Cooper had

taken up position in a building behind a 5.56-caliber machine gun called the Minimi.

Each prepacked and belted ammo box

contained 250 rounds, and the Minimi could spit out the lead with a vengeance.

“Where’d you get that thing, Cooper?” Ben called.

“I stole it from the Canadians!” He grinned with his reply.

“Armies never change,” Ben muttered.

“Here they come, sir,” Jersey called.

Ben found him a spot and lifted the M14, seton full rock and roll and bipodded. “Chuck, tell the people to fire whenever they get a target.”

Ben sighted in, pulled the trigger, and began to make life awfully uncomfortable for some of Khamsin’s troops.

All up and down the line, the Rebels found targets and sent Khamsin’s people either diving for cover or sprawled on the snow. Cooper’s Minimi was rattling out 5.56-caliber slugs. Beth was very carefully picking her shots, and her aim was true.

Between shots, she was muttering some highly uncomplimentary remarks about the enemy. Like she’d said, she had a personal interest in this fight.

“Spotters report Khamsin is moving up tanks, General!” Chuck called.

“Send our Abramses out, Chuck. All Dusters and other light tanks hold in position.”

Ben knew that his Abramses were much more heavily armored and better gunned than Khamsin’s lighter tanks. It would not be much of a fight.

Ben, watching through binoculars, saw one Abrams round a corner, lower its main cannon, and blow one of the Hot Wind’s tanks clear off one track and then turn it into a fiery death trap with armor-piercing rounds.

Another Abrams clanked up the street, looking for trouble. It soon found it in the form of Khamsin’s heaviest tank. Khamsin lost another tank to Ben when the gunner fired an antitank round called a HEAT, and the enemy tank exploded from the inside out, frying its crew.

With two of his tanks out and two more crippled, Khamsin recalled them. They just were no match for Ben’s heavier tanks.

“All tanks return,” Ben ordered Chuck.

“No pursuit.” Chuck relayed the orders, then said, “Khamsin’s people

are dropping back, sir. They’re crossing a Hundred

Seventy-first and formed a line.”

“All right, people,” Ben called. “Get ready for mortars

and artillery. Get yourselves bunkered in as best you can and grab your asses. Khamsin is going to give us all he’s

got!”

Khamsin spent the early hours of the afternoon dropping artillery rounds on where he thought Ben and his Rebels were hunkered. But when the first shells started falling, Ben had shifted his people several blocks to the south.

Khamsin was shelling an empty sector.

Over on the east side of the island, West chuckled, then said to one of his men, “Smooth move. Like silk.

Khamsin is detroying the exact sector Ben had proposed destroying. The silly bastard is doing our work. We have found a home, Monroe. I always said if I ever found a better tactician than myself, I’d follow him up to and through the gates of Hell. I’ve found him.”

The shelling stopped. Within seconds, Ben ordered, “Back on the line, people. Move, move, move.”

He grabbed up the mike. “West! Move your people back to our original lines. Let’s have a surprise waiting for Khamsin.”

Laughing at Ben’s downright sneakiness, the mercenary yelled his men forward through the snow, and they took their hidden positions in deserted buildings.

Khamsin’s men came running through the cold snowy streets, racing toward the smoking desolation left by their gunners.

They ran straight into the guns of Ben Raines’s Rebels and died by the dozens-died wondering what had happened and why their great religious leader, the Hot Wind, had been so wrong.

Ben occasionally watched as Beth coolly and calmly picked her shots, rarely missing. There was a grim expression on her face, and her eyes were flint hard with long-overdue satisfaction.

“Enjoying yourself, Beth?” he asked during a short lull in the fighting.

“Retribution, General. Pure and simple.”

She lifted her M16 and knocked another of Khamsin’s terrorists sprawling to the snow-then shot him again to put an end to his squalling.

“I’m going to miss you when you go back to Lev and his cows, Beth.”

She cut her eyes. “I ain’t gone yet, General.”

As night fell over that shattered portion of the city, Khamsin sat in his drafty CP and did not savor the copper taste of defeat that had formed on his tongue.

