CHAPTER 12

“We’re under constant observation,” Tina told her platoon leaders and Emil and Thermopolis. “So don’t give away what we’re about to do with a lot of unnecessary packing and moving around. Let one person pack for half a dozen, and we won’t load the trucks until the last possible second.

Thermopolis, you stagger your VW’S between our trucks and tanks; same goes for you, Emil.

That’ll give you some protection.”

Both men nodded their heads.

“Tanks, APC’S, and self-propelled

artillery will crank up last. We’ll take Forty-six out of here, cut south on Liberty and drive right through the middle of the warlord’s people down to Highway Three, then cut west and dismount, throw up a line of defense along there. Buddy is waiting for us there. Any questions?”

No questions.

“OK. Nice and easy now, people. Let’s do it.”

They should have been detected. If Monte’s people were professionals, they would have been. But Monte’s lookouts were tired, and not accustomed to this type of warfare. They had noticed a little more activity

than usual through long lenses, but assumed the Rebels were just switching things around a bit. Had Ashley been alerted, he would have put it together immediately. But he was sleeping, and so was Monte, so they were left undisturbed.

Tina ordered a lot of equipment left behind, but it was nonessential equipment, and could be easily replaced. Since the vehicles were parked in and around the hangars, loading them was no problem.

Thermopolis winced as he cranked up his VW

Bug. “Why did I ever let that boy talk me into putting straight pipes on this damn thing?”

Rosebud laughed at him. “We’re still not going to be as loud as a tank.”

“There is that to consider.”

“Hey!” a lookout punched his buddy in the ribs, waking him. “Them fuckers is takin’ off!”

His buddy jumped up, looked through binoculars, and cussed. He grabbed for the mike switch just as the tanks and APC’S and SP artillery roared into life and lurched ahead, ramming through the fence and cutting onto 46.

Several of Monte’s people ran from their holes on the east side of Redneck and ran into a mine field. Bloody hunks of them were tossed into the air following the roaring explosions.

The big main battle tanks pointed the way for the strange convoy, with brightly painted VW Bugs and several stretch limos and one hearse mixed in. With their .50-caliber and 7.62 machine guns clattering and yammering, they cleared the way for the slower self-propelled artillery and mortar carriers.

To avoid being run over, one outlaw jumped onto the long hood of Emil’s hearse and held on, his ugly face pressed against the window shield. “Get off my hearse, you scourge of humanity!” Emil shrieked at him.

The outlaw cursed Emil. Emil leaned out his window and removed the man with one round from a single-action .44. “Redneck,” Emil muttered.

Another of Monte’s people tried to jerk open the passenger-side door of Thermopolis’s VW

Bug. Rosebud conked him on the noggin with a ball peen hammer. The deuce-and-a-half behind the Bug ran over the outlaw.

Screaming their fury, Ashley and Monte rallied their people and sent a contingent to cut off the escape route of the Rebels. They ran into Buddy’s company lying in wait at the Meadowlands Sports Complex.

Buddy and his company locked horns with the outlaws in close-quarter combat. And for the first time in their evil careers, the warlord’s men found themselves facing an adversary who asked no quarter and gave none. Ben Raines’s son did not take prisoners unless ordered to do so.

The outlaws were stronger in number, but not as well armed. And for years, the Rebels Buddy commanded had eaten well-balanced meals and received proper medical care; they understood discipline, and were fighting for a cause as a motivating force.

It was a slaughter, with not one outlaw left alive.

Buddy pointed out temporary mortar positions, and his crews quickly set up mortars and heavy machine guns on the east side of the complex and began raking the warlord’s men who were advancing toward Paterson.

Others under Monte’s and Ashley’s command tried to come down Highway 17 to flank Buddy and his people.

They had cleared the road of mines but had not checked alongside the highway. The Claymores began firing as Ham detonated them from his Hummer, spraying the advancing enemy vehicles with flesh-ripping and life-taking ball bearings. Cars and trucks and Jeeps, their drivers dead or badly wounded and confused, piled into one another, creating a monumental mess in the road, and blocking it, giving Tina and her people even more time to complete their bug-out.

