Blood in the Ashes

The idea of Blomm had come to Emil one evening while he was blissfully toking and getting off on some really fine weed. The more he toked, the wilder his flights of imagination soared. And Blomm’s conception became reality in Emil’s drug-soaked brain. He would tell his people that Blomm had just recently left God’s side, after growing weary of God’s restrictive type of living. Blomm said it was OK to still worship God, but with a few twists added to spice it all up. Kinda like adding three inches to your dick, Emil thought. He giggled at that. Had his way, he’d add six.

It would be OK to fuck and all that good shit, according to Blomm. Do some dope, of course that was OK. As a matter of fact, how about anything goes? Yeah. Why not? Blomm was an all right dude. The more Emil toked, the more all right Blomm became. And so, by the time Emil had finished with his King Edward-sized joint, Blomm was no longer a figment of his rather weird and overactive imagination. Blomm was real, man! And what a heavy dude, too.

“And so, my friends and followers,” Emil said, looking over his ever-growing flock of nuts and bolts, “let us have a love feast in honor of our new friends to the north.” Savage mother-fuckers, Emil thought. He stepped forward, his foot catching in the hem of his robe, and Emil fell off the raised platform, hitting the dirt, on his face.

“Son of a bitch!” Emil muttered. He was helped to his feet by a throng of concerned worshippers, the dust brushed off his ornate robe. Emil smiled and said, “Pax vobiscum. Be bop a lula and shake rattle and roll, too.”

His followers smiled and beamed at him. Whatever Emil said was perfectly all right. Etch the words in your heart, man. Gods were supposed to behave a little strangely.

Emil made the sign of the cross. “Bless you all, my children. Joan Baez to you-and Boy George, too.”

Emil walked away, toward his beautiful new home, compliments of the Rebels. They moved out, Emil moved in.

“Blomm!” a woman shouted. “All praise the wonderful Blomm!”

“And me!” Emil shouted. “Goddamnit, don’t forget me.”

“And Father Emil!” the crowd roared.

“Fuckin’ bunch of loonies,” Emil muttered. But not loud enough for any of his people to overhear. Didn’t want to screw up a good scam.

He shuffled toward his fine new home, kept spotless by his followers. Emil never lifted a finger to do anything. Make matters worse, he was getting fat. He tried to be dignified as he shuffled along. Whoever made his robes was going to have to tighten up their act, Emil thought. Goddamn things were too long.

Emil entered the coolness of his home, tripped over the hem of his robe, and fell down on the floor.

“Emil Hite’s joining the Ninth Order does not concern me,” Ben told Captain Rayle, after being informed of the merger. “Emil just has a nonviolent scam going for him. He’s laughable in a Jim Jones kind of way. Emil and his cupcakes present no danger. They are more to be pitied than feared. The Ninth Order, on the other hand, is a paramilitary group posing as a serious religious order. They can sucker and con people into the fold, then, I’m sure, use brainwashing tactics to keep them there.”

“Yes, sir,” Roger said. “We have strong evidence that is how they do it.”

“The only thing I am reasonably certain of about this whole confusing business is that General Striganov

is not involved with it. Our intelligence reports the Russian is clean on this matter.”

“If clean is the right choice of words,” James said.

“Yes, was Ben replied. He looked toward the north. “Come on, Ike,” he muttered. “Hang in there, buddy.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Finally caught up with you, eh, pretty pussy?” A man grinned down at Nina. “I seem to recall you got nice, soft titties on you. I’ll soon see. We gonna have some fun with you, bitch.”

“To claim to be so religious,” Nina fired back, “you guys are sure a bunch of scumbags.”

“That crack is gonna get you pronged right up the bunghole, baby,” he said with a grin. “I can jist hear you hollerin’ now.”

Any combat-experienced member of any special unit-and all branches of the military had them, when there was a military-knows there is no such thing as a fair fight. Not outside the ring, and even that can be questioned at times. The term “fair fight’ is a contradiction in itself. There is a winner and there is a loser. Period. Never give a sucker an even break. One either kills or cripples one’s antagonist, or one gets killed or crippled. Was it a fair fight? is a question that surely must have originated from the mouths of lawyers. Shakespeare was right.

While the men’s eyes were on Nina, standing proudly and defiantly in the stream, Ike jerked up the muzzle of the M-16 and burned a clip into the three men, standing close together on the bluff of the bank.

Two of them were blown backward. The third one, half his face gone from the so-called “tumbling rounds” of the M-16, fell into the stream, blood and brains coloring the rushing waters.

Changing clips as he ran up the embankment, Ike crested the bluff and inspected the carnage he had wrought. The men were dead or near death.

“Oh. God, help me,” one man pushed the words past dying lips.

Ike looked at him. The contempt he felt was evident on his face. “Fuck you, partner.”

The man closed his eyes and had the good grace to expire.

Ike called down to Nina. “Help me strip these people down to the hide. We’ll put them in the deepest part of the stream and wedge them in tight with rocks. We’ll put on their clothing. Shoes, too, if they’ll fit. That will further confuse the dogs. Come on, Nina. Let’s get crackin’.”

Working together and hurriedly, the two of them stripped the clothing from the men before it became too bloodstained. They rolled the bodies off the bank and into the stream, covering them with heavy rocks, wedging them down on the bottom.

The baying of the dogs was getting louder, but Ike knew the bloodhounds-and from their barking, he was afraid they weren’t bloodhounds, but Dobermans-were still a couple of miles off.

“Bundle our clothing up and bring it,” Ike told her. “We’ll sink it in a deep hole further on down. Come on. I’ll get the weapons.”

Ike tossed one old shotgun into the stream. He kept the second shotgun, a Winchester pump, twelve

gauge, chambered for three-inch magnums. He looped the bandoleer of shells around his shoulder and picked up the only rifle among the three men. An old Savage .270. He slung another shell belt over his other shoulder and gave the .270 to Nina.