He sent his tanks into battle, and Ben Raines had bigger and better tanks. He sent his troops into battle, and Ben Raines’s Rebels slaughtered them. He poured hundreds of rounds of artillery into a sector, and Ben Raines and his Rebels were not there. Then the Rebels materialized like ghosts, and more of his troops were dead.

The man was a devil!

Ben sat in his warm CP and enjoyed a spot of bourbon from a cache his people had found. He had ordered whiskey for all his Rebels who wanted a couple of drinks. The whiskey sort of killed the taste of the goop that Doctor Chase called field rations. Highly nutritious, but with all the flavor of a horseshoe. Some Rebels even went so far as to say it tasted like something that dropped from a horse.

Jerre looked into her opened field-ration packet.

“What is this crap?”

“I do not have the vaguest idea. And to tell you the truth, I’m afraid to ask Chase. He might tell me.”

It was at times like these that Ben felt a closeness to Jerre. More on his part than hers, he knew. But a feeling that he enjoyed; more than this was something that he knew could never be and would never be.

Then why wouldn’t he accept that? still have,

the other side of his brain countered. still have for years, and gone right on living, so what’s the problem, brain?

A simple yet complex emotion called Love, you dummy!

the other side fired back.

Ben stilled the arguing sides of his brain when he became conscious of Jerre staring at him through the dim lantern light in the CP.

The others of his personal team were resting, after having endured the blandness of their field rations. Except for Beth, who was sitting far across the room, cleaning her M16, making ready for tomorrow’s fight. She was certainly doing her part to right what she felt was a two-thousand-year-old wrong against her people.

“Thinking up more brilliant tactical moves to use against Khamsin, Ben?” Jerre asked in a soft voice.

was ‘Fraid not, kid. I’m about tacticaled out for this day.”

“Tacticaled? Is there such a word?”

“I don’t think so. Call it poetic

license.”

“What would you be doing right now, Ben, if the Great War had not occurred?”

Ben was thoughtful for a few seconds. “Probably getting drunk, listening to classical music.”

“Did you drink a lot back then, Ben?”

“I wasn’t an alcoholic, but I probably drank more than I should.”

“Why?”

“A question I often asked myself, Jerre. Back then.”

“And the answer, Ben … ?”

“I never came up with one that satisfied me.”

“There was no special lady in your life that day the bombs came?”

Ben shook his head. “No. I guess I spent a lot of years just waiting for the right one to come along, instead of

going out and looking for her.”

“And she never did come along.”

“Not back then, Jerre. Maybe we just better drop the subject before you think I’m leading you into or up to something.”

“I don’t think that. What were you looking for in a woman, Ben?”

“I’m not even sure. After I got snakebit-in a manner of speaking-more than a few times, I think I just resigned myself to the fact that I would live alone; that that would probably be best all the way around.”

“That’s a pretty dismal thought, Ben.”

“Yes, it is. But have you fared any better, Jerre?”

“You shoot from the hip, don’t you, Ben?” It was her turn to be thoughtful for a few seconds. “I guess I haven’t, Ben. But at least I can say I’ve been trying.”

“And have you succeeded in finding your ideal soul-mate?”

“Obviously not.” A touch of ice in her reply.

“Whatever happened to … what was his name?

Matt.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I heard he was killed.”

No reply.

“How many more after that?”

“And you’ve been chaste, I suppose?” she came back at him, a surprising amount of heat in her voice.

“Oh, hell, no! There have probably been more women in my life during the past five years than in all the time before Tri-States.”

“Which is symptomatic of… ?”

“Symptomatic? Hell, I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You’re lying, Ben.”

“That make you feel proud?”

“I didn’t do anything, Ben.”

“I never said you did.”

“This conversation is going around in circles.”

“As always.”

“Good night, Ben.” She stood up and walked over to

her bedroll.

Ben picked up his M14 and walked outside. As usual, they were so close, yet worlds apart. He rolled a cigarette and blew smoke to the cold breeze.

“Everything all right, General?” a sentry asked, passing by.

Ben smiled despite his tangled inner feelings.

“Better than nothing, I suppose.”

Ben, very quietly and with prior notice, moved his troops up three blocks several hours before dawn, knowing it was a risky move that could well backfire on them all. Just before dawn, Khamsin ordered the Rebel lines shelled.

