CHAPTER 11

Dan argued, but to no avail.

Ben listened, smiled, and continued gathering his gear.

“You’ll be in charge of this sector, Dan. Make no further advances until you hear from me. I don’t know whether Monte’s people are inside Manhattan, waiting to spring a trap, or over in New Jersey and have Tina and her bunch pinned down.

You’ll be the first to know if the latter is the case.”

“Yes, sir,” the Englishman said, resignation in his tone. He knew to argue further would be pointless.

“Of course I shall notify Ike and Cecil.”

“You will whether I want you to or not.”

“Q.”

“My team ready?”

“Already over on Staten Island, waiting for you.”

Ben crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and picked up 278. Ike was standing by the side of the road, at the intersection of 278 and Prospect Expressway, waving frantically for Ben to stop.

Ben returned the wave, smiled, and barreled on past him. He laughed as he watched Ike jerk off his beret and throw it to the ground. The stocky ex-Seal began jumping up and down in frustration.

But he didn’t try to make radio contact with Ben. He had left his translator behind him in his dash to intercept Ben.

Dan had prevailed in one area: he had convinced Ben to leave his Jeep and take a Chevy Blazer.

Ben had to admit it was more comfortable and secure.

Ben had already told his people to split at the loop; Ben would take Shore Parkway, and they’d rejoin at the bridge.

There was no sign of Tina. The Rebels guarding the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge told him that Tina’s plan had been to cut off at Richmond Avenue and take the expressway down to 440. From there she’d pick up 287.

Ben thanked her and drove on, his speed now cut back due to the Abrams tanks that had joined the column from the main depot on the island.

As they crossed over into New Jersey, Ben broke radio silence for the first time. “Heads up, people. Moving into bogie country.” He told Cooper to reduce speed and then rolled down his window, trying to catch the sounds of gunfire. He could hear nothing. Again, he lifted the mike.

“Point report.”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Close to five hundred meters and maintain distance, Point.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked around to the rear seat. Beth was listening to a walkie-talkie, the short antenna stuck out the window. “Got them, sir!” she shouted. “Eagle to Scout, Eagle to Scout, come in.”

Tina cut her eyes to Ham and grinned. “Dad’s on

his way. You owe me a million dollars.”

“Pay you the first bank we come to,” Ham said, grinning.

Tina turned her head, meeting the eyes of Jerre.

“You know of course, that both our butts are gonna be in a sling when Dad gets here?”

“I told you it was foolish taking me along.”

Tina lifted her walkie-talkie. “Scout to Eagle. We’re pinned down off the interstate.

Interstate blocked at Ten. Take highway Twenty-two. We’re pinned down south

side of highway. Large force. Maybe four to five hundred, we guesstimate.”

Beth relayed that information to Ben. “Ask them how secure is their position?”

“They’re fighting inside an old farm complex, General,” Beth said. “Stone fences. They’re secure unless the enemy has mortars or tries a mass attack.”

Ben lifted his mike. “You monitoring all this, Point?”

“Ten-four, General.”

“We’re pulling over and holding. Check it out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Only a few moments passed before the point team radioed back. “Scout team is completely surrounded, General. A few ridges, then flat ground where they’re trapped. The fire is heavy, so I doubt the bogies will hear our tanks coming in.

You’re still about five miles from battle site.”

“Ten-four. Hold what you have and prepare coordinates for shelling.” Ben walked back to the tanks. “Move them up to here,” he pointed to a map. “And get ready for sustained shelling.”

The tank commanders nodded and clanked their Abrams forward. The 105mm M-68 guns were

effective up to about 3300 meters.

“Eagle to Scout,” Ben radioed.

“Come in, Eagle,” Tina told him.

“Moving Abrams up. We’ll fire short and then you call them in, kid.”

“Ten-four, Pops.”

Ben again lifted the mike. “We’re moving out, people.

Doing it slow and going in cold. Bear this in mind: these bogies are aligned with the Night P. They’re the ones kidnapping human beings for the feeding and breeding farms. That should tell you all you need to know about them.

No quarter, no pity, no prisoners. Move out.”

A few minutes edged by as the short column inched their way up the road. They could all now clearly hear the sounds of battle. By now the tanks would be in position.

Ben ordered his column halted behind the positioned tanks and dismounted his people. He ran up a slight ridge, Beth and Jersey and Cooper with him, and knelt down.

Ben pointed out various spots in the terrain.

“Cooper, I want machine guns in those three places. The rest of the personnel spread out between.

So advise the squad leaders. Move!”

