your fault, Ike.”

“I keep tellin’ myself that, Ben. But I just can’t convince myself of it.”

“We’d all better be glad Bruno didn’t push the offensive. I still can’t understand why he didn’t. He damn sure had it all going his way.”

“Maybe he was afraid of getting flanked from the east, Ben.”

“I don’t think so, Ike. If you have swung around, using 2 through 10 Batts, Bruno could have poured more troops in behind you and had you all in a box. The rest of the battalions sure couldn’t have done you any good. He probably didn’t count on taking us by as much surprise as he did and just didn’t have an adequate number of troops in position. That’s my guess. But who knows why that crazy son of a bitch does anything?”

Rebels were beginning to arrive at the tent, picking up trays and forming a line. Both Ben and Ike left the table to give the troops more room and walked outside. A runner from communications walked up.

 

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“About three hundred or so Rebels have been located,” she said. “Thirty or so from each of the battalions that got hit. They’re spread out over a five/six hundred mile stretch. Teams have gone in now to lead them out and trucks are ready to roll at their signal.”

“Thank you,” Ike said. The runner backed off and entered the mess tent. “They’ll be more showing up, Ben.”

“But only a few more,” Ben said softly.

“You can’t know that for certain, Ben.”

“You’re an eternal optimist, Ike. But I hope you’re right.”

“I’ll get things rolling, Ben.”

“See you later, Ike.”

Ben got him another mug of coffee from the mess tent and returned to his temporary CP. He sat down behind a folding table and turned on the lamp, the electricity provided by huge generators that hummed all around the airport. He began mapping out the new brigade designations and all the other many details that went along with that. The Rebel army did not have to call and wait for artillery support, or combat engineer help … each battalion, and now brigade, carried all that with them. The same with armor.

Ben noticed the shadow entering the room, but paid it no mind. The security that Ike had put around him was so tight a flea could not get through it.

“Hi, General Ben,” the familiar voice said. “Good to see you?”

Ben jerked his head up from his work.

Anna stood in front of the table, smiling at him.

“I’ll tell you what I remember about the fight,” the young woman said. She had taken a long soapy shower and was dressed in freshly laundered BDUs. Her short-

 

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cropped blond hair was clean and shiny with health. And she was on her second plate of food. “Just a tremendous explosion. When I woke up, it was night and I was facedown in a ditch. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about a mile from the camp. I was in some sort of daze and my head hurt something awful. I had lost my rifle but I still had my sidearm. It was real quiet. I mean, not a sound. I sat there for a time, trying to get things straight in my mind. Then I must have passed out. I woke up just about the time it was getting light in the east. I felt better and my head didn’t hurt so bad. I knew about where I was. I went back to the campsite and just stood there for a time. I don’t know how long. Maybe an hour. Maybe longer. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. General Ben, there were bodies everywhere …”

“I know, baby. I was there the next day. You didn’t see any of the team?”

“No. There was no one left alive. I don’t know what happened to the team. We were all in the ditch fighting when I … well, whatever it was that happened to me.”

Ben pointed to his cot. “There’s your CAR. I went back and fumbled around in the ditch until I found it.”

“All right! Still works okay?”

“It works just fine. Go on. What did you do after leaving the area?”

Anna finished her coffee and Ben poured her another mug. “I didn’t leave immediately. I walked around the entire camp, trying to find Jersey and Cooper and Beth and Corrie. They weren’t among the dead. I looked at so many dead people I got numb. But there were no enemy dead. And I know we killed hundreds of them before we got overrun. Well, until I got knocked goofy. I learned later the bastards carried off

 

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their dead and left ours stripped to rot under the sun and be eaten by those damned big birds.

“Anyway, I found a full canteen and some field rats and took off walking. Turned out I was walking the wrong way for several miles. I guess I was still in some sort of daze after seeing all those bodies of friends. About two hours after leaving the area, I found two dead Rebels in the brush. I took one of their weapons and all their ammo and canteens and whatever else was in their rucksacks. I didn’t inspect either one until later. Turned out they were full of food and grenades and other survival stuff. It was a lucky find. I finally got my bearings and started heading north. Two days later I hooked up with two guys from Nick Stafford’s 18 Batt. They were heading south. One of them was badly wounded. He died the next day. And me and G.A.- that’s his name-we just kept on walking …”

“GA. is here now?” Ben asked.

“You bet. He’s a squad leader. Was,” she corrected. “He’s got his shit together, too, believe me. I don’t think I would have made it without him.”

“Does he have a last name?”

“Armstead.”

Ben wrote that down on a pad. G. A. Armstead didn’t know it yet, but he was about to become a platoon sergeant. “Go on, Anna.”

“There isn’t that much more to tell. We found other Rebels along the way and hooked up with them. Then we found two trucks that had been abandoned. I don’t know why. Fuel tanks were full and they ran just fine. So we piled in and kept traveling north. Here I am.”

“And I am glad to see you. You go get outfitted now then get some rest. I’ll see you at lunch.”

She leaned over the table and kissed her adopted father on the cheek and with a smile, was out the door with the boundless energy of the young.

 

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Ben leaned back in the chair. If Anna made it clear, there was a chance the others in his team did, too. He could only hope.

Ben finished the prelims on the upgraded brigade and walked over to the communications shack, giving the recommendations and wants to the officer in charge to be transmitted to Cecil, back at Base Camp One.

The 501st Brigade was now official.

Ben grabbed a Hummer and drove over to the tarmac, watching the huge cargo planes come in. They were circling in the sky like huge prehistoric birds. The Rebels had cut the waiting time for them down to ten minutes, then it was touch down, unload, and back in the air again.

Most of the huge cargo planes would head back to a port to await the arrival of ships from the States. The ships were sailing at flank speed to get to a western port to unload much needed supplies: carrying everything from cases of underwear to tanks.

Ben drove over close to the MASH tents. The doctors were seeing refugees as fast as they could, and still the lines stretched as far as the eyes could see. The hopeless cases were placed in the rear of the tents, under tarps rigged up to give them some shade from the sun and shelter from the rains … the men, women, and children lay on blankets on the ground, most without make a sound of complaint, human skeletons waiting to die.

The fires from the destroyed city of Niamey still smoldered and burned in the distance. The airport was some 12 kilometers from the city.

Ike drove up and got out of his Hummer, walking over to stand by Ben’s side. “Just talked to Cecil. Five hundred new troops are on the way over from the States. Five hundred more in a few weeks. We’ll incor-

 

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porate them into all brigades, moving some seasoned troops around.”

“Any more stragglers?”

“Several hundred, Ben. I told you there would be more. And there will be more still to come. And no, there is no word about your team and Dr. Chase. I’m sorry.”

“I am too, Ike. But I won’t start putting together a new team until I’m certain-one way or the other.”

“You’ve got Anna back. That’s a good sign.”

“I think so.”

“Well, I drove out to tell you that Buddy is on his way in, with a couple of other batt corns. Excuse me, brigade commanders. Be here in about two hours.”

“Thanks. The new designations will take a little getting used to. I still slip myself.”

“Forty battalions. A lot of batt corns, Ben.”

“I know. A lot of lieutenants promoted to captains, a lot of captains promoted to major, and a lot of majors promoted to Lt. Colonel. And I haven’t even begun a list yet. And I want some recommendations from you.”

“I can work some up pronto.”

“Good. Do that. This is going to take a lot of strain off us, Ike. I should have done this a long time ago.”

“I stopped by the MASH tents,” Ike said, after a moment of silence.

“So did I.”

“Ben, I never realized just what kind of monster Bruno Bottger is until we got over here. He must have killed millions of these people.”

“Yes. And enslaved many of those left.”

“I wonder where the mass graves are?”

“I doubt if his people bothered. He’s been over here for some time now. The animals and birds ate what didn’t rot and then scattered the bones.” Ben cut his

 

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eyes. “You did notice the animals have made a dramatic comeback, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” Ike replied drily. “They seemed quite well fed.”

“Now you know why.”

“Intel says Bruno has set aside huge chunks of land for the animals to live on. Absolutely no hunting allowed.”