Khamsin’s light artillery hammered away for over an hour, and then he ordered his troops to advance.

The Libyan troops walked a half a block and came face-to-face with hard-eyed Rebels, who turned the cold morning into a steamy bloodbath. The slaughter took less than ten minutes; then the Rebels were fading back toward the south, moving like white-shrouded ghosts, leaving behind them an area bloodstained and littered with the bodies of the Hot Wind’s troops.

Sister Voleta, Monte, and Ashley sat over in New Jersey and monitored radio traffic.

Ben was not using translators except for the most important communications.

“Brilliant,” Ashley said. “I hate the bastard, but I have to concede his daring in warfare.”

Monte didn’t know what in the hell Ashley was talking about.

Sister Voleta remained, for the most part, silent.

She still had not been able to figure out where Ben Raines was going once he got off the island of Manhattan. But she knew one thing: Ben Raines was slaughtering the Libyan’s troops, almost as if he were playing with them.

She thought of something, rejecting it almost as soon as it popped into her head. Not even Ben Raines would try something that stupid.

Or would he?

No, she concluded, throwing the idea onto her mental junkpile.

“I hate to bring this up,” Ashley said. “But we only have food for about two more weeks. After that, we’re going to have to start rationing or do a lot of hunting. We have a lot of mouths to feed.”

“It will be over on the island in about a week,”

Sister Voleta predicted. “There is no way that Khamsin can hold out any longer than that.”

“I agree with that,” Monte said. “He must have lost a full quarter of his people in the last twenty-four, thirty-six hours.”

“I disagree,” Ashley objected. “The battles will go on much longer than a week.”

Sister Voleta looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Khamsin has learned a hard lesson. From now on, there will be no more head-to-head confrontations.

At least not from Khamsin’s side. I think Khamsin will be forced to resort to guerrilla tactics. If he can pull it off. He

knows, now, that Ben outguns him. He’ll have sense enough to see-I hope-that Ben has deliberately set up clearly defined fronts, and that if Khamsin continues his present method of fighting, Ben will slowly but surely pound him into the concrete.”

Sister Voleta grunted.

“You pretty brilliant yourself,” Monte said.

“I knew I done right in makin” you second in command.”

Ashley glowed under the warm light of verbal praise. Even coming from a near-cretin like Monte.

“But Khamsin cannot hope to defeat Ben Raines using guerrilla warfare,” Voleta said. “The Rebels are masters at that.”

“He knows it,” Ashley replied. “But he’s willing to die in order to kill Ben.”

Siter Voleta rose and walked out of the room.

Ashley’s eyes followed the woman. “And so is she,

Monte. Remember that. She’s a fanatic. We must be careful not to let ourselves be sucked into a death trap.” “Whatever you say, Ashley. You’re runnin’ the show, partner.”

Khamsin looked at the reports from his commanders and winced at the totals.

A full twenty-five percent of his army had been destroyed. Estimates were that less than twenty of the Rebels had died; maybe that many more were wounded.

And they were trapped on this miserable island.

Trapped, except for the bridges at the south end, which, Khamsin concluded, Ben Raines intended to use as his escape route.

He studied a map of the city and felt hopelessness settle in the pit of his stomach. There was no way he could get sappers down that far without being detected. And what was the point of blowing those bridges? That would seal his own fate as well as Raines’s.

But wasn’t that what he wanted? Hadn’t he made his boast that Ben Raines would die even if he had to die along with him?

Yes, if that was the only way. Yes. He would willingly die. “If Allah wills it,” he muttered. “Allah be praised.”

“What’s the word from Khamsin’s lines?” Ben asked Chuck.

“Forward teams report nothing, sir. No movement of any kind.”

“He’s probably had it for today. Now I have to put myself in his boots and try to figure out what I’d do.”

Ben had shifted his battle lines once again, moving them all down to 155th Street. For the remainder of that day, he had his people booby-trapping the ground floors of buildings and laying claymores in alleys. Ben was giving Khamsin a half a dozen blocks, but they would be

very dangerous blocks, and with each explosion, the morale of the Hot Wind’s troops would sag.

