rules

that anyone joining must agree to abide by, right?”

“Yes,” Thermopolis sighed.

“Do you have a system worked out as far as who does what if you are attacked?”

“Yes, Ben.”

“So you have an army. I’m sure you call it a home defense force, or something like that. Maybe it isn’t even named. But you have, nevertheless, people who give orders and people who take them, right? If you didn’t, the force would be unworkable, right?”

“Yes, Ben.”

A crashing explosion and the following sounds of a building coming down halted the exchange momentarily.

“Are you and your group stagnant, Therm?” Ben picked it up.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you content with the status quo? Do you experiment with food crops, seeking ways to grow more and better food, say, without the use of chemicals that ultimately poison the earth?”

“Yes, goddammit!”

“So do we. Do you believe now, or before the war, that animals of the forest should be hunted for sport?”

“No, Ben Raines. I never thought of that as sport.”

“Neither did I. Are you or were you opposed to the trapping of animals?”

“I used to destroy traps whenever I found them. I think trapping is cruel.”

“Well, now, isn’t that quite the coincidence? So do I.

Damn, Therm, if we keep going this way, agreeing on everything, we’re likely to discover that we’re soul-mates, or something like that.”

“Good God, spare me that!” Thermopolis’s comment was Mojave-dry.

“Oh, we’ll always have something to argue about, Therm.

But there isn’t fifteen cents’ worth of real difference between us.”

Thermopolis looked at him, clearly disgusted with himself. “Music!”

Ben laughed. “I don’t care what kind of music you listen to, Thermopolis. Just as long as you don’t try to force me to listen to it.”

“I give up,” Thermopolis said, waving his hand.

“You may be a bastard, but you probably can’t help it.”

Ben jerked his .45 out of leather, jacked the hammer back, pointed the muzzle at

Thermopolis, and pulled the trigger.

Thermopolis felt the heat of the big slug as it passed within an inch of his right ear. The events had taken place so swiftly he had not had time to exit the backless chair in which he’d been sitting.

He heard a choked-off scream behind him and looked around. A black-robed creepie was draped over the windowsill, blood leaking out of his bullet-torn throat. The creep bubbled and gurgled and then was jerked out of the window by a couple of Rebels. He was finished with a single shot to the head.

“Sorry about that, Therm,” Ben said, easing the hammer down on the .45. “But I didn’t have time to warn you.”

“Perfectly all right, Ben Raines.” He rubbed his right ear. “I thought I’d said something to irritate you.”

Ben smiled and shook his head. “Let’s get a few hours’ sleep while we can. I have a gut feeling that Khamsin is going to pull something this night.”

“Let them come, let them come,” Ike whispered into his headset mike, as his eyes pierced the darkness through night glasses.

The tanks had lowered their cannon to the minimum elevation. Rebels knelt and lay behind .50-caliber machine guns. Mortar crews were constantly changing angle,

matching the slow movement of the dozens of light boats being paddled and oared across the Hudson from the slips at Hoboken to the docks along Eleventh Avenue, Manhattan side.

“Flares!” Ike ordered.

A dozen flares were fired into the air, their brilliance lighting up the night sky and trapping the Hot Wind’s men in a blaze of artificial light.

“Fire!” Ike yelled.

From 14th Street all the way down to Clarkson the shoreline trembled and thundered with gunfire.

“Flares!” Georgi Striganov ordered, from his position on the river’s edge at 155th Street, miles north of Ike’s position.

And Thermopolis lay in his sleeping bag and looked at Ben. The general was sitting up, rolling a cigarette and chuckling softly.

“Is all this a joke to you, General?”

The others, including Buddy, lay awake in their sleeping bags, listening.

“Oh, no, Therm. War is never a

joke. But victory is very sweet. I would imagine the Hot Wind tried to put a thousand men on the island this night. He lost them all. That knocks the odds down to just about even.”

“And now what, Ben Raines?”

“Well, Thermopolis, in the morning, we put it to a vote among all the Rebels and the Russians and the Canadians and the hippies and Emil’s group and the Underground People and Gene Savie’s bunch.”

“Put what to a vote?”

“You’re going to be amazed, Therm.” Ben ground out his cigarette and slipped back into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes.

At dawn, the shoreline was littered with the washed-up bodies of the men of the Hot Wind. They lay frozen and stiffening in the cold air.

“Beth,” Ben said, “get me all commanders on the horn.”

“On scramble, sir?”

Ben paused. “No. Let Khamsin hear this. As a matter of fact, broadcast some bullshit for a few minutes to make sure they’ve got us.”