“Yeah? That’s wonderful. Hider played the harmonica, too. But I still don’t have to like the son of a bitch.”

 

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Ben began meeting with Batt Corns, a couple a day, until he had met with them all and lined out the new brigade designations. They handed in lists of people they felt should be promoted. Ben had their files pulled stateside-many files the Rebels carried with them had been lost during the battle-and carefully went over them. Slowly he laid out the new battalions, companies, platoons, and their leaders.

A few days drifted into a few weeks, and still he had heard no news, good or bad, about his team and Dr. Chase and several of his medical staff. But he refused to give up hope, for stragglers were still coming in all up and down the line, in tiny groups of two or three and occasionally the lone Rebel.

Ben interviewed each of them, seeking news of his team and of Dr. Chase.

One of the last Rebels to come wandering in had news.

“They were all hit, General,” the tired Rebel said, holding a mug of coffee between his dirty hands. His clothing was nearly in rags. “And hit pretty hard, but still able to function. The only one I didn’t see with some sort of wound was Dr. Chase. He was helping Jersey get away from the battle. Several doctors were with them, and they were all bleeding and limping. We were

 

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all being pushed back, just about a couple of minutes before being overrun. I’m pretty sure your team and some of the doctors got away. I was the last man standing in my squad when I cut out. I’m not ashamed to say I ran.”

“No one is blaming you for that,” Ben said. “And no one in their right mind ever will. Which direction did my team take?”

The Rebel took a sip of coffee, his brow furrowed in thought. “North, I think, General. But they could have turned in any direction outside the camp. Those of us who got away scattered like wild geese without a leader.”

Ben smiled and patted the man on the shoulder. “Glad to have you back, Sergeant. Oh, by the way, you’re a lieutenant now.” Ben saluted him. “You owe me a dollar. Now get out of here and get checked out.”

The stunned Rebel walked out of the CP in more of a daze than when he came in.

Ben looked at the mound of paperwork on his desk and grimaced. He shoved it aside and stood up. Time for a break.

He waved aside his driver and decided to walk. He had been sitting behind the desk for several hours and needed to get the kinks out of his muscles. Security fell in behind him as he strolled the area.

He paused to let a dozen huge flatbed trucks rumble by, each one loaded with a tank or an APC. The trucks had been to some port, where ships were coming in daily, bringing thousands of tons of supplies and instruments of war.

Ben figured another six weeks and everything would be lined out, the brigades ready to march.

He walked over to die runway and watched several planes land, each one bringing in fresh recruits from the States. The young men and women just out of AIT. “Going to be a hell of a culture shock for you, boys and

 

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girls,” Ben muttered. “Leaving the peace and order of the SUSA for this place.”

“Move, damnit!” he heard one of the sergeants shout at the new troops. “Get your asses in gear. We got a war to fight. Move like this in combat and the ants will be eating your eyes.”

One of Ben’s security people chuckled and Ben smiled and turned to look at him. “Does that bring back memories, Corporal?” he asked.

“Sure does, sir. I landed in Europe some years ago, fresh out of AIT. And scared shitless.”

“I hope you learned to stay scared.”

“Bet on that, sir. Bet on it.”

Staying scared and cautious was the only way to stay alive in combat.

“PUFFs comin’ in, sir,” another of his security team said.

Ben turned and looked. Half a dozen Spectre gunships were lining up for landing. The planes were flying birds of death, equipped with all sorts of weapons: chain guns, cannon, fifty-caliber machine guns, rockets. When they began circling an enemy position, a single Spectre could spew out enough firepower to wipe out anything within an area the size of several football fields, from an altitude of five thousand feet.

Many still called them: Puff the Magic Dragon.

And Ben was keeping several very deadly secrets to himself. And would, until his troops began the assault against Bruno’s new homeland.

Bruno Bottger was in for a very large and deadly surprise.

Ben walked on, coming to the MASH tents. The line of refugees seeking medical aid was much smaller now, but the lines of dying behind the tents was not. It was a sight that no one, not even the most hardened of combat veterans could ever really get used to seeing.

 

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Ben turned away and began walking toward the center of the massive encampment. With the addition of the new troops from the States, his brigade, the 501st, would be up to full strength. A few more weeks and all the tanks and artillery would be ashore and in place. Then he would have to shake it all down and line it all out before he could take to the road.

The other brigades were ready to roll, but Ben’s 501st had incorporated many-if not most-of the survivors from the eight battalions that had been hard hit by Brunos surprise attack. It was taking some time, but Ben knew they were right on schedule. It was not something you could rush. Not when each person’s life depended on the man or woman next to them.

The several-mile walk had gotten the kinks out of Ben’s muscles, and he felt much better. He turned away from die scene of organized chaos and began the walk back to his CP, and the stacks of paperwork that awaited him there.

“If Bruno had any kind of air force we’d be in trouble,” Ben muttered. But he knew-and that was confirmed fact-that Bottger really had no air force to speak of, with the exception of helicopter gunships and a few fighters-no bombers. Bruno had concentrated on building up a mighty army of ground troops … and he had damn sure done that. And Ben knew better than to sell Bruno’s people short. They were excellent troops. The Rebels were going to be outnumbered twenty to one when they began their offensive.

But then the Rebels were always outnumbered. That was nothing new.

Back in his CP, Ben settled down to wade through more paperwork. He missed his team all the time, but this was when he missed Beth the most. Bedi could cut through paperwork in one tenth of the time it took Ben.

 

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And this was something he couldn’t hand over to Thermopolis. The ex-hippie turned warrior had his hands full with all the hundred of details with the new brigade designation.

Ben sighed and stood up to get another mug of coffee. It was then he noticed Anna standing in the door to his office, smiling at him.

“What are you so happy about?” Ben asked.

“Search helicopters found the team and Dr. Chase and those doctors who fled with him. They’re all alive.”

 

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Ben ignored his Hummer and ran over to the como shack, almost scaring the communications specialist half to death when he burst into the room.

“Where are they?” Ben asked. He calmed himself. “My team, Dr. Chase?”

“About three hours away, General.” The tech stood up and pointed to a spot on a wall map of Africa. “They were spotted right there.”

Ben stared and shook his head. “Never more than twenty-five miles from the original battle scene all the time. I’ll be damned.”

“Yes, sir. Your team was all hard hit. They couldn’t be moved.”

“But they’re all going to make it?”

“According to the medics on board the choppers, they’re all up and walking around, General.”

Ben patted the soldier on the shoulder and smiled. Then he stepped out of the building and sat down on the lowered tailgate of a pickup truck. He exhaled a couple of times, then slowly built himself a cigarette. Anna came running up, accompanied by half a dozen other Rebels, all of them original members of Ben’s old 1 Batt and survivors of the battle.

Ben held up a hand. “They’re all okay. Be here in a few hours. That’s all I know. We’ll all have to wait.”

 

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The knot of Rebels was all grins as they walked away. Anna stayed, plopping down on the tailgate beside Ben. She looked disapprovingly at the cigarette in Ben’s hand.

“Don’t say a word about it,” Ben warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m sure.”

“So when the team gets here, we’ll be ready to shove off, right, General Ben?”

“In about six weeks, Anna.”

She unwrapped a couple of sticks of gum, stuck them in her mouth, and chomped for a few seconds. “That will put us out of the rainy season, right?”

“Just about.”

“And then we can start kicking Bruno Bottger’s ass, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

She hopped down from the tailgate. “I’ll be at the airport.”

“I’ll see you over there in about an hour.”

Ben finished his smoke and began walking toward the runways, his security team falling in behind him. The area in and around the airport had become a staging area, with hundreds of thousands of tons of supplies stored and stacked everywhere and more coming in every day. Ben looked up at the sky. Huge transport planes were circling, bringing in more supplies and equipment and troops from the States.

In another week, Ben could start shaking down his new brigade and about a month after that, they would be rolling south.

At the airport, his new XO, John Michaels, came running up. “Is it true, General? Your team and Dr. Chase were found and all okay?”

“It’s true. They’ll be arriving here in about two and a half hours.”

