Alone in the Ashes

Jake looked at the man. Dumb son of a bitch! he thought. “All right, boys. You start cuttin” sign,” he ordered a dozen men. “Rest of you make damn sure the trucks and jeeps are ready to go. Can’t nothin’ but a four-wheel make it in there. This weather ain’t gonna last. They’ll be blizzards and then it’ll warm up enough for us to move. We might be able to move one day and be holed up for a week. But we’re gonna get Ben Raines. This time, we’re gonna get him.”

Ben radioed in to Base Camp One and gave Cecil his map coordinates on scramble. “Ike’s hidey-hole,” he told them.

Ike grinned at the message. “Man, he’s way back in the timber. It’d take a full battalion to dig them out of there. Shit. I stashed enough ammo back there to fight a whole war.”

“I think we should contact Colonel Gray,” Gale said.

“No,” Cecil nixed that. “If Ben wants Dan in on this, he’ll contact him. I get the feeling this is, well, personal with Ben.”

None of them liked it, but that was the way it was going to be.

Ben told them about Sam Hartline and the Russian.

Gale tensed at the news. Her dark eyes filled with hatred at Ben’s report.

Tina put her hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder.

“We’re going to have to do something about that situation,” Ben concluded his report. “Just as soon as I can pinpoint the location, we’ll begin making plans to put an end to the obscenity. Raines out.”

Ben turned his set off before Base Camp One had a chance to say anything else.

“It’s a vendetta,” Gale said. “It’s for and because of that little boy.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Ike said. “But you’re right. Some of the people who brought that bunch of kids back said they’d never seen anything like the sight of those bodies Ben piled up around that old house. I’d hate to be in those outlaws’ boots when they do catch up with Ben.”

Ben stepped out on the small porch. Under a clear blue sky, the land lay white and cold before him. Ben’s lips curved in a warrior’s smile as he lifted his eyes above the tree line.

Smoke from half a dozen fires plumed into the sky. They were miles away. But there they were, lines of silvery gray lancing into the blue.

He called Rani outside and pointed to the smoke.

“So they’re here,” she said.

“No,” Ben corrected. “They’re there. A long way from finding this place.” He smiled. “They’ll be stumbling around the deep timber for a week. And taking heavy losses as they do.”

“From your traps?”

“And from me. Did you finish with those sheets yet?”

She sighed. “Yes. But I don’t like it, Ben.”

“I used to fish in this area, Rani. Back when we knew some semblance of peace. Before the central government elected to make war against us. I fished up here many times, with Ike and Pal and Cecil.” And with our wives, he thought in silent memory. Salina, Lila, Valerie, Megan. All dead. Most of them never buried. Their monuments the majesty of the timber where they lay. “I know this land, Rani. Know it well.”

She had picked up on Ben’s hesitation. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Sometimes old memories are best left alone.

“Come on,” she said, tugging at his arm. “Let’s see how good a seamstress I am.”

Rani had taken insulated coveralls and cut and sewn a snow suit over the coveralls, making it out of bed sheets. Using white shoe polish, Ben had made snow boots out of insulated hunting boots. His small pack was also covered with white fabric, as were his web belt, canteens, and ammo pouches.

“When are you leaving, Ben?”

“An hour before first light in the morning. I want to watch the smoke today, try to judge where they’re going.”

She smiled despite her fears. “Then let’s make it a memorable evening, General.”

“Delighted, Miss Jordan.”

“Ms.”

“But of course.”

Jake Campo squatted in front of a roaring fire, trying his best to get warm while his men struggled with tarps and tents. He looked over at Texas Red. They touched glances and understood each other.

Both knew coming into the snow and deep timber after Raines had been a terrible mistake. But they couldn’t back out now. That would cause them the loss of respect from their men. The outlaws couldn’t afford that. They had to finish this thing once and for all.

Forty men, Campo was thinking. We lost eight teams of men and Raines didn’t have to fire one lousy shot. And the desertions. Jesus. Guys were just quitting them left and right.

He looked around him at the cold camp. Maybe, maybe if they were lucky, there was a hundred and twenty, maybe thirty guys left. But he knew these were the hardcore men. Murderers and rapists and nut cases. Most didn’t have enough sense to quit.

This would be the base camp for a week, maybe longer. They would search every square inch of these woods, chart it on a map, and then, if they didn’t turn up Raines, move on. Jake knew they had plenty of food and sleeping bags and ammo. It was just a matter of finding Raines.

They would start in the morning.

Ben walked some twenty miles from the cabin before he began headhunting. It was going to snow again that night, so he wasn’t worried about tracks.

He drew close to the smoke that made up the western edge of the outlaws’ perimeter and squatted down, uncasing his binoculars. Very carefully and slowly, he scanned the area that lay before him. He picked up the movements of a few men. He focused his binoculars and brought the men in closer. They were walking with their heads down, searching the snow for sign.

Ben eased back into the deep timber, watching the men walk through the small valley. He was careful to shield his field glasses so the sun would not bounce off the lenses, giving away his position. He watched them draw closer, than fan out, several hundred yards between each man.

He waited by the edge of the forest. He was not aware of it, but he was smiling.

The man working the most eastern area drew closer. He was talking to himself. Obviously, he was not happy with his job.

“Son of a bitch,” the man muttered, his voice carrying to Ben. “I’m gonna enjoy watchin’ Jake nail that bastard to a cross. I hope it takes him days to die. Jesus! it’s cold out here.”

So Jake has plans to crucify me, Ben thought. I don’t think I’d like that very much. I’ll just see if I can’t put a crimp in Big Jake’s plans.

The outlaw came to the woods’ edge and stood for a moment. The deep timber gave him some relief from the cold winds singing around the valley.

“I sure would like to take a piss,” the outlaw muttered. “But I’m afraid my pecker would freeze and fall off.”

Then he cussed Ben Raines loud and long.

Ben hoped he enjoyed cursing him, for it was to be the last sound he would ever hear.

Ben was silent and deadly with his knife, slicing the man’s throat with the heavy, razor-sharp blade. He dragged the man into the timber and dropped him in the snow, his warm, pumping blood staining the whiteness scarlet.

“Halp!” Ben hollered, disguising his voice. “Halp! I’m stuck, boys, Halp!”

“Leroy, you stupid ox!” a man’s call drifted over the valley. “What the shit is the matter with you now?”’

“Caught my foot in a wedge!” Ben hollered. “Come help me.”

“All right, all right! Just don’t pee on yourself. We’re a-comin”dis”

Ben heard the man say, “You two keep on a-lookin’. Simmons, you and Bobby come with me. Let’s see what that dumbass’s got hisself into now.”

The three outlaws approached Ben’s position, walking clumsily through the snow.

“Leroy, you spastic bastard!” the point man said. “Sing out. Where is you?”

“Ooohhh!” Ben groaned.

“You hurt bad, Leroy?”

“Ooohhh!”

“Hang on, boy, we’s comin’.”

The point man was the first to step into the dimly lit timber, and for a few seconds, he was unable to see. Ben took him out silently, plunging his knife into the man’s chest, feeling the blade grind and grit through and past bone, driving into the man’s heart.

Standing up, Ben reversed the dead man’s sawed-off shotgun and used it for a club. He smashed the butt into one man’s face, hearing bones crunch and splinter under the impact. Before the third man could unsling his weapon, Ben shattered the man’s skull with the butt of the shotgun, hitting him so hard the butt broke off.