And after that? Ben thought. What would Khamsin do? still have him outgunned with artillery; I have heavier tanks. So putting myself in his boots, what would I do?

Hit and run. Guerrilla warfare. Sure. The man was trained as a terrorist.

“Chuck?” Ben called across the room. The young man looked up. “Alert all units to be heads up for sneak attacks; hit-and-run guerrilla warfare.”

“Yes, sir.” He glanced up at the door, then took his radio and went outside; he could always say it was for better reception.

Ben noticed and turned his head, meeting the level gaze of Jerre. “So it’s getting down to your type of warfare, huh, Ben?”

“That’s what the Rebels are famous for, Jerre. If that’s what Khamsin wants, we’ll sure oblige him.”

“The others might not realize it, Ben, but I know you’ve been taking a lot of chances. Not just you personally, but with the others. Why?”

“I want this over with, Jerre. I want to get the hell off this island and back to Base Camp One and just rest for a time. I’m not a young buck anymore.”

“You’re not that old, Ben.”

“Thanks. But calendars don’t lie.”

“Mind if I tag along back to Louisiana with you?”

“What would be the point? It wouldn’t change anything.

Nothing at all.”

“Giving up on me, Ben?”

“Yes. I am.”

“That’s not like you.”

“Comes a time, Jerre, when a man, or woman, has to say it’s over. With us, it never got started.

And it never will.”

“And we can’t be friends?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“This sounds an awful lot like goodbye.”

“I guess it is, Jerre. I’ve got a war to run, and we took a lot more wounded than I’ve let on. Chase needs some

help-desperately. You can either volunteer, or I’ll order you down.”

“At least I can get a hot bath down there. When do you want me to leave?”

“I can have Cooper run you down there now.”

“Suits the shit out of me, Ben.” There was enough ice in her tone to freeze a side of beef.

“See you around, kid.”

She turned her back to him and left without another word.

Beth and Jersey and Cooper gave him the cold shoulder the rest of that day. Chuck didn’t know what the hell was going on, so he was bewildered by it all.

“It’s not you, Chuck,” Ben assured him.

“Relax. My team is a little miffed at me.”

“About Miss Hunter?”

“Yes. You’re very astute.”

“I know what that means, General. And I’m not.

Hell, sir, the whole camp knows about you and Jerre. But you got to do what you think is right for the both of you. And I reckon you done it.”

Ben smiled, then laughed. “Yes, Chuck, I reckon Idid.”

Ben went to bed early that night. There were no booming explosions during the night to awaken him, so he reasoned that Khamsin had not yet begun his move south.

He dressed and stepped out of the CP long before dawn, walking across the snow-covered street to Dan’s billet. There had been no more snowfall, but it was bitterly cold, his boots crunching on the frozen snow.

He saw faint candlelight in Dan’s quarters and knocked on the door. “Up, Dan?”

“Come on in, General. I was just brewing some tea.

Would you like some?”

“Yes, I would.” Ben sat down. “I gather there were no surprises last night.”

“Not a peep out of them. And our Tall Eyes reports nothing is moving over in New Jersey.”

“They’re waiting for the outcome of this. Then they’ll move.” Ben accepted a cup of tea and sipped.

“Have you opened your breakfast packet yet?”

“I’m afraid to.”

“Well,” Ben sighed, digging in his pocket. “No time like the present, I suppose.”

Dan grimaced as Ben opened the packet. “What in the world is that stuff?”

“It’s guaranteed to be highly

nutritious and as good for you as mother’s milk.”

Dan opened his food packet, took a small bite of whatever the inert lump was, and grimaced.

“I have a small bottle of hot sauce I would be happy to share.”

“Thank you. Where is it?”

After breakfast, Dan asked, “What’s up for today, General?”

“We pull back. Khamsin will think we’re closing with our people south of us.”

Dan looked at the man in the dim, flickering candlelight. He saw the smile on Ben’s face and knew there was more to come.

“I’m going to order Ike’s unit to start the pull-out to Brooklyn.”

Dan waited.

“And not to be furtive about it. I want Khamsin to come busting down here after us. I want to see what those over in New Jersey will do, and I want to end this damn war and get off the island. It’s like a big, ugly, festering boil, Dan. Let’s bring it to a head.”