She inspected the rifle, Ike watching her. She knew what she was doing, Ike concluded.

She checked the four-shot box and grinned. “Full. Other than needing a good cleaning, it’s OK, Ike. Now I can do some damage.”

“Head out, Nina. Fast a pace as you can maintain comfortably.”

“You just watch my stuff.”

He grinned.

She caught the double meaning and flipped him the bird.

A mile later, they stopped to catch their breath and like wrapped their old clothes around rocks, tied them securely, then sank them up under the lip of the bank, still underwater.

“OK, little one,” Ike said. “We stay in the water for another mile or so, then we hit the brush and timber. Once in there, I wanna rig a few surprises for our friends.”

“Surprises? What kind of surprises?”

Ike’s usually friendly face took on a mean look. “Let’s just say they ain’t gonna like “em a whole lot.”

Ben and Gale-accompanied by a dozen Rebels laying back a few hundred yards-drove to one of the inlets of Clark Hill Reservoir, on the north side. They walked to the water’s edge.

She took his hand. “It’s so peaceful here, Ben. So lovely and serene. It’s like … it’s like all the trouble never happened.”

“Get careless in this area, Gale, and you’ll see trouble quickly.”

“Harbinger of doom!” She looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“The peacefulness is nothing but a dangerous illusion.”

“Will you cut the suspense, Raines!”

“You notice we haven’t seen one human being-other than Rebels-in this area?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Mutant country, I’m betting. Since I haven’t detected any of the foul odor usually associated with them, I’m thinking this may be a group with a higher level of intelligence. That’s why they haven’t bothered us.”

“You mean they’re friendly mutants. I never heard of such a thing.”

“No, not friendly. Cautious. Wary. They’ve probably seen how heavily armed we all are, and that we never go unarmed. They’ve had experience with people with guns. They know guns can inflict pain. We’re being watched though.”

Gale looked around her. “Where? I don’t see any mutants.”

“They’re in the bushes to our left. I saw one just a moment ago, while we were walking down here.”

“And you didn’t tell me? Thank you so very much, Ben.”

“Want to stay for a while and see if you can spot one?”

“Hell, no! Are you nuts? I’ll be more than happy to take your word for it. Can we please leave now?”

Ben grinned. “Sure. Come on. We’ll head on back.”

As they turned to leave, Gale tugging at Ben, a low growl came from the thick timber and brush by the lake.

“Oh, shit!” Gale said.

“Relax. I’m armed, and Roger’s got people standing guard right up there by the road. I believe the mutants are telling us to go away, rather than warning of an attack.”

“Oh, wonderful. I’m impressed. You speak mutant now, huh?”

Ben playfully ruffled her short dark hair and laughed. “I’m a man of many and varied talents, my dear.”

“Great. Ben, I have this fondness for living. So tell me we’re not going to spend much time around this place.”

“Pulling out in the morning.”

“Best news I’ve heard all day. I wonder if there is any catfish left?” she muttered.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“We gotta figure a way to get Colonel Gray and his Scouts outta here,” Sergeant Bennett said. “I think we got enough Rebels behind us to handle things if Gray and that wild-assed bunch of his can be counted on not to interfere.”

“I understand Gray is sending most of his people out into the field,” Captain Willette said. “So we don’t have to worry about them. But just remember this: When it goes down, it must go down nonviolently. At first.” He smiled. “At first. That is something Sister Voleta does not understand. Any act of violence on our part-at the outset-would destroy everything we have worked to build. Our new converts would turn on us faster than a striking snake should anyone be hurt-initially. In that, we must all be very careful. We will show weapons, of course, and those opposed to us must be convinced we will use those weapons. But keep violence to a minimum at all times.”

“Unless,” Lieutenant Carter said, a smile on his lips, “the people could be convinced Ben Raines is their enemy.”

“Interesting idea,” Willette said, fixing Carter with a steady gaze. “But just how would you go about doing that?”

“Raines pulled out, leaving them leaderless. In the minds of many, even among those loyal to him, he should not have done that. They follow Ben Raines, not Cecil or Ike. I think it’s time we got the rumor factory cranked up again. At full steam. Really pour it on hard this time around. A statement from the doctors stating Ben Raines is seriously ill-mentally ill-should start it off very well, I’m thinking. Borderline nuts. Hell, hasn’t he done some weird things? Sure he has. Play it up. We can follow that with a rumor that Ben Raines is thinking of breaking up the Rebels; each person will have to go it alone-without Ben Raines. But we’ll have to make certain the general doesn’t pop back in here unexpectedly and screw it all up.”

“I like it,” Willette said. “Hell, we have a person with Raines” column. We know where he is. Our people down south-Silver’s bunch, along with some of our own-could set up skirmish lines to hold Raines up until we got the job done up here. Yeah. I like it. All right. Let’s get to it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Swing trap,” Ike told Nina. She stood quietly, watching the man work. It was obvious Ike had done this many times before. The sharpened stakes he had attached to the limber sapling looked lethal. She said as much.

“You bet they are. It’ll catch whoever trips it gut-high. I’ll build a half dozen of these. Plus some punji pits. I wish I had some monkey shit for the punji stakes, but they’ll do the job without it. Then we’ll leave signs we came this way, sucker them in. After they hit two, three of these little darlin’s, it’ll really slow them down. They’ll be afraid to move in the woods.” He laughed grimly, a warrior’s laugh.

Nina could certainly understand how it would affect their minds. “The dogs worry me, Ike. I’m scared of bad dogs.”

Rising to his booted feet, Ike smiled and held out the shotgun. “This is a dog catcher, sweetheart. If I they get that close, that is.” He secured the piece of rawhide that would trigger the trap. He once more grinned. “Somebody is goin’ to be awful unhappy about this. This is one stomach ache there just ain’t no cure for.”

