328 “Will you ever rejoin the Union, General?”

“No. Not as long as one Rebel is alive and can pick up a gun and fight. We’ll fight to the last person and we shall never surrender.”

“Hard words, General.”

“Hard times, my friend.”

Even though Blanton had certainly appointed some real squirrels to rather high positions in his newly formed government, somehow he had managed to get some good people in among the kooks and flakes and banana cream pies. His Secretary of Defense, Dick Penny, was one of them. Dick managed to gain an audience with Blanton, after having to run a gauntlet of what appeared to be teenybop-pers staffing the new White House. He stopped by a young man who was standing in the hall, snapping his fingers, his eyes glazed. There was an earplug in one ear.

“Pardon me,” Dick said. “Are you Secret Service?” He had to repeat the question three times.

“No, man,” he was told. “I’m the assistant communications director. I’m on my break. I’m just groovin’. Everything is out of sight. Don’t get uptight. It ain’t cool to fight. It’s right at night. You know what I mean?”

Dick stared at the young man for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry I asked. Excuse me.” He walked on. He stopped by the Secret Service guard in front of the doors to the Oval Office. He recognized this man from the old days. “Don, is that hollow head down the hall representative of what’s going on around here?”

329 “I’m afraid so, Mister Penny. You couldn’t get me reassigned, could you? Like maybe to Guam. That would be wonderful.”

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you. Go right in. But be ready for anything. Big Mama just left and they had a fight. She threw a vase at him.”

“Did she hit him?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Pity,” Dick muttered and walked in. The president was standing by the window, looking out at the first snowfall of the season.

Blanton turned to face the man. His face was grim. “Dick, what would you say if I told you I was considering declaring war on Ben Raines and his breakaway states?”

Dick Penny sat down. Quickly. He felt faint. Lightheaded. He stared at the president for a moment while he recovered. “Mister President, with all due respect, sir, I think that would be one of the dumbest goddamn things you have ever considered.” And you have a history of doing some extremely stupid things, he added silently.

“Thank you for your candor, Dick. But I think I will declare war on the Southern United States of America. Just …” He waved a hand. “Wipe them out. Boom. Bang. Kablooy.”

“Ka … blooy?”

“Right. Drop a big bomb on them. Blow them all up. Pow!”

“We don’t have a bomb that big, sir.”

“Well … hell! Build one!”

“A bomb big enough to blow up eleven states without doing damage to us?” Dick shouted.

330 “That’s impossible. Sir, Ben Raines has nuclear capability. You try something like this and he’ll put a guided missile right up your nose!”

Blanton sat down. “You really think he’d do that?”

“Hell, yes, I think he’d do it. He told you he would. Ben Raines doesn’t bluff.”

“Then we’ll use conventional weapons and infantry to wipe them out down there.”

Dick longed for a good stiff drink. But he knew Big Mama didn’t approve of alcohol. Somehow, he had to get the facts of life through to Blanton. “Homer, listen to me. Our latest intel shows that Ben Raines has over twenty battalions of the most skilled fighting men and women on the face of the earth. He has ten other battalions held in reserve. And his battalions in no way resemble our conventional battalions. Every person that swore allegiance to the SUSA is a soldier. Approximately half a million men and women. All armed. Heavily. All trained. Extensively. All the equipment we have we had to build from scratch because Ben Raines and his Rebels stole every goddamn tank and plane and gun and truck and ship and boat in this entire nation. He has an Air Force. We don’t. He has a Navy. We don’t. He has a Coast Guard. We don’t. Everything we have is poised to fight off the war with General Revere … which we know is coming this spring. And you want to pick a fight with Ben Raines and the Rebels, who have never been defeated? Homer, have you lost your damn mind?”

“Bad idea, huh, Dick?”

“Terrible.”

“Well, it was just a thought.”

331 “Don’t think it again. Ever!”

After taking his leave from the pres, Dick slowly walked down the long hallway, thinking: is the man losing it? Has the strain finally gotten to him? Or was that just frustration talking back there? Perhaps a combination of both, Dick concluded. Although he admitted that Blanton’s seeming lack of basic common sense scared him at times.

