“Has he been searched?”

“All the way, Sam.”

“He’s clean?”

“Right.”

“You guys leave us alone. I wanna talk to Rich.”

Sam and the boy were alone. Rich refused to meet Sam’s knowing eyes.”

“Get naked, boy,” Sam told him.

Rich stripped and stood before Sam. He had a slight erection.

“I thought so,” Sam said. He unzipped his trousers and exposed himself. “You ever seen a cock this big?”

Rich shook his head.

“Come here, boy. You give me some good head.

And then you and me are goin” to have a little chat. Aren’t we, Rich?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come here, boy. Let’s get to know each other.” Chapter Twenty-seven

Ben called a halt to it at five o’clock. His Rebels had the IPF on the run, and it was a near rout.

Ike and his people had advanced more than sixty miles up Highway 101. With the IPF on the run, Ben’s forces had driven all the way through the wilderness area and linked up with Ike’s troops at what remained of a town called Cummings, about thirty miles from the coast. Cecil and his troops had begun the dangerous job of mopping up behind Ben. Dan Gray and his troops had driven down and retaken towns all the way down to Highway 36. His people had taken two of Striganov’s research centers.

“How do they look?” Ben had radioed.

“Disgusting. Sickening,” he was told. “What do you want done with the IPF medical people we captured?”

Ben’s first thought was to shoot them. Then he realized that they might best be kept alive. They were the ones who had done this to the humans they’d captured. He wanted to talk with them; see what kind

of people would do-whatever it was they had done-to another human being.

“Keep them alive,” he ordered. “I want to talk to them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do the … those experimented upon look like?”

“It’s … they’re babies, sir. The doctors told us they were perfecting a worker race. They aren’t human, but they aren’t animal, either. Sir, what are we going to do with them?”

“I don’t know, son. I just don’t know.”

“Sir?” Dan’s voice broke out of the speaker.

“Go ahead, Dan.”

“The woods-children tell me the underground people will take the … ah, babies. Care for them. Raise them.”

Ike sat looking at Ben and listening, sucking on a pipe stem. When Ben looked at him, Ike lifted his shoulders in a “don’t ask me” gesture.

“You’re a lot of help,” Ben good-naturedly bitched at him.

“Beg pardon, sir?” Dan spoke.

“Not you, Dan. Ike.”

“Oh, yes, quite. Fatso.”

Ike almost swallowed the pipe stem.

Ben signed off quickly.

Vasily Lvov had ordered the loading of those patients-so-called-and the babies from the two medical centers close to Striganov’s command post.

Then he went to see the general.

“It’s over now, Georgi,” the scientist said softly but bluntly.

“No,” Striganov said. “I shall defeat Ben Raines.”

“Sometime in the future, I am certain of that,” Lvov said. “But not now. Georgi, we only have two full battalions left us.”

Striganov looked at the doctor, inner pain visible in his pale eyes. “Two?”

“Two.”

“But I had eight full battalions, Vasily. And two in reserve.”

“Yes, I know. And it’s very doubtful Raines’s Rebels destroyed them all. But they are in a panic; a rout. When we get settled, they’ll join us. Just like before. Remember, Georgi?”

Striganov sighed. Yes, he thought. Just like before, when Ben Raines and his Rebels slapped us down to our knees. Goddamn the man!

God?

Then it came to General Georgi Striganov. My old friend was right. I am sick. Mentally sick. “Vasily?”

“Yes, General. I am here.”

“Where will we go?”

“Canada.”

“You’ve thought much on this.” It was not phrased as a question.

“Yes, General. I have that.”

“Vasily, is Ben Raines a god?”

“I … I don’t know, Georgi. I rather doubt it. But I can’t be sure. Do you believe in God, Georgi?”

“I … I think I might, Vasily. Some … form of higher power, at least.”

“Truth time, Georgi?”

“Of course.”

“I always have.”

“I’m sick, Vasily.”

“I know. But you’re not very sick. You’ve been under tremendous pressure. But you’re going to get well. We need you, Georgi. And I mean that. Not as a scientist; you don’t know beans concerning that area. But as a leader, we need you.”

Georgi managed a smile. “I suppose I have been a very large pain in the ass, haven’t I, Vasily?”

The doctor returned the smile. “At times, Georgi. At times.”

The two men enjoyed a rare moment of humor.

Vasily said, “I’m going to give you a shot, General. You will not remember the flight to Canada. It’s very doubtful you will remember very much for several days. I’m going to keep you sedated. You’re going to rest, you’re going to eat, and you’re not going to worry about anything. Do I have your permission, old friend?”

“Yes.” He stood up and rolled up his sleeve. “I’m ready anytime you are.”

Ben had been asleep for several hours when James shook his shoulder, waking him.

“Ben. Lots of planes taking off and leaving from the IPF HQ near the coast.”

Ben quickly dressed and stepped outside, walking to the makeshift radio room in a deserted motel. He picked up the mic. Dan was on the other end.

“Where are they heading, Dan?”

“North-northeast, General. All of them taking and maintaining the same heading. My lads at the border report the course is true.”

“And lassies,” Ben said with a smile.

“Ah, yes, sir. Must’n forget the ladies. Your orders, sir?”

“Go back to bed and get some sleep. We’re not going to do anything this night. Continue mopping up and advancing at first light. I’ve got a hunch Striganov is bugging out for Canada. Alberta or Saskatchewan. We’ll find out soon enough, I’ll bet. Thanks, Dan. And good night.”

“Good night, General.”

Ben stopped on his way back to his bed. He looked toward the north. “I wonder what that goddamned Hartline is up to?”

“Hello, baby,” Sam spoke around his grin. “My, aren’t you a little thing. What’s your name?”

“Lisa.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. We’re going to have fun, baby. Just you and me.”

She cut her eyes to Rich. There was a smirk on his face. “You told.”

He shrugged.

“Oh, don’t blame him, pretty baby. Rich just found something he liked better than pussy.”

“The others got away,” Lisa told Rich. “Kim figured it was you who tattled. They’ll get you, Rich. They’ll get you.”

“You wanna watch this, Rich?” Sam asked the boy.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Rich said.

“It isn’t Rich’s fault,” Ann said to the others. “He can’t stand any type of pain. And he is what he is because of his parents. I grew up with Rich. We were neighbors.”

“I’m not blaming him for what he is,” Kim said. “We have boys and girls like that among our group back in the safe territory. They fight right alongside the rest of us. Some of them have gone to their death silently. So could Rich. My hunch is he never had any pain put on him. He’s just weak all the way through. And I’ll tell you something else he is.”

The others waited.

Kim finished. “He’s dead!”

Colonel Khamsin had difficulty sleeping that night. Finally, in the hours just before dawn, he kicked off his thin covering and got up. His recon teams to the west had reported a large-scale battle yesterday. And now many planes had been taking off from the Russian’s location.

What did it mean? Was the Russian leaving? Had he been defeated? Or had Ben Raines been defeated?

It was so like Sam Hartline not to radio and inform him as to what was taking place.

When this was over and done, Khamsin felt the best thing he could do would be to kill Sam Hartline.

With that thought in mind, Colonel Khamsin returned to his bed and slept soundly.

Ben was not prepared for the sight that greeted him at the experiment station near Striganov’s offices.

He walked outside and vomited his lunch on the ground.

“Jesus God!” Ben said. “What kind of creatures are those in there?”

“A near-perfect worker breed,” one of the captured IPF doctors said.

Ben looked at him.

“And if you people had not come meddling along with your high and mighty-and ill-thought-out, I might add-ideals of races being equal, we would have succeeded in perfecting the breed.”

Ben resisted an impulse to shoot the bastard where he stood.

“Why were these few left behind?” Ben asked.

“They probably didn’t have room for them.”

“Where did Striganov go?”

“I do not know, General Raines. But if I may make an educated guess? … Thank you. I would suggest Canada.”

“Alberta, Saskatchewan?”

“Probably. It would be a fertile area where crops would grow. General Striganov has admitted on more than one occasion that this area was wrong; that he made a mistake coming here.”

“Listen to me, whatever your name is …”

“My name is-was

“Shut your mouth!”

The Russian’s mouth clamped shut. Tightly. He wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to in such a crude manner. He was a scientist, not some grunting soldier. But he decided he’d best kept those thoughts to himself.

This Ben Raines was a savage-looking man. Such mean eyes!

“How many women left here are pregnant with these … things?”

“I’ll have to examine them, sir.”

“Fine. Good. You do that. And then you will abort them. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And goddamn you, they’d better all survive. Do you understand that?”

“Sir! As a doctor and scientist, I cannot give any guarantees as to-was

Ben slapped him, first open-palmed, then a savage backhand. The man fell to the ground, moaning and holding his busted and bleeding mouth.

“Bear this in mind, then, Doctor. For the rest of your life, and that might be very short, you are going to look after these unfortunate men and women you slimy bastards and bitches used as guinea pigs. So don’t screw up, Doctor. You can’t afford it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Move your ass!”

Hartline was oblivious to the girl’s pain-filled cries and the bleeding where he had ripped her with his savage attack.

He rose from the floor where he had taken her in a maddened lust, and looked down at her.

“You’ll see, baby,” he said. “It’ll get good to you after a time.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Tell me, Lisa, baby. You still think Ben Raines is a god?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

Sam picked up his belt from the dresser and began beating her nakedness.

Seated in a chair, Rich watched in wet-lipped fascination. “Hit her again, Sam!” he yelled. “Hit her harder!” Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

-

Rossiter W. Raymond Chapter Twenty-eight

Ben stood firm with his initial orders: no prisoners from among any IPF troops.

The order was really not necessary, for no IPF troops offered to surrender. Now Ben’s Rebels had the unenviable task of mopping up after the swift victory.

And any combat vet can tell you that mopping up can be pure hell.

And nothing was heard from Sam Hartline. It was as if the mercenary did not really give a damn what happened south of the Oregon border.

But Ben wasn’t buying that. He knew-felt, rather-than Hartline was up to something. Trouble was, Ben didn’t know what.

Ben wasn’t about to knock heads with Hartline … yet. Hartline’s mercenary army was just about as large as Ben’s force of Rebels. And they were well-rested and just as well-equipped as the Rebels.

So what were they waiting for? Why didn’t they strike and strike hard?

Ben didn’t know.

As Ben stood by the stone fence on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean, his thoughts

kept turning away from impending war to the sight of the raging ocean. Huge waves battered the coastline, smashing with a seemingly organized fury. Ben wondered what had caused such climatic changes in the Pacific; and where did all this fury originate?

Standing by the stone fence, it was impossible to carry on any type of normal conversation. So when Ike approached him, Ben stepped away from nature’s frenzy and walked with his friend to a spot where they could talk without having to scream at each other over the howling winds.

“That’s a hell of a sight back there, isn’t it, Ben?”

“Yes. And if it keeps up, that writer who predicted the fall of California is going to be correct. The coastline can’t take many more years of this.”

“The babies are gone, Ben,” Ike said quietly.

“When?”

“Early this morning. Wade and Ro each came to a center and asked that all personnel leave. When the personnel returned, the babies were gone. What do you reckon the underground people will do with them?”

“Raise them, I suppose, Ike.” And once again, the thought came to Ben that in a hundred years, the inhabitants of earth would surely be a sight to see. And he wondered if, at that time, it would be called the Ashes of Peace, or the Ashes of Silence?

He would like to view it.

“The areas clean, Ike?”

“Clean as a whistle. All the way from the Bay area to the Oregon line. If there are any pockets of IPF folks left, damned if we can find them.”

“Probably in the heavy timber. Hell with them,”

Ben said. “Any word from the girls I sent into Hartline’s territory?”

“The original three are okay. One of the kids they picked up got taken prisoner. By Hartline’s men.”

“A girl?”

“Yes. And a boy. The boy first. The girls think the boy betrayed them. They’re not leaving until they get the girl back and see the boy dead.”

Ben sighed. “How old was the girl taken?”

“Twelve, maybe thirteen. Cute kid, so Kim radioed back.”

“You can bet that Hartline has used her badly.”

“I’m sure.”

“Ben?”

Ben cut his eyes.

“Cecil just sent word that Sylvia is in cahoots with some IPA people. It’s firm.”

“I suspected as much. It’s the why of it that puzzles me.”

“Me, too. But I have no idea.”

“I’ll deal with her very shortly. Lora?”

“Learnin’ her ABC’S. Some of Doc Chase’s people took her in. Ben, you know she’s gonna go back with her own kind, don’t you?”

“Yes.” But the word came hard; Ben had grown terribly fond of the child.

“I damn near forgot what I came over here to tell you, Ben. The civilian leaders are here. You wanted to talk to them, remember?”

“Yes. Come on, walk with me. We’ll talk along the way.”

Walking along, Ben said, “We lucked out again, Ike.”

“I know. We’d have had a hell of a battle on our hands if the Russian hadn’t of flipped out. Or whatever happened to him.”

“We’re not going to be so lucky with Hartline. I feel that in my guts.”

“You ain’t alone. That plus all those bikers and warlords between us and Base Camp One.”