Dan looked at his crumpled-up food packet.

“The sooner we do, the sooner we can stop dining on this totally unpalatable goop.”

“That in itself is a good enough reason.”

Before the grayness of dawn touched the eastern skies, Ben was on the radio to Ike. Until Ike could pack it up and get moving, the transmissions would be scrambled.

“You know the drill, Ike. Get moving and get things

ready to receive on the docks.”

“Ten-four, Ben. Shark out.”

Ben stood up. “Let’s take a ride, people.”

They drove through the predawn light to Chase’s hospital without seeing a single living thing or having a shot fired at them.

“Eerie,” Jersey muttered. “It’s like we’re on another planet.”

“Two more generations would have had to seek life on another planet if the Great War had not come when it did,” Ben said.

Cooper cut his eyes. “Why, sir?”

“The Greenhouse Effect, Coop. This planet was in serious trouble. We were deliberately destroying it because of man’s greed and stupidity. Some scientists predicted that by the year Twenty-one Hundred, the Earth would have been almost uninhabitable.

So the war did some good after all.”

“Smoke and other crap from cars and trucks and factories was causing it, right, General?” Jersey asked from the backseat.

“That’s right. That’s why in a few years, Base Camp One will be a model town, using solar energy to heat-among other things-and very nearly pollution-free. If the government had thrown its time and money toward solar power instead of wasting billions of dollars on nuclear power …

well, hell, it’s a moot point now. But we’ll do it, people. We’ll rebuild out of the ashes; hell, we are rebuilding! We just have to keep plugging…

and fighting.”

In the hospital, Ben located Chase and dropped the news on him.

“Get everyone ready to ride, Lamar. You’ll be going across with Ike; probably late this afternoon.

I’m ordering flybys of JFK Airport to check for creepies. But I’m pretty well convinced they’ve bugged out. I’ll have people clearing a few thousand feet; just enough for our birds to get in and out so you and the badly wounded can be flown back to Base Camp One.”

“The wounded can go,” the doctor told him. “I’m staying.”

“I won’t argue with you, Lamar. You want to stay, fine. Just start packing up and get ready to move out quickly.” He smiled at the man. “I’ll see you over in Brooklyn, Lamar.”

“Watch your butt, Ben. I’m tired of picking lead out of you.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll do that.”

Ben saw Jerre in the hall as he was leaving. They stared at each other for a moment; then she turned her back to him without speaking.

“When this is over,” Ben muttered, “I think I’ll look up Emil and we’ll get drunk.

We do have at least one thing in common.”

“Sir?” Jersey asked.

“Nothing, Jersey. Just muttering to myself. Let’s go see Ike.”

Ike wasn’t wasting any time. His sector was packing up and clearing out fast. As Ike’s people left, Cecil and his bunch were swinging over from the park to link up with Striganov’s team, who were also spreading out to cover the gap left by Ike’s leaving.

“Put the wounded in the middle of your column, Ike. They’ll meet you at the Manhattan Bridge this afternoon. Assign part of your people to clearing a runway at JFK so the wounded can be flown back to Base Camp One. You know what else has to be done. You’re going to run into a few creepies over there. But predictions are not many of them are left. Of course,” Ben added dryly, “we’ve all said that before-about two dozen times.”

“Who goes next, Ben?”

“Cecil, probably. Although he’ll bitch and fuss about that.”

The two old friends shook hands. “I’ll have everything set up for you, Ben.” He looked hard at the man. “Who is gonna be the last to leave the island?”

“Me, Ike. You knew that without asking.”

“I was hopin’ you’d change your mind. Any further intell on Gene Savie and his bunch?”

“Dribs and drabs. None of it good. I still haven’t made up my mind about that bunch.

Probably won’t until the last minute.

Hell, I might go see them now. Luck to you, Ike.”

Ben turned and walked away. He paused and looked back. “Keep an eye on Jerre for me, Ike.”

Ike nodded. “Will do, Ben.”

“Where to, General?” Cooper asked.

“To see Gene Savie and his bunch. Might as well bring it all to a head.”

Buddy and his team and Tina and her team followed the Blazer. Ben stared down a pasty-faced member of Savie’s survivors. “Get Gene out here.