Ben dropped the broken shotgun, grabbed his .30-06, and uncapped the scope lenses. Quickly, he sighted an outlaw and pulled the trigger. Without bothering to see if he hit the man-Ben knew he didn’t miss, not at this distance-Ben had sighted the last man in and had downed him before the echoing report of the rifle had died away.

Ben slipped quietly back into the timber, heading for the next plume of smoke. He was not aware of it, but his smile was still locked in place, giving him a death’s-head look.

A look of hard-taken revenge.

Jake’s head jerked up at the sounds of the gunfire. A tiny bit more of confidence ebbed within the man. He somehow knew the shots had not come from any of his men. He somehow knew that Raines had struck again.

He sat on a log before the fire, waiting for the pot of coffee to boil. Not coffee, really. But a mixture of tea and coffee and chicory. Tasted like shit, but at least it was hot.

Seemed like it was taking forever for the crap to boil.

One of the warlord’s men came and squatted down by the fire, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Reckon one of our boys got Raines, Jake?”

“Could be.”

“Hope they didn’t kill him. I wanna see how much pain Raines can take. I hate that son of a bitch.”

“Why?” Jake heard himself ask. The one-word question surprised him, leaping from his mouth. He really didn’t know why he’d asked it. Or, he mentally corrected that, didn’t want to admit why he asked it.

“Huh?” the outlaw asked, looking at Campo.

“Why do you hate Raines?”

“Wai, shit, Jake! “Cause the man is … the guy is … all he is is … Shit! I don’t know. I jist do, that’s all.”

“Don’t you, Jake?” another outlaw asked quietly.

Without taking his eyes from the just-bubbling liquid in the battered old pot, Jake said, “No. I don’t hate him. I just wish to shit all this crap was over.”

“You wanna quit, Jake?” yet another man asked.

Jake shook his big shaggy head. “No. Can’t none of us quit, and you all know why. We got to see this thing through.”

Jake leaned forward, reaching for the pot. Ben squeezed the trigger. The slug that was meant for Jake Campo struck the man squatted next to Jake, the force of the impacting bullet slamming the man forward, into the fire. His fur-lined parka caught fire, and was quickly blazing. The odor of cooked human flesh filled the air.

The camp panicked.

Ben fired again, the slug striking an outlaw in the center of the back, pitching the man into the snow, face down. Another outlaw went down, the bullet entering the left side of his head and exiting out the right, blowing brains and fluid and bits of bone out with it.

Ben hurled a grenade into the camp, the shrapnel-filled little bomb exploding next to a pickup truck that was stuck in the heavy snow. The gas tank of the truck blew, sending flames billowing in the air, adding more confusion to an already chaotic situation. Men were running awkwardly in the snow, shouting and screaming in fear and panic, slamming into each other, knocking one another down, kicking and squalling in the snowy cold of the timber.

At the sound of the first shot, Jake had thrown himself to one side, scurrying like a big crab for cover. But as the situation worsened, Jake realized that there was no cover safe from the revengeful barking of the rifle and Raines.

Then, as quickly and savagely as it had begun, the firing stopped. Jake lay behind a log, listening for some sound, any sound, of Raines leaving.

Nothing.

The damned man moves like a ghost! Jake thought.

And that thought did nothing for Jake’s mental state.

Chapter 35

Ben slipped through the green and white forest like an armed avenging ghost. He was paralleling the second team of outlaws that morning, waiting for one of them to get careless.

Finally one did.

He called out, “I’m gonna step in them woods yonder and take me a piss. I’ll catch up with ya’ll directly.”

“Don’t let it freeze off!” an outlaw called.

“Yeah,” another yelled. “You ain’t got enough dick now to do no woman no good.”

He stepped into the timber and Ben swung the heavy knife. The cold metal suddenly turned hot with gushing blood, the big blade cutting through bone, muscle, and tendons. The head plopped to the snow, the eyes wide open and staring in shock and disbelief. The headless torso flopped and kicked on the snow, blood squirting from the severed neck.

Ben didn’t want to try the same ruse twice in the same day. He lay behind a log, using the fallen timber for a rifle support. He sighted in the man who was furthest away, and squeezed the trigger. The force of the slug knocked the man off his feet, the slug catching him squarely in the center of the chest. Ben shifted the rifle and shot another in the stomach. He managed to drop one more before the remaining two hit the snow and burrowed in like frightened rats.

Ben rolled away from the log, rolling backward, deeper into the timber, and began easing his way out of that area.

He was still smiling.

It began snowing heavily long before Ben reached the warmth of the cabin. The snow would hide his tracks, but he didn’t believe Jake or Texas Red or any of the outlaws could be stupid enough to venture out in this weather.

The sky had changed from a brilliant blue to a dirty gray, and Ben suspected a blizzard was building. If that was the case, more of the outlaws would be leaving, pulling out, deserting the warlords.

And some of them would probably freeze to death.

Ben was still smiling as he stepped up on the porch.

Jake’s fear had left him, as it had left Texas Red and many of the outlaws. The numbing cold had chased the fear away, replacing it with pure raw savagery. A dozen outlaws had given up the chase, quietly packing their gear and pulling out, with Jake and Texas Red hurling obscenities and threats at them as they left.

The outlaws that remained had finally wised up, building lean-to’s and crude shelters against the freezing winds and blowing snow. To a man, they all realized they had to kill Ben Raines and the woman, for those men who had left would surely spread the word, and the outlaws would be the subjects of much ridicule and scorn if they gave up the chase now.

No, Ben and Rani had to die. The outlaws had no choice in the matter now. None at all. It was fish-or-cut-bait time. And that was that.

The blizzard raged and howled and roared down from Canada with all the fury it could muster. The weather prevented the outlaws from moving against Ben, and kept Ben at home.

But while Ben and Rani were warm and dry and well-fed-indeed, both of them picking up a few pounds from no activity and hearty eating-the outlaws suffered during the extreme weather, many of them catching colds, which turned into pneumonia. Frostbite became infected, and turned gangrenous. Dispositions turned surly and fights broke out, then fistfights turned to gunplay.

Just as Jake was ready to pack it in and call it quits, and to hell with what other warlords and outlaws might think, the weather broke.

Jake awakened one morning to the sounds of water dripping. He lay in his blankets and tried to figure out what in the hell was going on.

Then he realized he was actually warm. Warm? How could that be?

He stepped out of his crudely built one-room shack and looked around him in amazement.

The sun was shining brightly and the temperature,

even this early in the morning, was in the upper forties, at least.

“All right!” he said. “All right!” he shouted.

Men began pouring out of lean-tos and shacks and tents, to stand and stare in confusion at the sudden change of weather.

“OK, boys!” Jake shouted. “Let’s go get Ben Raines and the broad.”

Ben kicked out of his blankets and walked to the window of the shack, throwing open the shutters. The chinooks were blowing. Andwiththe unusually warm winds, would come the outlaws. In full force.

“My God, Ben,” Rani said. “It’s the middle of winter and it feels like spring.”

“Chinooks,” Ben said. “They won’t last. But it might last three or four days-maybe longer. But the outlaws are going to be crawling all over the damned place. It’s time for me to get moving. I’ve got to rig more traps around the place. And I’ve got to do it now. While I’m getting dressed, honey, would you get me those bear traps from back in the storage area, please?”’