The first vehicles in the convoy reached the sports complex and slid to a halt on the Berry River side, Rebels jumping out and setting up machine guns and mortars. Other Rebels raced to the top of the arena and set up their weapons positions there. From that height, they could also act as forward observers to call in range for the mortars and cannon.

Several of Tina’s Scouts had jumped out at the radio towers and laid charges. When the C-4

blew, the towers came down, blocking part of the highway interchange, adding more misery to Monte’s and Ashley’s already maddening and growing frustrations.

A few miles north of the complex, Rebet and Danjou were pulling their troops in closer, stretching them down south from Lodi and Bogota, preparing to close the pinchers if Tina was successful in pushing the warlord’s troops into the trap.

But Ashley wasn’t buying it. He’d been a student of Ben Raines for years and thought he knew the man better than anyone else alive. He hated Raines, but he also admired him for his cunning.

Ashley found Monte amid the chaos. “Raines is pulling more of his crap, Monte. Don’t fall for it. They’re trying to push us north. I’ll wager that’s where the Canadians are waiting for us. Let’s get the hell out of here and regroup over in Passaic.”

“You’re runnin’ the show,” Monte reminded him.

A few minutes later, from atop his vantage point at the sports complex, a Rebel radioed, “They ain’t taking the bait, Tina. They’re pulling out, heading west, toward the river.”

“Ten-four. You acknowledge that, Colonel?”

“Ten-four,” Colonel Rebet radioed. “I do not understand this game they are playing. This does not at all sound like Monte.”

“Monte isn’t running the show. We need to meet, Colonel.”

The Russian called out map coordinates, reversing them as they had agreed upon.

“That’s ten-four, Colonel. I’m rolling.” She turned it over to Ham and took fifty Rebels, heading toward the arranged meet with the Russian and the Canadian.

“You are very young and very pretty,” Colonel Re-bet said with a smile. “And as I have observed, very dangerous. Your father taught you well, Tina.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” She was introduced to Danjou, and noticed that both men wore wedding bands.

“I think, gentlemen, that if Monte were to stand and fight us, we could defeat him.”

“But of course,” the French Canadian agreed.

“That is something Stefan and I have discussed. “With your added battalion we could take them. But it’s obvious he has quite different thoughts on the matter.

You think this Colonel person is now in command?”

“That’s what my father believes, and so do I.” The Russian and Canadian nodded their heads in agreement, Danjou saying, “I believe that we must defeat Monte and get across the river to your father. I believe that this Colonel person is going to play cat and mouse with us, tying us up, so to speak, while General Raines and his forces are slowly chopped up by the Night P.” He glanced at the Russian.

Rebet picked it up. “From what we have been able to ascertain, there might be as many as fifty thousand, or more, of the Night People in the city. Your father is facing odds of perhaps thirty to one, or more. We must end this quickly and go to his aid.”

“Agreed.” Tina met their eyes. “But how?”

“They just may have unknowingly placed themselves in that box we’ve been trying to put them in,” Rebet said with a hard smile. “General Striganov is driving hard, rolling twenty hours, sleeping four. He is now one day away. He crossed the border several days ago, and will come up from the west. You have some artillery, we have some artillery, and my general is bringing more. We all have tanks and self-propelled howitzers capable of throwing chemical warheads.” Rebet hesitated, his eyes sad. “I suggested

this with reservations. General Striganov will agree only if General Raines agrees to it. But while we are waiting for them to make their decision, it would be my suggestion that we erect three sides of the box, leaving the west open.”

“I agree,” Danjou said.

“All right.” Tina sweetened the pot. “I’m for it. But let me ask this: why can’t we stand back and toss Willie Peter and HE into Monte’s position? I’m just afraid my father is going to nix the use of chemicals.”

“Personally I hope he does,” Rebet

replied.

“As do I,” Danjou said. “But that will be up to the generals.”

“All right, gentlemen, let’s start building that box.” Tina agreed to take the south side of Passaic, stretching her people along Highway 3, roughly from Nutley to the Upper Monclair golf links. Danjou would plant charges at the bridge over the Passaic at the junction of 3 and 21 and then stretch his people from that point up to the Passaic Avenue Bridge, and plant more charges there. The bridges would be blown when Striganov and his troops were in position. Rebet would take from Passaic Avenue and loop around to Elmwood Park. Striganov would plug up the last hole.