“We’re going to stay right here until we can figure out what Hartline has on his mind. I want our people rested and ready to go.” He smiled. “As soon as we can determine where we’re going, that is.”

Ben met with the civilian leaders in the warm open air of California summer. He was mildly surprised to see George Williams from Chico in attendance. The man looked fit, was dressed in decent clothing, and was standing a little taller than the last time Ben had seen him.

George shook hands with Ben, away from the others. “I guess you got to me, General Raines,” George admitted. “I don’t agree with all you say or stand for, but for a time, yours is the only way. I finally got that through my thick head.”

“Good to have you with us, George.”

Ben shook hands with the other George, from Red Bluff; Harris from Redding; Pete Ho from Ukiah; and John Dunning from Santa Rosa.

“We’ll be leaving this area in a short time,” Ben told the gathering. He watched their faces closely. No one seemed at all surprised by the announcement.

“By now you all know that General Striganov is gone. We have reason to believe he and what is left of his IPF went to Canada. It’s doubtful that he’ll return. But Sam Hartline is still very much around.

We’re going to deal with Sam in due time. But let me warn you all of a new danger. Colonel Khamsin and his Islamic Peoples Army have landed in South Carolina. And I mean his army. He has thousands of men and women. You may think because you’re all some three thousand miles away, you have nothing to fear.

“You’re wrong.”

Ben let that soak in.

“We have reason to believe Sam Hartline and his people have linked up with this Khamsin. My people will deal with Hartline. Most of you are not ready to join us as regulars. Not yet. But in time you’ll be called upon to assist us. I’m not going to fight all your battles for you.

“I’m going to leave a small force of Rebels behind. They will train you. And people, you’d better goddamn well get ready for some hard training. What you’ll be receiving is a combination of Ranger, SEAL, Marine Force Recon, and Green Beret training, with a touch of Special Air Service and French Foreign Legion training tossed in for good measure. When my people get through with you, you’ll all be able to fight a grizzly with a stick … or you’ll be dead. One or the other.”

Pete Ho raised his hand. Ben nodded at him. “General, some of my people might not want to take part in this. What happens then?”

“Are you referring to able-bodied men and women, Pete?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That won’t cut it, Pete. We don’t allow shirkers. One is either one hundred percent for the movement,

or one hundred percent against it. It has to be that way. That answer your question?”

“And those who won’t fight?” Pete persisted.

“You run them out,” Ben said flatly.

“That’s pretty hard, General.”

“Hard times, Pete.”

The warlords and outlaws had gathered in Colorado. Calling them a motley crew would be understating the matter. This gathering was the largest meeting of malcontents, trash, scum, and human filth to come together in years. One would be hard-pressed to find one redeeming quality in the entire force.

Their names were what one might expect from men of such low degree: Booger, Utah Jack, Pisser, Stud, Big Luke, Flash, Long Tongue … and so it went.

Some had roamed the country together for more than a decade, raping, robbing, killing, having their way wherever they chose and however they wanted it.

But they were always careful to abide by one hard and fast rule: Stay away from areas controlled by Ben Raines and his Rebels.

Now they felt they were strong enough to tackle Ben Raines and his Rebels-and come out on top.

“You trust Sam Hartline?” Piano asked Grizzly.

“No. Least not no hundred percent. He knows that we know he’s usin’ us. He also knows he can’t do much of nothin’ about it. We got to have him; he’s got to have us.”

“How “bout these here Arabs you was tellin” us about?” Buck asked.

“Colonel Khamsin. A Hot Wind.”

“So’s a fart,” Booger said.

“Lemme put it another way,” Grizzly said. “Khamsin impresses Sam Hartline.”

That was enough to sober the outlaws. Sam Hartline might be a mercenary, but he was no dummy. If Khamsin had enough beef behind him to impress Hartline … well, that was good enough for the outlaws.

“And now we do what? …” Booger asked.

“We contact Hartline and wait for word. Way I figure it is Hartline will use us to mop up what’s left of Raines’s Rebels.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The rest of the outlaws gathered around laughed. “Just think,” one said, straining his brain. “There must be four or five million pussies left in the States.”

“So?” Skinhead asked.

“Without Ben Raines and his people standing in our way, hell, man! They’re all ours!”

“Yeah!” they breathed.

“I like it!” Skinhead slobbered.

“I don’t like it, Ben,” Cecil said. “You’re deliberately setting yourself up for a lot of trouble.”

“Reading between the lines, Cec,” Ben replied, smiling, “it would be a good plan if I weren’t planning on leading it. Right?”

Cecil muttered something extremely vulgar under his breath.

“I must concur with General Jefferys, sir,” Dan said. “You are needed here. Not traipsing about the countryside, shooting outlaws.”

“I got to go along with them, Ben,” Ike said. “Let me take the unit out after the outlaws.” “I shall go!” Dan said.

“No, I’ll go!” Cecil said.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” Ben put an end to it. Chapter Twenty-nine

Ben started sending his unit out in the darkness of night. As quietly as possible, running without lights. He had ordered his Rebels to bandage various parts of their bodies; to limp and stagger as if badly hurt. To be helped into the waiting trucks.

He knew Hartline had long-range recon teams watching the base camp through long lenses. And he knew Khamsin’s people were close-by, watching. Maybe they would think the badly wounded were being trucked back to Base Camp One.

Maybe it would work long enough for Ben’s unit to get close to the outlaws.

Maybe.

Ben and his personal team would be the last to pull out. Just moments before leaving, Ben walked to Sylvia’s quarters.

She was sitting in a chair, as if expecting him.

The man and woman looked at each other in the sputtering light of a camp lantern.

“I cannot tolerate a traitor,” Ben broke the silence.

“How long have you known?” she asked.

“I’ve suspected for some time.”

“But you don’t know or understand why I did it, do you, Ben?”

“No. I’d like to be able to say I’m not particularly interested. But I’d be lying.”

“We had something good beginning, Ben.”

“Using vernacular before you were born: You blew it, kid.”

“It isn’t too late, Ben.”

“I could never trust you, Sylvia. Not ever again. You see, kid, I knew someone like you years ago. Back when the nation was whole. I fell hard for her. The only difference being, ours was a purely Platonic relationship. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes.”

“As a matter of fact, you look a lot like her. You have many of her mannerisms. Perhaps that’s why I felt something for you I haven’t felt in a long, long time.”

“You must have loved her a great deal, Ben.”

Memories took Ben winging back over the years. She slipped into his mind, as she did from time to time. He had never spoken of her, not to anyone-ever. He had been about twenty years older than the girl-and even though she was in her twenties, she was still a girl. A girl in a woman’s body.

And he loved her then, almost as strongly as he loved her now.

The tough ex-soldier and ex-soldier-of-fortune-turned-writer had fallen asshole over elbows in love.

If she had asked for the stars and the moon, Ben would have somehow gotten them for her.

Yet, so it seemed, to Ben, every time he turned around, she was crapping all over him.

Ben almost drank himself to death over a period of a few months … until he slowly began wising up and realizing what the young woman really was. Greedy, grasping, ungrateful, petty, petulant. A very pretty but shallow person.

And she had taken him like a schoolboy enduring the pain of first love.

And it still hurt.

Ben looked at Sylvia. “How much have you told Khamsin’s people?”

“Troop strength. Placement. Plans for the future. Everything I knew.”

“Why, Sylvia?”

“They have my father.”

“How do you know it’s him? I thought you told me he was dead?”

“He fits the description. It’s him.”

“Why didn’t you just come to me and tell me?”

“I didn’t think.”

“That’s right …” He almost called her by another name. She didn’t think either. Only of now. Never of the future.

Ben felt he was reliving the past.

“You’ve probably gotten some Rebels killed, Sylvia. Have you thought about that?”

“I don’t care about that. It’s my father.”

“If he fell in with Khamsin, then he must be a sorry bastard.”

She did not reply. But Ben saw her right hand move ever so slowly toward her right boot. She carried a knife there.

“You know what happens to traitors, Sylvia,” he said softly.

“I love you, Ben.”

“You’re a liar.”

Just like … her.

“How do you know that? You can’t be sure.”

“I’ve been here before, kid. Unfortunately, I know your type very well.”

“Asshole!” she hissed at him.

“We all have one.”

“Aren’t you afraid of dying, Ben Raines?” she asked him.

“Not particularly.” He smiled. “But it always seems to come at such an inconvenient time. Doesn’t it, kid?”

She came up fast, the double-edged dagger in her right hand.

Ben shot her right between her flashing green eyes. The .45 slug tore out the back of her head, lashing the wall behind her with fluid and gray matter and bits of bone. Sylvia slumped to the floor.

Ben walked out of the house just as Rebels came running.

Ike was the first to reach Ben. Ben cut sad eyes to his friend.

“Tell the underground people to destroy the IPA’S forward recon team, Ike.”

“Okay, Ben. Jesus, Ben! What happened in there?”

“A twenty-year-old one-sided love affair just ended, Ike.”

“What?”

Ben walked away, the .45 in his hand. Ike noticed two things about his friend, as Ben walked into the velvet of night.

The man seemed to be a bit lonelier.

And Ben Raines was crying.

“What the hell’s he up to, now?” Sam Hartline said, more to himself than to the other mercenaries gathered in Hartline’s command post.

“Pullin’ his wounded out, looks like.”

“Maybe. But why didn’t he fly them out? That’s what he usually does.”

No one had an answer to that.

“Anyone spotted Raines today?” Hartline asked.

“Our guys had to pull back. Things were gettin’ too hot. The recon team from Khamsin bought it early this morning. Our guys got a little edgy and moved deeper into the timber.”

Hartline nodded his handsome head. “Those weirdos that live in the caves?”

“Yeah.”

Sam Hartline walked to a window and looked out. “Raines is up to something. I just don’t know what. But what I don’t want to do is butt heads with him just yet. We might be able to take him, but it would cost us. And Oregon just isn’t worth it.”

“You want me to contact Khamsin?” Sam was asked.

Hartline shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s find out where that convoy went first. See if you can get ahold of those bikers. Ask them-no, tell them, to keep their heads up, stay alert. Raines is about to pull something. Sneaky son of a bitch.”

“How’s Rich?” a mercenary asked, a smile on his face.

Hartline laughed. “He has just about outlived his

usefulness. Any of you guys want him?”

No one did.

“I hate to just shoot the little bastard. He gives great head,” Hartline said. “And he’s like a whipped dog. He’ll do anything you tell him to do.” Hartline dismissed Rich with a curt wave of his hand. “I’ll keep him around until I get tired of fuckin’ with him.” Sam laughed. “I been tryin’ to get him to pork Lisa, but he won’t do it.”

Sam had left her alone for a couple of days, and some of the soreness had eased within her. Lisa had thought of and rejected a dozen plans of escape. Rich was always with her, watching, ready to tattle.

“You’re a fool, Lisa!” Rich spat the words at her. “Why don’t you be nice to Sam? He’d make it a lot easier on you if you’d just be nice to him.”

“Like you’re nice to him?” Lisa’s words were scornful.

“I’ll slap you!” Rich hissed.

“I’ll kick your ass, too!” Lisa backed him down.

“He’ll get tired of you, Lisa, if you don’t start being nice to him. Then he’ll give you to his men. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, bitch?”

“No, I wouldn’t, Rich.” Her smile was not nice, filled with knowing. “But you would.”

“God, I hate you!”

“Rich, if we worked together, we could get out of here.”

“Why should I? I’ve got it made here. I have plenty to eat, nice clothes to wear, I can bathe every day in hot water and good-smelling soap. Sam likes me.”

“Sure, Rich. Just as long as you suck him off, that is.”

“I know you hate me.”

“Rich, I don’t hate you for what you are. That’s your business. Your right. You can stay here or leave. That’s up to you. I’m just asking you to help me get out. Will you?”

They both heard Hartline enter the fine house. Rich jumped up and ran out of the room.

“Sam! Sam!” Rich yelled. “Lisa’s trying to get me to help her escape!”

Sam walked into the room and looked at Lisa. “You stupid bitch. You don’t know what side your bread is buttered on, do you?”

Lisa sat on the floor, looking up at him.

Sam slowly removed his belt. “Strip, baby. I guess I’m going to have to break you like a goddamned horse.”

Lisa made up her young mind. “I’ll die first,” she said.

“That’s a distinct possibility, baby,” Sam told her. “But if I can’t break you, then I’ll give you to my men. And if you think I’m kinky, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Lisa jumped from the floor and tried to run out the door. Rich tripped her, sending her sprawling. She felt her jeans being ripped from her and Sam’s laughter ringing in her head.

“I gave you a chance, pretty thing,” Sam said. “I guess you were born to like it rough.”

She was jerked to her knees and the leather began singing and popping against her flesh.

“We get to ambush a convoy of wounded Rebels,” Piano said to Grizzly. “They’ll be here in a couple of days. And they’re headin’ right for us.”

“How many?”

“Hell, what difference does it make? For chris-sakes, they’re all shot up. Piece of cake.”