Beth opened the frequency and proceeded to say a large and very profane number of highly uncomplimentary things about the Hot Wind, his mother and father, and any brothers and sisters he might have had, and even insinuated some unhealthy relationship between Khamsin and a goat, back when Khamsin was a boy in Libya. Then, with a satisfied smile on her lips, she contacted all commanders and handed the mike to Ben.

“You amaze me, Beth!” Ben said. “I didn’t even think you knew words like that!”

“Our countries may no longer exist, General, but I’m still a Jew and that lousy no-good bastard across the river is still an Arab terrorist.” Then she spoke in very fast Hebrew.

“What did you just say?” Thermopolis asked her.

“I prayed that a camel would chew off his testicles!”

“My word!” Dan said, pausing in sipping his morning tea.

Ben sat down in a battered old chair, threw back his head and laughed.

He wiped his eyes and picked up the mike.

Khamsin had been notified and was listening, shaking, livid with rage. He muttered dark threats about what he would do to a certain Jew bitch if he ever got his hands on her.

“This is General Ben Raines,” Ben

began. “From all reports received over the past twelve hours, it’s apparent that we have broken the backs of the Night P. That does not mean that we have wiped them out. We’ll be fighting them for some time to come. But they are no longer the main threat.

“Our main concern now is that silly bastard across the river in New Jersey. The Hot Fart.”

Khamsin began jumping up and down, screaming curses upon Ben’s head.

“We could roll right over into New Jersey and kick his ass, but the man has no honor and none of us could trust him if he said we would be allowed safe passage across the bridge.”

“No honor!” Khamsin squalled. “Kick my ass!” He picked up a chair and hurled it across the room.

Sister Voleta was listening in another section of the battered city. She had called for a meeting with Monte and Ashley. Both men had crossed back into New Jersey to join Khamsin and his people. Sister Voleta listened and shook her head.

“Typical Ben Raines,” she said. “Don’t fall for it, gentlemen. I know the man. Buddy Raines is my son.”

Both knew that, but still found it hard to believe. Sister Voleta was a pure basket case, but as is often the case, a highly intelligent one.

“Ben is playing with Khamsin. And if Khamsin buys it, Ben will destroy him. Bet on it. You just listen, and you’ll see what I mean.”

“So, to all forces fighting under my command, here it is; put it to a vote. That’s the Rebel way. If the Hot Wind wants this city so badly, all right, we’ll just invite him over and he can damn well try to take it. Personally, I don’t think that ignorant headien has the balls to do it. So we’ll see. Vote on it, people. Let me have your reply by noon. Eagle out.”

Khamsin was screaming his rage, pacing the office, waving his arms, yelling curses.

“If he takes Ben up on his offer,” Sister Voleta said, “we don’t go. With our people, we can lie back and wait until Ben kicks

Khamsin’s butt-and he will. Believe it. But Ben will lose some people doing it. Then, as Raines tries to leave, we ambush him.”

“I like it!” Monte smiled.

“So do I,” Ashley said.

Sister Voleta smiled.

“Heathen!” Khamsin screamed, slamming both hands down on a tabletop. “How dare that filthy rabid dog call me a heathen!”

Ben looked out over the ruined and still-burning sector of the city. Bodies of night crawlers lay like huge roaches, sprawled on the dirty, sooty snow. “Collect all weapons and ammo,” Ben ordered. “We’re going to need them.”

“The bodies, General?”

Ben hesitated. The death barges were full of frozen creepies, and his people were getting tired of hauling away dead crud. “Throw them on what’s left of the still-burning buildings. Burn them.”

The cold winter air stank of death, the smell was trapped in their clothing and seemed a permanent stink in their nostrils.

“Have you received a report from West on last night’s fighting, Beth?”

“Hundreds of dead creepies, sir. Tina’s working it up right now. Buddy and Thermopolis are working up a guesstimate of the dead up here.”

“Our losses, Beth?”

“Five dead, fifteen wounded, one seriously.

Most of the wounded were transported to the hospital.”

“Give the orders to wrap it up here, Beth. Let’s head back to the CP for a warm bath and a change of clothes.”

A smile creased the woman’s grimy face.

“No one’s going to gripe about that order, General.”

They bathed in warm water and then rinsed off under a cold shower-quickly. The smell of smoke and dirt and death was tossed out into the streets and into the alleys and quickly froze.

Jersey tapped on Ben’s door just as he was finishing shaving. “Come.”

“Report from the Underground People, sir. They say the Judges left the city early this morning. Before dawn. I don’t know how they’d know that. But they were pretty positive about it.”

Ben slapped on some expensive after-shave he’d found in a department store. Jersey stood staring at the bullet scars that pocked Ben’s hide. Ben slipped into a thermal

undershirt and then into a field shirt, hooking his body armor over that.