The men watched Tina as she left. “A very lovely lady,” the Russian observed.

“And like her father” Danjou said, “as dangerous as a cobra.”

“Hello, you old warrior!” Georgi

Striganov’s voice

boomed over the speaker.

“Georgi!” Ben took the mike. The two once-bitter adversaries greeted each other as brothers. “How’s the gout?”

“All cleared up. How’s your health?”

“Fit as a fiddle.”

“I have spoken with my people, Ben. My opinion is nyet!”

“Thank you for that, Georgi. That is mine, as well. We stay with conventional.”

“Da.”

“Well, you old warhoss, I wish you well and good hunting. I’m looking forward to seeing you soon.”

“The same to you, my brother. Farmer Brown out.”

“Eagle out,” Ben said with a laugh. Since leaving California, the Russian had been working a farm in Canada, living peacefully. He had remarried and was raising a family.

“Farmer Brown?” Rebet looked at Danjou.

“He could have taken Bear or Wolf or any of a half a dozen others. Farmer Brown?”

“He is mellowing as he ages,” Danjou told his friend. “And when you are not leading troops, Stefan … what is your vocation?” That was said with a smile.

The Russian laughed. “I am teaching world history in a high school. You are right, Major: we are all mellowing.”

The questions had been nagging at Ben since the Rebels’ arrival in New York City: What happened to the people over in New Jersey, over in Brooklyn and Queens, and up in the Bronx? And why had the Night People-all

of them-congregated in Manhattan? Why would they, why should they, all settle in the city, leaving the outlying areas?

Questions he could not answer. But they bothered him, and Ben did not know why they continually nagged at him.

And he did not understand why he occasionally experienced an uneasy sensation of impending doom.

What had he missed in his planning? There had to have been something; why else would he have these odd feelings?

But if there was something, he could not bring it to the forefront.

Something for granted leaped into his mind. He was taking something for granted.

But what was it? It had to be something of importance.

Something vital. But vital to what or whom?

He mulled it around in his mind until he gave himself a headache.

He looked up at a slight scraping sound in the doorway. Jerre stood there on crutches.

Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

Ben rubbed his aching temples with his fingertips.

“You feel bad, General?”

“Will you knock off the “General” business, Jerre? We’re not exactly strangers.”

“Protocol, and all that, General.”

Ben opened his mouth to cuss, then realized that would not help or solve a thing. “You’ve had radio training?”

Jerre nodded.

“Beth!” Ben roared. She stuck her head in the doorway. “Familiarize Miss Hunter with the radio and how we use translators. She can handle that from the office. Take some of the load off you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And bring me some aspirin, please.”

Jerre smiled at Beth. “I give him

headaches.”

Beth stared at her through dark brown eyes. “You like cows?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Come on.”

Out of Ben’s hearing, Jerre asked, “Cows, Beth?”

“I love a man very much. Lev. But I

don’t like cows. Lev raises cows. What is there about General Raines that you don’t like?”

Jerre’s eyes turned frosty. “I believe you were going to go over the equipment with me?”

“Right. But I think I could learn to put up with the cows.”

“Anytime you’re through babbling …”

“So I tried with Lev. At least I did that.

Come on, I won’t bring it up again.”

Ben caught Jersey making a terrible face and sticking her tongue out at Jerre’s back as she and Beth disappeared into the next room. “Let’s all try to get along, Jersey,” he said softly.

The little bodyguard looked up at him and smiled.

“We gonna be stuck with her for the duration, sir?”

“As soon as she’s well, she’ll be sent back to line duty with Tina.”

“So I’ll pray for a speedy recovery.”

Ben laughed and his headache disappeared. He returned to his desk and the reports. Ike and West and Cec’s people were holding their own-even gaining a little ground. A few blocks, but that was something.

Cecil was still in the hospital. Striganov would be in position in a few hours.

Everything looked good. But again, that odd sensation of impending doom settled its cloak of darkness around Ben. He did his best to shake it off.

They would settle Monte’s hash once and for all, and then, as a combined force, start effectively dealing with the Night P.

Ben looked at his watch. It wouldn’t be long now.

He leaned back in his chair and waited for Georgi to start raining down destruction on Monte’s army.