Making several trips, Rani carried out several dozen of the heavy, cruel-jawed, long-outlawed bear traps. The jaws were capable of crushing a man’s leg if he was unfortunate enough to step into one, and Ben was planning on breaking a lot of legs with the traps.

Ben was gone within the hour, loaded down with equipment. He was back in two hours, gathering up the last of the traps and packing enough emergency rations to last several days.

He kissed Rani and said, “They can’t burn you out of this place. And it would take a battering ram to knock down that door. You know how to use that M-60 machine gun. I’ll try to have this thing over and done with in two days. Three max. You be careful and don’t go outside for any reason. OK?”

“You come back to me, old man, OK?”

“Yes, Miss Jordan.”

“Ms.”

“Right!” Ben grinned. He was gone into the timber.

Rani locked and barred the heavy door. She sat down to wait.

Ben lay on a ridge and watched the outlaws approach. The outlaws were in a good mood, the break in the weather having buoyed their spirits, filling them with a false confidence.

And he noticed their ranks had been thinned considerably. But still they were in a good mood, many of them laughing and speaking very profanely as to what they were going to do to Rani when they caught her.

Ben put an end to the party spirit by shooting an outlaw in the stomach with his M-16. That seemed to take all the joy from their moment.

“On the ridge!” an outlaw shouted. “I seen the bastard. Get him, boys!”

Ben had moved back into the timber before the sound of his shot had died away. He deliberately held his fire, wanted the man to step into the timber. He had some nasty surprises waiting for them.

The outlaw in the lead lumbered into the timber, not watching for sign. He tripped the first of many swing traps, the eighteen-inch sharpened stake driving into his stomach. He hung suspended on the stake, howling out his agony, screaming for someone to please help him.

Ben let him howl. It was good for his morale and very demoralizing for the outlaw’s buddies.

The outlaws continued their headlong rush into the timber, all caution tossed to the wind, with one central thought: Get Ben Raines!

Ben heard the sickening sounds of the bear trap spring, the man’s leg breaking and crushing under the impact of the heavy jaws. The outlaw fell forward, screamed once, and then passed out from the intense pain.

Another outlaw failed to see the wire strung ankle-high in the timber. The wire tripped him, throwing him face forward into the snow, the sharpened stake imbedded in the hard ground driving all the way through the man’s chest, the sharpened end tearing out the man’s back.

Ben raised his M-16 and dropped three more outlaws before the men got it through their heads that the chase was not working out to their advantage.

“Fall back!” the command was shouted. “Jesus Christ-get out of these fuckin’ woods. The man’s a damned army all by hisself.”

Ben was moving before the words left the man’s mouth, moving deeper into the woods and circling, angling toward the edge of the clearing to the outlaw’s southern position.

A burly, unshaven, smelly outlaw was running wildly, his mouth open, gasping for air in the cold thinness. Another thug who had had quite enough of one Ben Raines. Ben decided to give him one final taste of combat, for this man was one Ben recognized as having said some perfectly disgusting things about what he wanted to do to Rani.

Ben shot him in the knees, pitching the man howling to the snowy, muddy ground.

Ben pulled back into the timber, leaving the man yowling for help.

Ben waited for that help to arrive.

“Garfield!” the shout came drifting to Ben. “Luther Garfield! Where are you, man?”

“Here!” Luther yelled, his voice pain-filled. “The bastard shot me in the knees. Oh, Jesus, man. It hurts.”

The outlaw’s buddy came running, staying close to the timber’s edge.

Ben slipped forward, his big Bowie knife in his hand. “Here, asshole,” Ben called, then moved to one side.

The man slid to a halt, his shotgun raised, the muzzle pointing toward where Ben had been. “Come out and fight like a man, you sneaky son of a bitch!” the outlaw said, panting and gasping for breath.

Ben came up behind the man and drove the big blade into the man’s skull, the blade penetrating halfway through the man’s brain.

Ben see-sawed the blade out and ducked back into the timber. He looked out into the small clearing. Those outlaws remaining had given up the fight and were running across the clearing, heading out.

The taste for battle had left this bunch. They wanted no more of Ben Raines.

Ben squatted in the mud and snow. His battle-tested and proven grin was still firmly locked in place.

Chapter 36

“Take your campaign and shove it up your ass, Jake!” the big outlaw’s second-in-command told him bluntly. “I’ve had it!”

“All right,” Jake said calmly. “Carry your asses on out of here, then.”

More than half of Jake Campo’s men-those that were left-walked to their vehicles and pulled out.

“We’re leavin’, Red,” Texas Red’s second-in-command told him. “Right now.”

The warlord nodded slowly. “OK. Just don’t ever let me see any of you again, though. “Cause I’ll sure kill you if n I do.”

“Screw you, Red!”

The battered and hobo-looking base camp of the outlaws became quiet as the men began pulling out. Jake Campo and Texas Red looked around them at the men remaining.

Jake had fifteen men left. Texas Red had ten who had elected to remain with him.

“There’s a pattern to Raines” movements,” Jake said. “I been thinkin’ about it. And the circle keeps gettin’ smaller.” He looked at a tattered and greasy map. “They ain’t too far from this river,” he said, poking at the map with a big, dirty finger. The others gathered around. “Our boys was ambushed here, here, here, and here. Then right here.” He jammed a hole in the map in his frustration. “You boys get some food and rest. We’ll take him tomorrow, for sure.”

Ben knew Jake was not stupid. Texas Red was the next thing to a cretin, but Jake was intelligent. Ben guessed, and guessed accurately, that Jake would have very nearly pinpointed the cabin. Ben began removing and resetting his traps. He spent all the rest of that day relocating the bear traps, tearing down and rebuilding the swing traps, removing and resetting tripwires.

He spent that night some four miles from the cabin, then used part of the next morning finalizing his trap locations. He guessed, and once more guessed accurately, that most of the outlaws would be hightailing it out of the state by now. At best, Ben felt, Jake and Texas Red would be able to fluster no more than thirty-five to forty men.

By noon, he was finished and standing on the small porch of the cabin.

“Getting down to the wire now, isn’t it, Ben?” Rani asked, looking at him.

“They’ll be here in three or four hours, probably. I’m going to clean up and take a nap. By this time tomorrow it’ll be all over.”

Once again, Rani was astonished at the calmness of the man. There was no more emotion in his voice than a man discussing the price of apples.

Jake looked at the boot print in the mud. It had frozen in place during the night, and had thawed under the heat of the winter sun. It was the fifth track the outlaws had found, along with a few broken branches, a carelessly moved small log, and a wrapper from emergency food rations.

The obvious signs did not fool Jake. He knew Ben had deliberately left them; was deliberately leading them straight to him.

And Jake knew-knew -Raines was going to win the final battle.

Well, the man thought with a suppressed sigh, at least it’ll be Ben Raines killing me. Not some goddamned housewife with a shotgun.

“More sign up here, Jake!” the call echoed through the woods.

Jake walked up to the man and looked, a small smile creasing his ugly face. But it was not a smile of victory; more a smile of resignation.

Raines had deliberately stepped into a muddy spot and walked for ten or fifteen yards.

Jake sat down on a log and took a can of beans out of his jacket pocket. Using a military can opener, he opened the can and began calmly spooning beans into his mouth. His men looked at him, not knowing what to make of this.