Ike tore a piece of cloth from his shirt. He jammed

the cloth on a dead branch, sticking out chest-high on the old nature trail, actually a centuries-old Indian path. “That ought to do it,” he said.

They could hear the dogs far away, circling in confusion, attempting to separate scents. Their baying was frantic and angry, a frustrated yelping. There was a moment of near dead silence, then the baying changed.

“OK, kid,” Ike said. “The Baskerville Bastards have picked up the scent. It’s time for us to cut out.”

“What kind of a dog is a Baskerville?” Nina asked.

Ike shook his head. “Just a joke, kid. Forget it. Let’s go. Now the fun begins.”

She picked up her rifle and slung the bandoleer of cartridges around one shoulder. “You sure have a funny idea of fun, Ike.”

“I’ve heard that before. OK, baby-wiggle your ass.”

She looked at him and grinned. “Now?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Tony Silver was wild with rage. His humiliating defeat at the hands of Ben Raines was something he could not get off his mind. And he was taking his rage out on the new young girl, Lilli.

Tony had torn into the young girl savagely, her pitiful screaming only making him that much more angry. She now lay beneath the man, only occasionally moaning, a mewing, pitiful sound as Tony raped her brutally, again and again.

Finally exhausting himself, mentally, physically and sexually, Tony heaved himself off the child. Her blood dotted the white sheet. “You got good gash, baby,” he said. “But you need to learn to move your ass. You lay there like a goddamned log.”

Tony showered and dressed, stepped outside his room, and walked toward his communications room. “What’s the word, baby?” he asked the woman on duty.

“Sister Voleta’s people called about ten minutes ago.” She grinned nastily. “I told them you were busy.”

Tony returned the grin. “Damn right, I was. What’s up?”

“They’re sending troops down from the north.

You’re to mass everybody available and meet them at dawn, day after tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“On Highway 24. Louisville. It’s something about killing Ben Raines.”

Tony flushed for a moment, then regained his composure. “Must be something big in the wind,” he muttered.

“That’s all they told me, Tony.”

Tony met her eyes. He watched as the woman licked her lips. He smiled at her. “Yeah, Patsy, you can play with one of the new girls. Get someone to relieve you and go eat a pussy.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Go on now. I’ll sit in here until your relief shows up.”

She left the cramped and littered radio room and Tony sat down behind the big transmitter. He changed the frequency dial and called his base in north Florida.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Roll two full companies out right now, Johnny,”” he ordered. “All the ammo they can stagger with. I want “em up here by noon tomorrow. You got all that?”

“Gotcha, boss. What’s up?”

“Killin” Ben Raines.” “Awright!”

Tony cut off the mic and leaned back in the chair. There was a grim smile of satisfaction on his lips. First Ben Raines would be taken care of. After that, Sister Voleta was going to get a bullet up her stupid

ass. After Tony shoved a dick up it just to hear her squall. He’d taken just about all the guff he was going to take from that bitch.

At first it had seemed like a good idea, linking up with her. Goddamned ex-whore from Nashville. She’d had some good ideas-at first. Now she was taking all this religious crap too seriously. Christ! The broad actually believed she was some sort of God. Perverted bitch. Tony knew all about Sister Voleta. Betty Blackman from northwestern Arkansas. A two-bit hillbilly singer who used her pussy to fuck every record producer and agent in Nashville trying to land a recording contract.

She had never made it. Instead, she turned to running a whorehouse.

Then the bombs came.

No doubt about it, though: Sister Voleta was a persuasive bitch. She began building a following right after the world exploded. Back then she confined her activities to the hills of Tennessee, gradually branching out as word spread. Now she had over two thousand followers. More than Tony, but many of Sister Voleta Betty Blackman’s group were yo-yos and fruitcakes.

But still dangerous.

Yeah, she was weird, all right. Tony sent many of the more uncooperative men and women up to Sister Voleta. She got her rocks off torturing them to death. But somehow the positions of the two had changed. Now Voleta thought she could give him orders. No way Tony was going to put up with that kind of crap for very long. Just no way.

It was too bad in a way, Tony mused, alone in the

silent radio room. The arrangement had been pretty good for several years. Till Voleta started gettin’ too big for her panties.

Well … all things must come to an end.

First Ben Raines gets his ticket punched. Then Sister Voleta gets sent to that big revival in the sky.

Tony laughed at that. “Pretty good, Tony,” he said. “Maybe you should have been a writer.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“First we take care of Ben Raines,” Sister Voleta told her inner circle. “Then Mister Tony Silver gets put out of commission. But I want him taken alive.” Her smile was ugly. “I have plans for Tony Silver. He shall amuse us all … right to the end.”

The robed and hooded inner circle smiled and nodded their approval.

“Get word to our people in the timber. Keep up the harassment of Colonel McGowen and the whore-woman. Leave enough men in the timber to do that. I have given instructions for the bulk of our fighters. Go now. We all have much to do.”

“Ike’s alive,” Cecil’s voice crackled through the speakers in the communications vehicle. “Gray’s Scouts captured a man from the Ninth Order. They got the information from him. He’s in the company of a young woman whose boyfriend was killed by the Ninth Order, at Sister Voleta’s orders. He was sexually tortured and then burned alive at the stake. Ike’s leading his pursuers on a merry chase, so I’m told.”

Ben looked at Gale and smiled hugely. “Told you Ike would find a woman.”

She shook her head. “Man is running for his life and has sex on the brain. I will never, ever understand men.”

“Good Lord!” Ben feigned great consternation. “What a sexist remark.” He keyed the mic. “I’m about ready to come in, Cec.”

