CHAPTER 18

The old prop-job cargo planes began landing at Teterboro Airport at noon the next day, most of them carrying a very deadly cargo, a couple of them carrying winter boots for the Rebels.

The cargo was offloaded onto trucks and transported to an old chemical plant some miles away, to the south, where the process of dilution would be carried out.

On the morning Ben was informed the Night People were booby-trapping buildings, he had told most of his people to take a rest. It was time for the explosives”

crews to go to work.

Ben stood on the south side of Canal, facing SoHo and Little Italy. “We don’t blow the art galleries or the museums in SoHo, people.

I’m just hoping to God that something is left to salvage.”

“SoHo is a funny name for a community, General,” Jersey said.

“It’s a shortened version for South of Houston Street, Jersey.”

“How can you keep all those facts in your head, General?” a young Rebel asked him.

Ben laughed and showed him a tourist guide of NYC. “I just read it in here, son.” He pointed to an uncleared building across the street. “Toss a couple of concussion grenades in that one, people. Let’s see what happens.”

What happened was the entire ground-level floor erupted in a wall of roaring debris that would have knocked Ben and his party flat on their butts had not Ben ordered them all in an alley and down on their bellies.

“Are you people all right?” Ben yelled to the two Rebels who had chunked the grenades. He had seen them dash to the front of the buildings next to the one being tested.

“We’re OK!” came the shout.

“Looks like everything was directed forward.”

“The nasty buggers also know what they’re doing when it comes to explosives,” Dan observed, getting to his boots.

“Unfortunately for us” Ben agreed. “But unless we’re awfully lucky, concussion grenades are not going to break a beam, and since the crawlers seem to know what they’re doing, they’ll have the explosives rigged so that a simple concussion won’t set them off. Back to square one.”

Ben squatted in the alley, staring at the devastated building across the snowy and debris-littered street.

He studied a map intently for a moment, then abruptly stood up and turned to Beth. “Bump Katzman. Tell him I said to order all APC’S and tanks to

immediately begin grouping at the intersections of Canal and Bowery and Canal and the Avenue of the Americas.

We’re jumping ahead, bypassing everything that lies between Canal and Washington Square. That also includes everything east and west, from the East River to the Hudson. With any kind of luck, that should move us past the booby-trap zone. Let’s go! Strike hard and fast. Move!”

Ben was off and running to his Blazer before anyone else could move.

As soon as Beth had finished relaying the order, she and Jersey were right behind Ben. Cooper was already behind the wheel.

Dan lifted his walkie-talkie, hesitated, then keyed the handy-talker. “The Eagle is preparing to lead the newly ordered push. Cover him as best you can.” He switched to his Scout frequency.

“All Scouts. Supplies and ammo for a week and gather around me at the main CP. I want it done fifteen minutes ago. Move!”

Dan was off and running, slipping and sliding in the snow and uttering some decidedly ungentlemanly oaths, most of which were directed toward the Night P.

A few were directed at the audacity of one Ben Raines. The Blazer, unless it took a direct rocket hit, was practically a rolling fort-Dan had seen to that. The doors and roof were steel-reinforced and the glass was bulletproof. It was just that generals did not lead wild charges into enemy territory. It just … well, wasn’t done!

With the exception of Ben Raines.

He was always doing something that was totally unexpected and thoroughly irritating to those who cared about the man’s safety. Which was, without exception, every member of the Rebel army.

When he got to the main CP, Ben was throwing gear into the back of the Blazer.

Dan lifted his walkie-talkie. “Lead tanks out. Good luck, gang.”

Ben turned. “I didn’t OK the sending of tanks yet, Dan.”

“No, you didn’t. I did.” Dan stood his ground. “Somebody has to take the initiative in protecting the general’s ass-begging the general’s pardon, of course.”

Ben laughed at him and closed the rear of the Blazer.

“Are you going to sit back here and sip tea, Dan?

I’m gone.”

Ben got into the Blazer and pointed his finger. “Go!”

He gave the order to Cooper.

The Blazer moved out, leaving Dan shouting orders for his people to get the lead out of their butts and get moving.

As Cooper turned north off Canal, onto Bowery, two Abrams cut in front of him, two APC’S pulling in behind him. The tank commander spoke into his headset, Ben watching his lips move.

“Got you now!” Ike’s voice came through the speaker in the Blazer.

It had come as no surprise to Ben. He lifted the mike. “What’s your twenty, Shark?”