“Better eat while we can,” Jake said. One last meal, he thought bitterly. Should have stayed east of the Mississippi, he thought. Should have never set Cowboy Vic up to kill that punk kid. That’s what all this is all about. All this shit is about that skinny little kid. Raines has destroyed everything I built over that one goddamned little kid. Christ! What kind of man is he, anyway?

Ben opened his eyes and swung his feet off the bunk, pulling on his boots. “Get some rest,” he told Rani. “I’ll wake you in an hour. Go on. We might not be able to sleep tonight.”

While Rani slept, Ben munched on biscuits and sat looking out the one window of the cabin. Soon, he thought. They’ll be here soon.

Ben cut his eyes to look at the sleeping shape of Rani. I feel something for this woman. Something I thought I would never feel again. When this winter is over, and we’ve been alone for several months, I will know if this woman is the one I choose to spend the rest of my life with. I think so. Even now, I believe she is the one. Those eyes can hold me; she has an inner strength that I find appealing. Maybe, just maybe, this is the one.

He shook those thoughts away and returned his attention to the window.

The sound of a trap springing shut slammed through the quiet air. The horrible howling of a man with a crushed leg ripped the afternoon.

Rani came off the bunk, grabbing her rifle, coming to Ben’s side.

“Goddamn, Jake!” a man yelled. “Lookee there. A damned cabin built into that rise.”

“They’re here,” Rani said.

“I believe that would be an accurate statement, dear,” Ben replied.

Chapter 37

“We’re gonna blow you out of there, Raines!” Jake’s voice came through the timber. “This time, we got explosives.”

“But first you have to get close enough to use them,” Ben said to Rani.

“You hear me, Raines?”

“Yeah, I heard you, fat-ass,” Ben shouted. “Don’t stand out there and brag about what you’re going to do-do it!”

Jake flushed. He turned to his men and said, “Charge the fuckin’ house. Stay in the timber; it leads all the way up there.” He turned to Texas Red’s men. “You boys lay down a covering fire. Now go!”

Jake and Texas Red had indeed brought several cases of grenades with them. But grenades are useful only if one gets close enough to throw them. And what none of the outlaws knew was that Ike had stashed several crates of deadly Claymore mines in the cave behind the cabin-and Ben had brought enough wire to battery-activate them from the house.

That smile was on Ben’s lips once more as he sat behind the shuttered window, looking through a peephole, the detonator box in his hand. The shadowy figures of the outlaws flitted from tree to tree, approaching the cabin.

Ben pushed the switch activating the THIS SIDE TOWARD ENEMY mines. The TSTE warning had always amused Ben.

The Claymores were not amusing to the outlaws. Before the reverberating sounds of the explosions had died away, the mangled bodies of half a dozen outlaws lay on the ground. Ben hit the second switch, and Jake was almost out of personnel.

“Jake!” an outlaw slid to a stop in the snowy, muddy ground. “Them’s Claymores. I remember them from “Nam. He’s got ‘em all over the damn place. Think about this situation, Jake. We can’t win. You know how Raines plans things out. The guy’s like a screwin” computer or something. He don’t miss nothing. You know?”

“Get to the point, Jimmy.” But Jake knew what the point was. He’d already thought about it.

“We can’t win, Jake. Look at that damn place. No way we could burn them out, even if we could get close enough to do it. It’s built into the hill. Raines has probably got food in there to last for months. The guys is afraid to go on, afraid to do nothing “cept go back exactly the way we come. Raines has them traps everywhere. I-was

Texas Red’s insane yelling startled them all. The outlaw jumped to his feet, a grenade in each hand. He had pulled the pins and was holding the spoons down. “Cowards!” Red screamed. “You’re all cowards. Ever damn one of you. “I’ll take Raines out. Me! People will talk about me around campfires for centuries to come.”

“Son of a bitch is crazy,” one of Red’s own men muttered.

“I heard that,” a buddy said. “I’m gettin” the hell outta here. You comin’?”

“Right behind you, partner.”

And two more were gone, slipping quietly away, unnoticed.

Texas Red charged the cabin, yelling and cursing as he ducked from tree to tree. He took his last step in this life and stepped into a bear trap, the jaws clamping shut, dropping him to the ground, his left leg crushed.

He fell hard, his hands under him, and for a moment was stunned. Then the pain hit him, the grenades forgotten. They were under his chest, the spoons gone.

“I hate your guts, Raines!” Texas Red squalled. “I hate you so bad I-was

Two grenades exploded within a millisecond of each other, the blasts shredding the outlaw, flinging bits and pieces of him all around the timber. The blast tore his crushed leg free of the jaws, tearing it off at the knee. All that remained of Texas Red was part of a leg and one boot, still trapped in the jaws.

“Jesus Christ!” an outlaw said. “That’s it for me, boys. I’m gonna go be a farmer or something.”

Jake sat behind a thick tree and watched and listened to the men leave, running for their lives. After a time, he knew, without looking around him, he was alone.

Ben looked at what was left of Texas Red, and the remains of him, splattered all over the ground. Parts of him hung from low branches. “That’s two for Jordy,” Ben called.

“That’s what it’s all about, ain’t it, Raines?” Jake called, still hidden behind the tree. “All these men dead, just for one lousy punk-ass kid. You’re crazy, Raines. You know that? Crazy!”

“Jordy was worth more than the whole bag of you filth,” Ben called.

“You’re probably right,” Jake muttered, not loud enough for Ben to hear. He shouted, “Just you and me, now, Raines. How’s it gonna be?”

“Call it,” Ben said.

“I’ll think about it some, Raines. You and the broad ain’t going nowhere long as I’m out here.”

Ben said nothing to that.

“You was a writer, wasn’t you, Raines?” Jake yelled.

“That’s right.”

“Yeah. I read some of them. You wrote pretty good adventure stuff. I used to be a school teacher. Did you know that?”’

“A school teacher?” Rani said to Ben.

“I didn’t know that, Jake,” Ben said, raising his voice. “What’d you teach?”

“I was a coach.”

“That figures,” Ben muttered. He didn’t know whether to believe the outlaw or not. He decided Campo was lying. “You’re stalling, Campo!”

“Sure, I am, Raines,” came the almost-cheerful reply. “Hell, nobody wants to die.”

“But everybody wants to go to Heaven,” Ben said with his grin still locked in place.

Jake laughed at that. “You believe in all that shit, Raines?”

“I believe in a higher power, yes.” Ben looked up at the sky, checking the sun. It would be dark in about an hour. He wanted this over with before dark.

“I don’t believe in God, Raines. Too many different versions of it around for me to accept. Catholics believe one thing, Jews believe another. Islam, Hindu. Hell, even the Indians believed in a Higher Power. Too much dogma bouncing around for this ol” boy, Raines.”

Hell, Ben thought. Maybe the guy had been a school teacher.

“So what do you believe in, Jake?” Ben reached for his Thompson.

“Myself, Raines. And maybe you,” he added, almost reluctantly. “Me?”

“Yeah. Maybe there is something to all those stories. I don’t know. I do know this: You don’t behave like a normal man. No normal man would even think of taking on a hundred and fifty men. Much less winning.”

“His speech has improved,” Rani observed.

“Yes,” Ben agreed. “So?” he called.

“You’re not going to fight me fair, are you, Raines?”

“Not likely.”

Jake once more laughed. “Yeah. I damn sure believe that.”

“Get on with it, Campo,” Ben said, growing tired of the dialogue.