Now.”

The Rebels had spread out in a half circle around Ben as Gene crunched through the snow, walking up to Ben.

“You wanted to see me, General Raines.”

“Not really. But it’s time for some truth, Savie.

How deep in cahoots were you with the Night People?”

“Why … not at all, General.”

“You’re a goddamned liar, Savie! There is no way you could have survived as long as you did without striking some kind of deal with them.”

Savie tried to meet Ben’s steady gaze, but his eyes kept sliding to one side or the other. “They forced us to work with them,” he finally said, his tone about as believable as a dentist who says that this isn’t going to hurt a bit.

“You’re slime, Savie. Pure slime. You and the rest of your scum turned your backs to the horror, for years. You’re just as bad as the creepies.”

Ben’s hand lashed out and slapped the man across the face. “Look at me when I talk to you, you son of a bitch!”

A thin trickle of blood leaked out of Savie’s mouth. He made no effort to raise the weapon he carried in his hand.

“Stay out of my way until this is over, Savie,” Ben warned him. “As a matter of fact, stay out of everybody’s way. Some Rebel just might take it into his or her head to kill you!”

Ben turned around and walked off, leaving a badly shaken Gene Savie staring at his back. Savie slowly looked around him, looking at the hard eyes of the Rebels. “They forced us to do it,” he repeated.

“You don’t know what it was like here. You don’t!”

One of the Rebels moved the muzzle of his M16.

“You better carry your ass, Savie. “Cause there isn’t a one of us that wouldn’t have rather died than work with the creepies. They’d have had to hunt us down like a wounded animal and kill us, one by one. Now get on out of here, you slimy bastard! Just lookin” at you makes me want to puke. Move!”

When Savie had walked away, toward his apartment building, a Rebel asked, “Do you reckon General Raines is gonna take them with us?”

He got a quick glance and a hard smile.

“Don’t bet on it. I got me a hunch the general is gonna leave them on the island.”

Ben drove over to Colonel West’s position and briefed the man on his encounter with Savie.

West spat on the snow. “We don’t need them out there,” he said, jerking his head to indicate anywhere outside the confines of Manhattan Island.

“I don’t intend to take them with us.”

West’s smile was very diin. “I didn’t think you would.”

“You and your people and Tina and her teams follow Cecil and Buddy out of here when the time comes. Rebet and Danjou will go next, then Striganov, with Emil and Thermopolis. I’ll come out last with Dan.”

“When do you figure the total bug-out will take place?”

“Another three-four days. Maybe five. It all depends on how well Khamsin takes the bait. I want him in the center of the city before we push the button.”

“And Savie and his people?”

“After we take the kids from them, I don’t care where they’ll be.”

“Ahh! Not only have I discovered that you are a hopeless romantic, but that you also have a soft spot in your heart for kids and animals, Ben.”

“Guilty on all counts, West. Dan will round them up

just before we bug out.”

Ben drove over to speak to Cecil. “You go after Ike, Cec… .”

“Now, goddammit, Ben!”

“No arguments, Cec. I’ve got to have my second-in-command free and clear should anything happen to me. If I get caught up in the firestorm, you know what to do. Have you spoken with the Underground People?”

“Yes. They’re ready to leave. They say they plan to make their way to Colorado. I understand they have others like them living in caves out there.”

“To each his own,” Ben said. “They’re good people. All right, Cec. The fighting isn’t over yet. I’ll see you before the bug-out.”

Ben briefed the others on their role in the bug-out and then returned to his CP.

“Dan, you take a team and hit Savie’s apartment complex the morning of the bug-out. Grab the kids and take them over to Striganov’s sector. Buddy, you’ll leave with Cecil’s battalion. Dan and I will be the last to leave the city.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any word as yet on whether Khamsin has taken the bait we offered?”

“Tall Eyes report a few patrols have made their way into that sector,” Dan told him. “It’s a good thing we didn’t booby-trap the first few blocks.”

“What now, Father?” Buddy asked, the youth in him impatient.

Ben smiled. “We wait.”

Khamsin halted his recon teams a block before they would hit the booby-trapped buildings and alleyways. Then he began slowly moving up his main force, still several thousand strong, to join his forward patrols.