 

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“All right!” He shook Ben’s hand and walked away, smiling.

Ben sat in the shade of a deuce-and-a-half and waited. Occasionally an unsuspecting Rebel would walk past, give Ben a startled glance, and move quickly away. But the news of Ben’s presence had spread quickly and most at the airport gave him a wide berth.

Anna strolled up and sat down on the grass beside him. “General Ben?” she finally broke the silence.

“Yes?”

“What’s the final tally on Rebels lost in the assault?”

“Just over fifteen thousand.”

Ben and Anna sat for a time in silence, watching the planes land and take off. They watched as the final contingent of fresh troops from the States deplaned stiffly after their long ride and line up on the tarmac.

“That new bunch fills us out, doesn’t it?” Anna asked.

“That’s it, baby. We’ll start shaking down in a couple of days.”

“And then?”

“We cross Nigeria and cut straight south, through Cameroon.”

“I’ll be glad to get this show back on the road. What about transportation for us?”

“Our new wagon is due to arrive here in a few days. Built especially for us in the SUSA. It’s supposed to be state of the art.”

“Cooper will like that.”

“Captain’s chairs for all of us, sliding doors for you people. Doors that slide on ball bearings and can be kicked open easily in case of emergency. Radios built in for Corrie with a permanent up-link so we can talk to anybody, anywhere. Four-wheel drive on demand, custom-built from the ground up. Armor-plated with glass that will stop a 7.62 round.”

 

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“You don’t suppose they’ll have to be sent back to the States for treatment, do you?”

Ben laughed and ruffled the young woman’s short hair. “I don’t think so, baby.”

“I hope not.” She stood up and brushed herself off. “I think I’ll walk around some. I’m too antsy to sit still.”

“Have fun.”

Ben dozed off there in the shade of the deuce-and-a-half, sleeping lightly for twenty minutes or so. When he awakened, he rinsed his mouth out with water from his canteen and rolled a smoke. A little while later, he heard the whapping sounds of the helicopters coming and stood up, walking over to the helicopter landing pads. He stood and watched his team and Dr. Chase jump from the choppers.

No, they wouldn’t have to go back to the States for any treatment. They were all right.

Ben waited until they were all showered and dressed in clean clothing and checked by the doctors at the hospital before visiting them all. He had hugged them all at the airport before doctors had shooed them all into ambulances.

“Well, gang,” he told them, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. “You tell me what happened, then I’ll tell you my story. And start with how in the hell we got separated. I’m at a loss there.”

“I saw you get hit, General,” Cooper said, after exchanging glances with the others and receiving nods to go ahead. “We all did. It was a big piece of shrapnel, I guess. Tore your helmet off and we figured took part of your head with it. Blood was everywhere. We didn’t have more than a split second to look. The enemy was all over us. Then Anna got hit and went down to her knees. When I looked again out of the corner of my

 

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eye, she had gotten up and was wandering off, like she was in a daze …”

“I was, I guess,” Anna said. “I don’t remember any of this.”

Jersey picked it up. “We were all hit by that time and down to sidearms and throwing grenades. Then Dr. Chase and some of his medical people can running up and dragged us out of there. I don’t know what kept him from getting killed, boss. He was yelling and cussing and calling Bottger’s troops a bunch of goddamn savages and he had a pistol in each hand and his doctors were throwing grenades. We turned to look for you, and damned if you weren’t gone. You had just disappeared.”

Ben chuckled. “I must have crawled off into that thick brush behind the ditch.”

“Whatever you did, we couldn’t find you,” Beth said. “Just about the time we cleared the compound and made it into the bush, Bottger’s troops made their final rush and overwhelmed any who were left. We all had our packs on and full rucksacks on a strap, plenty of water, so we just kept walking. We were all hit, but none of us real bad, just bloody as hell. And pissed off,” she added grimly.

Corrie said, “Some of the doctors got minor wounds, but Dr. Chase didn’t get a scratch on him. That man must lead a charmed life.”

“He’ll tell you it’s all due to clean living,” Ben said.

“Damn right, I will,” Lamar said, walking into the room. He had been standing in the door, listening. “Well, now it’s your turn, Ben. What happened to you?”

Ben quickly brought them up to date and for a time the group just sat there, drinking coffee and staring at each other.

Beth broke the silence. “We passed through several villages. The people had all been killed.”

 

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Ben nodded his head. “Genocide. We figure Bottger’s killed millions of Africans, men, women, and kids.”

Lamar cursed under his breath for a moment, then pulled out a chair and sat down. “I like the new brigade plan, Ben. Not that you needed my approval to do it, mind you.” He grinned. “Good to see you, you old warhorse.”

The two friends grinned at each other for a moment, then Ben’s grin faded and he asked, “Sorry about your doctors, Lamar. The replacements are just about all in from the States.”

“They were good people. Take Bruno Bottger alive, Ben.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I want to castrate the son of a bitch with a very dull knife.”

“Lamar!” Ben drew back in feigned shock. “You’re turning into a vicious man, you know that?”

“Screw you, Raines,” the chief of medicine said, pushing back his chair and standing up. “Let’s just get this show on the road.” He bent down and looked more closely at the long scar on Ben’s face, faded now with healing and the sun. “Good thing that hunk of shrapnel hit you in the head. That’s the one place on your carcass that’s the least likely to get damaged, considering it’s empty most of the time.” He walked quickly out of the room chuckling, before Ben could retort.

Things were back to normal.

 

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Ben’s team was declared fit to return to duty-limited at first-and the team was back together. A few days after their return, Ben’s personal vehicle was brought in and Cooper and Corrie spent the next several days going over it. Although it had less cargo space than their old wagon, it was much more state of the art and much more comfortable riding. To avoid standing out even more than it did, the big wagon was painted olive green.

Rebel Scouts had penetrated deep into Nigeria and reported that Bottger’s troops were nowhere to be seen. They had pulled back and appeared to have stretched out in small units, west to east from Gabon over to Kenya.

And the Scouts also reported that millions in Nigeria appeared to have died from Bruno Bottger’s practice of genocide. They also warned to be on the lookout for wild animals, who were making a fast and very dramatic comeback. There were prides of lions seemingly everywhere one turned. And while no Rebel Scout had been attacked by a lion, it would be a bit disconcerting to come face to face with a large lion while walking through the bush.

Ben called for one more meeting with his brigade commanders to map out and finalize plans before the

 

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ten brigades jumped off in their offensive against Bottger’s army.

“First of all,” Ben said, standing up to face the ten brigade commanders, “let me say that both Jackie Malone and Buck Taylor are well on their way to recovery. But their days in the field are over. They will remain stateside and take over command of training bases. The bodies of several batt coms who were killed during Bottger’s assault have been recovered and sent back to the States to be buried with honors. The bodies of the other officers and men were buried with honors near where they fell. Most were unrecognizable.

“All right, let’s admit we took the worst beating we’ve ever suffered and learn from it and put it behind us. I don’t know what we could have done to prevent it. Bruno just simply outfoxed many of us … myself included. But we’ll all try to ensure something like that will never happen again. But don’t ever underestimate the intelligence of Bruno Bottger. The man is surely insane, but brilliantly so.

“We’ve got a lot of green troops with us now. But I suspect by the time we reach Bruno’s first front, they’ll be well on their way toward becoming seasoned hands. At the very least the barfing at the sight and smell of rotting bodies will have ceased. Once we hit Bruno’s first line of defense, nursemaid time for green troops will be over.” Ben looked at the nine brigade commanders, included among them his son, Buddy, and his daughter, Tina. Tina sat beside the ex-mercenary, West. Someday, when there were no more wars to be fought, they planned to marry.

“We’re better equipped now than we’ve ever been,” Ben continued. “Practically everything we have is state of the art or has been upgraded. Including one very large surprise I don’t intend to show Bruno until we get almost nose to nose.”

 

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The brigade commanders all smiled at that. Ben picked up a long pointer and moved to the huge wall map. “All right, folks. Let’s get down to it.”