“OK,” Jake said. “One more thing, Raines. You believe gods are fair?”

“What do you mean, fair?”

“Well, not possessing dishonesty or injustice. Behaving in a proper manner.”

Ben’s eyes grew cold. He knew then what Jake was going to do. And Jake-all three hundred pounds of him-was going to be in for a very ugly surprise.

“Not always, Jake.”

“But you do, Raines. You do.”

“I do what, Campo?”

“I read about you, Raines, when you was fronting the Tri-States. You’re a man of honor, and order, and discipline, right?”

“To a certain degree, Jake.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, you are, Ben. That’s why I’m going to win this fight. I just figured it out, boy.”

But Ben was one step ahead of the outlaw.

“You see, Raines.” Jake stood up and stepped away from the protection of the tree. He unbuckled his web belt and let it fall to the ground. “I’m unarmed. And you won’t shoot an unarmed man. Not Ben Raines. Ben Raines has too much macho pride in him to do that.”

Jake stepped closer, into the very small clearing in front of the cabin.

Ben moved to the door and opened it, stepping out onto the small porch.

“Oh, you disappoint me, Ben,” Jake said, his eyes on Ben’s Thompson.

Ben laid the Thompson on the porch and stepped onto the ground.

Jake laughed. “I’m gonna tear your fuckin’ head off, Raines.” He lifted his big fists. “Just you and me, boy. A stand-up, duke-it-out, fistfight. Just you and me.”

He moved closer to Ben. A hard glint of victory was shining in his eyes. He spat on the muddy, snowy ground and shuffled his booted feet in some semblance of a prize fighter.

Ben lifted his fists and stepped closer.

Jake grunted, then laughed. He stepped in and swung a huge right fist.

Ben ducked and side-stepped. He kicked out with his boot and caught Campo flush on the knee, knocking the bigger, heavier man to the ground. Campo shook his head and crawled to his knees. Ben kicked the man in the face with the toe of his jump boot. Teeth popped out of the man’s mouth and rolled around on the ground. Blood dripped from a smashed mouth.

Jake lifted his head, disbelief in his eyes. He tried to rise to his feet. Ben kicked him in the side, hearing ribs break under the heavy toe of the boot. Jake screamed and fell to the ground, white-hot pain lancing through him.

Ben kicked him twice more in the head, one savage kick tearing an ear from the man. Blood streamed from the man’s head.

“Fight fair, you son of a bitch!” Jake spoke through his ruined mouth, the words mushy, pushing past torn lips.

“No such thing, Campo,” Ben told him. “Just a winner and a loser.”

Jake rushed Ben, scrambling to his feet. Ben stepped aside and the man ran headfirst into a tree, splitting his head wide open. Blood stained the man’s face, pouring from his badly mangled head.

Ben picked up a wrist-sized stick from the ground and brought it down hard on Campo’s back, the force of the blow driving the man to the ground.

“Seems like I ain’t been able to do nothing right the past few months,” Jake said. He suddenly rolled and came up with a knife in his hand.

Ben had never lost his savage, cold grin. He pulled his .45 from leather, cocked it, and began pulling the trigger. One in the chamber, six in the clip. He put all seven rounds in the big man’s chest, each round knocking the huge man backward. Jake Campo, outlaw, self-styled warlord, died with his bloody eyes wide open and staring.

“That’s three for Jordy,” Ben said.

Chapter 38

The warm spell broke on the third day, with winter locking Ben and Rani in. Before the new snows came, the pair had worked, dragging off the bodies of the dead outlaws and dumping them into a deep ravine, shoveling dirt and gravel over them.

Now, as the cold winds howled around the snug little cabin in the deep woods, and the snow piled up around them, they sat in front of a fire and played chess.

With Rani regularly beating Ben.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” Ben grumbled. “But you’re cheating. I just know you are.”

Rani laughed at him. “Checkmate,” she said.

“Crap!” Ben said.

“How did you learn to fight like you did, Ben?” she asked. “The way you fought Jake Campo.”

“There is no such thing as a fair fight, Rani. Not outside the ring. I’ve never believed in those so-called fair fights. One goes in to win. Period. The trick is knowing you’re right and sticking by your convictions.”

“Did you always fight like that, Ben. I mean, even when things were … normal?”

“Yes,” he said, putting away the board and getting a deck of cards. “Strip poker, maybe?” he grinned.

“You’re going to look awfully funny sitting there on the cold floor, stark naked.”

“You have a point.” He put away the cards.

“Were you a loner as a boy, Ben?”

Ben wore a reflective look for a moment. “Yes. I guess I was. I never followed the usual drummer. I think I marched to my own beat even when it was socially unacceptable. Looking back, I guess I really enjoyed being alone. I know I did. I tried not to bother anyone, and didn’t want anybody bothering me. Didn’t always work that way, though.”

She was curious about this man, this founder of the Tri-States, the man that so many chose to follow. “You had a normal childhood, though?”

Ben laughed at her serious expression. “Oh, sure. I played baseball and basketball. But I never took them very seriously. How does one take a game seriously? I spent most of my time working and chasing girls.”

“Were you successful?” she asked, a twinkle in her green eyes.

“Well, I spent more time working than catching the girls,” he admitted.

“But you caught your share of the girls?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Looking back, I’ll have to say I did. I wasn’t a jock, so that was a definite minus for me. But I had a happy, very normal childhood, I guess. I’ve never been a person who sought many material things, Rani. I’ve always been content with just enough to get by, and perhaps a tiny bit more. I never cared much for a lot of pomp. I was never a joiner. Never belonged to a country club; never cared much what people thought of me. Like I said, I guess I marched to the beat of another drummer.”

“Where have I heard that before?”’

“Henry David Thoreau,” Ben said, his memory working hard to recall the line. “I didn’t agree with all that Thoreau said, but I loved much of it.”

“Say it.”

“The line?”

“Yes.”

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.”

She looked at the man for a long moment. “I guess that fits you rather well, Ben.”

“I guess it does, Rani.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“Be sure, Rani.”

“I’m sure, Ben.”

“Yes. I guess I am, too.”

The days spun and drifted and wound into weeks, while the two in the cabin grew closer, mentally, emotionally, and physically. To them, it was as if the world gone mad around them did not exist. They built snowmen, had snowball fights, explored, and fell in love.

January drifted into February and February became March, but Ben and Rani really didn’t notice the passing months. March whispered into April, then began roaring with the last major winter storm of the season. As the storm abated, howling eastward to blow itself out, Rani lay in Ben’s arms before the fireplace. Both of them were nearly asleep.

Rani stirred and said, “It’ll be full spring soon, Ben.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hadn’t we better be thinking about pulling out pretty soon?”

Ben opened his eyes and looked around. “Did you hear anything?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. It was an … well, it wasn’t a natural sound for the woods.”

“You’re imagining things, old man.”

“I guess so. About pulling out. Where do you want to go?”

“You have to start making plans about setting up those outposts, right?”

Ben groaned and stretched. “Don’t remind me of that, please.”

“And you have to start thinking about your plans for the Russian and Hartline, right?”’

“Yes, dear.”

There was that noise again. Ben cut his eyes toward the door. He was sure the mutants knew they were in the deep woods, but so far none had shown any willingness to attack.

Was that a mutant out there? Ben wasn’t sure.

He listened. The noise-whatever it was-was not repeated.