They spread out west to east, from river to river, and settled in for the night.

Tall Eyes reported this to Ben.

“Do we hit them, Father?” Buddy asked.

“Be patient, son. Why should we risk our lives when we have a hundred or so booby traps to do the killing for us? What’s the matter, boy? You got a girl back at Base Camp One?”

“I have girls wherever I go, Father,” the son replied, trying to look stern and very worldly.

Ben laughed at him and ruffled the young man’s hair.

“Typical Raines,” Dan remarked, saluting the pair with an uplifted empty teacup.

“General Ike pulling out, sir,” Chuck said.

“And he’s got his tanks snorting and clanking, going around in circles.”

“That’s what I wanted him to do. Surely Khamsin had sense enough to send some spotters up to the top floors of tall buildings.”

“I think the man’s hatred for you, and us, has clouded his mind,” Dan said. He lifted the lid on his teapot and inhaled the fragrance of the steeping tea. “Nothing finer

in all the world,” he said with a smile. “Now if I just had some decent biscuits to go with it.”

“We had biscuits for lunch,” Buddy told him.

“He means cookies,” Ben said.

“But he said biscuits.”

“Trust me.”

“Tea, gentlemen?” Dan smiled.

“I’ll pass,” Ben said. “Give me the radio, Chuck. Go have yourself a cup of tea.”

“I hate tea, sir.”

Dan looked offended. “The tastes of Americans never cease to amaze me.”

Ben lifted the mike. “Eagle to Shark on scramble.”

“Go, Eagle.”

“Any indications that Khamsin is watching or listening to all that racket?”

“I got to believe he is, Eagle. The man may be a little bit nuts, but I don’t believe he’s a fool.”

“All right, Ike. Safe journey.”

“Ten-four, Eagle. Shark out.”

Ben looked at Buddy. “Take a recon team up north, Buddy. Don’t mix it up with any of Khamsin’s people. I want reports, not blood.

Take off.”

“On my way.”

“You sure you won’t have a spot of tea?” Dan asked.

“I hate tea!” Chuck said. “Yuck!”

“A large contingent of Rebels leaving their sector, General,” a runner told Khamsin.

“Heading where?”

“East.”

“Brooklyn. It has to be. They’re heading across the river.” Khamsin was thoughtful for a moment. “But why? Why now? What is that filthy dog Raines pulling? He gave us half a dozen blocks. Why? We’ve encountered no traps. So why did he do it and what is he doing now?”

“Perhaps he is running away?” one of the general’s gofers suggested.

Khamsin frosted him silent with one long dark look. “Running away from what? Us? If he is running away, he’s doing it laughing, and not from fear.

Admit it, people. I have. He’s done nothing but toy with us. He has manipulated us with the ease of a puppet-master. We advance in the morning-very slowly, very carefully. Let’s see what Ben Raines is giving us… and why he gave us those blocks.”

Buddy was back at ten o’clock, reporting to Dan.

“Nothing moving up there. The streets are deserted.

But the troops of the Hot Wind are on an unusually high level of alert.”

“Which probably indicates they will make some sort of move come the dawn. Thanks, Buddy. Go get some rest. I’ll advise your father.”

Ben listened and said, “We’ll roll out an hour earlier, Dan, and move everybody south ten blocks, to a Hundred Forty-fifth Street.

Let’s give Khamsin all the room he

needs. Once he hits that booby-trapped area, he’ll slow down, probably for a day. That will give Ike more time to wrap things up in Brooklyn. I want Khamsin in the Central Park area before we make our final bug-out. There isn’t much in the way of lethal doses north of the park. Let him come on.”

“Going to be interesting when his men hit the booby-trapped areas.”

“Very interesting.”

Ben started pulling his people back several hours before dawn, moving them down to 145th Street. But even with this move, Khamsin was still fifty blocks away from the northernmost edge of Central Park.

By dawn, only Ben and Dan and one company of Rebels were still on the line, and they were all ready to bug out.