Cooper ran down the ridge. Ben lifted his field glasses and studied his daughter’s situation.

“Not too bad,” he commented. “Could be a hell of a lot worse.”

“Tank commanders report they are ready to fire for range, sir,” Beth relayed.

Ben looked at the machine gunners, rushing to get in place. “Tell the tanks one minute then fire for range. Tina will act as FO.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Beth?”

“Sir?”

“Tell them not to blow up my kid, will you?”

“Yes, sir!” she grinned.

The seconds ticked past. Ben knew his gunners well; had watched them train many times, and knew the almost pinpoint accuracy of them. Their “fire for range” shots would probably land extremely close to the line of bogies.

The 105’s roared and both shells landed just behind the line of dug-in troops. Tina called in corrections and the 105’s began pounding. The warlord’s troops tried to use mortars. But the light mortars they had did not have the range to reach the tanks or the machine gunners.

“Why hadn’t they used those mortars before?” Beth questioned.

“They were trying to take my people prisoner,” Ben growled. “To give to the damn night creepies.

Now I’m gettin’ mad!” To Beth: “Tell Tina to keep her head down. We’re coming in. And cancel my orders about prisoners. I want to talk to some of those outlaws.”

Ben lifted his own walkie-talkie. “Get that Big Thumper humping, damn it!”

The Big Thumper was a 40mm grenade-launching machine gun, a heavy sucker weighing almost a hundred pounds when ground-employed with tripod.

But its kill radius was almost one hundred percent in a ten-yard area, and its rate of fire was awesome.

“Big Thumper in position on the west side of Tina’s location, sir!” Ben was informed.

“Get it humping, son.”

“Yes, sir!”

The 40mm began adding its noise to the crash of the 105’s and the heavy chugging of the .50’s.

“Some of them trying to run, General!” Jersey called.

“Order the snipers to try for leg shots, Beth,” Ben told her. “Tell the Abrams to cease firing 105’s. All troops up on the line and let’s see if the outlaws want to slug it out.”

They didn’t.

Most of them, dazed and disoriented from the heavy pounding, seemed too confused to really understand what had happened to them. Most had never been under attack from any heavily armed and disciplined force of troops; they were accustomed to attacking small settlements of people who, strangely enough-but not to Ben’s mind-still operated against an enemy with some degree of civility and compassion.

Ben Raines was not burdened with any such illusions.

Never had been.

“Thumper cease firing. Fifties cease firing.”

Ben lifted his walkie-talkie. “Over the walls, Tina. We’re coming in from both sides and down the middle. Go, people, go!”

Ben squatted on the ridge, looking through field glasses, watching the short and very deadly battle unfold before him. Tina’s Scouts, already extremely irritated at being ambushed and pinned down like a bunch of amateurs, came over the stone walls growling, eager to mix it up hand to hand.

To the east of the farm complex, Ben could see that several of his people had already rounded up about a dozen of the bogies and had them lying facedown on the ground.

He turned to Beth.

“Radio Katzman, in Yiddish, to have a psychological interrogation team readied.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, sir?” Jersey said.

Ben picked up on a strange note in her voice. “Yes, Jersey?”

“Miss Hunter’s down there.”

Ben leaned against a stone fence, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette-he allowed himself about four or five a day-and listening to his daughter’s report.

“The way I see it, Dad, they must have intercepted some radio communications, and that gave them the time to get in place and dig in so effectively.”

“Why is Jerre here?”

“After considering that possibility, I don’t feel so badly about getting hit. I do feel bad about losing two people and having several more out with wounds.”

“Why is Jerre here?”

“Did you bring equipment to resupply us or will we have to return to the depot?”

“Why is Jerre here, Tina?”

“Do you have replacements for us with you, Dad?”

“Tina, why is Jerre here?”

“If we could take off now, we could easily get way to hell and gone up the road, Dad.”

“Damn it, girl, will you kindly answer my question!”

Tina shifted from one boot to another.

“Do you have to go to the bathroom, Tina?”

“No, I don’t have to go to the bathroom!” she fired back. “Jerre is here because she isn’t a coward like Dan would have you think.”

“Dan never said she was a coward, Tina. And I don’t think she is, either. But you know as well as I that we have many people within the Rebel ranks who could not and would not shoot an unarmed person. But they are not front-line combat troops.” He frowned. “I don’t like her,” I just love her, “but I don’t think Jerre is a coward.”

Tina blinked. “Now, what the hell does that mean, Dad? You’re in

love

with her!”

“I may be. But that doesn’t mean I have to like her.

Which I don’t. She’s a con artist.”