Ben looked at his watch. Two o’clock in the afternoon. The winds had ceased, and the temperature was once more on the rise. He looked at Rani. She was looking at the closed cabin door.

“Something wrong?” Ben asked.

“Something’s out there, Ben,” she whispered. “And it isn’t an animal.”

Ben pulled on his boots and picked up his .45, jacking back the hammer. “I’ll go have a look around.”

The cabin door splintered open. Men filled the room. Ben cleared the room of the invaders, the booming of the .45 almost deafening in the closed space. Ben didn’t know these men; they weren’t outlaws, for they were dressed in military field clothes, and they were disciplined.

Ben felt the shock as a bullet struck him in the left shoulder, knocking him backward. He fell heavily and grabbed his Thompson. Holding it one-handed, he pulled the trigger.

The heavy weapon bucked and roared in his hand. The slugs knocked and tore great chunks of wood out of the walls and ceiling. It also cleared the doorway of uniformed men, splattering blood and brains and bits of bone all over the porch and small yard.

Ben got to his feet just in time to catch a bullet in his leg. The shock and force of the slug knocked him sprawling. He lost his Thompson. He grabbed a shotgun leaning against the wall in a corner, and lifted it just as Sam Hartline stepped into the doorway. The mercenary saw the shotgun and jumped to one side as Ben pulled the trigger. Most of the buckshot missed the man, but enough hit him to knock him off the porch.

Rani’s screaming had, for some reason, stopped echoing around the cabin. Ben cut his eyes, frantically searching. She was gone.

“Kill the son of a bitch!” Sam Hartline’s voice yelled the command. “Take the woman and get the hell moving out of here.”

A bullet struck Ben’s side, once more slamming him to the cabin floor. He hit the floor and rolled, coming up firing the sawed-off shotgun. The full load struck a man dead-center in the head, taking his head off his shoulders. The man flopped on the floor, half in and half out of the cabin.

Ben saw the grenade come flying through the doorway. It landed on the floor and rolled. Ben dove for the storage area, hit hard and bleeding. The grenade exploded just as Ben reached the cave, the force of it throwing him into the cave, shrapnel peppering his legs and back.

Something struck Ben on the back of the head, dropping him into darkness just as the front part of the cabin collapsed, sealing him in.

Chapter 39

Cold. Ben was cold. And confused. And hurting. All six feet plus of him was hurting. He opened his eyes and found darkness surrounding him. Slowly, tentatively, he moved the fingers of his right hand. They worked. At least he was alive. He tried moving his left hand. Pain shot white-hot through the arm. He cut his eyes and looked at the luminous hands of his wrist watch. One o’clock. He struggled to remember … remember something very important. But what was it?

Yeah. It had been two o’clock when the attack came. So Ben had been out for ten or eleven hours.

But where was Rani?

Hartline. Sam Hartline had taken her. He remembered the man’s shout about them having the woman.

Slowly, cautiously, Ben moved all his extremities. His left arm and right leg hurt. But it was the pain in his stomach that worried him. Then he remembered. Not his stomach, but his side. The bullet had hit him just as he was turning. He remembered the bullet entering and exiting. All right, he could deal with that.

But do it quietly! Survival leaped into his mind. Take one thing at a time, Raines.

Warmth. Got to get warm to reduce the chances of killing shock.

He lay very still, mentally reviewing every corner of the cave//orage area. He put out his hand and felt shelves to his right. OK. He knew where he was. He pulled a tarp from the bottom shelf and wrapped it around him. He lay for a time, listening for any alien sounds. Nothing. He felt sure he was alone.

Painfully extending his arm, he felt on the third shelf for candles and matches, knocking everything on the shelf on top of him. He fumbled around and found the candles and matches. He lit a candle and placed it on the floor. Even that simple action exhausted him. He lay still, gathering more strength.

Food! As nauseous as it sounded, Ben knew he had to have food-and liquids.

He felt himself fading. Just before he passed out, he blew out the candle.

Then he dropped into unconsciousness.

“You’re a fine-looking cunt, lady,” one of Hartline’s men told Rani. “OP Sam get on his feet, he’s gonna have a fine time with you.”

Rani spat in the man’s face.

The man drew back his fist.

“You hit her and Sam’ll have your ass roasted for breakfast, Denning,” a man warned him.

The man dropped his fist. “My turn will come, bitch!” he told her.

Rani looked around her. She had no idea where she was. She had been carried out of the woods and dumped into the back of a truck, bound hands and feet. But she knew one thing for certain: she was in trouble.

Ben opened his eyes, turned his head, and looked at his watch. Seven o’clock. Should be daylight out. But where was the light?

Then he remembered the grenade, the explosion, the walls caving in.

Was he trapped?

He didn’t know. First things first. He had to tend to his wounds and get something to eat.

Summoning all his strength, Ben pushed the tarp from him and sat up, his back to the shelving behind him. The movement hurt him, the wound in his side opening up. Couldn’t be helped.

He lit a half-dozen candles, placing them in spots where, if he did pass out, they would not trap him in fire. He found a large first-aid kit and took off his shirt. He poured raw alcohol on the wound in his side, front and back, then crudely bandaged it. It wouldn’t win any prizes for neatness, but it was firm. He treated the wound in his arm, bandaged it, then went to work on his leg. That was the wound that worried him the most. The lead was still in his leg. And he knew it had to come out.

He drank some water from a tin and ate several hard crackers. He poured iodine on the wound and began probing with his fingers, outside the wound, searching for the bullet.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the slug. It was just under the skin, on the outside of his upper thigh.

He heated the blade of a knife in the flickering flames of a candle. Taking a deep breath, Ben carefully sliced open his flesh and popped the slug out. It bounced on the floor.

With pain-sweat popping out and dripping from his face, Ben fumbled in the first-aid kit and found a bottle of penicillin. He took a half-dozen of the pills, washing them down with sips of water. He coated the wound with iodine and carefully bandaged it.

He dozed for a few moments, resting, gathering his strength.

Opening his eyes, he felt better, a bit refreshed. He began his crawl out of the storage cave. He crawled carefully, for he had no idea how much structural damage the large grenade had done to the cabin. He didn’t want a beam falling on him.

The shrapnel in his back irritated him, but there was no way he could do anything about that. He had poured raw alcohol down his back, and that would have to do for the moment.

The going was very slow. He would crawl a few inches, carefully move lumber out of the way, then inch forward. He found his Thompson, checked it, and found it unharmed.

Then he saw daylight. A thin line of sunlight seeping through the ruined cabin’s front wall. Or what was left of the wall.

But before he could reach the light, he passed out.

It was a few minutes before noon when Ben opened his eyes. He knew then that he was hurt much worse than he had thought at first. Have to take it very easy, he cautioned. Very easy.

He saw the pot hanging above the cold ashes in the fireplace and inched toward it. Using his fingers, he dug into the cold stew Rani had fixed and ate greedily. He cleared the fallen lumber from around the fireplace and built a fire. The warmth filled him, soothed him, seemed to lessen the pain from his wounds. Pulling a blanket over him, Ben lay on the floor for a few moments, resting. He began drifting in and out of consciousness. His mind was filled with old memories. He tried to fight them away, but they persisted.

“What are your plans, Ben?” Salina had asked him on that cool, misty morning outside the motel in Indiana.

He told her all his plans, his dreams, his schedule he had worked out in his mind. He told her of his home in Morrison and how he had literally slept through the horror after being stung by wasps.