“Sittin’ on ready at Canal and Avenue of the Americas.”

“Cec?”

“He lost the toss. He’s rear guard.”

“You’re in command, Cec,” Ben radioed. “Hang tough and watch for a possible swing-around from the creepies.”

“Ten-four, Eagle. Good luck.”

Ben lifted his eyes. The tank commander had twisted and was looking at him. Ben pointed a finger up Bowery. The Abrams lurched forward, the tank commanders closing the hatches and buttoning up.

“Go!” Ben issued the orders and the columns, widely separated by a dozen city blocks, moved into unknown territory.

“I joined the Rebels because I didn’t want to get married and raise cows,” Beth said. “What the hell do I know about cows? Except that you’re always stepping in the mess they leave behind. Katzman promised me a nice safe job in communications.

Now here I am riding into boggie country with a good chance of getting my butt shot. You can’t trust anybody nowadays.”

Ben turned and grinned at her. “Where is your sense of adventure, Beth?”

“Back with Lev and those damned cows!”

“Where is back there?” Jersey asked.

“Illinois.”

The 105’s on the Abrams began pounding, putting an end to conversation. Hatches popped open and gunners began working the 7.62 machine guns. The 12.7mm gun on each tank joined in. It took about one minutes to clear both sides of the block; but it

left the area smoking and ruined, with bits and pieces of night crawlers all over the place.

The column moved on, slowly. A black-robed figure ran into the littered street, his clothing on fire. Maddened by the pain, the creepie leveled his AK at an Abrams. The 55-ton tank ran over him, the huge tread grinding him into the street.

A grenade sailed down from a rooftop. It bounced off a tank and exploded harmlessly in the street.

The gunners in the APC’S behind the Blazer opened up with machine-gun fire as the column moved out of that block and crossed Grand Street.

The street change had put them right on the edge of Little Italy, but those were not friendly Italians waving pizzas at them from the windows and the rooftops and the alleyways.

Ben’s move had caught the creepies completely by surprise; whatever they had been expecting, this certainly was not it.

Ben grabbed up his mike. “Button everything down and ram on through!”

Ike heard the order. “It’s hell over here, partner!” he radioed. “The bastards are crawling and slithering out of the woodwork.”

“Ram on through, Ike. This proves that they didn’t get far with their booby-trapping. I think we’re clear of it now. West? You monitoring this?”

“Ten-four, General.”

“What’s your twenty?”

“Coming right down the middle of Houston. We’ll intersect in a couple of minutes if you don’t get stuck in traffic.”

“Ten-four, West. Ike, what’s your twenty?”

Tm parallel to you, Ben. Coming up to Broome Street.”

Ben heard a thump coming through the speaker. “Did you take a hit, Ike?”

“Naw,” Ike drawled. “We ran over one of the creepies. He’s hangin’ on the hood,

squallin’ at me. Jesus, he’s ugly. Wait a minute.”

Ike didn’t even take his thumb off the mike key. Ben heard the sound of a shot. Ike came back on.

“He’s off now. We gonna set up north or south of Washington Square Park?”

“Just north of it. We’ll clear out the NYU

complex first thing.”

“Ten-four. Shark clear.”

The Night People began hurling grenades from the rooftops. The tanks were impervious to the grenades, but Ben’s Blazer was rocked with each explosion from the mini-bombs. The sounds of shrapnel slamming into the sides of the four-wheel drive was nerve-racking, if not terribly life-threatening.

It was not a particularly enjoyable few moments for anybody. Ben noticed Jersey had crossed herself and her lips were moving in silent prayer. Beth had her eyes closed. He looked at Cooper to see if his eyes were open. They were.

Then they were free of the deadly hail. They had crossed Kenmare and were picking up speed, roaring up Bowery.

“Colonel West and his bunch just up

ahead, General,” one of the tank commanders radioed back.

“Is he tank-reinforced?”

“Ten four, sir. Dusters.”

“West? This is Eagle. Take the point and clear it out for us.”

“My pleasure, sir,” West’s calm voice came over the speaker.

The 40-mm twin guns of the old Dusters were time-proven; the only problem was carrying enough ammo, for at a max of 240 rounds per minute, with both barrels going, the Dusters could spit out a lot of grief.

And heading up Bowery, toward the split where Bowery ends and branches off into Third Avenue, the 40mm cannons dealt some misery to the creepies.