“If it’s true, and I have no reason to doubt it-those Underground People are a strange and mysterious bunch comx means the creepies are just about finished.

We’ll have little potboilers with those left in the city, but for the most part, it’s over with them. Any word yet on the voting?”

“I haven’t heard, area-wide, sir. But up here, including the hippies and Emil Hite’s bunch, it was unanimous that we stay and finish it with Khamsin.”

Ben turned to face her. “Not one negative vote?”

“No, sir.”

“I figured Thermopolis would cast a negative vote just to be ornery. He got hot the other night when I told him that back in the days when this country was more or less whole, if a person didn’t vote, they had no right to bitch about what was happening within and without their government. Of course, I didn’t believe that then and don’t now, but I enjoyed getting his goat.”

Tina stepped into the office. “Voting is in, Dad. The only people who voted against inviting Khamsin in and kicking ass were Gene Savie’s people.”

Ben nodded his head. “I expected that. Hell with the Savies. Jersey, have Beth call for a meeting with the commanders, up here.” He looked at his watch. “As quickly as possible.”

For the first time, Ben met with a

representative of the Underground P. The man was very pale and wore dark glasses against the reflected glare of wan sunlight off the snow. But he looked to be in excellent physical shape.

“Paul,” he said, introducing himself and shaking Ben’s hand. “Are you going to destroy the city, General?” Paul came right to the point.

“I don’t know, Paul,” Ben lied. “If I did, how much of a hardship would that be for you and your people?”

“Very little. There are many cities. You realize, of course, that you have not destroyed the Night People?

There are several thousand still in the city, and that many more in other boroughs.”

“Yes, I believe that. Leaderless and confused.

They’ll still present something of a problem. You’re sure the Judges have left the city?”

“Oh, yes. They went up into Canada.

Montreal, I would think.”

Striganov, Rebet, and Danjou stirred at that news.

“To start a new colony of creepies?” Ike asked.

“No,” Paul said. “To join the one already there.

It’s worldwide, ladies and gentlemen. The perversion began more than a hundred years ago. It skyrocketed after the Great War. I would guess there are several million of them around the globe.

Believe me when I say that Hawaii is now anything but a paradise.”

“I think you said the same thing, Dad,” Tina reminded her father.

“Yes,” Ben remembered. “Well, right now let’s talk about defeating Khamsin.”

“Why did you throw down such a challenge, General Raines?” Paul asked.

“Khamsin has long-range artillery. We have more, but his is ample. Now that he no longer has to worry about harming any allies in this city, he could do us some damage if this thing settled into a battle of cannons. I’d rather have him over here for several reasons. One, by now, we’re all familiar with this city-we’re dug in deep and tight. Two, Khamsin does not know the city. Three, Khamsin is not a street-fighter; every time we’ve got him in a city, we’ve kicked his butt. He’s a terrorist and not a very good field tactician. Not when it comes to moving around big armies.

“Now then, I’ve got people working right now planting charges on all the bridges connecting this island. I have other teams working at making certain there won’t be a boat or a ship or a barge or a ferry left that’ll float when we decide to pull out. And when we do pull out, it’s going to be a wild, mad run for it.”

“Are you going to tell Savie and his people about this plan?” Paul asked. “I see they have no representative present.”

“No, Paul, I don’t intend to inform them of anything. I don’t trust them.”

“That is a wise decision,” Paul said.

“West, what is your opinion of Savie and his group? You’ve been working fairly close with them for a few days.”

West sighed. “I just don’t know, Ben. You remember that Savie told you that originally there were thousands of people like him. I don’t believe that. There is no sign that the park has ever sustained more gardens than it has now. I think he told you a bald-faced lie about that. Also, they never seem to mix it up with the Night P. Not directly. They burn up a lot of ammo, but account for damn few bodies. They’re either the worst shots in the history of warfare, or they’re deliberately missing.”

Ben looked at Paul, the man’s eyes unreadable behind the dark glasses. “Your opinion, Paul?”

“Like Mr. West, I don’t know. I’ve never fully trusted any of them. But I do not think they are in any direct cahoots with the Night P. Not anymore. I … well, I think they’re just very self-contained and selfish people. Very snobbish people. As to them not being able to hit anything with weapons … I think they have never had to become proficient with weapons, and now-for some reason-they have become very frightened people. I also think that they, long ago, made a deal with the Night P. Perhaps that agreement fell through some months ago. I’ve given that some thought over the past weeks. That’s what I lean toward.”

“You mean, sort of a live-and-let-live policy?” Ike asked.