He passed by the young man in the hall, who was still grooving, popping his fingers and his gum.

“Hang in there, dude,” Dick said.

“Yo, man,” the assistant communications director replied, his eyes still glazed from the impact of the music he had plugged into his ear. “Outta sight!”

Dick walked on. Too many young people working around here; with too many idealistic ideas. It’s going to end in tragedy unless Blanton comes to his senses and pulls in some older and calmer heads to advise him.

And it’s going to end in tragedy a hell of a lot quicker if he ever declares war on Ben Raines.

He stood for a moment at the front entrance and looked past the wrought-iron fence at the crowds of people, all of them protesting about one thing or the other. Food, jobs, housing, medical aid, lack of heat. Dick shook his head in disbelief. There were coal trains loaded with thousands of tons of coal still stuck on railroad tracks, the coal there for the taking, and these yoyos were too goddamn lazy to go get it. There were thousands of long-abandoned homes all over the nation and these people were too goddamn lazy to occupy them and fix them up from the millions of board feet of lumber lying about, theirs for the taking. During the years of

332 hiding after the Great War, Dick and his family had planted huge gardens, he and his wife and children home-canning the vegetables for consumption later. Why in the hell didn’t these protesters do the same?

“We want money, We want money, We want money!” came the chant.

“Money?” Dick muttered. “From what? The nation is flat broke.”

He chose to exit out the back way. Same thing. Protesters all over the damn place.

“We can clear you a way through, Mister Secretary,” a Marine guard told him.

“Thank you,” Dick said, his voice just audible over the angry chanting and shouting and cursing from the rapidly growing, unruly mob.

“Rabble,” Dick muttered.

“Beg your pardon, sir?” the Marine asked.

“Oh … nothing. Just talking to myself. It’s a bad habit of mine.”

“I do the same thing,” the Marine admitted.

Dick managed to get his ten year old car started and work his way through the demanding mob. They pounded on the hood and screamed obscenities at him.

“It isn’t worth it,” Dick said aloud, once clear of the mob. “It just by God isn’t worth it.”

He drove to his home in the suburbs and told his wife to pack up and get the kids. They were leaving.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To the Southern United States of America. I want to see if Ben Raines has a job for a middle-aged ex-government employee.”

333 The Rebels never stopped working during the unusually harsh and long winter that fell upon the nation. Road-building and heavy construction came to a virtual halt, but everything else continued, in many cases, around the clock. Ben knew fully well that Revere was going to launch a springtime offensive against Blanton, and he knew, with a warrior’s senses, that Blanton’s forces were going to be defeated. It was only logical to assume that once the other thirty-eight states were in the control of Revere, the SUSA would be next. And that would be the mother of all battles.

And Ben had made up his mind on another matter: this time, he would not come to the aid of Blanton. If Blanton and his people sought asylum inside the SUSA, that would be granted. But the Rebels were staying out of the fight … unless Blanton agreed to recognize the SUSA as a separate and sovereign nation.

Ben had ordered many of the bridges and overpasses leading into the SUSA blown, and blockaded many of the secondary highways, thereby cutting

334 down the routes any enemy could use getting into the new nation.

Cecil had welcomed Dick Penny and family, and immediately put him to work in the SUSA’s fledgling state department, naming the man Secretary of State.

Dick had never met Ben Raines, but during the first few seconds of their first meeting, he realized why the man had been able to accomplish so much. Ben Raines exuded power and confidence. His very presence filled a room. And Dick Penny also sensed, quite correctly, that Ben was a very dangerous man.

But Ben was smiles and handshakes on that first, all important meeting … for a few seconds. Then he waved Dick to a chair and got right down to business.

“Is Blanton going to make war on us, Dick?”

“He very much would like to, General,” Dick leveled with him. “But I think I talked him out of it.”

“It’s going to be a moot point later on this spring, anyway,” Ben said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Because Nick Stafford is going to roll right over him. The man who goes by the name of General Revere.”