Tina’s mouth dropped open as she stared at her father.

“And you’re not?”

“I beg your pardon, girl!”

“You have four thousand people fighting and willing to die for you, Dad. You’ve got no telling how many thousands of people out there,” she waved her hand toward the war-torn vastness of America, “who

worship

you! Many of them think you’re a god!

Granted, Dad, you use people for, or toward, a much more noble cause, or objective, than she. But that’s just semantics.”

Ben grunted. “Are you quite through lecturing me, Tina?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I was afraid of that.”

The other Rebels were staying far away from the father and daughter by the fence.

Tina stuck a finger in Ben’s face. Ben drew back, startled at the move. “And let me tell you something else,

General:

you’ve got your butt up in the air because you’ve been carrying a torch around for years, and the only reason you’re angry is because she doesn’t share your feelings!”

“Bullshit!”

“Well, then … what is it?”

“It’s, ah … none of your business. That’s what it is.”

“Personally, Dad, I like Jerre.”

“That is your prerogative.”

“And I’ll call for a review board if I have to; but she stays in my team.”

Ben stared hard at her, then slowly nodded his head.

“Tina, putting my feelings aside, listen to me: OK, you can keep her in your team. But don’t lean too heavily on her. There are people in this world who wish,

and there are people who

do—

you talk with her and then make up your own mind as to which category Jerre falls into.”

“But you’d take her even though you think she’s a quitter, wouldn’t you, Dad?”

Ben walked away from the fence, toward his Blazer.

He passed Jerre. He stopped and walked back to her. “Tina believes in you, Jerre. But I know you. You get my daughter killed, and I’ll track you through Hell to personally cut your throat.

Believe it, kid.”

“Any word from the interrogation teams?” Ben asked.

“Too soon, General,” he was told. “Be a few more hours at best.”

“Keep me informed.” Ben walked to his Blazer and told Cooper to take him to the new lines. Since they now knew that Monte’s detachment was not in the city (most of them were dead, stiffening and bloating in New Jersey), Ben, on the way back from the rescue mission, had ordered the search-and-destroy operations to resume.

The Rebels, on the south end, had now cleared everything up to Liberty Street. Colonel West’s people had pushed in from the shoreline, and the Colonel was now looking at and contemplating the enormity of clearing the Chase Manhattan Bank Building: sixty-five stories aboveground and five stories belowground. It was the belowground area that he knew was going to be grim. They were going to have to pump it full of tear gas and shoot the bastards as they made a run for it.

All in all, West mentally summed it up, it was not going to be a pleasant operation.

And he and his men sighed with relief when Ben told them it could damn well wait until tomorrow.

“Stand down,” Ben told his people, just a few moments before the first lines of darkness began streaking the city, signaling the approach of night. He returned to his CP, now moved up several blocks on Broadway, and sat down behind his desk.

So far, their push up Manhattan had not been terribly spectacular. They had advanced about 1500 meters.

Only about 25,000 meters to go, and that was just counting one way: north. The island broadened out the farther up they went, until reaching its widest point, about 5,000 meters, just a few blocks from where the Rebels now clung precariously to their tiny few blocks.

Five thousand meters didn’t sound like much to anyone who had never stood in the middle of Manhattan.

To those who had, the immenseness of it was awesome.

Sighing, he poured a cup of coffee and then remembered that he’d forgotten to ask Jerre about Ian. The simpleminded jerk. There was no way he could get clear of Manhattan. All the escape routes were carefully guarded. Of course, Ben mused, he might find a boat and row across the Hudson or the East River; but Ben doubted that.

He picked up the files on Ian and

Jerre and scanned them quickly. Ian had just made it through Scout training. Very marginal. Jerre, on the other hand, had done quite well. That really didn’t surprise Ben, for he knew she could do just about anything she set her mind to. Sticking to it was another matter.

He tossed the files to his desk. Jerre was Tina’s problem now. Ian could go to hell.

Ian would pop up again, scared and hungry. If he didn’t, then it would have to be assumed the Night People had grabbed him.

Jersey and Beth entered his office, with three mess trays of hot food. Jersey plopped one down on Ben’s desk. Ben looked at it. He could recognize potatoes and green beans and a piece of pie. He did not know what the meat might be.

He asked Jersey.

“I don’t know, General. It’s some sort of processed stuff the lab came up with.”

“It’s not too bad if you put lots of hot sauce on it,” Beth said. “Kills the taste.”

Ben picked up his fork and looked at the gravy-covered inert slab of whatever on his tray.

“Pass the hot sauce, please.”