There was a short pause on the other end of the transmission. “All right, Ben,” Cecil said. “I think maybe you should. I believe it’s reached the point where only your presence can defuse the situation up here. But I have to remind you, old friend: You’re going to be in a constant state of danger when you return. I can’t stress that enough.”

“It’s that bad, Cec?”

“It could blow at any time, Ben. It’s … it’s just such a helpless feeling up here. We know what is going on, but are unable to do a goddamn thing about it.”

“I get the feeling maybe I shouldn’t have pulled out.”

“No.” Cecil was adamant on that point. “If you had stayed I think you would have had an accident, Ben. If you know what I mean.”

“We covered this before. I know. All right, Cec. See you in two, three days.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

They listened to the screaming of the man as he was impaled on the stakes of the swing trap. The hoarse, hideous bellowing echoed through the otherwise silent national park. The man was calling, screaming out for someone, anyone, for God’s sake, to help him.

A man ran toward the shrieking and stepped in one of the punji pits concealed along the ancient Indian path. The man’s leg snapped at the knee and he fell forward, his scream cut short as waves of pain abruptly plunged him into unconsciousness.

“My, ain’t we havin’ fun?” Ike said.

“I know I am,” Nina said. “Bastards deserve whatever they get.”

“You turnin’ into a mean bitch, ain’t you?” Ike grinned at the young woman.

“I watched some of those same men down there sodomize my boyfriend, Ike. They thought it was very funny. I hope we kill all of them. I really, really do.”

“Well, little one, we are damn sure goin’ to do our best.”

Ike and Nina lay on the bluff of a ridge line, more than a mile from the first line of searchers. The line

had stopped. No one wanted to proceed any further. Ike watched them through field glasses.

“Talkin’ to somebody on a walkie-talkie,” Ike muttered.

“What’s up?”

“I wish I knew. Whatever it is, you can bet that bunch is up to no good.”

He handed Nina the binoculars. She watched for a moment, then said, “My God, Ike. Those aren’t bloodhounds down there.”

“No. They’re Dobermans. Huntin’ dogs, man-killin’ sons of bitches. I hate those dogs. Hated them in “Nam. Unpredictable bastards. I’ve seen ‘em turn on their handlers.” He took the field glasses and swept the area below them in a slow circle. “‘Bout half of them are pullin” out,” Ike said, his tone of voice puzzled. “They may be tryin’ to circle us. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I do know I don’t like it. Come on, Nina, let’s get the hell outta here.”

The men of the Ninth Order who had been in pursuit of Ike and Nina had received hurried instructions from Sister Voleta. Seventy percent of them were to proceed with all haste to eastern Georgia. Tony Silver’s paramilitary forces were coming up from the south to join them. Their orders had been quite brief: “Ben Raines has less than a hundred troops with him. Raines and his Rebels must be cut off and held firm. Raines must not be allowed to return to his Base Camp. No excuses for failure will be permitted. Just do it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“It’s really true,” a young Rebel said. He had tears in his eyes. Many others with him made no effort to hide their concern and tears. “General Raines is suffering from a bad mental disorder.” He pointed to the paper he held. “See here. Read it. Says so right on this paper. It was smuggled out of Doctor Chase’s office. He and them others have been trying to hide it from us.”

Outrage at this blatant deception caused a low rumble from the growing crowd of Rebels. They looked at each other, confusion mixed with anger.

The crowd of mostly young Rebels, male and female, looked at the paper. For all the good it did them. Most could not read further than: See Dick run. See Dick chase Jane. See Jane whomp Dick on head with club.

“This is awful!” a woman said. “Poor General Raines. I feel so sorry for him. But what can we do about it?”

“I guess,” the unofficial spokesman said, “whatever Captain Willette tells us to do. We have to see to it that General Raines is helped and protected as best we can.”

“But Carter and Bennett both told me-not fifteen

minutes ago-that Colonel Gray and Colonel Jefferys know of General Raines’ condition. He said they both refuse to do anything about it.”

“That figures,” another Rebel said. “Sure. That’s “cause they want to run things. They don’t wanna see General Raines helped. They want him to get worse, maybe even die. You all think about it for a minute. Who stands to gain the most from General Raines being out of the picture? If you guess Colonel Ike and Colonels Jefferys and Gray, you damn sure got it right.”

The now large group of Rebels, including both young and old, thought it over, talked it over. The group grew to more than five hundred. They came to the conclusion the spokesman was right. It was a damned conspiracy; it was a damned shame and a damned disgrace. And by God they weren’t going to sit still for it.

Captain Willette seemingly just “strolled up.” Actually he had received a signal from one of his own people within the group of angry Rebels.

“I’ve taken the situation into my own hands, people,” the captain said with a long face. He appeared very concerned. “And I can only hope and pray I have done the right thing. As God Almighty is my witness, I have General Raines” best interest at heart in this.”

“We know that, Captain,” a World War II vet said. One of the “Grandfathers,” as the Russian general, Striganov, had referred to the older men. Just before the “Grandfathers” completely annihilated several companies of Russian troops. “Tell us what we can do to help General Raines.”

“Have you all seen the medical report I had stolen out of Chase’s HQ?”

They had. It had outraged them all. To think such a thing was being done to Ben Raines. The persons responsible should be shot. They said as much to Willette.

Captain Willette fought to contain his smile of victory. He said, “Doctor Chase is in on this thing, too, people.” Willette continued spinning his ever-tangled web of half truths, lies and deceit. “And he’ll try to deny it if questioned. So whatever we do must be done quietly and quickly.”

All agreed with that.

“What did you mean, Captain: You’ve taken the situation into your own hands?”

Captain Willette hesitated for a moment. “I’ll tell you all in a few hours. For now, the less you know the less the chances of an accidental leak. For now, keep very quiet about what you do know. And be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Be careful. Look over there. There’s one of Colonel Gray’s snoops now. Trying to figure out w-hat we’re doing.”