“Yes. Precisely. Then the Night People-this is conjecture, please understand-became greedy, or regretted their agreement, and began turning on Savie and his people. But as I said, over the past few months, my people seldom ventured above ground.”

“If they collaborated with the cannibals, then that makes them just as bad as the creepies,” Tina said, her expression that of someone who had just tasted something very unpalatable.

Several others muttered about what ought to be done to those so-called survivors around Central Park.

Ben held up his hand for silence. “We have no proof, people. Let’s don’t condemn them without some proof.”

Thermopolis stood up. “Ben Raines, it isn’t reasonable that a small group of people could survive in rtiis city for almost fifteen years-not only survive, but live well-surrounded by thirty or forty thousand of these cannibals.”

“Just relax, people. I’ve had my own suspicions of Savie and his people since long before I first met with them. But we’re not going to do anything just yet. I might decide to use them as grist for the mill. So to speak,” he added dryly.

They all knew better than to push for any further details. But they all knew that Ben Raines could be a very vindictive man if pushed. None wanted to be in the shoes of Savie’s group if they had collaborated with the Night P.

“We’re going to let Khamsin bubble in his own stew for a few days,” Ben said. “And while he’s doing a slow burn,” Ben smiled, “and he will be doing a slow burn, we’ll take that time to formulate plans, resupply, rest, and go over

equipment.” He stood up. “Now let’s get down to the bolts of this operation. We got the nuts waiting for us across the river.”

“Emil,” Sister Sarah said to the little con artist, “what did our friend Thermopolis say after returning from the meeting with the Great General Raines?”

Emil glanced at the woman. Since he had been in New York City, he had almost forgotten about his scam and his fictitious god Blomm. Time to be thinking about that. For if Ben Raines said they would be home by spring, they would be home by spring. Time to crank up the old scam machine, he reckoned.

“We shall be home by spring, Sister. Just in time for the planting of our gardens.”

“I will be glad, Brother Emil. This place is so dreary. And I do miss your sermons and dances of praise to the Great Blomm.”

God!

Emil thought. still

hope she don’t ask me to dance today. All this snow and ice and I’d bust my ass for sure.

“And I miss doing them, Sister. But I have been in touch with Blomm in private-it’s the best I can do with all the action around us. He has not forgotten us.

Now run along, my little chickie. I must pray.”

Thermopolis and Rosebud had been standing close enough to hear the exchange. After Sister Sarah had gone her way, Thermopolis smiled and said, “How long have you been running this scam, Emil?”

Emil looked around frantically and put a finger to his lips. “Shush that talk!” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ll

call down the wrath of Blomm upon your head.”

“Blomm’s butt!” Rosebud said.

Emil cast his eyes Heavenward and clasped his hands together. “Forgive them, O Great One. They know not of whom they speak.”

“It doesn’t take you long to get back into your act,” Thermopolis told him. “I ask again: How long have you had this scam running, Emil?”

“Oh, piss on it!” Emil muttered. He

walked to the couple. “Years.”

“Oh, I’m not condemning you, Emil. Whatever works for you.” Thermopolis smiled at him. “I ran into an old friend of yours earlier this summer.”

“Oh?”

“Francis Freneau.”

“Crap!” Emil said. “Long Dong himself.”

“I didn’t tell him that so-called

“Heavenly explosion” that sent him galloping out of Louisiana was a rocket fired from Big Louie’s camp out in Kansas.”

“Thank you. How in the hell did you know that, Thermy?”

“Friends of ours have a small commune out there. We talk back and forth by shortwave equipment.”

“How is that jerk, anyway?”

“Doing well. He has him a small group of followers up in the hills and hollows of Kentucky. He’s gone into snake-handling.”

“Good! I hope one bites him on the d …”

He lookedat Rosebud and clamped off the last bit. “dis . . elbow,” he finished it.

She laughed at the expression on his face.

“Snake-handling!” Emil shuddered. “I knew he was crazy. I didn’t think he was ignorant!”

“He’s defanged the ones he handles.”

“I should hope. What’s he have to say about me?”

“Glowing praises. And that’s the truth. He says as long as you leave him alone, he’ll leave you alone.” Thermopolis laughed. “He told us that after that rocket blew-and he still isn’t convinced that it wasn’t the god Blomm-he

couldn’t get it up for a month.”

“Serves him right. With what he’s got to offer, he needs a rest.”

Rosebud shook her head and laughed. “Hasn’t anybody ever told you that it isn’t the size of the boat, but rather the motion of the ocean, Emil? And,” she added, “a certain emotion called love has a lot to do with it, too.”

“Love, baloney. I been in love lots of times.” He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “No .

. . that’s a lie. I don’t think I ever have. I been too busy chasin’ women to fall in love. In heat, yeah! Love, no.”