“Any women with “em?” Big Luke asked.

“Sure. And about a platoon of Rebels escortin” them. Let’s start gettin’ set.”

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” a biker said. “That goddamned Ben Raines has been a pain in the ass for years. I was down in Arkansas when him and them Rebels rolled in. Run me and my boys out. Didn’t even give us a chance. I’m gonna really like this.”

“Did they fall for it?” Ben asked James.

“Scouts report they did. They’re getting into ambush position.” He pointed to a spot on a map of Colorado. “Right there.”

“How many?”

“About three hundred of them. The others have spread out north and south.”

“They picked a pretty good spot for it,” Ben conceded. “Have they mined the road?”

“Negative, Ben. They’ve got some dynamite and grenades, but no mines that our observers can detect.”

“Straight bang-bang, shoot-“em-up ambush, huh? They must think we’re idiots.”

“I don’t know what they think, Ben. I would imagine most of them are very stupid and

very arrogant. And that’s a bad combination.”

“Lucky for us, though. All right, James. Send First

Platoon to the north, Second Platoon to the south.

How about those vehicles we found?”

“They’ll run long enough to get the people there.”

“That’s all that matters. Tell our teams to skirt the outlaws north and south and get into position on the east end of the highway. Wait for our signal.”

“Why are you doing this, Ben?” James asked.

“Why the bikers first?”

“Saving the best for last, James. Hartline is going to be a tough nut to crack.”

“You really want to kill him, don’t you, Ben?” Ben nodded. “Hartline doesn’t know it. But he’s a walking-around dead man.” Chapter Thirty

The outlaws had indeed chosen a fine place for an ambush. If the person they wished to ambush had not been Ben Raines, that is.

Ben was often referred to by his enemies as being a sneaky son of a bitch. The latter was totally incorrect. The former summed it up quite well.

The outlaws and warlords and their motley crews had gathered on both sides of the interstate, carefully hidden among the rocks and brush on each sloping side of the carved-through mountain. They lay in wait with automatic weapons and grenades.

They had only one small problem: Ben Raines wasn’t about to drive through the ambush site.

Ben had halted the column less than two miles from the ambush site and ordered his people out to have lunch. Sitting by the side of the road, in the shade of the trucks.

“Of all the stupid, shitty times to stop and eat!” an outlaw leader named Flash said, looking at the halted convoy through binoculars. “Jesus Christ! Here we

sit up here, sweating our balls off in the sun, and them fuckers is eating!”

“It ain’t fair,” another biker said. “We didn’t bring no food with us.”

“Well, that ain’t my fault!” Flash said irritably. “How the hell did I know we was gonna be up here this long?”

None of them could hear or see the Rebels high above them, quietly getting into position. None of the outlaws could see or hear the Rebels who had circled around and were now getting into position on the east side of the interstate, about five hundred meters east of the ambush site.

The outlaws were now, unknowingly, in a deadly box. And the lid was just about to explode.

Literally.

Ordering his people to not so much as glance in an easterly direction, Ben sat by the side of the road and ate lunch. James Riverson sat beside him.

The walkie-talkie between the two men clicked twice, then clicked twice again.

“First Platoon is in place and everything is go,” James said.

Ben nodded and chewed his food carefully.

The walkie-talkie clicked three times, then repeated the signal.

“Second Platoon ready,” James said.

Ben finished his lunch and buried the trash in a hole dug with his knife blade. No Rebel dumped trash indiscriminately; the land was littered enough without adding to the mess.

“Start the fireworks,” Ben said softly.

James lifted the walkie-talkie and said, “G.”

The tops of the cut-into mountain exploded as high explosives were detonated. Tons of rock were lifted up and dropped down on the ambushers, crushing the life out of those caught in the rocky onslaught.

Ben carefully rolled a cigarette-one of the few he allowed himself daily-and listened to the panicked screaming of the outlaws who survived the initial blast and rolling boulders as they ran from the reverse ambush, running for their bikes and dune buggies and choppers.

But the Rebels had been there first, and had done a little work on the vehicles.

The first chopper to be cranked exploded in a massive fireball, hurling chunks of hot metal and fried parts of human bodies high into the air. The exploding vehicles touched off other fuel tanks, and soon the depot was an almost-solid area of flame.

Outlaws ran from the raging inferno, their clothing and flesh on fire. They ran howling and shrieking, rolling on the rocky ground, attempting in vain to put out the fire that covered their unwashed bodies. They screamed their way into the darkness of death.

And Ben Raines sat by the side of the road and calmly smoked his hand-rolled cigarette.

His hard facial expression did not change as he slowly puffed.

Those outlaws who had elected not to run toward their cached vehicles escaped the hideous burning death of their buddies.

They were shot to death by Rebels lying in ambush, blocking all avenues of escape. They were shot from the front, the back, or the side.

The Rebels offered no quarter, and expected none.

One unwashed outlaw, the stink and stains of a recent rape and murder still on his clothing, threw up his hands and hollered, “I quit! I give up.”

He was shot between the eyes.

Let me get out of here! another panicked outlaw thought, his breath ragged as he ran from planned murder and assault and rape. I’ll be good! he thought. The same thought that thousands of others like him had thought back through the years.

And few had ever carried out once safe from whatever dilemma had faced them.

He rounded a bend in the rocky path and came face to face with a woman Rebel, a CAR-15 in her hands.

Good-lookin” cunt, he thought.

“I surrender, baby,” the outlaw said.

She smiled at him and hope filled the outlaw. He wondered if she’d be any good in the sack? He wondered if she liked it up the ass?

Those were the last thoughts he ever had.

She lifted her CAR and shot the outlaw twice in the chest. She spat on the rocky ground and trotted off.

Ben sat on the ground and yawned. He had seen the outlaw carefully edging his way toward Ben’s location. Ben had clicked his Thompson off safety and waited as the outlaw made his approach.

James was reading a worn paperback he’d found back in a nameless town the convoy had rumbled through.

The outlaw’s boots grated on rock. James froze.

“Easy,” Ben whispered. “I’ve been watching him for a couple of minutes.”

“How’s he armed?” James whispered.

“Pistol in his hand. How’s the book?”

“Good. You want him?”

“Yeah. I’ll let him get a little closer.”

“Damn, Ben! I’m supposed to be guarding you, remember?”

“Read your book.”

“Somehow I seem to have lost my concentration.”

Ben chuckled softly. “Here he comes. He’s about to make his play.” i

The outlaw inched closer. Ben’s fingers tightened on the Thompson.

“Taking his sweet time,” James muttered.

“And he hasn’t got much of that left him,” Ben replied.

James smiled.

The outlaw brought his pistol up and jacked back the hammer. Ben lifted the powerful old Thompson submachine gun, leveled it, and pulled the trigger, holding it back.

The .45 caliber slugs took the outlaw in the chest, raking him from left to right, making little bloody dust puffs as the slugs impacted. He was flung backward, arms outstretched, his pistol dropping from suddenly lifeless fingers.

Ben and James rose and looked around them, listening. The battle appeared to be over.

“Call in our people,” Ben said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

High up in the still-dusty air of the slope, the outlaw Flash lay unnoticed and very, very still. And he wasn’t about to move until these crazy bastards and bitches got long gone outta there.

Flash was so frightened he had both pissed and shit

his jeans. He wore no underwear.

Dust, dirt, and small rocks covered him. As long as he didn’t move around, he’d be safe. High above him, he could see the buzzards circling. Flash suppressed a shudder. He hated buzzards. He had seen how the bastards tore at dead flesh, and he knew they always went for the eyes and kidneys first.

Flash just wanted to cry.

And Flash hadn’t done that in more than twenty years. Not since he’d stood before that judge in juvenile court. After Flash had killed his sister.

Flash had put on quite an act that day. Flash had blubbered and snorted and wiped snot away with the handkerchief the judge had ordered given him. Stupid old bastard. Since he was a juvenile, Flash had spent three years in a country-club prison and then walked out, a free man.

Thanks to the almost-total asininity of juvenile laws … back then. Before.

Only thing Flash had ever regretted about the whole mess was that his sister had died before he could fuck her again.

Stupid cunt.

Flash heard the Rebel trucks crank up and begin moving out, backtracking around the now-blocked highway. But Flash wasn’t about to move-not just yet. Ben Raines was such a sneaky son of a bitch he probably left people behind to shoot any outlaw who might have survived.

One of the few times in his life Flash was right.

Flash lay very still for more than thirty minutes after the battle. He counted seven shots that shattered the dusty stillness, and knew that seven of his buddies had bought it. Goddamn these Rebels! Flash thought. They just don’t, by God, play fair.

“Let’s go!” Flash heard a man shout.

Flash heard two vehicles crank up and drive off. Still, he lay quietly for another hour. Only then did he move.

Three hours later, after jerking a pair of jeans off a dead outlaw and changing out of his own shitty jeans, Flash stumbled into the outlaw’s base camp. He was worn out, almost hysterical with fear. He babbled out his story. “Everybody is dead?” Piano shouted at the nearly exhausted Flash.

“Ever’body,” Flash confirmed it.

“We gotta change out psyco … psycol… way of doin’ things,” Long Tongue said.

“I agree with whatever it was he said,” Utah Jack looked at Long Tongue.

“Don’t panic!” Booger shouted down the sudden babble of voices. “Now, goddammit, just ever’body hold it down for a minute.”

The gaggle of human filth quieted down.

Another outlaw leader, nicknamed Pisser, said, “You got a plan, Booger, I’d sure like to hear it. “Cause I’m about a minute away from pullin” my boys out and gettin’ the hell away from that area.”

Other leaders, including Utah Jack, Stud, Big Luke, agreed with Pisser. Loudly and profanely.

“Now, boys,” Grizzly said, calming the group, or at the very least, quieting them. “Okay, we took a lickin’. No doubt about that. But since ol’ Flash come staggerin’ in, I been thinkin’. And I’m thinkin’ our

big mistake is that we don’t act like Ben Raines.”

“What do you mean?” Piano asked.

“I mean the mainest thing is, we got to think like Ben Raines. We can’t just say “okay” to the first plan we come up with. We got to really study a bunch of them.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Utah Jack said. “We’re screwin’ up by each of us actin’ on our own. Is that part of it?”

“That’s right!” Grizzly said. “The mainest thing is, we got to start actin’ like soldiers!”

“Does I get to be a general?” Skinhead slobbered the question.

“No,” Grizzly dashed his hopes. “But you do get to be an officer.”

“I thought a general was an officer?” Skinhead drooled.

“It is,” Piano said. “Now shut up.”

“They’s degrees of generals,” Grizzly said. “But another mainest point is this: there can’t be but one top general. One man givin’ the orders.”

“Who is that gonna be?” Popeye asked.

“We’re gonna have to vote,” Grizzly said. “But I got another idea to do first.”

“Whut?” Sonny Boy asked.

“Let’s get the hell outta this place!” Chapter Thirty-one

Not one Rebel had been wounded in the ambush. No loss of life among the Rebels.

“That’s the way I like it,” Ben told James as they rode the deserted state highway in Colorado.

They were circling, trying to pick up the trail of the outlaws.

They were on Highway 9, now just a few miles outside of Kremmling. “Pull over here,” Ben told James. “Let’s wait for the scouts’ report.”

The convoy halted near the banks of the Colorado River, on the south side. Ben and James walked down to the river’s edge.

The men stood there for a moment, silent, each with their own thoughts.

James broke the silence. “How are we going to handle Hartline, Ben?”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think we’re going to have to slug it out with him.”

“I don’t have to remind you that he’s got us outgunned.”

Ben nodded his agreement. “Yes, and it’s going to

be costly for us. I’ve thought of and discarded half a dozen plans. Including the use of planes.”

“They wouldn’t have a chance. Hartline’s got plenty of SAM’S.”

“Sure does.” Ben sighed. “Long-range intel says he’s making no plans for a bug-out. I didn’t think he would. What he’s planning on is these outlaws knocking a hole in our ranks. That’s why I’m not going to jack around with them. But this ambush was easy. I have a hunch they’re going to get cautious; smarten up some.”

“As much as they’re capable of,” James said, grinning.

“Colonel, our western patrol has gone silent,” Khamsin was informed.

“How long have you been trying to reach them?”

“All day, sir.”

Khamsin shrugged. “They have met Allah. They have done well. Have you tried to contact Hartline?”

“Yes, sir. He says his eastern-based warlords have ambushed Ben Raines, and probably inflicted heavy casualties on the Rebels.”

“Probably? Sam doesn’t know for certain?”

“Apparently not, sir.”

“Sam is getting careless. We’re going to have to be very careful in our dealings with Sam Hartline. From what our, ah, newest convert has told me, General Ben Raines and Sam Hartline are old enemies. That gives me some cause for alarm. What has the woman told you?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Are you certain she has anything to tell us?”

“Yes, sir. One of our patrols stole her out of the Rebels’ base camp in Georgia. She is the wife of one of the Rebels now fighting in the west.”

“Oh. Interesting. Truly his wife, blessed by Allah?”