“Yes. You … we … are not going to back President Blanton?”

“No,” Ben said firmly. “Not the committing of troops. Not unless he recognizes us as a legal and separate nation.”

“He’s not a bad person, General.”

“Oh, I know that. He’s fairly likeable … for a liberal democrat. Hanrahan, Lightheart… they’re all right. But I’m not going to commit my people to aid a political party whose views I am diametri—

335 cally opposed to.” He shook his head. “Not a second time. Not unless my conditions are met.”

Cecil had warned Secretary Penny of Ben’s decision, and the man offered no argument on the subject. He was well aware that Ben Raines had offered to sign a defense pact with Blanton-in return for Blanton recognizing the SUSA as a separate nation-and that Blanton had tossed it right back in his face. Another incredibly stupid act on the man’s part.

“You and your wife and family getting settled in, Dick?” Ben asked, and Dick knew then the matter of Blanton’s fate was indeed closed.

“Oh, yes. Thank you. But we’re all having somewhat of a difficult time adjusting to the land of peace and plenty after what we’ve been living in for years. Both of us still go from door to door before retiring for the evening, to see if they are locked.”

“It’s a hard habit to break, and you’re not alone. A lot of people still lock their doors at night.”

“Do you, General?”

Ben smiled. “No. But I have several dogs and they’ve very good at alerting me. And,” he sighed, “my area is patrolled quite heavily at all times.”

“That’s the price of fame, General,” Dick said.

Ben laughed and stood up. “No, Dick. That’s the price one pays for having two or three million people wanting to kill you.”

Winter began loosening its icy grip on the nation and Blanton’s military leaders braced for General Revere’s assault. All winter long Revere had been positioning his troops and tanks and artillery and

336 Blanton’s generals had watched with an increasing feeling of doom. There was no way their smaller and inexperienced army was going to stop Revere and his hard core of mercenaries. The best they could hope for was a delaying tactic, during which time Homer Blanton and staff could be spirited off to safety.

“No!” Blanton said, most emphatically. “I will not ask for asylum in the SUSA. That is absolutely, positively out of the question. I will not go groveling to Ben Raines. Besides, the SUSA does not officially exist. I do not recognize that breakaway nation.”

“Homer,” one of his top people said, struggling to keep his temper in check. “I know it’s difficult for you, but will you stop being such an asshole.” That got Blanton’s attention. “This Revere/Stafford person will not attack the SUSA. Not until they deal with us. And they will. The Rebels are just too strong a force. You’ve got to be a big enough man to put pride and stubbornness aside and think about the good of the country.”

“Asshole?” Blanton whispered. “You think I’m an asshole, Willie?”

“At times, yes.”

“I could not bear the thought of living under a dictatorship,” VP Hooter said.

“Horseshit!” Senator Hanrahan spoke up. “What do you think we held the American people under for years before the Great War?”

“It was not a dictatorship, Senator,” Homer said.

“The hell it wasn’t. We taxed them to the breaking point to pay for programs the majority didn’t want, and when they objected and finally spoke up about it, refusing to pay more than what they felt

337 was their fair share, we seized their possessions and/or put them in prison. During your administration-and I accept my part of the blame for it-the dictatorial powers of the IRS bankrupted and made homeless untold thousands of decent, hardworking American citizens. You issued orders-and the congress went along with it-to spy on the people, bug their phones and personal computers, stifle freedom of speech, and you stuffed unwanted programs and legislation down their throats, and in effect told the majority of American citizens that if they didn’t like it, that was just too goddamn bad. And you have the audacity to sit there and proclaim that you didn’t run your own petty and oftentimes petulant little dictatorship. I say again: horseshit!”

“What’s changed you so, Senator,” the president asked. “What’s happened to you?”

“I’m an old man, Homer. A worn-out old liberal who is tired of dodging the growing number of potholes in a political road that we should have abandoned several decades ago. I’m not saying that Ben Raines is one hundred percent correct. No political philosophy ever is. Ours certainly wasn’t, and if you haven’t seen that by now-and you obviously haven’t-then I feel sorry for you.” He stood up and walked to the door of the room. “I’m leaving, Homer. And I’m taking several of your key staff people and senators and representatives with me. We’re going down to join Ben Raines. And if you have the sense God gave a goose, you’ll do the same. Goodbye, Homer.”