“The stings probably saved your life,” she told him.

They talked for a few moments more, than she unexpectedly kissed him. She turned and walked away.

Ben had looked up into the face of Kasim, the face filled with raw hatred.

“I’ll kill you someday,” Kasim hissed the hate at him.

“I doubt it,” Ben had replied.

But Salina was dead, along with their child. Killed by government troops during the assault on Tri-States.

Later, Ben had seen the first of many billboard signs:

BEN RAINES-IF YOU’RE ALIVE AND READING THIS, OR IF ANYBODY KNOWS THE WHEREABOUTS OF BEN RAINES, HAVE HIM CONTACT US ON MILITARY 39.2. KEEP TRYING. WE’LL BE LISTENING. WE NEED ORDERS.

But Ben didn’t want to be anybody’s commanding general. He just wanted to be left alone. To travel the ruined nation, to write his journal.

It was not to be.

Jerre. He had found her wandering alone on a highway in Virginia. She had traveled with him for a time. Finally left him to join others her own age. To save the world from itself. A sort of after-the-bombs flower child.

When they parted she had left him a letter. Ben still had it. He remembered the last paragraph.

You’ve got places to go and things to do before you find yourself-your goal, preset, I believe-and start to do great things. And you will, Ben. You will. I hope I see you again, General.

Jerre.

Ben had found Ike amid a bevy of bikini-clad lovely young ladies in Florida. The ex-navy SEAL had built a radio station-of sorts. KUNT, Ike called it.

Ben had been the “minister” at Ike and Megan’s wedding.

But now Megan was dead. Killed when the government of the United States had grown vindictive and mounted their deadly assault against the Tri-States.

Juno, Ben’s big husky, growled deep in his throat.

“We’re friendly,” the voice came out of the brush. “I have some children with me.”

“Come on in,” Ben said, keeping one hand on the butt of his pistol.

A black man and woman, with four kids, walked up to the cabin porch by the lake. Pal Elliot, Valerie, and the kids. Two blacks, one Oriental, one Indian.

Pal had been an airline pilot, Valerie a top NYC fashion model. They had picked up the kids, homeless, along the way.

Now they were all dead. Part of the earth. Part of Ben’s dream of a society where all were truly equal. Where medical care was denied to no one. Where all had a job. Where crime was virtually non-existent. Called Tri-States. And it worked.

Ben moaned in his pain-filled coma-like sleep as the memories kept coming, and coming, and coming.

Cecil Jeffery’s New Africa never got off the ground before the government crushed it, killing it, grinding it under the heel of democracy turned authoritarian. Cecil and Lila, and a handful of others, had joined Ben’s Tri-States.

Lila was dead, with their children. Dissolved into the earth of Tri-States.

And when it was all over, and the nation had once more been torn apart, and Tri-States lay smoking from the massive government assault, Ben had gathered a few hundred survivors around him.

Ike, Ben’s adopted daughter, Tina, Judith, Doctor Chase, Jerre, and James. Ben had looked at the handful of survivors, his Rebels, the people ready to die for what they felt was right and just. And looking at them, Ben knew the dream would never die. Tri-States would live again. Ben had picked up his Thompson.

“All right, people,” he’d said. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter 40

Ben awakened once more that day, to eat what was left of the stew and drink water. Lots of water. He knew then that he was getting feverish. He began taking aspirin along with the antibiotics. He dropped back into his painful, coma-like sleep.

All during the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours-Ben didn’t know for sure, losing all track of time-he drifted in and out of consciousness. He would awaken just long enough to keep a small fire going, and to force himself to eat and drink something. Then he would fall back into blackness.

When he awakened on what he thought was the third day after the assault on the cabin, he knew he was going to make it. He was weak as a sick baby, but his fever was gone and his wounds showed no signs of infection.

But he knew he was not strong enough to make it to where he had hidden his truck. Not by a long shot.

For several days he was virtually helpless. Just strong enough to keep a small fire going, feed himself, and change the dressings on his wounds. He was not going to chance the deep timber yet. He knew it was cold-blooded on his part, but maybe, just maybe, he could help Rani alive. Dead would do her no good.

A week after the attack, Ben tried for his truck. He gave up before he got any distance at all, and returned to the cabin.

The bodies of Hartline’s men were stinking, fouling the air. But he was too weak to try to move them.

Then, as it so often happens, it seemed like Ben began gaining strength hourly. His wounds were healing well, and he was eating like that much-talked-about horse.

He had been walking around the woods near the cabin daily, each day increasing the distance. Now he felt he was ready to try for the truck and the radio.

He packed a very light rucksack, with rations for two days, just in case he didn’t make it, and a ground sheet and blanket.

He set out for his truck. He wondered what was happening with Rani.

“My, you are a pretty one, aren’t you, dear?” General Striganov said, stroking Rani’s cheek.

She tried to bite his hand, the Russian jerking it back just in time to avoid those strong white teeth. Striganov laughed at her.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Rani said.

“Oh, I do, dear,” the general said. “But unfortunately, poor Sam isn’t in any condition to find anything amusing. Your Ben Raines almost killed him.”

“Where is Ben?”

The Russian’s smile was ugly. “I’m really not sorry to say he’s dead, Miss Jordan. My last formidable enemy in the late great country of America. Now I can make plans to enlarge my … ah … operation.”

“Who was your idol as a boy, General-Hitler?” Rani snapped at him.

“He did have some good ideas, I will admit that. He just didn’t carry them far enough.”

“God, you’re a monster!” she hissed the words at him.

Striganov laughed at her.

“And if you think Ben Raines is dead, you’re badly mistaken. It would take a hell of a lot better man than Sam Hartline to kill Ben Raines. And I think you know it.”

The Russian’s eyes clouded. “So you thought the man to be a god, too, eh?”

“No. I never did. There is but one God.”

“There is no God, you stupid woman! As you shall soon discover. I don’t believe I shall allow Sam to have you, Miss Jordan.”

“Ms.”

“Umm.”

“Forget it.”

“Ms? Oh-yes. Of course. I do so enjoy a strong-willed woman. I enjoy breaking them. I didn’t used to. I suppose my association with Hartline is responsible for that change. A most welcome change, too. Although I don’t carry it to the extreme as my friend Hartline does.”

The Russian reached out, fondling Rani’s breasts. She slapped his hand away.

“I do so enjoy a big-breasted woman,” Striganov said.

She spat at him.

He knocked her off the chair.

Through a red, teary haze, Rani screamed and kicked at the man.

He stepped back and removed his wide leather belt. “The first step is submission,” Striganov said, swinging the belt. “The very first step toward total submission.”

The leather cracked across Rani’s jeans.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Fuck you!”

“Oh, that will come later, my dear. I assure you of that.”

“Not if I can help it, it won’t!”

The leather cracked again. “Take off your clothes, bitch!”

“No way.”

The Russian raised the belt. “I believe you shall, dear,” he said with a smile. “I really believe that you shall.”

When his arm had grown weary, and Rani’s screams were reduced to a pitiful whimper, the Russian stepped back and looked at the woman, huddled on the floor. “Strong-willed,” he said. “But I’ll break you, dear. Body and mind, I’ll break you.”

Ben! Rani thought. Where are you, Ben?

Chapter 41

Ben scrambled the upcoming transmissions and picked up the mike. “Eagle One to Base Camp. Eagle One to Base Camp.”