The IPA member shrugged. “Who knows, sir. These remaining Americans are such a godless bunch.”

“What is her name?”

“Nina. She is the wife, or mistress, whatever, of one Ike McGowen.”

“Ike McGowen?” Colonel Khamsin’s brow furrowed in thought. “That is one of Ben Raines’s field commanders and closest friends.”

“I believe so, sir.”

“I know so. Have you tortured the woman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cease it at once. See to her wounds and then bring her to me.”

“We’ll have to carry her, sir. She cannot walk. We have pulled out all her toenails.”

“Then carry her. I know a way to split Ben Raines’s western forces.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

The outlaws had vanished, seemingly dropping off the face of the earth.

Ben called a halt to the search and ordered his people to dismount and make camp for the night. “Told you they’d smarten up,” he said to James.

“They’ve tasted some of the hell and misery they’ve caused over the years,” James said, quite unlike the

big man. “And they don’t like it.”

“Very good, James. But don’t worry, ol’ buddy. We’re going to give some more hell and misery.”

“I never doubted that, Ben.”

“Let’s get some rest. We’ll find them and start rooting them out in the morning.”

“And you’re sure that’s where Lisa’s being held?” Kim asked.

“I’m sure,” the ragged little boy said. “I’ve been in there four, five times begging for food. I seen her twice.”

“And the last time was? …” Judy asked.

“Yesterday. I flashed her a signal and she winked at me. She was walkin’ kinda funny, though.”

The girls exchanged knowing glances, shaking their heads in disgust.

The small boy picked up on the exchange. “You all don’t have to talk around me. I been where she is. I know why she’s walkin’ that way.”

Sandra put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. So thin. “What’s your name, Scooter?” she asked. “I mean, besides Scooter.”

“I don’t know no other name. I been called Scooter all my life.”

“How many years do you have?”

“Nine or ten, I think. But I really don’t know. I been travelin ever since I can remember.”

“No blood kin?” Judy asked.

“Not that I know of,” the ragged boy replied.

“Can you shoot that pistol you’re carryin’ ?” Kim asked, looking at the .22 caliber revolver belted

around Scooter’s waist.

“I sure can. Some grownups tried to bugger me last month. I kilt two of “em ‘fore the others run off.”

“You wanna stay with us?” Sandra asked.

“That’d be nice,” Scooter said, looking up at the taller person. “We gonna get your friend away from Hartline?”

“Yes. And it’s gonna be dangerous doing it.”

The boy shrugged. “Livin” day to day is dangerous. That ain’t nothin’ new. Do I get to meet Ben Raines?”

“Probably. Soon as we get Lisa outta there.” Kim looked at the compound below the heavily timbered knoll where they were hidden.

“I gotta tell you all something,” Scooter said. “Hartline is ten times worse than the Russian. The Russian was bad enough. But Hartline will grab you and torture you just for fun. t heard some of his men talkin’ one time. They said Sam Hartline is crazy. I believe it. I seen what he dome to a friend of mine a few months back. Right before Ben Raines shot him up.”

“A girl?” Judy asked softly.

“You know it,” Scooter replied. “When he got done with her, he just throwed her out in the road.” He pointed. “Right down there. Come dark, I dragged her back in the timber and tried to care for her. Me and the underground people. We couldn’t do nothin’ for her. She bled to death. She was about my age, but real little. Pretty. Hartline split her open. You know what I mean?”

The girls knew.

“If you want your friend to live,” Scooter continued, “we gotta get her out of there. Hartline will do it

to her ever’ way he can, then he’ll give her to his men. I know some girls, and one boy, who went crazy after some time down there. You know what them men done to them after that?”

The girls waited.

“They used “em for target practice. It was awful.”

Judy was drawing the compound area on a dirty piece of paper. It was an amazingly accurate drawing, right down to the last detail.

“You got it?” Sandra asked.

“I got it.”

“Let’s get back to the others. We gotta plan this out real good.”

Sam Hartline looked at the sobbing girl on the bed, the rumpled sheets stained with sweat and blood. He had beaten her practically unconscious but still she would not voluntarily submit to him.

He had to fight her every step of the way. Not that that was very difficult-it wasn’t. It was just becoming annoying.

Sam Hartline could never-even back when the world was whole, understand why women thought so much of their pussy. Hell, it was there for screwing; what was the big deal?

He looked at the sobbing girl. “I’ve about had you, bitch,” he snarled at Lisa. “Couple more days, if you don’t shape up, I’m gonna toss you out that goddamn door and let my boys have you. Can’t you understand that I like you?”

Lisa lifted her tear-stained face. “Like me? If you liked me, you wouldn’t hurt me. Can’t you be tender sometimes?”

Hartline’s great booming laughter filled the room.

“You hurt me!”

“What the hell’s that got to do with the price of eggs, baby?” He stood naked before her. “Hell, if I hadn’t liked fighting so much, I could have been a porn star. Made millions.”

“What’s a porn star?” she asked.

Hartline looked at her in disgust. “Aw, shit!” He turned and dressed, then slammed the door on his way out.

Lisa painfully rose from the bed and walked to the bathroom, running a tub of hot water. Easing her way into the soothing and calming liquid, she heard the door open and close. That would be Rich. He would sit on the commode seat and smirk at her.

But she could put up with Rich. She didn’t hate him; she just felt sorry for him.

Ben slipped out of his blankets and looked at the horizon. Just breaking dawn. For the first time, he allowed his thoughts to return to Sylvia.

Of all the things in this world-or what was left of this world, he amended that-he could not abide a traitor.

He could tolerate many things, but never that.

Ben’s radio people had heard from one recon team sent east to Khamsin’s borders. Sylvia’s betrayal had cost one team their lives.

One entire squad gone. Loyal lives snuffed out; people who were willing to lay down their lives for freedom.

Gone. Because of a traitor.

He pushed the woman from his thoughts. He would not think of her again.

He hoped.

James River son came to his side. “Recon reports finding a band of outlaws about ten miles from here, Ben.”

“Get the people up, James. Let’s go to work.” Chapter Thirty-two

The small band of outlaws knew what hit them, of course. There was little doubt in their ‘rids about that. But they didn’t have much time to think about it.

Ben hit them with a fury he had not experienced in years. And he knew what had brought it on. He had finally reached the limit of his understanding. He was weary of people who wanted something for nothing. Tired of ignorance and people who wore that un-enlightenment as a badge of honor. He was fed up with those who demanded a life of terrorism and barbarism. Insisted upon it. Ben was reaching back to the days of the Tri-States; bringing it the forefront.

And he knew, now, the Tri-States” philosophy would rise again. He realized that his days of wandering, alone, throughout the ashes of what had been, were over. Here was where he was needed, and so here was where he would have to stay.

Leading the fight as long as there was breath left in his body.

A dirty, unshaven, wild-eyed outlaw made the mistake of trying to escape by overrunning

Ben’s position surrounding the camp.

Ben rose from his concealment and laid his Thompson on the ground. Ben felt the years leave him, a new youthfulness fill him. A man who for years had done hard exercise after he realized he could no longer take his body for granted, Ben smiled as the outlaw slid to a halt.

Ben smiled at the unarmed outlaw. He lifted his fists. He knew then how he was going to take out Sam Hartline.

With his bare hands.

“I’ll kill you!” the outlaw panted.

“So come on, then,” Ben challenged him.

The outlaw lunged at Ben, both fists swinging. Ben tripped him, sending the outlaw sprawling on the dirt. Ben kicked him in the side and the outlaw yelped in pain. Ben’s training would have had him kick the outlaw in the head, shattering the skull and ending it, but Ben wanted this fight to last a while longer.

Ben stepped back, his hands open in the martial arts fashion. “Is that the best you can do?”

The outlaw roared off the ground, attempting to butt Ben in the stomach with his head and grab him in a bear hug. Ben sidestepped and kicked the outlaw on the knee with his boot. The outlaw, dressed in leather and chains, screamed in pain and fell to the earth, both hands holding his knee.

Ben kicked him in the mouth. The outlaw’s head snapped back as he slumped to the ground, almost unconscious.

Ben walked to him and took out his canteen, emptying the contents on the outlaw’s head. “Get up, you bastard!”

The outlaw grabbed Ben’s leg and jerked, putting Ben on the ground. Ben rolled over and over, coming up some ten yards from the outlaw, who was still trying to get to his feet and shake the feathers out of his foggy, pain-racked brain.

Screaming his hate and rage, the outlaw charged Ben. Balling his hands into fists, Ben met him head-on and toe-to-toe. Ben staggered the heavyset man with a chopping right to the jaw then followed that with a short left hook-that glazed the outlaw’s eyes. Ben hit the man in the center of his face with a vicious right that flattened the outlaw’s nose and sent blood flying.

Ben laughed at the man.

Dimly Ben could hear James Riverson’s voice. “Let them alone,” the sergeant major ordered. “The general’s gotta do it his way.”

“Why?” a Rebel questioned.

“Because he’s Ben Raines, that’s why,” was James’s reply.

Ben hammered at the man’s stomach with hard fists, punishing the man. Blood from the outlaw’s mouth sprayed Ben.

“Gimme a break,” the thug panted.

“All right,” Ben said, then broke the outlaw’s neck with a hard karate chop.

The outlaw fell to the ground, dying. He looked up at Ben through confused eyes. He seemed to want to say something. But before he could, death took him. And that surprised Ben, for he had seen lots of people live a long time with a broken neck. Then he saw the pink froth leak from the outlaw’s mouth. Either he had ruptured the man’s stomach-which

wasn’t unlikely-or he had shattered a rib and the rib had punctured a lung. Or nicked the heart.

Ben took several deep breaths. “Report,” he said.

“The outlaw camp is wiped out. We suffered two wounded. No dead,” James reported. “How do you feel, General?”

Somewhere down the line, Ben had lost his black beret. He took out a cammie bandana and wiped the sweat from his face, then tied the bandana around his head, leaving the ends dangling. “Good,” Ben said.

James smiled. “Now you look like Rambo, Ben.”

“Who the hell is Rambo?” a Rebel asked.

Ben and his Rebels made a wide circle, at one point moving deep into Wyoming after the outlaws. The Rebels found a half-dozen outlaw camps, destroying them, killing perhaps, in their two-week pursuit, an additional three hundred outlaws, not counting the several hundred killed in the botched ambush on the interstate.

They hammered straight across the center of what had once been known as Nevada. When they reached the base camp in Redding, Ben was met by a grim-faced Ike.

Ike brought Ben up to date. Quickly. “This goddamned Khamsin’s grabbed Nina. Sent me a message, through Hartline. Hartline found it amusing.”

“I just bet he did,” Ben said. “Ike, can you push aside your emotions as the highly trained SEAL you are?”

Ike stiffened. “You know damn well I can, Ben.”

“You’ll be doing what you were trained to do, years

ago, Ike. Fighting a dirty little guerrilla war with the only supplies that you can carry with you.”

“I know, Ben.”

“And you know that Nina may be long dead?”

“I know.”

“How many personnel you want?”

“Two platoons,” Ike said quickly.

“You’ve thought this out carefully?”

“Many, many hours.”

“All right, Ike. Call Base Camp One and get as many planes out here as you think you’ll need to transport your people east. They’ll leave immediately. Either way it goes, Ike, stay out there. Start helping train resistance fighters and put the needle into Khamsin. We’ll never be strong enough to take him head to head, so we’re going to have to hit and run. Might as well get used to it.”

“Sam Hartline?”

“I’ll take care of Sam Hartline. And I know just how I’ll do it. I’ve given it much thought. I know how to pull the arrogant son of a bitch out of his fortress.”

Ike cocked his head to one side. “How, Ben?”

“We’re going to have a funeral, ol’ buddy. With lots of weeping and wailing and moaning and slow walking and sad singing.”

“A funeral! Whose?”

Ben smiled. “Mine.” Chapter Thirty-three

The transport planes roared in and settled down on the runways late the next day. The pilots slept for a few hours, then took off again in the dead of night, carrying Ike and his hand-picked teams.

Ben made himself comfortable inside his command post and stayed put. He ordered Dr. Chase and his people to start scurrying back and forth between the hospital and Ben’s command post.

Cryptic messages began filling the air between the base camp and the outposts now manned by Rebels. From Youreka to the rocky raging coast of California the message went out: THE EAGLE IS DOWN.

In Oregon, Sam Hartline studied the messages as they came in. He was not sure what they meant; and until he was certain, he was going to stay put.

“It could mean only one thing,” one of his field commanders pointed out. “Ben Raines is down.”

“But from what!” Hartline questioned. “He and his people kicked the shit out of the outlaws. If he’d been wounded, we would have been informed, right?”

The commander shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.

But Ben Raines is down, Sam. Bet on it.”

“You wanna bet your life on it?” Sam challenged.

The commander hesitated. “Yeah, Sam. I do. The boys is gettin’ restless. They got to have some action or they’re gonna go stale.”