A shattering roar split the white calmness of early dawn, the explosion setting off half a dozen other booby traps nearby. Buildings collapsed, sending walls tumbling down onto the troops of the Hot Wind. Entire storefronts were blown out into the snow-covered streets, the bricks and tangled steel rods becoming as lethal as a hail of bullets, breaking bones, ripping flesh and smashing skulls.

“I do believe Khamsin’s men have reached the scene,” Dan observed, munching on a cracker.

“Right-o,” Ben said, with a smile, lifting his binoculars.

The powerful lenses brought the street of destruction leaping into his eyes. Huge clouds of dust were lifting into the air; small fires had been set by incendiary bombs. The flames began reaching out and igniting the dry wood of other buildings. Black smoke soon joined the dust clouds, spiraling up into the sky, to linger around the top floors of tall buildings.

“Stay out of the buildings!” Khamsin screamed his orders, understanding then why Ben Raines had so willingly given up so many blocks; but also knowing that the Rebels could not have booby-trapped all the buildings down to their lines.

Wherever the hell Ben Raines’s lines might be, Khamsin thought bitterly.

“Stay in the streets and out of the buildings and alleys,” Khamsin ordered, calming himself.

“Move through the next five blocks swiftly but carefully.”

“He’s put it together,” Ben said, lowering his field glasses. “All right, gang, let’s split and leave the field wide open for the bastards.”

Ben felt something wet touch and slide down his cheek. He looked up at the sky. Snowing again.

Marvelous. Anything to help make life miserable for the Blowhole and his mini-farts.

“What do you find so amusing, Father?” Buddy asked, looking at the smile on Ben’s face.

“The end to this damn war, son. It’s within our grasp.”

“Khamsin’s men moving closer, sir,” Dan pointed out. “I suggest we depart as hastily as possible.”

“In other words, Dan, you want us to carry our asses out of here?”

“Crudely put, but that sums it all up rather well, yes.”

“You’re deep in thought, General,” Beth said, breaking the silence in the makeshift office just off 145th Street.

“I’m about to make one of those semi-famous, so-called “command decisions,” Beth,” he said with a smile. “And if I’m wrong, I’ll be putting us in a bad spot.”

“If it’ll get us off this frozen isalnd, General,” Jersey said, “I’m for it.”

“It’ll put us one step closer, that’s for sure.

Chuck, get me General Jefferys on scramble.”

“Go, Eagle,” Cecil’s voice came through the speaker.

“Bug-out time, Cec. Right now. And make it noisy. I want Khamsin to regain some confidence.”

“Ben …”

“No bitching, Cec. Has to be. Pack it up and clear the island today. Eagle out.” He glanced up at Buddy. “Take off, boy. You’re leaving with him.”

“If that is your wish, Father.”

“It is.” He stood up and shook hands with his son.

“I’ll see you in a few days. Go say goodbye to your sister.”

Buddy quickly gathered his gear and was gone out the door, yelling for his team to pack it up.

“Chuck, advise the others of General Jefferys’s leaving. And tell Colonel West to be ready to bug out at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ben picked up his Ml4 and walked

outside, to stand for a moment on the sidewalk, the snow gently and silently falling around him.

Beth stepped outside to join him.

“We can’t wait much longer, Beth,” Ben told her. “We can’t let the bridges get to the point where they become impassable due to snow. Chuck!”

he yelled over his shoulder.

The young man appeared in the broken doorway.

“Advise the other commanders to fall back to Central Park as soon as Cecil has left his sector.

We’ll give Khamsin the upper part of Manhattan. Maybe that will get the lead out of his ass and put some steel into his backbone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll tell Coop to bring the Blazer around,”

Beth said.

The Rebels began falling back just as Cecil and his battalion were leaving their sector, heading for the bridge and Brooklyn. And they made no effort to hide their withdrawal from any unfriendly eyes that might be watching.

By dusk, all the Rebels had pulled back to Central Park and were bunkering themselves.

To the north, a thoroughly confused Khamsin was conferring with his field commanders.

“We’ve encountered no more booby-trapped buildings?”

“No, General. None.”

“No snipers, nothing?”

“No, General. Nothing to stand in our way.”

“Except this damnable snow,” Khamsin muttered.

“By all that is holy I do not know what Ben Raines is doing. That is not true. I know what

he is doing. I do not know