“Son of a bitch!” a young woman muttered. “This is like Russia. General Raines would never allow us to be spied on.”

“That’s right. And that’s only one of the reasons we’ve got to move quickly. We’ve got to knock those now in power out, and restore Ben Raines’ health. And I’ll tell you all something else: General Raines’ own daughter is one of those plotting against him. And that’s disgraceful.”

“Tina? No!”

“It’s true. She is planning and plotting against her own father.”

The Rebels shook their heads. Poor General Raines.

“Stay ready,” Willette said. “I’ll be in touch. It’s going down in a few hours.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Ben’s eyes opened long before the first gray fingers of dawn turned the eastern sky silver. He slipped quietly from the double sleeping bag and dressed in the darkness, his movements as silent as the morning.

He walked through the sleeping camp to the small tent that housed the ever-present urn of coffee and poured a cup of the hot, strong brew. He circled the camp, chatting briefly with each guard, even taking one sentry’s place on the line for a moment, allowing the woman to go to the bathroom.

Clearly embarrassed, the woman said, “Sorry about that, General.”

Ben laughed softly in the velvet morning and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder.

By nature an early riser, this hour was early even for Ben. He wasn’t certain what had jarred him from deep sleep, for he could almost always sleep very soundly. So what had awakened him?

He was aware they were camped in mutant territory, but he didn’t believe the mutants would attack a camp this large and well armed. No, the mutants had nothing to do with his awakening.

Then what?

Tony Silver, Captain Willette, Sister Voleta. That’s what had pulled him from sleep. Those three were in cahoots, he was certain of it. But what an odd trio. And did he, Ben Raines, represent such a threat to them-them being whatever in the hell the three groups personified-they would wage all-out war?

Why?

A supposedly semi-religious order, a hoodlum and a leader of a paramilitary group who had wandered into camp only a few months back.

Odd.

Ben was a hunch player, had been one all his life. Many times his gut reactions and mental warning system had saved his life. And right now, this minute, he had a hunch something was going very badly for someone very close to him.

But who?

Ben walked back to the tent and refilled his coffee mug, his thoughts many and very busy. He was viewing and rejecting ideas every split second, his brain working overtime. He walked to the communications vehicle and started the engine. He turned on the big radio and let it hum for a moment. Base Camp frequency was preset and the scrambler switch was in S position.

Ben called in to home base. No response. He tried again. Nothing. He went to the emergency frequency. Nothing. He tried once more. No reply.

“It’s gone down,” Ben muttered. “You bastards!”

He shook the radio operator awake. She came

awake instantly, eyes wide as she saw who was shaking her. “Move it,” Ben said tersely. “Something is very wrong. I’ve been trying to raise Base Camp. They don’t respond. You give it a shot or two.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dressing hurriedly, she ran to the communications vehicle. She worked frantically for fifteen minutes, meticulously checking out every possible problem. She finally shook her head.

“It’s all on the other end, sir. We’re OK here.”

“You’ve tried all frequencies?”

“Yes, sir. The last one I tried was the frequency to be used only in any life or death situation. If they didn’t respond to that…” She hesitated.

“Say it,” Ben told her.

“Sir … you know how our backup systems work; you designed them. There is no way for them to fail. The backups are on separate generators. Should the generators fail, the systems automatically switch to a battery bank. Nothing is fail-safe, sir, but this system conies the closest a human could possibly design.”

“Then they’ve been overrun at home base or the radio shack has been sabotaged. Is that the way you see it?”

“Yes, sir. That’s about the only two things that could have happened. I voice activated the alarm up there. No way anyone could have slept through all that. So that means the voice activation didn’t get through.”

James appeared quietly by the truck, Sergeant Greene and Captain Rayle with him. Ben met the eyes of each man.

“It’s begun at Base Camp, people. Roll the troops out. We’ve got to hunt a hole until we can figure out what’s happened and how to deal with it.”

“Where are we heading, General?” Rayle asked.

“Sumter National Forest. It’s only about twenty miles away. Let’s shake it, boys.”

BOOK TWO

They were going to look at war, the red animal- war, the blood-swollen god.

Stephen Crane

CHAPTER ONE

“You’ll never get away with this, Captain,” Colonel Gray warned the younger officer. “This is mutiny. And mutiny is punishable by death from firing squad. Be advised of that, sir.”

“You just keep your hands in the air, Colonel,” Willette said with a smile. The muzzle of his 9mm pistol did not waver. “And don’t get cute.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, old man,” Dan replied. “But don’t strain your resources looking for my Scouts. They’re not in camp.”

“Does that include the traitor, Tina Raines?” an older man asked.

Unanswered and confusing questions leaped into Dan’s eyes. “Traitor? What in the world are you talking about, Walter?”

“Oh, don’t deny it, Colonel,” the man’s tone was filled with disgust. “What you people have done is disgraceful. Knowing General Raines is mentally ill and refusing to help him.”

Cecil was pushed into the room, a rifle at his back. He heard the last part of Walter’s statement. His eyes touched Dan Gray’s steely gaze. “Dan, what in the hell is going on?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, Cecil. These bloody fools

wakened me by shoving the muzzle of an M-16 in my face. Now they’re ranting and raving about Tina being a traitor and Ben having gone bonkers.” “What!” Cecil shouted the words. “I believe you all have taken leave of your senses. Now put down those weapons and get the hell out of here. And that, gentlemen, is an order.”

“Shut up, Colonel Jefferys,” Willette said. “You people are all under arrest for treason against General Raines.”

Cecil frosted the man with an icy look. “That, sir, that last bit, is a fucking lie.”

“Watch your mouth, traitor,” Captain Willette spat the words at him. “I could have you shot, you know.” He would have liked to call Cecil, “nigger” but he needed the support of the young blacks.