Senator Hanrahan opened the door, walked out, and did not look back.

“We’ll fight the mongrel hordes descending

338 upon us!” Rita Rivers bellowed, jumping up and marching around the room, hollering at the top of her voice. She sang a verse of “God Bless America.” In rap. Kate Smith was probably spinning in her grave.

“Oh, no!” Blush Lightheart said, covering his ears.

“Right on, sister!” VP Hooter hollered, jumping up to march around the room.

“Wait a minute, Senator Hanrahan!” Blush hollered. “I’m coming with you.” He ran out of the room.

“We’ll fight them and defeat them!” Rita squalled. “Damn filthy honky republicans. The democratic liberal way is the only right and true and just way. Power to the people. Together we’ll carry the banner of liberalism into battle and be victorious over the nasty, filthy republican right. Our slogan will be a chicken in every pot.”

The President of the United States took his hands from over his ears and looked at the woman. He sighed and said, “Oh … fuck you, Rita!”

“Now?” she asked.

Cecil walked into Ben’s office. Ben was doing paperwork and he was frowning. He hated any and all types of paperwork. Cecil was wearing a smile that a charge of C-4 would not have been able to remove. Ben looked up at his old friend. “Want to tell me the joke, Cec?”

“We won, Ben?”

“Won what?”

He held up a paper. “Blanton has agreed to sign

339 treaties with us. He will officially recognize the SUSA as a separate and sovereign nation.”

Ben took the paper and put on his reading glasses, quickly scanning the document. He sighed and removed his glasses, laying the paper aside. “It’s a desperation move, Cec. You know that. He wants us to fight his wars for him. That’s all this amounts to. He’s a goddamn liberal democrat. He’ll never keep his word after the smoke clears.”

“I beg to differ, sir,” the voice came from the open doorway.

Ben looked up to see Hanrahan and Lightheart standing there. He smiled and stood up, shaking hands with the men. “Did you two bring this document?”

“Yes, we did, Ben,” Blush said. “And Blanton means every word of it. But there is more. He has agreed to give you total command of our army. The generals agreed to that. Once Revere is defeated, our two nations will exist side by side. We will sign a mutually agreed upon non-aggression pact and work out a free trade agreement. The United Nations is reconvening. They have agreed to the recognition of the SUSA as a separate nation. You’ve won, Ben. You’ve won.”

There was joy in the SUSA, but it was tempered with the knowledge that a hard battle lay between them and full acceptance as a nation. Many Rebels would die. But freedom has never come cheaply. Members of the Rebel Army reached for their weapons and made ready for war.

Cecil and his staff and Ben and his team flew

340 into Charleston, West Virginia and were escorted to the White House. Cecil and Homer shook hands warmly. Ben did not offer his hand to Homer Blanton and the President of the United States did not offer his hand to Ben Raines. The two men didn’t like each other, didn’t trust each other, and that was that.

Rita Rivers and VP Hooter glared daggers at Ben, and he pointedly ignored them.

Ben turned to the large group in the room and said, “I would like for President Jefferys and I to meet privately with President Blanton and VP Hooter.”

“Now see here!” Rita protested.

“Please, Ms. Rivers,” Blanton quieted her. “All of you. Leave the four of us alone.”

Blanton rang for coffee and when that was served and the door closed behind the aide, he looked at Ben. “It’s your call, General.”

“President Blanton,” Ben said, after taking a sip of coffee. “You and I will probably never get along. I think you sense that as strongly as I do. But I really feel that you, and Vice President Hooter, do not truly understand the philosophies of the Rebel government. There has been so much misinformation spread about us, that your confusion is understandable.”

Ben leaned forward. “I wanted Cecil to be the one to tell you these things, but he insisted that I do it. Perhaps in the hopes that you and I could become, if not friends, at least not enemies. I don’t know. But I’ll give this my best effort.