Hartline expelled a long breath. “Yeah, I know. But you been with me a long time. You know how sneaky Raines can be. This could be a trap. We’ll wait a few more days. I want every intercepted message on my desk within minutes after decoding it, understood?”

“Right, Sam.”

Sam Hartline leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling.

If Ben Raines was down, hard hit, and Ike McGowen gone back east, all that commanded the Rebels was that nigger, Cecil Jefferys. And Sam had never seen a spook that was as smart as a white man.

He sat for a long time with his thoughts. None of them very pleasant for anybody, especially Ben Raines.

Sam punched a button on his desk. An aide stuck his head into the door. Sam never used women for anything in his army. Except to fuck. That’s all they were good for.

“Yes, sir?”

“I want a fly-by,” Sam said. “Four of them. Beginning at 0600 in the morning. Another at 0800, another at 1000, and the last one at

1600.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s Lisa?”

“Out back, sitting by the pool. Guards are posted at all four corners.”

“Good. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me in a hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam went into a bedroom and closed the door.

Guards were around the pool, at staggered intervals. One of them sort of staggered as the knife blade entered between ribs, the long blade ramming into the heart. Young hands lowered the cooling carcass to a chair and set him in quietly. Young feet moved around the wall that encircled the pool, slipping to the next guard. Kim drove the blade of her dagger into the man’s throat, the needle point pushing out the other side, dripping blood.

At the same instant, Judy’s knife took out the third guard, and Sandra’s dagger plunged deep into the back of the fourth man. Scooter and Mary and Larry helped lower the bodies to the concrete.

Lisa was already moving, on the run toward the friends she had thought she would never see again.

Rich chose that time to walk out to the pool area. The boy stood, his mouth open in shock.

Sandra’s knife flashed end over end in the hot air of summer.

Rich uttered one word before the knife point hit him in the center of his chest.

“No!” the boy said.

He fell to the concrete

“I wasn’t gonna kill him,” Sandra said. “We talked it over. But it’s too late now. Come on, Lisa, let’s get the hell outta here.”

Rich could hear them talking through a mist of pain.

“There’s something you oughta know,” Kim said to Lisa.

Rich listened.

“Ben Raines is dying.” Chapter Thirty-four

“Well, the little bastard was loyal to me after all,” Hartline said. “You just by God never know.”

“So Ben Raines is really dying,” a mercenary said. “Ain’t that a kick in the. ass?”

“Yep,” Hartline said. “But this time, we’re going to be the ones who kick ass.”

“It’s about goddamn time.”

Everyone, including Hartline, laughed at the truth in that remark. For years, Raines’s Rebels had been kicking ass all over the battered nation. And a lot of the time, the asses kicked were Sam Hartline’s mercenaries.

“Never have been able to understand Raines,” Hartline was fond of saying. “The man was a mercenary in his time, just like me.”

Ben Raines had never been a mercenary. He had been a soldier of fortune for a time, after his time in the Army. But never a mercenary. A mercenary will fight for any flag, any political ideology, regardless of the savagery of that particular regime.

A soldier of fortune will almost always fight with those waging war for democracy-many times for no

pay, other than personal satisfaction.

There is a lot of difference between a mercenary and a soldier of fortune.

As much difference as between Sam Hartline and Ben Raines.

“What do you want done with Rich’s body?” Sam was asked.

Sam laughed. “Dump the little shit in the ocean!”

The word spread like a raging, unchecked woods fire: Ben Raines is dying.

In less than a week, the rumor had spread all across the torn nation: Ben Raines is dying.

Only a few of Ben’s most trusted Rebels knew the truth. The majority believed him to be near death.

Sam Hartline’s fly-bys confirmed it. The spotters reported large groups of Rebels gathered around Ben’s command post standing and sitting quietly. Waiting.

But still Hartline was not certain; not yet convinced in his own mind that it all wasn’t some clever ruse on Ben’s part. Sneaky son of a bitch!

“Wait,” he told his people. “When the bastard is cold in the ground, that’s when we’ll move.”

Then the word came, buzzing out of the radios: THE EAGLE IS DEAD.

Hartline sent a team into California, ordering them to get as close as possible and check it out. Report back.

They reported back, grim satisfaction in their report: Ben Raines is dead. The Rebel movement is in chaos. Ben Raines is being buried in the morning.

And Sam Hartline leaned back in his chair and howled his laughter.

“Get the boys ready,” Hartline ordered. “We’re gonna kick those Rebels clear into the sea.”

On the South Carolina border, a young Rebel captain said, “We can’t get much accurate intel out of there, Ike. This Khamsin, whoever he is and wherever he came from, is one hell of a top-flight soldier. But we have found out one thing that’s firm.”

Ike looked at him.

“He’s got three divisions,” the captain finished it.

“Shit!” Ike breathed. “I hope you’re talkin’ short divisions?”

“A little over thirty thousand personnel, Ike.”

Ike shook his head. “I don’t suppose there’s much point in talkin’ about artillery and tanks, right, Captain?”

“He’s got it all, Ike.”

“You know where this puts us, don’t you?” Ike asked.

“Between a rock and a hard place, I reckon.”

Ike nodded. “Well, me and Ben have been in tougher spots.” But he couldn’t recall a one.

“General Raines? …” the captain started to speak.

“Let it slide, son,” Ike quieted him. “Just believe.”

“Okay, sir.”

Ike looked back at his teams. They were split up into twenty 6-person teams. “It’s still up to y’all,” Ike drawled. “I ain’t orderin’ nobody in that don’t wanna go. Is that understood?”

The men and women of the Rebels squatted and stared in silence at him. “Let’s go,” Ike said softly.

Cecil had called his section leaders, company commanders, and platoon sergeants together. Dan Gray stood beside the tall, well-built black man with the salt-and-pepper hair.

Dan knew what was going on in Cecil’s mind, for the same thing had been buzzing in his mind since Ben had told them of his plan.

Ninety-nine percent of the Rebels believed Ben to be dead. Now, with hard intel that Sam Hartline and his army was on the move toward the Rebels strongholds, Ben was suddenly going to appear.

And that was only going to further the myth that Ben was larger than life. Not quite human.

A god.

“One of the risks of this plan,” Ben had said, just hours before his “funeral.”

Cecil stood on a raised platform and looked at the Rebels in the room.

“What do we do now, General?” a senior sergeant asked.

“We follow Ben Raines,” Cecil said.

A low murmur spread around the room. Cecil let them talk for a moment before waving them silent.

“Rebels,” he announced. “Let me try to explain. All that has happened over the past week was just a ruse. A plan of Ben’s to pull Sam Hartline and his army into our territory. Ben is very much alive and well.”

“No!” a Rebel shouted. “That’s not true.”

Ben walked out of a side room, his appearance bringing the room to a dead silence.

He climbed up beside Cecil and looked at the shock-numbed crowd. “As you can all clearly see,” he said. “I am very much alive and doing quite well.”

The Rebels stood and stared at him.

“I apologize for tricking you,” Ben said. “I’m sorry to play with your emotions in this manner. But we had to pull Hartline and his people out of their stronghold. We’ve done that. They’re on their way right now. Our forward recon teams report the mercenaries have neared the border and are barreling toward us.” He looked at Cecil. “Join your battalion, Cec. Close it off behind us. Good luck.”

The men shook hands and Cecil quickly left the room. A light plane would fly him to his battalion, located on both sides of Interstate 5, near Youreka.

Ben looked back at his Rebels, still staring at him in open-mouthed shock. “Wait until noon before breaking the news to your sections that I’m still alive. That will put Hartline and his people south of Cecil’s position. They won’t be able to turn back even should they hear the news.

“Now you listen to me, people. We’ve got a hard fight facing us. And it’s just beginning. We have no choice in the matter. We have to fight, and we have to win. First against Hartline, then against Colonel Khamsin and his IPA. And we’re going to take losses. Plenty of them. Hard losses. We’re going to lose loved ones and close friends. But it’s either that, or live as slaves. I refuse to bow down to any person. That’s why we’re Rebels.

“There isn’t going to be much rest for us. It’s going

to be one fight after another, for God only knows how many years. I’m not looking forward to it, and I know that none of you want to fight for the rest of your lives.” Ben sighed. “Maybe someday we can all settle down and live in peace. I have to keep that hope alive. But I, and you, must keep this thought in mind at all times: We are all that stands between freedom and slavery. It’s up to us. No one else. Get with your teams and prepare to fight. Move out!”

The room emptied, with most of the Rebels glancing back over their shoulder to look at Ben.

Ben was calmly folding and tying a cammie bandana around his forehead.

He looked at Colonel Gray. “Let’s do it, Dan.” Chapter Thirty-five

The news cut through the camp like a bullet. Even though no member of the Rebel Army that was present when Ben appeared out of the grave had spoken of it, somehow the other Rebels knew.

The somber cloud that had invisibly covered the camp lifted and a fresh new spirit filled the men and women of the Rebels.

Cecil and Dan had already received orders from Ben as to how the attack was to be carried out, and they had informed their people long before Ben made his exit from the grave. Now the camp hummed with a new, fresh melody; a warlike song to be sure, for war was all that many of, these Rebels had ever known, many of them having been with Ben since back in ‘89.

Ben walked among the Rebels as they feverishly broke camp, moving out to pre-assigned positions. He spoke to as many as possible, stopping to chat with a few of them.

“This time we finish Sam Hartline, Charlie.”

“You bet, General!”

“Kick-ass-and-take-names time, Wes.”

“Right, General!”

“Watch your butt now, Claire. It’s time for you and Eddie to be thinking of having some babies.”

“Oh, General!” she blushed. One of Dan Gray’s Scouts, Claire was as good a soldier as any in Ben’s command.

“Bob, you got your lucky coin with you?”

“Damn right, General! This time we finish Sam Hartline once and for all, right?”

“That’s right, Bob. Simon, you were wounded about two weeks ago. What the hell are you doing with this bunch?”

“Gettin’ ready to kick the hell out of that schtoonk, Hartline, that’s what.”

Ben laughed. “Give him hell, Simon.”

And so it went, up and down the lines of trucks and Jeeps and the lines of tiger-stripe or lizard cammied men and women who made up Raines’s Rebels.

A thin line, the thought came to Ben. How few of us there are. But we have grown, he thought, his eyes finding the two Georges from Red Bluff and Chico. Harris and his people from Redding. Pete Ho and his bunch from Ukiah. John Dunning and several hundred fighters from Santa Rosa.

Some of the newer fighters would be mixed in with Ben’s regular Rebels; others would be held in reserve, just behind the lines, to take the place of any Rebels wounded.

Ben watched his people move out. The tanks and artillery had moved out early that morning, when the first news of Hartline’s advance reached the base camp.

Lora walked up to him and kicked Ben on the shin.

“Oww! Jesus Christ, Lora. What was that for?”

“It isn’t nice to have people think you’re dead and gone, Ben Raines. I cried a whole bunch over you.”

“Yeah? Well, you just brought tears to my eyes, too. I guess that makes us even.”

“Oh, yeah. Well … guess so. Ben?”

“What, Lora?”

“I never did liked Sylvia. Never trusted her.” She slung her carbine and turned to go.

“Wait a minute! Where are you going, Lora?”

“To join my friends. There’s a fight coming up, Ben Raines.”

“I know that, Lora. How about staying here with me?”

She smiled, and as she did, Ben saw the wisdom in her young eyes. “It don’t pay to get too close to people, Ben. More likely than not, you’re gonna get hurt when you do that. “You really liked Sylvia, didn’t you, Ben?”

“Yeah, I did, kid.”

“Lots of times, Ben, the people you want, don’t want you. Ain’t that the truth?”

“That’s the truth, Lora. You be careful out there.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful, Ben.” She walked off, a very small and very brave Rebel, her black beret cocked to one side of her head.

Ben felt eyes on him and turned to look at Dr. Chase. “Lamar.”

“Goddamned shame when kids have to fight wars, isn’t it, Ben?”

“Yes, it is, Doc. You want to be the one to tell those kids they can’t fight?”

“I think not. How’s your shin?”

“It hurts.”

Chase chuckled then looked at Ben. “I rather like that bandana tied around your head, Ben.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Makes you look more like the damned roguish pirate I know you are.”

He walked off, leaving Ben sputtering.

Hartline abruptly halted his column halfway between Youreka and Mount Shasta. He had suddenly developed a very uneasy sensation in his guts.

“What’s up?” one of his company commanders radioed to Sam’s APC.

“Bad feeling,” Sam radioed back. “Check the communication truck. See what they’ve been receiving the past few hours.”

In a few moments, Sam got his reply. “Nothing.” “Nothing?”

“Not a peep, Sam.”

“I don’t like that worth a shit!”

“Hell, Sam. The Rebels are in mourning! They don’t even know we’re on the way.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Benny. Raines may be dead-and I’m still very dubious about that-but the Rebels aren’t stupid. They might relax their guard some, but not much. I got a feeling we’re heading into a trap. Put out guards. You guys meet me up here pronto.”

Hartline’s field commanders gathered around his APC. All but one.

Sam looked around him. “Where in the hell is that goddamned Harrison?”