“You’re going to look up one of these days, Emil, and there she’ll stand. The girl of your dreams.”

“Tell you good folks the truth, I kind of like things the way they are now.” Sister Susie walked by and smiled at him. Emil grinned as he eyeballed her posterior. “See what I mean? Ta-ta, folks. I think Sister Susie needs some counseling.” Emil went tripping off behind Sister Susie.

“He’s incorrigible!” Rosebud said.

“True. But it’s like Ben says: His followers know it’s a con, and Emil doesn’t hurt

anybody.”

“How is the, ah, situation between Ben Raines and Jerre?”

“No better. It never will be any better, and Ben knows that, I think. I think right now the both of them are having a good time snarling at each other.”

The tension was, as the saying goes, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Ben sat in his CP, alone with Jerre, who had been given the job of figuring out how long their existing supplies would last, and it wasn’t a job she was particularly thrilled with. She made that clear by muttering under her breath from time to time.

Ben looked up from a city map. Jersey and Beth and Cooper were in another office, the door closed.

The silent but stinging vibrations-mostly bad-that had been

bouncing around between Ben and Jerre had gotten too much for them to take.

“Jerre, if you don’t like that job, give it to someone else to do. But please stop with the mumbling.”

Silence from the outer office.

“That’s better. Thank you.” Ben returned to the studying of the maps. The George Washington Bridge could not be used. So that meant that Khamsin-if he crossed over onto the

island-would have to go all the way up to the Tappan Zee Bridge, or come all the way down to Staten Island and cross over into Brooklyn, then use one of the three bridges at the lower end of Manhattan.

And Ben didn’t want that. He wanted Khamsin to come in from the north.

But how to get him to do that?

Mutter, mumble from the other room.

With a sigh, Ben pushed back from the desk and walked to the open door. “Why don’t you just give me a ball-park figure as to supplies, Jerre?”

She looked up for a few seconds, then read from a legal pad. “About twenty-five thousand rounds of ammo for each Rebel. Several hundred grenades per Rebel. Enough food to last for approximately a year. Approximately twenty thousand AKBLEDG’S taken from the dead creepies, and half a million rounds of ammo.” She plopped the pad onto a desk. “You want more?”

“No, that will do. That pretty well matches up with the first report.”

She glared at him. “You mean … you already had these figures?”

“Of course. I always have someone do a second report. That cuts down on the chance for error.”

Another round of low muttering while Ben stood and smiled at her.

Dan entered the offices and almost took a step back as the vibrations from the man and woman struck him.

“We found what you requested, General. Some of them are a bit rat-chewed, but most are in good shape.”

“Very good, Dan.” He looked at his watch.

Plenty of time. “Let’s start getting them up and flying. That should really set the Hot Wind to puffing and blowing.”

From Castle Clinton in Battery Park, all the way up to the Bronx County line, flags began going up. American flags, Canadian flags, and Russian flags. Dan had sent people over to the UN building and found enough flags for the duration. The entire waterfront began to resemble a Tri-Country flag day celebration as the multicolored banners fluttered in the cold wind.

On the New Jersey side, this was pointed out to an already highly irritated Khamsin. It did nothing to improve his dark mood.

Ben had asked Thermopolis to write a song, and he had swiftly composed a little ditty that, if the countries still existed, would have done absolutely nothing to improve relations between America and the Arab world, since the song was about several past Arab leaders and compared them to what normally falls behind certain disagreeable pack animals of the desert.

Then Ben set up broadcasting equipment and Thermopolis, strumming a guitar, began serenading Khamsin and the troops of the Hot Wind.

Since Khamsin’s idols were such wonderfully noble and deeply religious people as the Ayatollah Khomeini, Muammar al-Qaddafi, and other terrorists, and since Thermopolis used words that were somewhat less than complimentary in describing those people, Khamsin almost had a stroke when Thermopolis’s voice blasted out of the speakers.

Khamsin immediately ordered all radios to be turned down and ordered all troops into prayer, beseeching Allah to strike Ben Raines dead on the spot.

Please?

Allah must have been taking a nap that day, for Ben Raines remained very much alive and well in Manhattan and was thoroughly enjoying sticking the needle to Khamsin.

Even Jerre’s mood improved as she

listened to Thermopolis sing his songs, many times making them upas he went along. Emil wrote a little ditty about Khamsin, and he and Thermopolis joined voices and words. Then everybody started writing songs about Khamsin, and the airwaves were filled with song. Not a whole lot of talent, but everybody seemed to have a good time. On the Manhattan side of the Hudson, that is.

Ben ordered that the songs be taped so they could be played around the clock.