Lieutenant Carter shoved Juan Solis and Mark Terry into the room. “Ro and Wade and some of the kids got away,” he announced. “Along with that damned old coot, Doctor Chase. But the camp is secure and it is ours.”

“Good work, Sergeant,” Willette said. “Take these men and lock them up. Don’t take any chances with them. If they try to resist or escape, you have my orders to shoot them.”

Cecil said, “Willette, when Ben hears of this, your life expectancy will drop to zero.”

Willette laughed. “Still denying your part in this treason, Colonel? It won’t work. We know all about your part in this. When we locate Ben Raines, he shall be so advised as to your behavior.”

A young Rebel, a scared look on his face, blurted, “What in the hell is going on around here?”

“Coup,” Cecil said tightly. “Willette and his bunch acted faster than we thought they would.”

“Slick,” Dan said. “Very well thought out and very slick. But it’s going to backfire on you, gentlemen. Believe it.”

“Wrong,” Lieutenant Carter said. “This coup is on behalf of a very sick General Raines. And don’t try denying your part in working against the general.” That was directed toward Solis and Terry.

“What?” Mark screamed.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” Juan blurted.

“I thought you were my friend,” one of Juan’s troops said from the open doorway. “But I’ve seen the medical reports on General Raines-all of us have seen them.”

“What fucking medical reports?” Peggy Jones screamed. She was being held by two of Willette’s men. “What in the name of God is happening around here?”

“Get them out of here,” Willette said.

The room emptied. Cecil, Mark, Dan and Juan were taken to a detention building and locked in separate rooms, with a heavy guard placed around the building. Chances of escape were almost nil.

“You have Raines’ position pinpointed?” Willette tasked a radioman.

“Yes, sir. They’ve been trying to reach Base Camp since before dawn. The coordinates place them on the west side of this lake, right here.” He pointed.

“Clark Hill,” Willette said. “Get all troops up and rolling. They’ll meet with Silver’s bunch. Blow Ben Raines to hell.”

But blowing Ben Raines to hell had been tried

many times in the past. By better people than Willette had under his command.

Ben and his small contingent were moving within the hour. The column turned east on the junction of Highways 378 and 47 and rolled across the bridge into South Carolina a half hour later. At Bakers Creek, Ben halted the column and dismounted his people.

“What’s happened, General?” was the question or everyone’s mind and asked by a young Rebel.

“I still don’t know for certain,” Ben told the hundred-odd Rebels gathered around him. “But would imagine a coup or a coup attempt has gone down. And so far, I have to assume the attempt has been successful. If they-whomever they might behave taken over the entire communications operation, then they’ve got the camp firm as well.” He looked around him. “I want five volunteers to head northwest, find out exactly what has happened.”

The entire group raised their hands.

Ben laughed aloud. He felt better for that show of loyalty. He thought: These people are solid, behind me 110 percent. He pointed out five people.

“You five get outfitted as quickly as possible and shove off. For God’s sake, though, be careful. I’m not sure what we’re up against. Someone will be on the radio at all times, monitoring. Remember, I don’t want any of you risking your life needlessly. Get in and get out as quickly and as silently as you can. OK. Take off. And good luck.”

Standing by the pickup truck, Gale said to Susie,

“And all I wanted was a nice, safe, uneventful life. You believe this?”

The young Rebel, Susie, veteran of a hundred firefights and major battles since joining Ben Raines’ Rebels at age thirteen, smiled at Gale. “But would you trade what you now have for that?” she asked.

Gale smiled. “Hell, no!” she said quickly. “That is, for as long as I get to keep him.”

“You’re wisin’ up, Gale. No woman keeps General Raines for very long. Not since Salina.”*

“He loved her that much?”

“He liked her that much. Rumor is, the general’s not capable of loving-not anymore. Maybe he had a bad love affair long time back. I don’t know.”

“He stayed with her a long time, though, didn’t he?”

“Ten years, I think. He’s told you about the other women in his life?”

“Bits and pieces. I kid him about repopulating the earth single-handedly. But I don’t think Ben is a womanizer in the classic sense of the word. I think he’s just got so much on his mind and feels he has so little time in which to do it all, settling down in one spot just never enters his mind.”

“That’s a pretty good guess, Gale. I think that just about sums it all up.” She sighed. “We had the good life back in Tri-States. No crime, no unemployment, good medical programs and fine hospitals, fair and equitable working conditions, without unions. I mean, we had it all, Gale. But the central government just couldn’t take it. That goddamn no good President *Out of the Ashes

Hilton Logan. He hated General Raines. Despised him. I think part of it was because General Raines used to screw Logan’s wife, Fran.” She laughed. “I bet that really galled Logan. Well … Logan succeeded. He killed a dream come true by destroying Tri-States. Now General Raines is fighting to rebuild at least a part of it. But he’s tired. And who the hell can blame him for that?”

CHAPTER TWO

It was a clumsy circling attempt by those left behind. And those men of the Ninth Order left behind were not very good at their jobs. They were not woodsmen. They made too much noise in the brush, they were awkward, and they were amateurs, Ike concluded. And he waited patiently with his knife.

When the first pursuer got close, traveling by himself, Ike quietly took him out by cutting his throat. He left him propped up beside a tree, a large, grotesque, bloody smile under the man’s chin. The front of his field jacket was soaked with his own blood.

The man had a canvas pouch hanging by a strap. Ike opened the flap and smiled. Several meals of military rations. And no green eggs.

“Now we go on the offensive, Nina,” Ike said, returning to her side. “Now we’ll see how good you are with that rifle.”

She looked at him, questions in her eyes.

“Start killin’ the dogs.”

“With pleasure,” Nina said with a grin. She dropped to the prone position, thumbed the .270 off safety, and made herself comfortable.