“President Blanton, much of what you and all the other liberals in government tried to do before

341 the Great War was admirable. Only a very callous or shortsighted fool would deny that. It was very impractical, but admirable. But you were trying, and will probably continue to try, to buck human nature. There will always be poor people, Mr. Blanton. That’s the way life is. In any land, on any continent. It has been that way since the beginning of time and will remain that way until God takes a hand and fulfills His promise to destroy the earth and all on it.

“There will be those who will work hard all their lives and never have anything to show for it. There will be hopelessness and despair, tragedy and misfortune, needless suffering of good decent people, and the most terrible and heinous of crimes committed against the weak. There will be winners and there will be losers.

“Mr. Blanton, we, as leaders, can only point people in the right direction, perhaps provide them with some incentive and material, and then turn them loose and hope for the best. We cannot be all things to all people, all the time. Not at the expense of others who can ill afford to foot the bills.

“When people take away from society more than they give, in the form of criminal acts, and do it time and time again, I see no point in keeping those people alive. Not at taxpayer expense. This time around we didn’t kill them. I just ran them out and handed them to you.”

“I know,” Blanton said, very drily.

Cecil had to duck his head to hide his smile at that.

“Now. Mr. Blanton, what you do with those types of people is your problem. You and the rest of the

342 old hanky-stomping, weepy, take-a-punk-to-lunch, soft-line liberal party helped create them, so you can have them. If they come back into the SUSA with anything else on their minds than obeying the law and working hard and respecting the rights of others, we’ll bury them.

“Mr. Blanton, I’m telling you all this not to chastise, but to warn you, to urge you, that if you don’t adopt some domestic policy very similar to ours, your emerging nation is not going to make it. You see and hear all those protesters outside this office? Why aren’t they out working on a home to live in? Gathering up free coal or cutting wood or gathering up scraps of wood to burn? There are millions of head of cattle just running loose all across this nation. They belong to no one. Why don’t they go gather up some and start a small ranch and farm? There are literally billions of chickens running loose, laying eggs all over the place. There is no reason for any of those people out there to be hungry. But they’re waiting on the government-your government-to do it for them.

“Now there are old people out there who do need help, and they genuinely deserve that help, because you and all the other politicians sure as hell tore the taxes out of them for many, many years. There are very young people and some disabled people in that crowd. They, too, do deserve government help. And you don’t need forty-seven house and senate committees to do that. And the rest of those people, Mr. Blanton-they’re losers. They’ve been losers all their lives and they’ll die losers. They think nothing is ever their fault. It’s always the fault of someone else. The boss didn’t like them, he or

343 she picked on them. They didn’t get promoted because of this, that, or the other reason. But never was it their fault. And if they do find work, they will do just enough to get by. Never more than their share.

“I feel sorry for you, Mr. Blanton, because we’ve handed you the dregs of society. We’ve handed you the whiners, complainers, the chronic whip-lash and bad-backers. We’ve handed you the slackers and the dullards and the underachievers. Those are some of the types of people who are attracted to your form of government. The other type is the high-idealed, idealistic, and out of touch with reality person. They’re the smart ones. They have lots of book sense but not nearly enough common sense. They’re the ones who will form your staff and make up your house and senate. They will write your speeches and pass the legislation and implement all the glorious and totally unworkable social programs that will lead your government right back to the way it was when you first took office, a decade ago. And you know where that led.

“So, Mister President, here we are. The Eagle and the Dove. The nation that I helped create is going to fly. We’re going to soar. We’re already so far ahead of your nation that you’ll never catch up, not unless you start to copy our ways. And I urge you to do that.”

Ben stood up and looked at Homer Blanton. “That’s what I came to say, sir. You and Cecil work out all the formalities between our two countries. But you’ll have to excuse me; I have a war to fight.”

“My war, you mean,” Blanton words were softly offered.

344 Ben nodded his head and walked to the door. There, he turned around. “That’s about the size of it, Homer.”