The ten brigades, numbering forty battalions, plus Therm’s 19 Batt, were lined up and ready to go. Scouts had prowled all over the country south of the brigade line for a hundred and fifty miles, mapping out the best roads and where bridges were still intact, and where there were no bridges, the best place to ford the stream or river.

And they reported that while millions had died under Bruno Bottger hideous plans of genocide, there were still thousands and thousands who were in desperate need of help.

Dr. Chase had elected to stay with Ben’s 501 Brigade. When Ben told him what the Scouts had reported, the Chief of Medicine merely shrugged and said, “We’ll do what we can.”

Meaning that in his opinion, unless the Rebels wanted to leave behind men and equipment and be prepared to stay for years, teaching the people the right way to deal with the land and keep it productive, Chase and his people would fix them up now, and they would starve later anyway.

“I know, Lamar,” Ben said. “But what else can we do?”

“Nothing,” the doctor agreed. “But I don’t believe for one minute Bruno managed to kill off a hundred million people in Nigeria alone. That’s a lot of people to kill, Ben. Say he did manage to kill off ten percent, and that’s probably high, and say starvation and disease another twenty-five percent. That still leaves sixty-five million people. Where are they? What happened to them?”

 

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Ben held open his hands. “I don’t know, Lamar. I know only what the Scouts report.”

“Unless some terrible plague swept the land,” Lamar mused aloud. “And that is certainly possible. But it seems as though we would have heard about it.”

“The old tribal hatreds surfacing, Lamar. Beth told me this morning that in Nigeria alone there are over two hundred and fifty tribes speaking over four hundred dialects and oftentimes the tribes don’t get along.”

Lamar shook his head. “The Bible must be wrong. The Tower of Babel surely must have been here.”

Ben laughed as Lamar walked off, to make one final check of his medical people before the brigade pulled out in the morning. Ben knew that despite Lamar’s crusty talk, the man felt deeply about helping the people of this continent, and would work tirelessly to do all he could.

Ben walked to the door of his CP and stepped out. The convoy was getting in position to roll out at dawn. The skies were no longer filled with planes and the runways were quiet. The last generator would be loaded just moments before the convoy pulled out and the airport would be dark once again.

Ben wondered if it would ever be lighted again.

His team was lounging about outside, taking in the coolness of approaching evening. It was the first evening in months that it had not rained.

“All set to go, gang?” Ben asked, walking over to them and squatting down.

“Settin’ on ready, boss,” Cooper said. “I do like that new wagon. Handles like a dream. It’s got a huge V-8 diesel mill that packs some power.”

“What’s the top speed, Coop?” Ben asked.

“Spec sheet says about sixty-five miles an hour. But we won’t have to worry about that on these roads.”

 

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“For a fact. Everybody used to the new brigade designation?”

“Five-oh-one leads the way,” Jersey said with a grin.

“There you go,” Ben returned the smile. He stood up and walked a few yards away from the group, looking around at all the activity a bit longer before returning to his CP. There he folded and put away the last of his maps, zipping the waterproof case closed. He checked all around the room. It had been stripped bare in preparation for tomorrow’s move.

Ben decided to walk over to a mess tent for some chow and then hit the sack. It was early yet, and going to sleep now would mean he would be up hours before dawn, but so would half the camp, packing up the last of equipment and supplies, striking the mess and MASH and the last of the supply tents, and getting the troops ready to move.

Ben began the walk over to the mess tent, his team falling in behind him. Now that his own team had returned to full duty, the security teams that Ike had assigned him had returned to other duties.

“Maybe we’ll get to see some lions and tigers this time,” Cooper ventured.

“Lions, maybe,” Beth told him. “Tigers, no. Wrong part of the world.”

“Tarzan fought tigers here,” Cooper insisted.

“Shut up, Cooper,” Jersey said. “You’ll strain your brain. With any kind of luck, you’ll be kidnapped by a gorilla.” She frowned. “Although the gorilla would probably turn you loose in a few minutes.”

“You’d miss me terribly, my little love blossom,” Cooper told her.

Jersey made gagging sounds. “There goes my appetite.”

“You’ll get it back by the time we reach the mess tent,” Corrie said.

 

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“Only if Cooper doesn’t insist on sitting with us.”

“I must,” Cooper said. “The sight of your lovely face thrills me.”

“Oh, God!” Jersey moaned.

Ben smiled and walked on. It was good to have the team back.

Ben was the first one up, as he knew he would be. He also knew that at the first whisper of sound, Jersey would be up, wide awake. Ben dressed quietly in the dark, gathered up his gear, and walked outside. He smiled. Jersey was sitting on the side of her cot, pulling on her boots. The other team members would only be seconds behind her.

At the mess tent, breakfast was not quite ready, but the huge urns of coffee were ready to serve. Ben pulled a mug and sat down, his team following suit. Ben looked up. To his surprise, Dr. Chase was walking in, his security people close behind him. The doctor drew a mug of coffee and sat down at the table with Ben.

“I went to bed too damn early,” Lamar bitched.

“You just want to get on the road, you old vagabond. Admit it, you’ve got ants in your pants.”

“I’ll admit nothing of the kind. I am a home-loving man, longing to be around the hearth, with kith and kin.”

“You also tell enormous lies, you old goat.”

“There is nothing to compare with being insulted at this ungodly hour of the morning.”

“You just want to get deeper into Nigeria and see if you can find out what happened to the people.”

“I will admit there is some truth in what you say. But it was no more than a lucky guess.”

“Well, if no one slips and breaks a leg, you’ll be able

 

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to pack up what little is left to do and be ready to move on time.”

“I should be so lucky.”

“Yeah, you’ll probably hold us up for three or four hours.”

Lamar gave Ben a very dirty look. “I’m not going to sit here and be insulted by the likes of you, Raines. I’m going to take my coffee and return to my quarters. There, I’m going to take sandpaper to several needles, break off the points, and await the time when you need booster shots.”

“You sure are a vicious old man, Lamar,” Ben said with a smile.

“Wait until you need a shot. Then you’ll see how vicious I really am.” But Lamar couldn’t maintain a straight face and he finally walked off laughing.

“All right, guys, let’s grab something to eat,” Ben told his team. “Then we’ll load up what’s left and move to the head of the column before traffic gets so bunched up we’ll never make it.”

Already, Rebels were beginning to line up at the serving area, where mounds of scrambled eggs, bacon, pork chops, beef steaks, fried potatoes, gravy, biscuits, fresh fruit and plenty of cold milk and hot coffee were waiting to be consumed. And consumed it would be, with very little scraps left. Whenever possible, Ben insisted on hot meals and plenty of food for his troops, for there would be days, perhaps weeks ahead of them, when everyone would be subsisting on field rations. But this would be the last of the fresh milk for awhile. Powdered milk would be available from here on in, but even ice cold, it did not taste as good as whole, fresh milk.

Ben finished his breakfast and had another mug of coffee, while he was waiting until his team was through. Beth had a huge thermos filled with coffee, then it was back to the CP for a final check, load up, and pile in.

 

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Cooper expertly guiding the big wagon through the seemingly impossible unorganized maze of traffic to near the head of the column. There, the team unassed the wagon and squatted or sat on the ground, out of the way.

Slowly the long, long line began to take shape. One by one the generators that lit up the encampment ceased their humming and the lights began winking out, the portable generators loaded onto trucks. Miles of cable were rolled up. The mess tents were struck. The encampment went dark.

Ben stood up and brushed off his clothing. “Let’s mount up, gang. We’ve got a long way to go. Nigeria is a big country, and it just might be full of surprises.”

 

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The convoy passed through village after village without seeing one living soul. It was baffling to Ben and frustrating to Dr. Chase and his medical team, especially those who were assigned to the mobile research lab which had joined Ben’s 501 just before leaving Niamey.

Scouts had found a dirt/shell road that led to Argungu, Nigeria. There, the Rebels found wild animals and half-wild dogs prowling the streets, and the streets were littered with hundreds and hundreds of skeletons-men, women, and children.

“Not shot,” Chase’s doctors reported to him. “We can’t find any evidence of trauma.”

“Get what samples of flesh still remain on die fresher bodies,” Chase ordered. “And run every kind of test you know how to run on them.”