“Get Khamsin on the horn, Beth,” he

requested.

But the Hot Wind was so angry he refused to speak with Ben.

“Just as well,” Ben said. “Beth, how about you and some of the others getting together and serenading the

Hot Wind and his troops with some happy Jewish songs. That ought to really set his cork to popping.”

Upon hearing Beth and other Jewish Rebels singing songs in that hated language, drifting across the cold waters through massive speakers set up along the waterfront, Khamsin ordered his people to pull back, out of range of the concert speakers.

Khamsin went to sleep that night with the unholy melodies still rambling around in his brain.

He ground his teeth together and cursed Ben Raines in his fitful and restless slumber.

But not all the Rebels took part in the serenading of Khamsin and his army. Many worked through the day and night reinforcing positions, mining bridges, and laying electronically detonated charges all around the city, smiling and humming as they worked.

Ben went to sleep that night smiling. And not even the ever-present image of Jerre before his eyes could erase the smile on his lips.

He awakened abruptly as the sharp stink of Night People filled his nostrils. In the darkness, Ben rose and quickly dressed, buckling his body armor in place. He

picked up his Thompson, clicked it off safety, and slipped into the anteroom. The smell faded as he left his office. He looked around at the sleeping forms. Ben touched Buddy on the shoulder and the young man came awake instantly.

Ben knelt down and whispered, “Slip into my office and take a good whiff.”

Buddy was back in a few seconds. He sat on the edge of his cot and pulled on his boots.

“Creepies in the building for sure,” he whispered. “I think they’ve managed to work their way into the closed-up rooms next to your office.”

“Probably scaled the building.” Ben woke the others and alerted them with soft whispered words. “Heads up, gang. We got creepies in the building.”

Before everyone could dress, one entire wall of Ben’s office blew out in front of a massive, almost deafening explosion. Had Ben not awakened, he would have certainly been killed.

The explosion knocked everyone sprawling as small items became lethal objects, hurled in front of the blast.

Ben was knocked through the closed hall door and found himself sprawled on his back in the dark hallway.

He had lost his grip on his Thompson.

As dark shapes moved toward him, their body odor leading the way, Ben shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and clawed out his locked and loaded .45.

He emptied the weapon into the knot of creepies, then jerked a grenade from his battle harness, pulled the pin, and hurled the grenade toward the far end of the hall.

He scrambled on his hands and knees back into his debris-filled office and found his Thompson just as the grenade blew. Screaming bounced around the dark and deadly hallway as automatic-weapons fire cut through the bloody gloom.

Ben found Beth, frantically trying to contact somebody by walkie-talkie. “Big radio took a chunk of something, General. It’s out.”

Ben listened for a moment; it seemed that gunfire was all around them, from the street level up. “It’s a full-scale attack, Beth. The creepies are throwing everything they’ve

got at us. And it’s considerable. Tell the people to stand and hold.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anybody hurt?” Ben asked, looking around him, trying to see through the murk.

“A few cuts and bruises, is all,” Cooper said.

Before Ben could reply, another hard explosion shattered the night and the roof fell in on top of those in Ben’s CP.

Ben was driven to his knees when a chunk of debris hit him on the back. It knocked him off balance more than hurt him, and it pissed him off that the creepies could still manage to penetrate Rebel security. And his Thompson was buried somewhere under all the rubble. He grabbed up an

MH-ANDAN ammo pouch-the ammo hopefully for the old Thunder Lizard-and swung the muzzle around j ust as a horde of black-robes came running through the ruined wall of his office.

“The woman!” one shouted. “Get the bastard’s woman.”

Ben leveled the M14 and held the trigger back, filling his shattered office with .308 slugs and knocking creepies in all directions.

“Jerre!” he shouted, over the rattle of weapons.

No reply.

“She’s over there, Father,” came Buddy’s calm voice. “Buried under all this crap. She seems to be all right. Just knocked out.”

“Grenades,” Ben ordered, pulling an HE

grenade from his battle harness and jerking the pin just as Buddy and Cooper were doing the same. Jersey and Beth were covering what was left of the doorway leading to the hall, and there wasn’t a hell of a lot left of the hall.

The grenades blew, and the screaming that followed told the Rebels they had landed right on the mark. Buddy sprayed the darkness with .45 slugs and ended the screaming.

“It’s happening all over the city,

General,” Beth told him, as her

walkie-talkie ceased its transmission.

“Scattered, but very intense.”

Flames were spreading from two rooms over as Ben found his Thompson and slung it. He crawled over to Jerre, who was sitting up with the aid of Jersey.

“Get her out of here,” Ben told some Rebels who materialized in the shattered doorway. “Take her to Doctor Chase. And don’t leave her side for any reason. That is a direct order.”