Ike watched her handle the rifle. She handled the

weapon with the ease of an expert. Must be a story behind that, Ike thought. Have to ask her about it when we’re in a better position for chit-chat.

After the first man did not return, those of the Ninth Order remaining called in the dogs. Ike watched through binoculars as the men held a hurried conference, with several of the men pointing in Ike and Nina’s direction.

They called for the man. Only the silence of the deep woods greeted them.

Scared, Ike thought. Nina read his thoughts.

“They’re frightened, aren’t they, Ike?” she asked. “All of them frightened of just two people. That doesn’t say much for their courage.”

“Those types of people aren’t courageous, honey. They’re little people, mentally. They feel secure in a mob. Yeah, they’re scared shitless, I’m betting. I’m also betting they pulled their best people out. Why or for what reason … I don’t know. But I’m guessing it has something to do with Ben. I wish I knew what in the hell was goin’ on. Damn this bein’ in the dark.”

“Whatever you say, Ike,” Nina said. She pulled her attention back to the front. “Well, now, would you look at that.”

Ike watched her line up the stalking black form of a Doberman in the open iron sights of the .270. It will be an interesting shot, Ike thought. The slow-stalking Doberman was about 250 yards away.

She lost sight of the animal for a couple of seconds as it slipped behind a tree, then once more got it in gunsights as it reappeared. She took a deep breath and exhaled, slowly squeezing the trigger, allowing

the weapon to fire itself. The slug caught the dog perfectly, directly behind the right shoulder. The force of the bullet lifted the Doberman off his paws and dumped it, dead, some five feet away from impact.

“Damn good shootin’,” Ike muttered. And it was not a mechanical sentence of praise. It was damn good shooting.

A man appeared beside a thick tree trunk. Nina chambered another round, sighted in, and shot the man in the stomach. He fell to the ground, kicking and howling and clutching at his bloody stomach.

“That’s one of the bastards who felt me up,” Nina explained. “And he said some pretty disgusting things to me.”

“That he was goin’ to do to you?”

“Yes.” She chambered a fresh round.

“Remind me to always ask permission,” Ike said with a boyish grin.

He spun around as a snarling black shape came at the pair from out of the timber behind them. The dog’s mouth was open, saliva dripping from the fanged jaws. Nina fought back a scream just as Ike squeezed the trigger of the Remington 870 and the Doberman was dead before it hit the ground, its chest torn open by the rifled slugs from the shotgun.

A third Doberman came at the pair. Its flashing teeth were only inches from Nina’s face as she pulled the trigger. The .270 slug hit the Doberman in the left eye, exiting out the back of its slender head, blowing brains and blood with it.

Both heard the whistles and calls as the dogs were yelled back to their handlers.

Nina flipped sweat from her face with her fingertips. She breathed a sigh of relief. “I have a suggestion, Ike.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I think that’s a damn good idea, honey.”

Ben motioned for James Riverson to come to his side. “Our back trail covered, old friend?”

“Yes, sir,” James assured him. “If they’re any good at all, they’ll be able to see we camped at Clark Hill, on the Georgia side. But after that, it’s clean and cold all the way into South Carolina.”

“Very well. Good work, James.” He waved to Captain Rayle. “Captain, send a team into McCormick and check it out. Less than two thousand people there before the bombings. It’s probably a ghost town, but let’s be sure.”

“Right away, sir.”

Ben looked to James. “Send teams to check out all these other small towns in the forest. So far, we’ve seen no signs of life, but let’s be certain. I don’t like surprises. We’ll camp here at Bakers Creek for this night. No fires. Cold camp all the way around. Leave no sign of our being here. Guards out and stay alert.”

Ben looked to the northwest. Other Rebels followed his gaze.

“I wish I knew what the hell was going on up there,” Susie said.

CHAPTER THREE

“From this point on,” Willette said, “we must proceed very cautiously. As soon as General Raines is pinpointed, we’ll have our people take him. And I don’t want him to fall into Sister Voleta’s hands, either. That must not happen.”

“But Sister Voleta said …” a woman spoke, her face alarmed.

“Hell with Sister Voleta!” Willette snapped. “My plan is better, much more realistic. I want Ben Raines taken alive and kept alive. I have in my possession drugs that will destroy his mind. Drugs that will turn him into a babbling idiot.” He smiled. “And we can blame it all on McGowen and Jefferys and the others. We can rig evidence that will point directly to them.” Again, he smiled. “And to show our “love” for General Raines, we’ll store Raines in a big fine house with some of the older Rebels to look after him. We’ll lavish the simple-minded fool with gifts and all kinds of things. Our love and concern for him will be evident. And we’ll have evidence that will show McGowen and Jefferys and Gray and even Raines’ daughter, Tina, plotted to destroy him. The people will be so outraged, they’ll call for the death penalty for those responsible.” He laughed loudly,

then looked around him conspiratorially. “The plan is beautiful and perfect, people. You see, with Raines out of the way, we can then knock off Sister Voleta. Most of her followers will move right into line and join up with us.”

His people agreed with him, smiling and nodding their heads.

“Sounds good, Tom. But what about this guy Tony Silver?”

Willette shrugged, then spat on the ground contemptuously. “Hell, what about him? We’ve got him outgunned even now. Shit! Let the hoodlum have south Georgia. We’ll take everything to the north and still be sitting in the high catbird seat, and Tony and his soldiers will be a friendly buffer zone to the south. I can’t find any flaws in the plan, people.”

“How come Sister Voleta hates General Raines so much?”

Willette snarled his reply. “For much the same reason I do. And the son of a bitch doesn’t even remember us. Either of us. But he’ll remember me just before I destroy him. God, how I hate that bastard.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Oh, you’ll pay, Ben Raines,” Voleta hissed the words like a snake’s warning before striking prey. “You will pay and pay and pay dearly this time, I promise you that.” She laughed, an evil barking of non-humor. “And you don’t even know why you’re staying.”