“Scouts reporting that Sokoto suffered the same fate,” Corrie said. “Skeletal remains everywhere. But we’re getting radio transmissions out of Jega. Desperate calls from Paula Preston.”

“From w/io?”Ben blurted. “Paula? I thought she was dead.”

“So did everybody else. Seems she’s got a bunch of press types with her.”

“How the hell did they get to Jega?”

 

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“Don’t know, boss. I can’t make much sense out of anything she says.”

“Well hell, that’s normal, Corrie. Liberals never did make any sense … even before the Great War.”

Corrie ducked her head to hide her quick smile. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“I know what I’d like to tell her. Oh, hell! Tell them we’ll send rescue choppers down to get them ASAP. Get out to the airstrip and stay put.”

Ben stood for a few moments, leaning up against the big wagon. Sudden and very dark suspicions began clouding his mind. He turned to Corrie, but not before he noticed Dr. Chase looking at him very strangely.

“Corrie, where was Paula just before the assault?”

“Well …” Corrie hesitated. “Let’s see. She and the rest of the press had left us some time before and were traveling with another battalion. I’m not sure which one it was now.”

“Find out if you can, please.”

“Will do.”

“And find out just how the press managed to escape being slaughtered … although I have a pretty good idea.” He turned to Lamar. “It was a plague that struck this land, Lamar. I’m sure of that. A man-made plague, sent by Bruno Bottger.”

That remark shook the doctor. “Germ warfare, Ben?”

“You bet. Bruno had to test the killing bugs somewhere. And he wanted to get rid of all who opposed him. The bugs worked and he got rid of the people.”

“Monstrous!” Lamar stared at Ben for a few heartbeats. “But what has all this got to do with Paula Preston?”

“She’s tied in with it somehow.”

“But she’s a screaming left-winger, Ben. Our intel verified that.”

 

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“I know. But don’t forget she’s still tied in tight with Bruno. Our intel verified that, too.”

“Where the hell is Mike Richards when we need him?”

Ben smiled. “He’s over in Addis Ababa making goo-goo eyes at dancing girls or something like that. Is this place safe to bivouac near, Lamar?”

“Oh, yes. If it was a man-made germ that killed these people, and I’m not convinced of that, it was short-lived. My people checked the safety of the area first thing.” The doctor hesitated for a heartbeat. “Just don’t drink the water until we’ve done a few more tests. I’ve passed that word through the ranks.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Ben said drily.

“Oh, it wouldn’t kill you,” Lamar said brightly. “But it might give you the shits.” The doctor walked off toward the mobile research trucks, chuckling.

Ben sat down on the fender of a deuce-and-a-half and rolled a cigarette. It had been puzzling him for weeks why no trace of any member of the press had been found … except those from the SUSA, they had all been killed. That had been confirmed. But no sign whatsoever of the press who lived and worked and were a part of the political movement outside the SUSA.

Now he thought he knew why that was.

And it was a terrible thought.

But one that really did not surprise him.

Ben shook his head and sighed. But no, he thought, not all of them were guilty of collaborating with Bruno Bottger. He couldn’t believe that. But Paula Preston and Alex Marsh and Marilyn Dickson, yes, he was now 99 percent certain they were in some sort of cahoots with the man.

And the thought of it made him slightly ill.

Ben had known for years that he was probably the most hated man-in some circles-in America. He

 

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could live with that. So far he hadn’t lost any sleep over it. But for those left-wingers to hate him so much that they would get in bed with a monster such as Bruno Bottger was beneath contempt.

But it looked as though they’d done it.

“Jesus Christ!” Ben muttered under his breath, the words too low for his team to hear. “How far down can people sink?”

Pretty damn low, was his conclusion.

Ben’s mouth was suddenly very dry from disgust and rage. He unscrewed the cap from one of his canteens and took a sip of water. It helped, but not much. He unwrapped a stick of gum and chewed it. His mouth lost its bad taste.

“… Used to be a fishing festival held here,” Corrie was saying. “A big event. Fishing around this part of the river was banned for the rest of the year.”

“I sure would like to see some lions and tigers,” Cooper said.

“No tigers here, Cooper,” Beth told him, for about the umpteenth time. “Lions yes, tigers no.”

“They were in all the Tarzan movies,” Cooper insisted.

“Oh, shit, give up, Beth,” Jersey urged. “Cooper has a mind like a steel trap-one that is rusted shut.”

“That locks in all my knowledge, my beautiful little sun-baked flower,” Cooper responded.

“Stick it up your kazoo, Coop,” Jersey told him.

Corrie walked up to Ben. “No survivors anywhere in the town, boss,” she reported. “Or for several miles around in any direction.”

Ben nodded his understanding and stood up. “We’ll have to wait for the official report from the mobile research team, but I’m pretty sure it was a man-made bug that killed these people.”

 

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“Then he could use it on us just as easily,” Corrie stated softly.

“He won’t do that,” Ben told her. “He knows we’ve got nuclear capability as well as massive stockpiles of nerve agents, and he knows we have the delivery systems to annihilate him,” Ben’s smile was not pleasant. “And he knows I’ll do it. Corrie, tell security to bring Paula Preston, Marilyn Dickson, and Alex Marsh to my CP immediately upon landing.”

“Right, boss.”

The two reporters and whatever the hell Paula Preston was were scared and could not hide it. Alex Marsh was sweating and trembling, Marilyn Dickson was bug-eyed with fear, and Paula kept blinking her eyes and wiping the palms of her hands on a moist handkerchief.

“Interesting game you three were playing,” Ben opened the dance. “Fortunately for me, very unfortunate for you it didn’t work out as planned.”

“Whatever in the world do you mean, General?” Marilyn managed to squeak.

“Yes. What are you accusing of us?” Alex asked, his voice breaking.

“Oh … consorting with the enemy and espionage will do for starters, don’t you think?”

“You can’t prove any of those charges!” Marilyn blurted.

Ben smiled. “Not, ‘what are you talking about?’ Not, ‘I didn’t do anything.’ Just, ‘you can’t prove it.’ That just about says it all, doesn’t it?”

“The Union must be restored!” Alex finally found his balls and shouted the words.

“Even to the point of getting in bed with some low-life scum such as Bruno Bottger?”

“You talk about someone being low-life scum?” Mar-

 

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ilyn said. “You are one of the vilest men to walk the face of the earth. You … you … filthy beast!”

Ben chuckled. That phrase reminded him of one of his favorite Cary Grant movies, but he couldn’t recall the name of it. “Very convenient of all you press types to get away just before the assault. How’d you manage that?”

The three of them stood silent before him. They said nothing.

“Let me guess,” Ben said. “Paula here had a radio. Set on a scrambled dark frequency straight to Bruno. It’s possible it’s just a receiver. He alerted you when the attack was to take place and you simply walked out of camp and got clear. Maybe he even had vehicles waiting for you. I don’t know. But you sure as hell didn’t hoof it from the attack site to Jega.”

The three said nothing.

“I don’t know how many others are in on this with you, maybe none of them. Maybe all of them. But nevertheless, they’re all homeward bound as I can arrange it. I can’t risk spies wandering around our camps.”

“You have no proof to back up any of these accusations,” Marilyn said, her words dripping with hatred.

“Oh, but I do,” Ben corrected. “My intel people back home have now directly linked you and Marsh here to the takeovers outside the SUSA and the recent overthrow of the government. Paula here works for the intelligence section of the state department. Always has. She’s the only real pro in the bunch. The rest of you are just whiny left-wing liberals-of the worst type: the pukey kind.”

“May we sit down, General Raines?” Paula asked.

“Certainly. I’ll even have coffee or water brought in for you, if you like.”

“That would be very nice. Thank you. Coffee for me.”

 

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“And for me,” Marilyn said.

“Give me liberty or give me death!” Alex suddenly shouted.

“Oh, sit down and be quiet, you silly twit,” Ben told him. “If you were interested in true liberty you wouldn’t be a fucking liberal looking for big government to solve all your problems. At least know something about history and politics before you start flapping that foolish mouth.”