No one had seen Harrison.

“He was in the drag, wasn’t he?” Sam demanded.

“Last time I saw him he was.”

“Don’t just stand there. Go check him out.”

Ralph came back, his face a bit pale. “He’s gone. His driver’s gone. Everything is gone.”

“What do you mean, everything is gone?” Hartline yelled. “Where’s his Jeep!”

“I’m tellin’ you, Sam. It’s gone!”

“That goddamned Ben Raines has done it to me again,” Sam bitched. “That sorry, no-good, low-life, sneaky son of a bitch has screwed me again!”

“Sam!” the excited yell came from the middle of the long column. “Sam!”

But when Sam turned around and yelled, “What?” no one answered.

Angry, Sam ran back to the center of the well-spaced main column. He had split the column up into three parts. With a mile between each column.

Sam jogged up to a mercenary. “All right, asshole! What do you want? What’d you yell for?”

The mere looked at him. “Huh?”

“I said, what did you yell for?”

“I ain’t yelled jack-shit, Sam!” the mere protested.

Sam looked around him a bit nervously. He began edging his way back to his APC. There, he crouched down, his back to the steel place. “Raines is playing with us,” he said.

“Ben Raines is dead.” one of his senior commanders said, exasperation in his voice. “Goddammit, Sam, you’re paranoid about Ben Raines.”

“Yeah, a ghost can’t hurt you,” another mere said.

From deep in the timber, there came a hollow-sounding laugh.

One of the younger mercs looked around him, his eyes wide, his face pale.

“Get the column outta here!” Sam yelled.

No sooner had the words left his mouth when an explosion to the north of them rocked the land.

Sam jerked up his mike. “What the hell was that? Rear column, answer me!”

“Bridge is blown,” came the weary reply. “Next road leadin’ anywhere is 97 to the north. And scouts reports that road is closed. Next highway is 89. And that ain’t gonna do us a damn bit of good.”

“If I want a goddamned scenic route mapped out, Ira, I’ll ask you for it!” Sam snapped.

He tossed the mike to the seat. He rubbed his face, deep in thought. He frowned as laughter once more came from the dark timber.

Sam frowned and once more picked up the mike. “Ira?”

“Right here, Sam.”

“Are you cut off from Battalions One and Two?”

“All by my lonesome, Sam.”

“Dig in and hold what you’ve got, Ira.”

“Do I have a choice, Sam?”

Hartline chose not to reply. He picked up a map. “Chances are, Raines sent the sambo north with one battalion. Ira can keep him busy. We’ve still got Battalion Five east of us and Battalion Four to the west. We’ve got Raines outgunned and out-manned. Smartassed bastard may have planned this too carefully. He may have cut it too fine for his own good this time.”

Once more, from the dark timber, came that taunting laughter.

“I know what that is now,” Sam said, visibly relaxing. “The underground people. They don’t use guns. They have bows and arrows and spears and shit like that. Long as we don’t get in the deep timber, we’re all right.”

“Sam? We’re sittin’ ducks out here in the middle of the damn road.”

“Yeah, I know. Tell Battalions Four and Five to hold what they’ve got. Advance only at my orders. What’s in the next town?”

“Nothing. It’s deserted.”

“You hope,” Sam said sourly. Chapter Thirty-six

Ike and his personal team had entered South Carolina just north of Mount Carmel, where the Georgia-flowing Broad River merged with the Savannah River. In typical Navy SEAL fashion, Ike and his people entered enemy territory at night, by water.

“Damn alligators probably in here,” one team member bitched.

“Beats the hell outta “Nam,” Ike put an end to it. “Let’s go.”

Dawn found Ike and his team hiding in a deserted house near what had once been the small town of Bradley. They would spend the hot daylight hours resting, then move out again at night.

The Rebels” main problem-other than staying alive-was that they were not sure exactly where Nina was being held.

But Ike knew how to find out.

“We grab some IPA dude and get the information out of him,” he said.

“That could get bloody,” a Rebel said.

Ike’s smile was as savage as the IPA. “I’m sure it will,” he said.

Nina listened to Colonel Khamsin’s talk, her face impassive. She hurt, but not as badly as a couple of days ago. She could hobble about, with the aid of canes. She could not wear shoes or sandals, because of her swollen feet-where her toenails had been removed with wire-pliers.

The savages of the IPA had broken parts of her body, but not her spirit. Nina did not think they could do that. She really did not know why there were torturing her. For she knew very little about the Rebel movement. She knew there were Rebel outposts scattered throughout the Southeast, but did not know exactly where they were.

And she had told her interrogators as much.

That alone did not cause the pain to stop. Rather, it increased, for they felt she was lying.

And, of course, they had raped her. Nina had endured it silently. She had been raped before. Before she met Ike, and had fallen in love with the man.

Ike! she thought, staring at Khamsin’s dark, evil face. Where are you, Ike?

“… So you see, Miss,” Khamsin was saying. “The men and women of the IPA are not that different from your Ben Raines and his Rebels. We both strive for the same things. Peace, productivity, law and order. Don’t you see?”

“BLIVET!” Nina said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“BLIVET. It’s something Ike taught me. It’s an old military expression.”

“I’m not familiar with it. It means? …”

“Ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag!”

Khamsin’s eyes turned even more dark and evil. He rose from behind his desk and calmly walked around to Nina’s side. He slapped her out of her chair.

Khamsin reached down and grabbed Nina’s bandaged feet. He squeezed her toes, laughing as she screamed from the pain.

“Scream, little bird,” Khamsin said, his voice taunting. “Perhaps your Ike McGowen will hear you and come to your rescue.”

“Wrong,” she whispered. “Rebels are expendable. No matter how much Ike cares for me, he won’t risk people coming after me.” Nina knew that was not true, but maybe she could give Ike a fighting chance to get through to her.

She felt he was on the way. Perhaps very near. But she would never tell that to this camel-humper.

Khamsin stepped back, regained his composure, and gestured for her to get back into the chair. She did, slowly and painfully, almost falling as she fought the pain in her tortured feet.

She sat and stared up at him, defiance in her eyes.

Khamsin watched the woman. He knew, from years of active terrorism, that anyone and everyone could be broken. But sometimes, one had to weigh carefully what would be gained by it.

Khamsin believed the woman knew very little about the Rebel movement. So therefore there was little use in continuing her physical discomfort.

Khamsin felt a stirring in his groin as he stared at the fair-skinned woman. He felt himself begin to thicken as passion took him.

He walked to her and picked her up effortlessly,

placing her on a bunk. “I will not hurt your feet, little bird.”

I won’t die from rape, she thought. Come on, Ike-hurry!

Ike wiped the blood from his knife, sheathed it, and tossed a ragged blanket over what just vaguely resembled a human body lying on the dirty, rat-droppings-littered floor of the house.

He look at the two remaining IPA members. They stared at him with something very close to horror in their dark eyes.

And something else, Ike picked it up. Fear.

“What are you thinkin’, partner?” Ike asked the younger of the captives.

“That you are a savage!”

Ike laughed at him. “Me, a savage? You simple son of a bitch! Bastards like you have been waging a war of terrorism since before you were born, boy. You’ve killed innocent people, men, women, kids, all over this world. You’ve raped, kidnapped, tortured, maimed, and killed; and like some of those nuts that used to wage war in Ireland, you don’t even know what you’re fightin’ for.”

“Our homeland,” the young IPA man said.

One Rebel laughed. Like Ike, he was old enough to remember the terrorism of the 1980’s. “Why in the fuck don’t you go back to your homeland, then, and leave us the hell alone?”

“We are claiming this land in the name of Allah.”

Ike knelt down in front of the young man, his knife in his hand. “You wanna meet Allah, boy? Okay. But

I guaran-damn-tee you, boy, the journey’s gonna be a long and painful one.”

The IPA man spat in Ike’s face.

“Gag “im,” Ike ordered.

“This is as far as we go,” Hartline radioed. “We form battlelines here. And here we stand and slug it out. Dismount and dig your holes. Tanks and artillery, Station up.”

And that decision was to be Hartline’s last and fatal one. The mercenary had the Rebels outnumbered three to one. He could have rammed through almost any point in Ben’s thin lines. And by doing that, could have had the Rebels in a box, closing it with flanking movements.

But his caution overrode his solid military background.

And as he dug in, Sam Hartline wondered what had happened to those remaining loud-mouthed warlords.

Sonny Boy, Grizzly, Skinhead, Popeye, Piano, and the others were camped far from the battlelines. At this juncture, they wanted no more of Ben Raines. They all knew they would rebuild their ranks; the battered nation was full of sorry people who wanted something for nothing, and who would be more than willing to join the outlaws.

They had never gotten around to voting on a top general. Running for their lives from the Rebels, that had slipped their minds.

For now, the warlords and outlaws would simply wait. And stay far away from Ben Raines and his Rebels.

“Ben?” Cecil radioed. “Looks like you were right-again. We’re going to stand and slug it out with Hartline.”

“Not yet, Cec.” Ben radioed his reply. “What we’re going to do is annoy the hell out of Hartline. We’ve got the time; it’s on our side in this operation. So we’re going to pick and prod at Hartline and his men. We’re going to put the needle to them. All day, and all night. A war of nerves. They’re not going to get much sleep, Cec. And some of our people will be so close to them, that when they relax their guard, they get their throats cut.”

Cecil’s chuckle was grim. “Ben, you are a real bastard, you know that?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t bother you at all, does it?”

“Nope.” Cecil laughed and signed off.

Hartline’s people dug in, deep and solid. They waited.

And waited.

The long hot days began to melt into each other. Every fifteen minutes, on the dot, a round from mortar or tank or artillery would crash into or very near some position manned by Hartline’s men.

And with every hour that passed, Ben’s Rebels became more secure and dug-in; moving several yards closer, tightening the deadly ring around the mercenary’s bunkers.

Hartline’s men could only move about at night, for Rebel snipers had the range, and they were dead-accurate.

Some people might have questioned Ben’s tactics, wondering why, if he had Hartline boxed, didn’t he just starve the mercs out?

In terrain such as both sides were holding, that’s only done in the movies. Hartline and his men could have slipped out during the night, with many of them making it. But they would have been forced to leave their artillery, their vehicles, their heavier machine guns and larger mortars.

Hartline had dug himself into a safe hole, but not a very enviable one.

And the waiting game was beginning to tell on Hartline’s men.

“What the hell are they waiting on?” one mercenary CO asked Hartline.

“For us to screw up,” Sam replied calmly. “Once we show the first signs of cracking, Ben’s people will be all over us like ants to honey.”

“Well… why don’t we pull something like Raines done? Fake it?”

“Because Ben wouldn’t fall for it,” Sam grudgingly conceded. “He’s too goddamned smart for that.”

A sniper round blasted into the log-enforced bunker of Sam Hartline. The CO winced; Sam stood impassive, his eyes staring at nothing.

“Jesus!” the CO whined. “Them people are tough with them rifles.”

“Yeah. XM-21’S.”

The young CO looked at him, waiting for explanation.

“Accurized M-14’s, using an ART scope. Back in ‘nam, 800, 900-yard first-round kills were common with that weapon. They’re good.”

Dusk was spreading her dark skirts over the land. Sam called for as many section leaders as could make the run to his bunker to come on over.

“Boys,” the mercenary admitted, “I screwed up. Staying in this place is like fucking for virginity. I hate to say it, but we’re gonna have to bust out. Raines is not going to stand and slug it out with us.”

Even though the risks were awful, the mercenary section leaders knew what Sam was saying was the only way any of them were going to survive.

“Where’s the bust-out point, Sam?”

Sam pointed south. “Straight ahead. As near as I can figure it, Raines’s people are spread pretty thin all around us. The nigger’s up north with Third Battalion. They can keep the nigger busy. I’ll take First Battalion and cut west, link up with Fourth Battalion. You take Second Battalion and cut east, link up with Fifth Battalion. As soon as that’s done, we’ll start inching back toward the border. With any kind of luck, we can hook up with Ira’s boys.”

“When do we bug out?”

“Midnight.” Chapter Thirty-seven

“Something wrong, Dad?” Tina Raines asked, walking up to Ben’s side.

Ben shook his head. “Nothing tangible, Daughter. It’s just that I think we’ve held Hartline in a box just about as long as we’re going to. He’s an arrogant prick, but a good soldier. He’ll admit he made a mistake in digging in.”

“And then? …”

“Well, if I were in his shoes, I’d order a bust-out. Question is, where and when.”

Tina waited, knowing her dad had given this considerable thought.

Ben said, “Sam’s got a battalion to the west, one to the east, and one that’s pulled back into Youreka. He’s got his battalion and one other dug in. Now, he could do any number of things. He could retreat back to Youreka and bust through Cec’s lines, linking up with that battalion. But he’ll quickly reject that because of those blown bridges.

“Sam could bust out to the south, then swing around and join the western group. But that would put his back to the sea. He won’t do that. If he moved

both his battalions to the east, that would mean he’d sacrifice the western battalion. And he won’t do that because he needs those people.