The Dusters were running in a Wolf pack, three abreast, the middle tank slightly ahead of the flankers. A lot of modification had been done to these old tanks, first introduced as the M-19.

Fifty-caliber machine guns had been mounted on some, with cannibalized gunshields from other models. Some Dusters had twin-mounted M-60’s-whatever the crews were happiest with.

The column, now grown in size, angled off onto Fourth Avenue. Ben picked up the mike.

“West, take your people on north and cut over on East Eighth. Start working south from there. I’ll cut over on Broadway now and come up under you on West Third. Good hunting.”

“Thank you, General. Take care of yourself.”

“Ike? You cut east at Waverly Place.

That’ll put you and your people right on top of Washington Square Park. See you shortly.”

“Ten-four,” Ike drawled.

“Dan? Where are you?”

“Right behind you, sir.”

“Dan, when I cut off on Third, you continue on to Washington Place and start securing that area.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s do it, gang.”

As the Rebels’ objectives became known to the Night People through their monitoring of the transmissions, the creepies tried to move into place, to get into better defensive positions. But Ben and his people were moving too fast, their advance too sudden, and the crawlers were caught with their pants down-or their robes up. Whatever.

The Abrams swung onto Third, with Ben right behind them. Ben had been busy hooking grenades onto his battle harness. He looked up as a library came into view. “Right here, Cooper,” he ordered.

Ben bailed out of the Blazer before it even stopped moving, Beth and Jersey scrambling out and running to catch him, as Ben’s squad of bodyguards were hard pressed to keep up.

Creepies met the Rebels on the steps. Ben cleared the first row of them with one sustained burst from his Thompson. The big .45-caliber slugs

slammed through dirty robes and tore into filthy human flesh, knocking the crawlers backward and to either side. The steps became slippery from the blood of the creepies. One stared up at Beth through hate-filled eyes and tried to grab her ankle.

She shot him between the eyes, ending, among other things, the hate.

“Cows have nicer eyes,” she muttered, then followed Ben and Jersey inside the library.

The place was a wreck. Rat-chewed books and magazines littered the floor, ankle-deep. And black-robed spookies were all over the place, stinking it up, profaning the knowledge and entertainment between the covers of the thousands of books.

Ben ducked behind a counter just as one bogie leveled his AK and sent half a clip in Ben’s direction. The slugs tore holes in the counter and blew dusty, rat-shitted papers flying.

Jersey stopped that bogie with a burst of .223

slugs, then turned her weapon to a group of black-robes that came charging and squalling at her from a hallway. Beth dropped to one knee and added another full auto to Jersey’s. Together, they turned the hallway into a death trap for smelly people, sending blood and other parts of human bodies splattering all over the place.

Ben had dropped an empty drum, refitted a full one, and was busy ruining the day for any number of creepies.

A squad of Gray’s Scouts had battled their way through the rear of the huge red sandstone building-which at one time had housed over two million books-and now the Night People who remained alive in the library had but two choices: surrender or die.

They chose the latter.

And did it en masse.

The air filled with the stink of creepies and the sharp smell of gunsmoke as the Rebels closed the jaws of the trap and cleared yet another tiny part of the Big Apple.

Ben stood in the ankle-deep mess and shook his head in disgust and despair at the wanton waste of so many valuable works of the masters. But the clean-up and the inventory would have to come later.

He fitted a full drum into the belly of the Thompson and jacked in a round. “Let’s go, people.

We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

With Beth and Jersey and Cooper, he stepped outside and breathed deeply of the cold air, clearing his lungs of the stink of the Night P. Together, they stood for a moment, just outside the front door of the library. They could all hear the sounds of fierce fighting as other Rebels struck blows for freedom from fear and cannibalism and ignorance. A crawlie moaned from inside the library. A single shot put an abrupt end to the moaning.

“All those books in there,” Jersey said.

“Destroyed. It doesn’t make any sense.

What kind of people do things like that?”

“Ignorant people, Jersey” Ben told her.

“Ignorant people are very fearful of knowledge. Books are the light at the end of the dark tunnel of ignorance. People who are ignorant want to keep others the same way. Ignorant people have no power or influence over those who wish to climb out of the pits of stupidity. Ignorant people want only to destroy.

Erudite and curious-minded people want to learn more and more. People who stop learning, stagnate. Wherever we go, Jersey, we try to leave it a better place.”

“We’ve got a hell of a job ahead of us in this city, General,” Beth said.

Ben smiled at her. “Then I guess we’d better get to it.