“Bring him a glass of water,” Paula said. “Coffee makes him very nervous.”

“Goodness, we certainly can’t have that,” Ben muttered.

With Paula and Marilyn sipping their coffee and Alex gulping at his water, some of it running down his chin-or what passed for a chin-Paula said, “I can’t speak for the others. I’m not qualified to do so. I can only speak for myself.”

“Go ahead,” Ben said. The entire conversation was being recorded by a technician in the next tent, which butted up against Ben’s CP.

“Bruno swore to us that he would never commit genocide. He said it was all sorts of diseases that were responsible for the deaths of so many people here in Africa.”

“You’ve met him?”

“Yes. Many times since his arrival in Africa.”

Ben cut his eyes to the reporters. “You two met him?”

“No,” Marilyn said. “Only his emissaries.”

“And you all believed him?”

“Yes,” Paula said. “Up to a few weeks ago.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Survivors of the germ attack. Something is wrong with the … germs, or gas, or whatever it is he uses. Something is out of balance. I don’t know. I’m no scientist. But it drives people mad. Many of them have

 

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survived and are hiding in the bush, some in the cities. Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. It … distorts their features. Makes them bug-eyed. Their lips are enlarged, tongues are slightly swollen, faces all puffy. Great open sores all over them. They’re … hideous.”

“Good ol’ Bruno,” Ben muttered. “Always good for a laugh.” He cleared his throat. “Then where we are, here in Argungu, might be filled with these … people, waiting to come out of hiding and pounce on us?”

“I would imagine so.”

“Oh, goody,” Ben said. “That’s just fucking wonderful. Excuse me. I feel I just might need to alert my people now. I’ll be back.”

He was back in a few moments. Outside, the encampment had gone into action. Ben sat down and fiddled with his empty coffee cup. When none of the three before him would speak, Ben said, “Somebody better talk to me.”

“Only a few people involved in the recent takeover back home know anything about our alignment with Bruno,” Marilyn spoke in a low voice. She was crying, tears running down her face. “None of us knew Bruno was … well, such a monster.”

“I told you he was!” Ben said, suddenly very exasperated with the whole situation. “I told you all about Bruno Bottger. All of you.”

“We didn’t believe you,” Paula said, her misery very evident in her voice. “I mean, well, we had to take into consideration who you are, your reputation, and what you represent.”

Ben just didn’t feel like pursuing that line. He was suddenly very weary of years of fighting the overt evil of the world and the covert evil of a bunch of half-assed do-gooders back in the States.

“What are you going to do with us?” Alex asked.

 

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Ben sighed. Shook his head. “I don’t know. I probably should shoot all three of you.”

“We didn’t know the assault was coming!” Marilyn almost shouted the words. “As God is my witness, we didn’t know. All we knew is that we were contacted and told to get out; get ready to come to South Africa. That we would be picked up and taken out of harm’s way.”

Lying, Ben thought. They’re all lying. They knew. The rest of the reporters probably did not know, but these three did. They knew all along what Bruno planned to do. Or at least had a pretty good idea. The other members of the press were being questioned. Ben would wait until he talked it over with his intelligence people before making up his mind what to do with these three. But he already knew he couldn’t shoot them. The liberal press outside the SUSA would have a field day with that.

“You three have just confirmed what I have suspected all along about the left wing of your political party,” Ben said softly. “I have long felt that you people are totally ruthless; that you will do anything to gain power. I felt that was true before the Great War, and I certainly feel that way now. The end justifies the means, right? You people are much more vicious than I have ever been. Back before the Great War, you used government agents to harass and sometimes-and as the end approached-oftentimes kill any citizen who attempted to break away from your Orwellian dictates. Any citizen who formed a tax protest group, any citizen who refused to pay more than what they considered their fair share of taxes, any citizen who joined a militia or survivalist group, any citizen who dared to loudly protest the government’s giveaway programs, any citizen who spoke or wrote too harshly about you liberal cocksuckers was setting themselves up for all sorts of trouble. You hated and feared the military, yet sent our young men and

 

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women all over the world direcdy into harm’s way for ‘humanitarian reasons.’ You goddamn liberals make me want to puke. Jersey!” Ben shouted.

She stuck her head into the tent.

“Get these assholes out of my sight and keep them out of my sight until I decide what to do with them.”

The trio gone, Ben sat alone for a time in the silent confines of die big tent. He wasn’t really all that concerned about the new left-wing government outside the SUSA making any moves against the SUSA. The newly self-appointed leaders of the left were fully cognizant that Cecil would throw open the gates and introduce them to a taste of Hell if they tried an assault against the SUSA. But he felt that another civil war in die States would come in time. It was inevitable: the left just couldn’t leave well enough alone. They weren’t content widi half a loaf; they wanted the whole bakery.

He sighed. But that was in die future. Perhaps the near future, but not somediing he had to worry about right at this moment.

“Boss,” Beth stuck her head into die tent. “There are a bunch of, well, people, I guess you’d call them gathering all around the edges of our perimeter.”

“Refugees?”

“I don’t know what they are. They look like something out of one of those old sci-fi movies. I mean, diey’re really weird-looking.”

“Survivors, if that’s what you choose to call diem, of Bruno’s germ warfare.” Ben stood up and picked up his CAR. “Well, let’s go meet our new enemy.”

 

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Ben was accustomed to traveling with an oversized battalion and forgot momentarily he was now commanding an oversized brigade. The encampment was huge. Ben was, for a moment, lost. Then he got his bearings (with Beth pointing the way) and was off and running.

Ben reached the outer ring of the encampment and slid to a halt. He stood and stared at the people who were gathering around, pointing and grunting and slobbering. Some of them were naked, others dressed in rags. Still others were dressed in the skins of animals. “Good God!” Ben said.

“Their bite might be infectious,” Dr. Chase said, jogging up to stand by Ben’s side. “It might be more than that,” he added. “It might be lethal.”

“Wonderful,” Ben said. “I think I’d rather be facing a horde of Night People.”

“What do we do, General?” a Rebel called.

“Nothing, yet,” Ben told his people. “Pass that word, Corrie. Don’t fire on these people unless they attack us.”

“Well, they’re about to do just that,” Cooper said, running up holding his SAW. “They’re working themselves up into some sort of frenzy.”

Ben couldn’t argue that. The mob of misshapen and deformed men and women were jumping up and down and making all sorts of disgusting sounds.

 

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“Everybody into gas masks!” Ben shouted. “Drive them back with tear gas and pepper gas. Get into masks and start tossing the gas-now!”

Within two minutes, the air was thick with choking, tearing, and eye-burning gas.

“See if your people can grab a couple of those … poor bastards,” Lamar said, his voice muffled through the mask.

Cor rie relayed the orders just as a few of the maddened natives rushed the outer defense line and were clubbed unconscious. They were dragged inside the line, tied hand and foot, and carried over to a MASH tent.

Lamar wandered off to oversee the testing of the survivors of Bruno’s experiment in germ genocide.

The mob dispersed, the hideously deformed men and women running and crawling and staggering blindly away.

“They’ll be back,” Ben said. “And the next time, we’ll have to shoot them. So just get yourselves ready for that.” Ben drove over to the mobile field lab, one of the units parked behind a MASH tent.

“Pus,” Lamar said to Ben. “And don’t come any closer. Their brains are filled with pus. Nearly all thought process has been virtually destroyed. Except one: survival.”

“Are they infectious?” Ben asked.

“Oh, yes. Not fatally so, but it would be a nasty wound and difficult to heal. The wound would be much like the bite of some snakes and spiders: the flesh would rot around the wound. These people are walking dead, Ben. Killing them would be an act of mercy.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ben muttered under his breath, then turned and walked out of the lab.

“Ben!” Lamar’s sharp voice halted him on the steps.

Ben turned around to face the doctor.

“You have to look at it that way, Ben. Pass that word

 

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to the troops. It’s an act of mercy. These people are much lower than animals. Much lower. Animals are driven by instinct… and I believe, some limited ability to think. These people cannot think, they cannot reason, and they don’t have millions of years of instincts to rely upon.”