“If I were Sam, I’d split my forces, one battalion to the west, one to the east, link up, and begin retreating back toward the Oregon border.”

“Then you think he’ll be coming straight out of the chute, heading south, then split east and west?”

“That’s what I’d do.”

“And you want us to do? …” She left the question open-ended.

Ben grinned. “Why, open the gate, dear. Just give him all the space he needs.” Ben’s smile broke into a wide grin.

“Until he splits his forces, that is,” Tina said. “And then we hit them hard.”

“That’s it, dear.”

“But you don’t know for certain when he’ll try to bug out, do you, Dad?”

“No, not for sure.”

“But you have a feeling it’ll be soon, right?”

“Like … tonight, daughter.”

“What else do you have up your sleeve, Dad?”

Dan Gray had joined the group, standing quietly and listening. The Englishman began to smile.

Ben looked at Dan. “You finish it, Dan.”

“I never presume to know what is in another man’s mind,” the ex-Sas man said primly.

“Horseshit!” Ben replied.

“You’ve been hanging around Ike too long, General. How crude. Very well. I would draw the Rebels back several hundred meters; put them deep in the timber. Then just as soon as Hartline’s people passed,

and I mean within seconds, I would move the Rebels into the abandoned bunkers, reposition the mortars and other artillery, and use the mercenaries” own weapons against them. That’s what I’d do.”

“But suppose Hartline has booby-trapped his bunkers and artillery and tanks?” Tina asked.

“No time,” Ben said. “This would be a snap decision on Sam’s part. I know he called a meeting early this afternoon. In his bunker. I ordered a double bino watch. Those behind the long lenses report no unusual activity. Any type of behavior other than what we’ve grown accustomed to would be a dead give away on Sam’s part. Dan, start pulling the Rebels back. Give Sam a chute to use. He may fall for it, he may not. I’m betting he will.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nina fought away her feelings of suicide. She had been a survivor all her life; she was not going to quit now.

She had thought once Khamsin had his way with her-how long had it been?-a week, she guessed-then he would leave her alone.

It was not to be.

The man was worse than a goat. She had endured the assaults as silently and stoically as humanly possible.

The only thing about her that had improved was her feet. Most of the pain was now gone, but her tortured toes were still very tender.

She heard footsteps in the hall. A guard knocked on her door. Nina swung her feet off the bed and

carefully slid her feet into house slippers. “Yes?” “The colonel is ready for you, woman.” “Charmed, I’m sure,” Nina muttered. Ike! she

thought. Where are you, Ike? Please, Ike-hurry!

Ike was less than two miles away. He and his team had been in the Columbia area for several days. They had slipped in at night, moving carefully, and just as carefully mapping out Colonel Khamsin’s headquarters, where Nina was being held.

The last member of the IPA patrol that Ike had questioned had broken under Ike’s knife, spilling his guts-literally.

Ike and his team had moved out for the Columbia area before the terrorist’s body had cooled.

“Okay, gang,” Ike said. “It has to be tonight. We’ve already pushed our luck too hard. One more recon of the area is not only useless, but risky. We go in at midnight.”

Ike and his team were on the second floor of an old warehouse. Ike knew how they were going to get Nina out; but then getting away was quite another matter.

Ike looked at his radio operator. “You got the other teams on the horn, scrambled?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell them at exactly midnight, on the dot, I want diversion strikes all along the borders, as many as possible. I wanna shake Khamsin’s people up. For fifteen minutes, minimum, get our people on the borders to throw everything they’ve got into South Carolina. That’s all the time we’re gonna have, people. Fifteen minutes to get in, grab Nina, and get out.”

Ike glanced at his team. “Let’s take it from step one, people.”

“I’m at the gate,” a Rebel said.

“I drive the truck,” the second Rebel said.

“I carry Nina,” a big Rebel said. “In case she’s been tortured and can’t walk.”

“I start the fires,” a woman Rebel spoke quietly.

“And you and me,” Ike said, looking at another Rebel. “We bust her out.”

The radio operator was busy transmitting Ike’s orders.

Ike glanced at his watch. “Let’s go.”

Ben glanced at his watch, then at Tina. “Everybody pulled back, girl?”

“Yes, sir. Hartline’s got a hole wide enough to stampede cattle through.”

He should be making bug-out any second.”

His walkie-talkie crackled.

“Speak,” Ben said.

“Bugging out, sir,” came the whispered report. “And traveling pretty light.”

“Keep your head down,” Ben ordered.

Up and down the lines of pulled-back Rebels, the scouts radioed in to Ben. Sam Hartline and his men were bugging out.

Ben looked at his daughter. “It won’t take Sam long to realize he’s been had. But by then, I’m hoping, he’ll be past the point of no return. But either way, we can still kick the shit out of him.”

“Gonna finish him this time, Dad?” Tina asked.

“I’m going to give it my best shot, girl.”

“Too easy,” Hartline whispered to his aide. “That goddamned Ben Raines is up to something. But damned if I can figure what it is.”

“I feel like I’m being watched,” one of his men whispered. “And I heard something move behind me about a mile back.”

“Yeah, me, too,” a mercenary said. “But it sounded like they, whatever it was, was movin’ back the way we come.”

Then the light bulb of full understanding clicked on in Sam’s head. “That sneaky son of a bitch!” he growled.

He halted the snakelike column and stood for a moment, listening. He could just detect the sounds of breeches opening and closing; the sounds of tank-mounted howitzers being raised.

And Sam Hartline knew, Ben Raines had bested him-again.

“Matt?” Sam called softly.

“Right here, Sam. What’s up?”

“Every man for themselves,” Sam Hartline gave the orders. Gave them with a bitter, copper-like taste in his mouth. The taste of defeat.

And Sam Hartline took off running, running as if the hounds of Hell were snarling and biting at his ankles.

Ben Raines lifted his walkie-talkie. “Guns facing east?”

“Yes, sir,” came the quick response. “Guns facing west?” Ben asked. “Yes, sir. Locked and loaded.” “East and west,” Ben said. “Have your forward observers pinpointed your targets?” “Yes, sir,” came the dual reply. “Commence firing.”

Ike’s team hit the gates of Khamsin’s command post fifteen seconds after midnight. They had slapped C-4 onto doors and buildings and operational vehicles as they made their way to the compound.

The charges began blowing just as Ike and his team opened fire and began tossing fire-frag grenades about the compound.

The news of the attacks along the border had just been rushed to Khamsin when Ike’s team began their assault. The compound erupted in confusion and smoke and explosions and gunfire.

A team member had driven two deuce-and-a-half trucks into the only street that had not been blocked off. The Rebel backed off, rolled a grenade under each truck, then ran like hell back to the compound to join in the fight. The transport trucks blew, blocking the street with fire and hot metal and smoking glass.

The attack had been so sudden, so totally unexpected it had caught the IPA with their pants down-or off, as the case was, with many of them sleeping.

Ike tripped a running IPA troop. With the blade of his knife against the man’s throat, he snarled, “The woman prisoner? Where is she?”

The man spat in Ike’s face.

With the point of his knife, Ike dug out one of the man’s eyes. Ignoring the screaming, Ike repeated the question.

With his eyeball dangling down the side of his face, and the blood spurting, the IPA troop answered Ike’s question.

“Shoulda told me that in the first place, stupid!” Ike kicked the man on the side of the head, knocking him out, but allowing him to live. For a time longer.

Ike ran up the outside stairs of what had once been a walled office complex and kicked in the door. He grinned at Nina.

“Hello, baby! Ready to go home?” Chapter Thirty-eight

Ben hated to do it, knowing that unless his people set backfires to check the burning woods, half of California might well be wiped out. He hesitated, then called for WP rounds.

The night sky erupted in flames as the white phosphorus rounds exploded, as the fires caught, the sap in the trees ignited, burned, and exploded. And Hartline and his men were caught smack in the middle of the raging maelstrom, with absolutely no place to run.

Sam literally stumbled into a lifesaving hole in the ground. The soft earth under his boots gave way and he fell about five feet into a slanting cave. He slid another twenty-five or so feet before reaching bottom. He carefully put out his hand, feeling the rocky surface beneath him. No bat shit. Good. Sam hated bats. Filthy fuckers.

Using his flashlight, Sam inspected the cave. About ten feet high at the widest point, perhaps eight or ten feet wide at the widest point, narrowing down to no more than several inches wide.

One way in, one way out. Fine with him.

Then he wondered why the smoke from the fires was not entering the cave. He crawled as far as he could deeper into the cave. Air fanned his face, coming out of the small crack. That explained that. The updraft kept the smoke out.

Sam curled up on the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible, and went to sleep.

Khamsin had hurled himself to the floor when the first explosion sounded. When automatic-weapons fire began raking the compound, he crawled under his desk. But he left his ass exposed.

A grenade blew just outside his main office, sending ragged shards of glass flying in all directions.

A long jagged piece hit Khamsin square in one cheek of his buttocks, penetrating several inches. Khamsin howled in pain and rage and frustration. When he reached back to pull the glass out, he sliced his hand open, to the bone.

On his knees, the Libyan cursed America, Americans, and especially Ben Raines.

By everything that was holy, Khamsin swore to someday kill Ben Raines.

But the pain in his ass overrode his prayers and he wondered where in the shit his medics might be hiding.

“You won’t want me no more, Ike,” Nina said. “I’ll leave and let you find yourself a whole woman when we get back.”

“Girl,” Ike said, looking at her. “What in the holy

billy-hell are you talking about?”

“That camel-humpin’ bastard used me pretty bad, Ike.”

Ike grinned at her in the darkness of the canvas-covered bed of the truck. “You reckon he wore it plumb out, baby?”

“Ike!”

“Then don’t worry about it, baby. Tell you what. When we get back, how’s about you and me gettin’ hitched?”

“Ike?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you.”

“Is that a fact? Well, dip me in shit and call me stinky!”

“If you folks will quit all that romancin’ up there,” a Rebel called from his post by the tailgate. “Here comes a whole bunch of those camel-jockeys.”

“Ridin’ camels?” Ike called.

“I wish!”

Ike picked up his CAR-15 and joined the guard. “How about us start rollin’ out some surprises for them folks, Ed?”

The Rebel grinned and held up both hands full of fire-frags. “Like these?”

“How did you guess?”

“Cease fire!” Ben ordered. “Cease fire!” The night became eerily quiet, except for the popping of trees as the sap exploded. Fires ringed the interior of the battleground. And the cloudy skies cracked just a bit and a light

mist began falling. After only a few moments, the mist changed into a sprinkle, then a downpour. Ben looked up, the rain streaking his face, and smiled.

“Thanks,” he said.

Dan Gray came to Ben’s side. “I’ve ordered the troops to start mopping up, General.”

“Fine. Have you any prelims on troop loss?”

“We lost no one. It appears that Hartline suffered approximately ninety percent loss of his battalions. We’ll probably never know for sure.”

Ben nodded. “I’m going to get some rest. Take over, Dan.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Englishman watched as Ben walked away, back to his command post for some much-needed sleep.

A Rebel approached Dan. “Sir?”

“Yes, son?”

“General Jefferys was just on the horn. He reports that his people are kicking ass north of here. Your people have engaged the other battalion and have them on the run. Looks like we won, sir.”

“Thank you. Keep me informed and don’t disturb the general.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carl?” Dan called.

“Here, sir!” the batman said.

“A bit of tea would be nice. Perhaps a cracker or cookie to go with it.”

“Right away, sir.”

Dan sat down on a log and rested, waiting for his early morning refreshment. He wondered how Ike was doing?

“Sir!” the shout came from the cab of the truck.

“Go ahead!” Ike hollered.

“Our teams have smashed across the border and put the IPA on the run. They’re waiting for us just five miles up this road. As soon as we pass, they’ll blow the bridges over the Little Lynches and Lynches Rivers. After that, we’re home free.”

“Right!” Ike leaned back and let the weariness flow over him. Nina was lying on a blanket, looking up at him through the darkness. “We made it, babe,” he said.

She winked at him.

Khamsin lay on his stomach and endured the pain as the doctor stitched up his buttock.

“I simply cannot believe that many Rebels made it across our borders, penetrated our security, and successfully executed this raid,” Khamsin spoke through gritted teeth.

Khamsin’s XO had dreaded this moment. “There weren’t that many Rebels, sir.”

“There had to be a full battalion,” Khamsin said.

“Six, sir,” the XO said.

“Six battalions!” Khamsin cut his eyes to the XO, disbelief in the evil darkness.

“Ah, no, sir. Six … people.”

Khamsin began roaring his rage. “Six! Six men did all this?”

“Five men and one woman, I believe, sir.”

Khamsin began pounding his clenched fists on the operating table, screaming his fury.

The XO waited until his colonel had exhausted his fury-hopefully. “They were led by Ike McGowen. That’s the former U.s. Navy SEAL, sir.”

Khamsin said some very uncomplimentary things about Ike McGowen.

General Georgi Striganov was awakened from a sound sleep by an aide.

“Sir? A great many confusing radio reports from California. It seems some great battles have been taking place there.”