“This is Base,” the voice cracked. “We’ve been trying to reach you for days, General. Are you all right?”

Before Ben could reply, Ike’s voice roared through the speaker. “Where in the goddamn hell have you been, Ben?”

“Under attack,” Ben radioed. “Rani and I fought the outlaws and won. Then Hartline and his people showed up. Caught us by surprise. I got lead in Hartline, but he got more in me. He took Rani. I’m hard hit, Ike, but I’m going to make it. It was touch-and-go there for awhile. Ike, I believe I can make it out of here, now. So I’m going to head for the old capital of Vista. You get the troops ready and-was

The set went dead, the ON light blinking off.

“Shit!” Ben said. Ben could make a bomb out of almost anything at hand; he could gather great armies together and command them to victory against overwhelming odds; he could take chaos and confusion and turn it into calmness and order.

But he didn’t know a damn thing about radios.

He sat on the tailgate of the truck and cussed, turning the warm spring air blue.

“Goddamn it!” Ike roared, after doing everything except kicking the set at Base Camp.

“Calm down, Ike,” Cecil said. “Ben’s all right.”

“I’m calm, I’m calm!” Ike yelled, scaring the young radio operator. his You calm down. I’m calm,

he roared.

“Yes,” Cecil said with a smile. “I can certainly see that.” He turned to the operator. “Get Dan Gray on the horn, please.”

Cecil brought the Englishman up to date on Ben’s situation, concluding with, “Drop whatever you’re doing and get out to Vista. Make certain everything there is secure. Check out the old airport. If it’s suitable for prop landings, I’ll airlift a battalion out with others to follow in trucks. Do that for me, will you, Dan?”

“Moving within the hour, General,” Dan radioed back.

“I’m leading the airborne troops,” Ike said. Cecil knew there would be no point in arguing with the man.

“All right, Ike. Of course. Get your people together and equipped. It will probably be several days before we get a report from Dan. Be ready to go.”

Ben did not return to the cabin. He had emergency supplies in the pickup and knew where more were buried. The pickup started at the first touch of the key and Ben pulled out, driving slowly, careful to avoid as many bumps as possible, not wanting to open his healing wounds.

He made it to the paved highway that first day. There, he made camp and rested. By afternoon of the second day, he was in the old Tri-States capital of Vista.

He did not look at the split-level home he and Salina and Tina and Jack had called home for many years. He deliberately kept his eyes from the home. Too many memories there. Too many.

It was in that front yard that Ben had killed his own brother in a gunfight, after his brother had joined a Nazi group and had tried to ambush Ben.

Too many memories.

The littered and ruined town just held too many memories for Ben.

He drove to the old airport.

There, Ben set up camp in a small building just off the strip. He rested, and began a walk-around of the strip. Surprisingly, it was in fairly good shape.

He had a strong hunch that Ike had called Colonel Gray after their own transmissions had abruptly ended. Dan would break all records getting here, Ben felt sure. And Cecil had probably ordered someone, Ike, he felt sure-he had probably insisted-to lead some sort of airborne assault. As soon as Dan and his people arrived, they would begin clearing the strip for the Rebels’ old prop planes.

But for now, Ben could do nothing except wait.

“Are you certain General Raines is dead?” the Russian asked Hartline.

Sam Hartline was in the hospital, his, side and chest bandaged. The operation had been long, with the buckshot from Ben’s shotgun almost killing the man.

“I’m ninety-nine-percent certain,” the mercenary replied. “He was hit three times before the grenade was tossed into the cabin. The explosion wrecked the place. I just don’t see how anybody could have lived through that.”

“Ben Raines is not just anybody,” General Striganov reminded his friend and associate. “Far from it.”

“Yeah, I know it. But he’s dead, General. Or dying. Bet on it.”

“We are, my friend,” Striganov said. “We are both betting our lives.”

Dan Gray and his Scouts pulled in after a grueling two-and-a-half-day forced drive from east Texas, where they had been working with civilians, mapping out plans for the upcoming outpost systems.

“You boys look beat,” Ben told them. “Get some rest. There’s nothing happening around here.”

The chief combat medic with Gray’s Scouts inspected Ben’s healing wounds and told Ben he had been very lucky.

“I know that, Sergeant,” Ben said.

Colonel Dan Gray was standing about, a frown of disapproval on his face. Ben cut him off before he could speak.

“I know what you’re going to say, Dan. But I was just weary of being nurse-maided, that’s all.”

“General, you are the Rebels. You are the movement. You-was

Ben waved him silent. “That is what I am trying to overcome, Dan. That type of feeling. And you’re wrong. We are all the Rebels. The movement cannot, must not, revolve around one man or one woman. I won’t have that. I will not have that. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine. Then we won’t speak of it again.”

“No, sir.”

Ike and his patched-up aircraft landed two days later. Ike had brought a battalion of Rebels with him, with another battalion coming in trucks, along with heavy artillery and light tanks. A third battalion would be held in reserve. They would arrive in the old Tri-States within the month.

Ben and Ike shook hands and embraced, Ike saying, “You lucked out again, old buddy.”

“Skill, Ike,” Ben kidded him. “Just plain ol’ know-how.” “Shhittt!” Ike said. He sobered and said, “Tell me about Miss Jordan.”

“Hartline’s got her, and I’m going to get her back. It’s that simple.”

Ben brought the men and women of his Rebels up to date on General Striganov’s experiments and Hartline’s involvement with them.

There was silence after Ben finished speaking. Colonel Dan Gray broke the silence. “Our duty is very clear, General. We have to put the Russian out of business.”

“That is exactly what I intend to do, people,” Ben said.

Chapter 42

General Striganov stepped out of his office and looked toward the east. He did not believe for one instant that Raines was dead. And the scouts he had sent out a week ago should be returning with the confirmation of that suspicion any hour.

The trail-worn Russian scouts of the IPF returned and gave their general the bad news.

“General Ben Raines is alive and doing quite well,” they told Striganov. “He is massing troops in the old Tri-States.”

Striganov did not have to have a picture drawn for him to know what that meant.

“How many troops?”

“At least two battalions. Some are airborne. We believe more men and machines are coming shortly.”

Striganov dismissed his people. He again looked toward the east.

“So, General Raines,” he muttered. “We shall once more clash. But this time there will be no gentleman’s agreement about fairness and the code of honor among fighting men. So be it. One of us will know total victory this time. And one of us will know the taste of death.”

Chapter 43

Ben had ordered two more battalions of Rebels to be readied and sent westward. He was planning to move against Hartline and the Russian on the sixth of June. Already he had sent teams of Scouts out to reconnoiter the Russian’s position, and first reports indicated the Russian’s position was a strong one.

Cecil was furious about being left behind, and Ben knew that someway, somehow, Cecil would figure out a way to get into the fight. Ben smiled. He didn’t blame him. He would have done the same thing.

Ben had ordered his people out into the countryside, on the off chance that Striganov might launch a first strike and catch them all bunched up.

Ben turned cold eyes toward the west. He was not aware of it, but he was smiling that wolfs smile.

“This time, Hartline, I’m going to kill you. This time, General Striganov, I will wipe your lousy IPF from the face of the earth. And I will return Rani to me. You’re too smart to have harmed her. I’m coming to get you, Rani.”

The sighing winds seemed to ask if that was a promise.

“That’s a promise,” Ben said.