“All right, Lamar,” Ben said. “I’ll pass the word.”

The troops didn’t like the idea of shooting at insane people any more than Ben did, but all realized they had no choice in the matter.

Ben walked over to where Paula, Alex, and Marilyn were being held under guard. He stared at the trio for a moment, disgust very evident in his gaze, then said, “I’m not going to harm you, so you can relax. As soon as we can get to some sort of airstrip that will handle the traffic, I’ll put you on a plane and ship your butts back stateside. I’m sending all the press back home. Thanks to you people, I don’t know who to trust.”

“We did it for our country,” Paula replied.

“Your country?” Ben questioned. “No lady, you did it for power. You people just can’t stand the prosperity of the SUSA and the success of the Tri-State philosophy of government. You people didn’t seize control of the government out of compassion for your fellow man. It was a power grab, that’s all it was. But I don’t have time to discuss it now, and really have no inclination to do so. For now, you people just sit tight. We’ve got a little minor skirmish to handle here. We’ll be on our merry humanitarian way in the morning.”

“After you’ve slaughtered these poor unfortunate survivors?” Alex asked.

Ben laughed at the young man, the mood more scornful than humorous. “Jesus, you liberals really don’t know up from down, do you? First you send out frantic radio calls to come rescue you, then when we haul your scared asses out of harm’s way, you criticize

 

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us for doing the only thing we can do with the people who were threatening you. I guess I should feel sorry for you. But it’s rather difficult to work up any sympathy for a bunch of people who crawled into bed with the enemy and tried to have me killed.”

Ben left the trio sitting in the tent. He closed the flap and turned to the guards. “If they try to escape, let them.”

The sentry in charge of the guard unit smiled. “Yes, sir. With pleasure.”

Back at the easternmost edge of the defense line, a company commander said, “If they rush us, General, they’re gonna get slaughtered.”

“Oh, they’ll rush us,” Ben replied. “You can bet on that. They’re no longer … human. You have to think of them in that light. Even though what’s happened to these people is not in any way their fault, it’s all come down to us or them. Keep that foremost in your mind.”

“Yes, sir. If you say so, sir.”

The buck always stops here, Ben thought, as he walked away to another defense point. Well, my shoulders are big enough to take the load.

Ben walked the eastern perimeter, stopping to chat with troops along the way. It was easy to see from the look in their eyes and the expression on their faces that none of them liked what they were about to do, but they would do it. They would do it simply because they had no choice in the matter.

It started with a low rumble in the distance.

“What the hell is that?” a young Rebel asked. He was one of the new replacements, fresh from the peace and tranquility of the SUSA.

“The crazy people,” a platoon sergeant told him. “That’s hundreds of bare feet slapping the ground. Hold your fire until I give the word.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

 

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Ben met the sergeant’s eyes and the combat-experienced noncom arched an eyebrow in a silent expression of, We’ll see.

Ben checked his CAR and waited. This was as good a place as any to stand and fight.

“Ah, General,” the noncom said. “Wouldn’t you like to back off a few hundred yards?”

“No,” Ben told him.

“Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.” The noncom looked at Jersey and received a hard look that said, Mind your own business, buster. That’s the boss. He can do whatever in the hell he wants to do.

The rumble grew louder.

The gunners behind .50 caliber and 7.62 machine guns chambered rounds and waited.

“Are we going to face this all the way down to Bottger’s territory, General?” the noncom asked.

“Probably,” was Ben’s reply.

“Shit!” the sergeant mumbled and returned his attention to the front.

“Hundreds of them,” Corrie said, after acknowledging a report.

Ben saw several Rebels cross themselves and mouth a silent prayer. He turned around for a few seconds and met the gaze of one of the chaplains traveling with the brigade. The man smiled and nodded his head.

“Get behind some cover,” Ben told the chaplain. “The troops will need you alive when this is over.”

“And you won’t?” the chaplain retorted.

Ben turned around and put his back to the man. Yeah, he thought, but I have to give the orders, padre. I can’t show any signs of weakness or indecision. Like ol’ Harry said, “The buck stops here.”

“There are kids in that mob!” a Rebel shouted, looking through binoculars.

“Stand firm!” Ben shouted.

 

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Several Rebels were openly crying as they lifted their weapons, silent tears running down their tanned faces.

“There is no hope for these people,” Ben shouted. “Their brains have been destroyed. Rotted away. They cannot be cured. They’re walking dead.”

Then the mob was around the curve in the road, several hundred yards away.

“Jesus Christ!” the lookout called. “They’re foaming at the mouth like rabid animals.”

“Fire,” Ben gave the orders. “Fire, goddamnit, fire!”

The quiet afternoon blew apart.

 

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Dozens of tanks and APCs opened up with their mounted machine guns. All around the defensive ring, in the spots where the maddened natives were attacking, hundreds of Rebels cut loose with automatic weapons fire. It was carnage, a slaughter. Still the rush of the insane continued. Still the Rebels cut them down.

The crazed mob almost reached the defensive line. Almost. But the deadly fire chopped them down until the howling mob had been reduced to a moaning mass.

“Cease fire,” Ben called.

“What the hell do we do with the ones that are still alive?” the noncom who had stood near Ben asked.

“Finish it,” Ben said, a deadness to his tone. “That’s all we can do.”

The sergeant cut his eyes to Ben.

“Sometimes, Sergeant,” Ben said, “my job sucks.”

“Yes, sir,” the noncom said. “Mine, too.”

“Finish it!” Ben shouted the order. “Move out there and finish it.”

“But, sir,” a young Rebel fresh from the States said. “The kids? …”

“Finish it, goddamnit!” Ben roared.

Noncoms and officers began shoving very reluctant troops outside the defensive line and pulling out sidearms to finish off the wounded.

 

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Ben stood behind the ring of tanks and trucks and hummers and watched. He kept his face expressionless. Only his eyes moved. Lamar Chase came up to stand by his side.

“It’s the humane thing, Ben,” the chief of medicine said. “They would have had nothing in front of them except more madness and a slow, very painful death.”

“I want the chaplains to be very aware of that, La-mar.”

“They know. I informed them. And they are ready to counsel the troops.”

“Some of these kids are growing up pretty damned fast.”

Lamar said nothing.

The commander of the Rebel Army and the chief of medicine stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder, as the gunshot-filled minutes ticked past. Ever so slowly, the gunshots began to diminish, until they became only an occasional sharp crack in the afternoon.

“Get some of the trucks with scrapers on them up here,” Ben ordered. “Scoop out a grave for those … people. Be careful handling them. No one with any open cuts should touch any of the bodies.”

“Right, boss,” Corrie said, her voice unusually soft.

“Only experienced troops handle the bodies,” Ben added. “Order the young replacements to fall back. I think they’ve seen and done enough for one day.”

“Right, boss.”

“Lamar, why didn’t this bug kill the animals, too; make them crazy?”

“Because it didn’t reach very many of them, Ben. It’s short-lived and was concentrated in the cities.”

“But the animals later ate contaminated flesh.”

“Yes. But animals have a digestive system different from ours. They can eat things that would kill us on the spot. Until we get our hands on a sample of this

 

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bug and break it down, that’s all I can tell you. All right, Ben?”

“All right, Lamar. Come on, let’s walk the camp.”

Many spots around the huge protective ring had not even seen any of the maddened mobs. They had not fired a shot. Others had dozens of bodies stacked up in front of them. Trucks with scrapers were moving out, to gouge holes in the earth for mass graves.1”

Ben stopped and watched as a young replacement rushed off behind a truck, a tad green around the mouth. Sounds of retching quickly followed. “Corrie, tell the cooks to fix only coffee and sandwiches for this evening. I doubt that many people will have much of an appetite.”

“Right, boss.”

“I hope this experiment of Brunos was confined to only a few areas,” Ben said. “I would really hate to have to go through this all the way across Nigeria.”

“I think this was the first one,” Lamar ventured. “A test case. After a flyover and observing all the bodies, they concluded it worked and then went for the cities.”

“Bruno’s troops must have run into this on their way back after the assault,” Jersey said. “Why haven’t we intercepted anything about it?”