Striganov looked at his bedside clock. It was time to rise anyway. In the few weeks he had been in Canada, Striganov was feeling better than he had in months. He had placed himself in the capable hands of Vasily Lvov and had followed the doctor’s orders to the letter.

He dressed and walked out to where the aide was waiting in the hall. Striganov followed the aide to the radio room, took a seat, and began listening.

It soon became apparent that Sam Hartline was finished. Now Ben Raines’s Rebels were mopping up, and Georgi Striganov knew what the Rebels did when they “mopped up.”

They took no prisoners.

Sam Hartline was through.

But had Sam escaped?

The radio reports gave not a clue. And Striganov knew Ben Raines well enough to know that the commander of the Rebel Army did not boast. If the reports said one thing, take it as fact, for it was.

Striganov listened and sipped hot tea until the

radio messages became repetitive. He left the radio room and went to his office. He sat down behind his desk and allowed himself a few moments of quiet meditation.

He would stay in Canada; God forbid crossing the border back into America for a long, long time.

If ever.

Lvov entered his office and sat down before the commander of the IPF.

“Something, Vasily?”

“Intercepted radio messages from South Carolina, Georgi. Some of Ben Raines’s Rebels struck hard at the command post of the IPA. Heavy damage was inflicted. Colonel Khamsin escaped serious injury.”

“How many Rebels struck?”

Lvov smiled. “Six,” he said softly.

Georgi laughed, this laugh holding real mirth. “Khamsin is learning just how vicious the Rebels can be, correct?”

“It would appear that way, Georgi. Have you considered Khamsin’s proposal?”

“Yes. And I have rejected it.”

Lvov sighed with relief.

“I am weary of it all,” Georgi said. “Tired of war. Tired of fighting General Raines. And tired of constantly being bested by the man. No matter where he goes, the man gains strength. I am weary of letting slip the dogs of war.”

“Georgi?”

Russian eyes met, locked.

“I have ordered a halt to all human experimentation. I have instructed my people to focus on non-aggressive experiments. A way to produce better crops,

medicines. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel a load lifting from my back, Vasily. That’s how I feel. I do not wish to make enemies of those Canadians remaining. We shall work with them, be friends with them-as we should have done with the Americans.”

“I have destroyed those mutant babies, Georgi.”

“God forgive us all, Vasily.”

“I wonder if it’s too late for that, old friend. And believe me, I have given it much thought of late.”

“As have I.”

“Ben Raines?”

“In time I shall approach him, by radio,” he added drily. “And extend the dove of peace to him. I can only hope he will accept.”

“He probably will. But if you do that, bear this in mind: Ben Raines makes peace with no force who will not fight side by side with him.”

“I think it’s past time we did something decent for a change, Vasily.”

The two men rose and shook hands.

“To a new way, Georgi.”

“No, Vasily. Just a better way.” Chapter Thirty-nine

By late afternoon, it was apparent to all that Sam Hartline’s mercenaries were no more. Those remaining were running in wild-eyed panic from the troops of Ben Raines. Panic because they knew they could not surrender; fear because they knew there was no place to run; terror because they each knew death was all that awaited them.

They engaged the Rebels in spotty combat, and died. Even though the mercenaries and the Rebels were just about equal in numbers, the Rebels were fighting for a just cause, with a definite goal in mind; the mercenaries fought only for booty and rape and torture and joy in killing.

And they died for it.

Ben left the camp and walked the battleground, his usual complement of Rebels surrounding him. He could still find grim amusement in all the attention paid him.

Better get used to it, Ben, he thought. This is the way it’s going to be-from now on.

The rain had put out most of the fire; some trees still smoldered and smoked. And the Rebels were

soon filthy from the soot and ash.

Ben removed his camo headband, poured water on it from his canteen, and washed his face and neck, retying the camo bandana around his forehead. His Thompson was on sling.

Broken bodies littered the forest. Some had died from gunshot wounds, others from the heavy shelling of the night before, still others had no marks on them. Either smoke got them or they died of fright.

Ben’s walkie-talkie crackled. “Go,” he spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Ike made it back across the border, General. Nina is okay. Reports are that Khamsin got shot in the ass.”

“Good,” Ben laughed the reply.

They walked on, their boots making little noise in the ashes of fire and war. A slight noise turned Ben’s head. He waved the patrol quiet and down. Ben walked toward the source of the small noise. Crouching down near the mouth of a hole in the ground, Ben could hear the sounds of someone climbing up, clawing at the rock and dirt beneath the surface of the earth.

Ben signaled for his patrol to remain where they were. He squatted and waited.

Sam Hartline’s head popped out of the hole, his eyes darting left and right.

Like a large rat.

Sam turned in the hole, and Ben placed the muzzle of his Thompson between the man’s eyes, the metal pressing against flesh.

“Hello, Sam,” Ben said. “I can’t tell you how I’ve looked forward to this day.”

“Wish I could say the same, Ben.”

“Very slowly, Sam-very slowly, pull yourself out of that hole. And there better not be anything in your hands except skin.”

“I’m not a fool, Ben.” Hartline pulled himself out of the hole to stand before Ben. “You going to give me a fighting chance, Ben Raines?”

Ben laid his Thompson aside and smiled. “Oddly enough, Hartline, I am.”

“You’re a fool, Raines! You can’t take me with your hands.”

“We’re about to find out, Sam.”

“Mind if I limber up a bit, Ben? It’s been sort of cold and cramped sleeping on rock.”

“Help yourself, Sam. I’m feeling rather magnanimous this morning.”

Neither man noticed when a Rebel lifted his walkie-talkie and spoke very quietly. Since neither man took his eyes off the other, they did not notice the woods filling with Rebels until several hundred had gathered silently.

Sam stretched and did several deep knee bends, flexed his arms, and shadowboxed for several seconds.

“How’s it going to be, Raines?” Hartline asked.

“Rough-and-tumble-anything goes, barehanded.”

“And if I win?”

“You won’t,” Ben said flatly.

“Let’s assume.”

“One of those Rebels will shoot you dead.”

“Well, goddamn, Raines! You’re giving me a hell of an option, aren’t you?”

“I’ve giving you a last chance to do something

you’ve never been able to do before.”

“What?”

“Best me in anything.”

That stung Hartline. He flushed, then grinned. “Rani had some good gash, Raines. You should have heard her scream when I took her like a dog.”

Ben did not change expression.

“I heard another of your women turned on you, Raines. Made a deal with the Libyan. What’d you do with her, slap her on the wrist and tell her she’s been bad?”

“I shot her between the eyes-personally.”

Hartline narrowed his eyes. “You shot her, Ben? You killed a broad? I thought you were the last of the great romantics … women on a pedestal and all that shit.”

“You pays your money you takes your chances, Sam.”

Hartline grinned. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Ben.” He studied Ben for a moment. “You’ll never beat Khamsin, Raines. I know him from years back. He was Abu’s right hand. Until the world blew up.”

“I’ll beat him, Sam.”

Hartline nodded his handsome head. “Maybe. We gonna talk all the damn day, Raines?”

“No,” Ben said, then took a quick step forward and hit Hartline flush on the jaw with a hard right cross. The blow knocked the man backward and down into the soot and ashes. Ben stepped forward and kicked Hartline in the side with his boot, sending the man rolling on the sooty earth.

Hartline sprang to his booted feet quick as a big cat. He grinned at Ben, the blood leaking from a cut

somewhere inside his mouth. “Sneaky bastard, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Ben agreed, and ducked a roundhouse swing from Hartline. He grabbed the man’s arm and flipped him. Hartline landed on his back on the earth, sending great clouds of ash and soot billowing. Just as he was getting to his feet, Ben kicked him low, just above the left kidney. Hartline squalled in pain and rolled, coming up on his hands and knees.

Ben stepped in to give the mercenary a knee in the face and Hartline grabbed Ben around the knees and dumped him to the ground. Sam was immediately on top of Ben, straddling him, pounding at Ben’s face with both fists.

Ben worked one arm out from under Sam’s leg and grabbed Sam’s genitals in one strong hand, clamping down hard and twisting with all his strength.

Hartline screamed like a panther and dropped both hands to Ben’s wrist.

Ben rolled over, still holding on, and worked his way to his knees. He lifted Hartline’s buttocks and legs off the ground and then suddenly released his hold and stood up. Sam was huddled on the ground, in a painful ball.

Ben stood for a moment, blood leaking from his mouth and nose. He caught his breath just as Sam slowly got to his booted feet. The two men went at each other with fists, hammering at each other, all thoughts of their many skills in the martial arts forgotten.

This had once been known-back when the nation was whole, before-as Oklahoma oilfield, bare-knuckle, slug-it-out type of fighting.

Hartline hit Ben in the wind with a solid left that staggered Ben. Ben responded with a vicious hook to Sam’s jaw, the punch driving the man back. Ben stepped in and hit the man in the face with both fists, a jumping type of punch. Hartline went to the ground, spun, and kicked Ben on the knee with a boot.

Ben fell to the earth and rolled, narrowly missing Sam’s boot aimed at his face. Ben grabbed up a handful of ash and soot and flung it into Sam’s face, momentarily blinding the man.

Ben got to his feet and went to work, slashing at the man with both fists, left and right combinations, to the body and to the face. Sam was staggering now, his eyes glazed. He backpedaled, shook his head, and came up with a knife in his hand, jerked from the sheath on his web belt.

Ben stepped back and pulled his own Bowie-type blade. He feinted with his left hand and Hartline swung his blade in that direction. The blades clanged and echoed through the charred woods. Each man was as good as the other with the blade, and it did not take either of them long to realize that.

Sam stepped in close and tried for a gut cut. Ben sidestepped and swung his heavy knife, cutting Sam from temple to point of jaw. Sam yelled and dropped his guard for just one second.

That was all Ben needed.

Ben drove the point of his knife into Sam’s stomach, driving it into the hilt. Ben stepped back.

Sam’s fingers opened, his knife dropping from suddenly numbed fingers. Sam Hartline sank to his knees, his eyes mirroring his disbelief that this could happen to him.

“You … you killed me!” Sam said, blood pouring out of his mouth.

“Sure looks that way,” Ben panted.

Sam tried to pull the blade from his mangled stomach and guts. But he did not have the strength. He lifted his eyes to Ben. “You gonna bury me right, Ben?”

“Nope.”

“You owe me that much. We’re … soldiers and all.” His voice was getting weaker.

“You’re a disgrace to the profession, Sam. I’m just gonna let the buzzards have you.”

“You … to was Sam never got to finish it. He fell forward on his face and chest and stomach, the force of his fall-driving the knife blade deeper into his guts.

His fingers dug into the soot and ash, clawing as life began leaving him.

“You … to was Sam once more whispered.

Ben waited.

Sam Hartline never spoke another word. His legs trembled and his body jerked in spasms of pain. Blood poured from his mouth, staining the dirty ground.

Ben walked to Dan, standing by Tina. He winked at his daughter and shifted his eyes to Dan. “Give the orders, Dan. Let’s go home.” Chapter Forty

“You people don’t have enough numbers to sway what will happen one way or the other,” Ben told the civilian freedom fighters from California. “So it would be best if you stayed out here. But that doesn’t mean I might not call on you.”

“We’ll roll as soon as you call, General,” John Dunning assured Ben.

Some of the materials taken from the Russian and from Hartline were given to the new Rebels in the west. Much of it was tied down on trucks and readied for the trip back east, to Base Camp One.

Ben ordered the miles-long column out in sections, with ten miles between each section. It was an awesome sight in the early morning mist, this eastward trek of Raines’s Rebels. Thousands of men and women, hundreds of trucks and Jeeps, APC’S, tanks, gasoline transports, motorized artillery.

In Utah, Ben ordered the column to halt for repairs and rest. The newest vehicle among the many was fourteen years old; that was the last year the United States of America had ever produced anything. Parts for the vehicles were no problem, millions of them lay

all over the nation; but the vehicles did break down often.

Ben set up his command post in what remained of a motel, after having it cleaned free of rat shit and other debris. He ordered his radio operator to make contact with Base Camp One and got Ike on the horn.

“Ike? Congratulations. How’s Nina?”

“She’s fine, I think. The IPA used her pretty badly, Ben. Physically, she’s okay.”

“What are we going to be up against, Ike?”

“More than we’ve faced since the government assaulted the Tri-States, Ben.* The IPA are all seasoned fighters. From what I got out of prisoners, fighting is all they’ve been doing for ten to twelve years.”

“Do you have any hard intel on the warlords and outlaws still alive?”

“Only that they’ve pulled in their horns and are somewhere up in the midwest, gathering strength. They won’t be as easy to take the next time, Ben.”

“I know. There is always something to contend with. But it’s Khamsin and his people that I’m concerned with at the moment.”

“Ben? Remember Sister Voleta8”**

“How could I ever forget her? Don’t tell me she’s popped up again?”

“Oh, yes. With her son. You ready for this? Ben Raines Blackman.”

Ben’s reply was a grunt. Out of the Ashes

 

*