“Yes, sir!” One slung Jerre over his shoulder and they were gone.

“Grab whatever you can salvage,” Ben said. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

Working as quickly as they could in all the rubble, the Rebels grabbed up whatever they could find and left the building just as the flames were spreading all around them. They hit the street and ran right into a firefight.

They darted away from the burning building, and Ben spread his thin line of Rebels out behind vehicles.

Lying on the frozen snow, the Rebels went to work.

“Here they come, gang!” Ben yelled, as he shouldered the butt of the M14 and let it rock and roll.

“Stand firm!” Thermopolis yelled, bringing his M16 to his shoulder. He grimaced, knowing he was beginning to sound like Ben Raines.

“Oh, Blomm!” Emil yelled. “Hear our

pleas and strike these heathen dead!”

A wall of a long-abandoned building chose that time to give it up, collapsing on a dozen or more creepies, burying them under tons of brick and stone.

Rosebud looked at Thermopolis, questions in her eyes. He lowered the Ml 6 and shrugged a “who the hell knows” gesture.

Then none of them had time to think about Blomm or anything else except survival as the creepies swarmed all over their position.

Rosebud smacked a creepie in the face with the butt of her Mini-14, and her husband shot him in the chest as he was falling backward.

Brother Sonny clubbed one on the noggin, and Sister Susie buried a camp axe into his skull. “Filthy Godless bastard!” she said.

Emil was rolling around on the dirty floor with a night crawler, both of them screaming like deranged banshees. Emil finally rolled on top of the stinking crud, a brick in his hand, and clubbed him into unconsciousness. He grabbed up his Ml6 and crawled back to his position just in time to have another creepie hurl himself through the broken window and land right on top of Emil, sending them both rolling around on the floor.

“Ye Gods!” Emil squalled. He jammed his fingers into the creature’s eyes and then drove the stiffened fingers of his other hand into the man’s throat.

The night crawler fell to one side, choking and gasping for breath. Emil grabbed up his M16 and ended the gagging sounds.

“One more time,” he muttered darkly, returning to his position, wary of anything that might be lurking out in the darkness, waiting to leap at him.

Emil turned to look into the eyes of a dark-haired French Canadian girl who had been cut off from her unit.

ZING!

With lead flying all around them, the screaming of the dying filling the cold night, death all around them, Emil fell in love.

“This building is cleared, General!” Dan called from across the snowy, body-littered street. “Lay down a covering fire for the general’s party!” Dan yelled to his Scouts. “Come on,

General!”

While the Scouts laid down covering fire, Ben and his people zigzagged and slipped and slid and almost fell down crossing the icy street. They made it intact to the dark and somewhat warmer ground floor of the old building.

“You got a radio that works, Dan?” Ben panted.

“Here, sir,” Dan’s operator called.

Staying low, Ben made his way over to the Rebel and took the mike. “This is Eagle. All units give me a report.”

“Northernmost unit under heavy attack but holding, sir,” the strange female voice, slightly accented, came out of the speaker.

“Who is this?” Ben asked.

“Michelle Jarnot, General. Part of Major Danjou’s unit. I got cut off.”

“It’s love, love, love!” Ben heard someone shout.

He looked at Beth. “Someone is yelling that they’re in love.”

All heads turned to look at him.

“Did you say love, sir?” Dan asked.

Ben listened as someone began singing “Love Me Tender.” Fans of Elvis had no

cause for alarm.

“Yes. Love. Michelle, do you have any wounded or dead up there?”

Whoever it was up there smitten with Cupid’s arrows began singing “We’ve Only Just Begun.”

Ben flipped the toggle switch from earphones to speaker. His

“Not in this unit, General. But there is going to be someone with a fat lip if they don’t keep their hands off of me!”

All heads turned toward the radio.

“Somebody kindly keep their eyes to the front,”

Ben said. “We do have creepies out there, people.”

A man’s voice came out of the speaker. “This is Thermopolis, Ben Raines. Creepies are withdrawing. Our situation has stabilized. Which is more than I can say for Emil,” he added.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s in love!”

“Ten-four, Thermopolis,” Ben said with a chuckle.

“The situation here has also calmed. Good luck with Emil.”

“Thank you, General.”

Ben checked his watch. About three hours until dawn. He looked at Dan’s

radioman. “Check with all units. I want a status report from each.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ben made his way back to the front of the building.

“I believe it’s over. But stay alert. Fires at the rear of the building only. Take shifts warming up.”

The last dark hours of morning passed slowly, with only an occasional shot blasting the darkness. From their position in the storefront, the Rebels could see the bodies of Night People sprawled in death on the bloody, trampled snow.

