Chapter Eleven

To a person, the Rebels experienced a let-down feeling. A depression that was hard

to explain and even harder to shake. Many stood on the high ground, miles from the ruined city, and stared at the smoke that still rose in narrow plumes. And many thought the same thought: When future generations read about this, how will they view us?

“Many will condemn us for it,” Ben said. “But they will know only that we did it. They won’t be able to understand why we did it, because they were not of this time. Some will view us as heroes, some will write that we were thugs and villains. Others will say that we were tyrants and twenty-first-century pirates. And a few will defend what we did. But I want you all to remember this: We did what we had to do, with what we had to do it with. And if future historians don’t understand that, then they can all kiss my ass.”

“Right on!” Emil shouted from out of the crowd which had gathered around. “Those who will write about us in the years to come aren’t here to bury

the dead or smell the stink of battle. So what the hell do they know about it?”

Ben smiled at the small man. “That’s right, Emil. You’re absolutely right. Everybody ready to get the hell gone from this place?”

A chorus of cheers went up at that.

“Pack it up, then. Let’s go see some country!”

It took the Rebels several days to get everything road-ready. It was the first week in December when they were all ready to go. Ben stood on a rise and looked toward the long columns of Rebel freedom fighters. All faiths, all

nationalities, all coming together to fight for the most precious thing on earth. Freedom.

The column stretched out on the Interstate for miles. And Ben could easily see why the sight of the Rebels struck fear in some hearts and hope in others. The Rebels not only looked awesome, they were

awesome.

He lifted his eyes toward the ruins of Los Angeles. A low haze of smoke hung over the rubble of the city. What had once been the two largest cities in America, New York City and Los Angeles, were now destroyed, and with their passing had come the end of the cannibalistic cult called the Believers. Ben knew there were a few Believers left, hiding in holes in the ground and in dank, evil-smelling basements. But the backs and the spirits of those remaining had been broken. They would never again rise to such prominence as they had once enjoyed.

“Scouts out?” Ben asked Corrie.

“Ranging five miles in front, sir.”

The Rebels were planning on wintering in central California. Ben felt there was no point in heading to a warmer clime when they were probably going to spend at least a year in Alaska. Might as well get used to it, although winters in central California-out of the mountains-in no way matched the winters in the interior of Alaska.

“We’ll find us a town somewhere between Sacramento and Redding to winter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Or we may split up and occupy several towns.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Advise the Scouts of that, Corrie.”

“Yes, sir.” Advise the Scouts of what? That the general couldn’t make up his mind? The general was stalling for some reason, and his personal team knew it. Why was what they did not know.

“Tell the main column to go on,” Ben ordered.

“We’ll catch up along the way.”

Corrie relayed the orders and Ben squatted down on the rise and watched the tanks and trucks and other rolling equipment pass by. He received a lot of salutes from the Rebels, and he returned them all.

Then Little Jersey knew why Ben was stalling. They were heading back north, each day bringing them closer and closer to where Jerre was buried.

“She ain’t there, General,” Jersey said, her voice low so only Ben could hear. “She’s gone.

She won’t be back. Never. You’ve got to bury the dead and go on living. It’s stupid to let a dead woman screw up your life.”

Ben looked up at her.

Jersey continued, “We got a lot of things to do.

We’ve got places to go and battles to fight.

Years and years of battles. There’s gonna be a lot more dead before it’s over. That’s all I got to say.”

Ben stood up, smiled, and then hugged her. “You’re right, Jersey. Let’s go kick some ass!”