“I think they headed across the lower part of Niger and were picked up by chopper. But only the white troops and a few ranking black officers,” Ben added. “The local troops-those that survived the attack on us-scattered. They might have run into some of these … people. I hope they did. I hope they ran into large groups of them.”

“Boss,” Corrie said.

Ben cut his eyes.

“Paula Preston hit one of the guards on the head with a club and escaped. The other guards let her go.”

 

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“Good. I hope she runs into some of Bruno’s handiwork. How is the guard?”

“He’s all right. Got a sore head, that’s all.”

“How about Marilyn Dickson and Alex Marsh?”

“They made no attempt to escape.”

“Paula’s a pro,” Ben said. “She figured the odds and decided they were better if she broke and ran for it.”

“But she was going back stateside,” Lamar pointed out.

“To face a very uncertain future,” Ben said. “Her masters might not condone failure.”

Lamar sighed. “Her masters. Interesting phrase, Ben. Whatever happened to the old Democratic party that my parents belonged to?”

“It died when the left wing took over.”

“I guess it did, Ben,” the doctor replied. “Hell, I know it did. I saw it happening, you saw it happening. Why did so many intelligent people continue to vote them in?”

“Something for nothing, Lamar. No cares, no worries, no woes. Big Brother will take care of any little problem you might have. Hungry? The state will feed you and don’t worry about working. Just be sure and vote along party lines. That’s all we ask. A subtle form of civilized communism, you might call it. The state is almost everything to everybody all the time. Hell, nobody has to make any choices. The state does it for you. Nobody controls their own destiny. The state controls it. Nobody has to think very much. The state does all the thinking for you. You’re right, Lamar. Many of us saw it coming, but couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

“They’ll be coming after the SUSA next.”

“Eventually, yes, I think they will. And they will be able to overrun us by sheer weight of numbers. But when I see the end is near for us, I will give the orders to leave North America a smoldering ash heap. And

 

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out of the ashes the strong will emerge and start all over. The Tri-States philosophy of government will never die, Lamar. Too many of us have seen that it works. Millions now see that a very limited form of government is the best form of government. No, Lamar, the philosophy we started will never die.”

Lamar was silent for a moment. He finally sighed and said, “A smoldering ash heap, eh?”

“That’s right, Lamar. MAD. Mutually Assured Destruction. The liberals don’t think I’ll do it.” He smiled faintly. “They don’t know me very well. Because I will personally press the button that lets the birds fly. I will never allow our people to be forced to return to that degenerate, immoral, irresponsible, and undisciplined do-your-own-thing-if-it-feels-good form of government. We’ve proven over the years that millions and millions of good decent hardworking people don’t want it, and I’ll be damned if they’ll have to live under it against their will. Not again. Never again.”

“Seems as though I heard a form of this same little speech from you about a decade ago, Raines,” Lamar said with a smile.

Ben smiled. “I guess you did, Lamar. I think we were standing outside the ruins of an American city.”

“That we were.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve got work to do. I can’t spend the rest of the day standing around listening to your speeches. See you later, Raines.”

“All right, Lamar. Corrie, double the guards tonight. Tell them to stay heads-up. Tomorrow, we’ll get the hell gone from this place. Early.”

“Right, boss.”

Ben walked off a few yards to stand by himself for a moment, as much alone with his thoughts as he was ever allowed to be.

 

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“There’s gonna be a civil war back home,” Cooper said. “Again.”

“I think you’re right, Coop,” Jersey replied. “I think the folks back home are looking at one. And it’s just around the corner.”

 

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Ben was alone in his tent, working at his field desk, the gas light bright against the darkness. Jersey and the others were outside, chatting with some Rebels from the 4th Battalion who had walked by. He heard an odd noise and let his right hand close around the butt of the 9mm Beretta on the desk. He turned just as Paula Preston was stepping through the slash she had made in the rear of the tent. Her eyes were wild and her left arm was a bloody mess.

“You’re pretty good to get past the guards, Paula. Either that or awfully lucky.”

She grunted at him and slobber leaked from her mouth.

“Well,” Ben said, “so much for Chase’s theory about it not being fatal. Some of the mob got to you, huh, Paula?”

She shook her head. “No,” she managed to speak. “I got caught during …” She grunted and slobbered for a moment. “… No. Can’t think clearly. I found a wrecked helicopter outside Jega. A canister. I opened it. Very stupid of me. It was the bug. Spilled on me. I thought for a time …” She coughed up blood and pus and yellow slobber and fought for breath. “… I might be immune. About two hours ago I knew I was dying.

 

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But I had … one thing to do before I died.” She lifted the knife.

“Kill me?” Ben asked with a smile.

She slobbered and nodded her head. “That’s right.”

“You’ll never do it, Paula.”

“We’ll see.”

“You hate me that much?”

“The country … must be made whole again. Under a central government.”

“Hell, Paula, killing me won’t accomplish that. The philosophy is too firmly entrenched now. So why don’t you just be a good girl and go on back out into the bush and expire quietly?”

She screamed and jumped. Ben lifted the pistol and put a half a dozen rounds into her chest, throat, and face. Paula fell to the floor, dead a few feet from his boots.

Jersey and the others burst into the tent. “Jesus,” Jersey said.

“How the hell did she get in here?” Cooper questioned.

“She got lucky,” Ben said. “Check outside and see about the guards. She might have killed one.”

“What do you want done with the body?” Anna asked, just as Dr. Chase jerked back the flap of the tent and stepped in.

“Dump it in the pit with the others,” Ben said. “And get some room deodorizer and spray around, will you? Stinks in here.”

The miles-long column headed south, toward Minna, about two hundred miles away. There was an airport of sorts there, and at Minna, Ben would be rid of the reporters. They were grumbling and griping about being sent back, but they were not doing it to Ben’s face.

 

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Ben had told them about Paula, but he doubted that many believed him. Not that he really gave a damn whether they did or not.

Ben had ordered the Scouts not to venture too far, now that those infected were returning in droves to the towns and cities. Too much risk involved for them.

“Why didn’t they attack the Scouts when they were ranging out a hundred or so miles from us?” Cooper asked, as they drove along.

“I don’t know, Coop. Maybe those infected were still hiding in the bush. I just don’t know.”

“Pride of lions crossing the road,” the Scout’s voice came through the speakers. “Slow it up. They aren’t in any hurry to get across. Hell, one just sat down in the road to scratch himself. Big bastard. Halt the column.”

“It’s their country, now,” Ben said. “That’s about the only good thing to come out of this tragedy.”

“Look over there!” Anna said, pointing. “That’s an elephant! There’s several of them!”

“They’re just ambling along,” Jersey said. “Without a care in the world.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t run into an irritated rhino,” Ben said. “That’ll really make your day.”

“Are there any in this area?” Corrie asked.

“There probably are now. Animals can recover quickly if given just half a chance.”

“Okay,” the Scout’s voice came through the speakers. “He scratched himself and wandered on.”

Ben lifted his mic. “How close did you get?”

“Not too damn close, sir. This was a big pride. We watched them through binoculars.”

Laughing, Ben hung the mic just as Cooper moved out.

“There are gorillas in this country, too,” Beth told them, reading out of an old tourist pamphlet. “In the southeastern part of the country.”

 

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“Oh, boy!” Coop said. “I want to see one of them.”

“Odds are you won’t, Coop,” Ben said. “They’re secretive animals, staying mosdy in the thick forests and high country. But on the off chance that you do come face to face with a silverback, don’t run. Just stand very still.”

“While the pee runs down his leg,” Jersey said.

“Probably,” Cooper agreed without argument.

“They’ll chase you if you run?” Anna asked.

“So I’ve always heard. And usually catch you.”

“Village just up ahead,” the Scouts reported. “And there are more of those damn crazy people waiting for us.”

Ben lifted die mic. “Everybody button up tight,” he ordered. “We’re going to roll right through this village and nobody stops for anydiing. If diey get in your way, run over them.” He hooked die mic and said, “Shit! It’s going to be a long trip down to Bruno’s batde lines. Hang on, gang, here we go!”