Dan counted heads. “Where is Miss Hunter?”

“In the hospital. I don’t think she’s badly hurt. When the roof caved in on us she got a bump on the head that knocked her out.” Ben explained what had taken place in his office.

“Last-ditch desperation attack on their part,”

Dan said. “I don’t think they’ve got the people to do it again.”

“Nor do I. I think from now on it’ll be minor skirmishes. But,” he added, “we’ve said that before.”

“Quite right.”

As the first fingers of gray dawn began tearing away the night, the Rebels began moving stiffly out of their positions, some of them jogging in place to warm up cold-tightened muscles and get the heart rate up and the blood surging.

“Well, I guess I look for a new CP,”

Ben said. He turned to Beth, who had scrounged around and found another radio. “Advise Doctor Chase to get ready to move, Beth. Tell him to move everything down to the old NYC Medical Center on the East River.” He turned to Dan.

“Make damn sure the Brooklyn Bridge, the Williamsburg Bridge, and the Manhattan Bridge appear to be disabled, from ground and air.

Khamsin has got to come at us from the north. Once he’s committed his people, we throw up a line at Eighty-sixth Street. And that’s where we hold him, Dan.”

“Yes, sir. Your CP?”

“I don’t know.”

“I would suggest somewhere around the old UN

Headquarters, General. I can guarantee that area is free of creepies.”

“All right, Dan. Find me a place. With windows,” he added, smiling.

“Yes, sir. I already have one picked out, cleared, and set up for you.”

Ben’s new CP was in an office building one block over from the UN Plaza. It was on the second floor, facing Second Avenue, with a good broad view. Ben inspected the windows and found they had been replaced with bulletproof glass.

Obviously, Dan had had this place in mind for some time.

On the morning of the second day in his new CP, Ben looked up as Jerre appeared in the doorway.

“Did Chase release you or did you run away?”

“He released me. I’m all right. I don’t even have a headache.” She looked around. “Nice place.”

Ben pointed to her right. “Your office is right there.

You’ll be helping me mark locations of our units as we begin to shift them.”

“All right, Ben.”

“Chase get moved?”

“He’s almost finished. He approves of the new choice. Is it about to hit the fan, Ben?”

“A few more days. I’d say five days at the most. Intell states there is a lot of activity over Khamsin’s way.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Khamsin is moving his people north, so it looks like he’s taking the bait without us having to taunt him any further.”

She moved to a huge wall map and studied it. “So he’ll cross over here.” She placed her finger on the Tappan Zee Bridge.

“Yes. That’s the only logical choice. He’d have to go miles out of his way to cross over any farther north. When he reaches the southern end of Bronx County, he’ll have his choice of two bridges to use entering Manhattan. I don’t care which one he uses. Certain units will be

fighting a holding action as he comes over. Just hard enough to make him think he’s facing our full force.

When he’s got his people over, probably after a couple of days, those two bridges up north will be blown, electronically, so none of our people will be trapped.”

“How about this railroad bridge?” She pointed it out.

“That will go up with the others.”

“All these other bridges linking Manhattan, all the way down to the footbridge?”

“They’ll be blown. At least one section of them will be knocked out, thus making them unusable for any type of vehicular traffic.”

“These three bridges at the south end of Manhattan? What about them?”

“That’s our way out of here, Jerre. They’ll be rendered useless as we bug out-when the time comes.”

“Then … you’re going to trap Khamsin in Manhattan?”

“That is my plan, yes.”

“And … ?”

“And, what?”

“They’ll eventually get off the island, Ben.”

“No, they won’t. At least, not very many of them.”

She sat down in a chair facing his desk. “The tunnels under the river-rivers?”

“Blown. Destroyed. Blocked.”

“Of course, all your top people know of this plan?”

“As of late yesterday, yes.”

“And now you’re telling me. You trust me that much, Ben? I didn’t think you trusted me at all.”

Ben shrugged. “What reason do I have not to trust you?

Besides, within two or three days, every Rebel in this command will know about the plans. You know how fast camp talk spreads.”

“You’re that sure that the creepie informants have been … well, taken care of?”

“Yes. Dan is very good at that sort of thing.” He stood up. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been

alone for five minutes and we’re not arguing. It’s almost like old times, back in Virginia. You remember, Ben?”

“I remember.” He sat back behind his desk and sipped his coffee, looking at her beauty.

She met his gaze. “And what about New York City, Ben?”

“What about it?”

“When we bug out, I mean?”

He met her gaze, locked with it. Neither one of them blinked.

“You’re going to trap Khamsin and his troops in Manhattan and then destroy the city, aren’t you, Ben?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of his wings.