The woman’s hate-filled brain spun its memory banks, flinging her back in time. Back years, backward in time until she stood in a bookstore in Nashville, approaching Ben Raines at an autograph party for his latest book. Back when she was just barely twenty and trying to launch a career as a country singer, back before she learned her cunt was more valuable than her mouth-in some respects. She had flirted with Ben Raines, and he had responded while signing several of his books. They later had dinner together, and bed had followed. Ben had promised to call her before he left town, for another date. But he had never called. Writers being somewhat like wandering musicians in that respect.

Nine months later, a son was born to her. Rather than put the boy up for adoption, which she had considered then rejected, she raised the child. Mother and son had become separated right after the bombings.

during the massive confusion of evacuation. She did not know what happened to the boy, Ben Blackman.

She had tried several times writing to Ben-through his publishing company-but all her letters drew only one response from Ben Raines, and this had come through Ben’s attorney in Louisiana.

“If you can prove the boy is mine, I will accept full responsibility for the boy’s care.”

Her own attorney, whom she was paying with pussy, knowing Betty was sleeping with several other men, told her to forget it.

“But the boy belongs to Ben Raines!” she protested.

“How sure are you, Betty?” her lawyer had asked the woman.

Her hesitation told him the story. “Forget it,” he again urged. “Hell, it might even be mine!”

Outraged, Betty added a middle name to her son Ben Raines Blackman.

She hated Ben Raines.

She loathed Ben Raines.

And she never forgot him, the years only fueling the hate.

She wanted to torture Ben Raines to death.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Ben Raines killed my daddy,” Willette said. “Killed him in cold blood. Back in ‘89, best I can recall. It was down in Georgia. My daddy was with blither Pitrie’s Georgia Militia at the time.”*

“I “member that bunch,” an older man said. “They’s tryin” to rid the area of niggers, as I recall.”

“That’s right,” Willette said. “And they was doin’ damn good job of it, too. I recall my daddy come home once sayin’ they’d hanged more than fifty coons that very day. I slipped out to the hangin’ round that night. That was a sight to see. Them woke-up niggers hangin’ like sides of rotten beef from trees. I was … oh, “bout thirteen, fourteen at time Ben Raines killed my daddy from ambush, Momma was already long dead. That left me alone. Just a tad of a boy. But I swore me an oath I’d someday kill that nigger-lovin” son of a bitch.” He binned. “But this way is gonna be better. I’m gonna luck that Jew-bitch right in front of Raines’ eyes, *Out of the Ashes

“fore I mess up his mind, so’s he’ll know what’s happenin”.”

“By God, that’ll be a sight to see, Tom.” One of his men laughed.

“Yeah,” Willette said dreamily. “You all can have a whack at her.”

CHAPTER SIX

Ben sat up straight and said, “Betty Blackman!” He flung the words from his mouth as recall brought clarity to his mind.

Gale looked at him. They were sitting alone under the shade of a huge tree near Bakers Creek. “I beg your pardon, Ben? What was that you just said?”

He met her dark eyes. “I said, Sister Voleta. That’s who she is. My God! I can’t believe it. But I’m right.”

“No, Ben. You didn’t say Voleta. You said something else.”

“Betty Blackman and Sister Voleta are one and the same.”

“You know that fruitcake?”

“I knew her very briefly when she was trying to get started as a country music singer in Nashville, Tennessee. Her name, then, was Betty Blackman. That was about… oh, 1981 or ‘82, I guess. Somewhere around then.”

“I see,” Gale said. “Tell me, how well did you know her, Ben?”

Ben grinned. “Oh, it was a one-night stand, as best as I can recall.”

“Wonderful,” Gale’s reply was dryly given. “By all means, Raines, do tell me more. I’m on pins and needles.”

“There isn’t that much more to tell, really. About a year after that, I got a letter in the mail from her. It had been sent to my publishing company. She claimed she had a child and it was mine. I gave the letter to my attorney and told him to follow it up. I said if the child was mine, then I had a legal and moral obligation to help raise it. I never heard another word from her. Good God, I hadn’t thought of her in years.”

“Marvelous. Raines, just how many damn kids do you have scattered around the world?”

Ben ignored that. “Betty Blackman. She must really hate me.”

“Well, Ben, look at it like this: You did try to do what was right. I mean, you offered to help financially. Obviously, she didn’t know whether the child was yours or not. And it probably wasn’t. Did you receive many of those types of letters as a writer?”

Ben shook his head. “Two or three in a dozen years. I suppose every writer does. Did,” he amended that.

She picked up on his tone of voice. “You miss it, don’t you, Ben?”

“Writing? You bet, I do. But what I miss more is the stabilizing effects of a working-if not totally acceptable to all people-government. But, yeah, I miss the writing game.”

“I want you to go on the road, Ben,” she said. “I want you to take as much time as needed to finish your journal. And don’t argue with me, Ben. You know as well as I you’re never going to be completely satisfied until that work is finished. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Maybe,” Ben admitted. “But you’re forgetting about this little matter presently confronting us, aren’t you, dear? I mean, we are in the middle of a coup attempt back at Base Camp.”

“No, I’m not forgetting anything. But all that will be settled shortly.”

“Are you psychic?” Ben asked, smiling. “Among your many other talents, that is.”

She fixed him with a serious stare. “No, I’m not psychic, Ben. I just happen to be very close to a fellow named Ben Raines, that’s all.”

“And Ben Raines can do anything, right?” he questioned, a sour note to the query. “Is that it, Gale?”

“I guess that’s about the size of it,” she said, rising to her feet. She winked at him and walked away.

“Wonderful,” Ben muttered. “Now even she believes me to be something I am not. Crap!”

He sat alone with his old Thompson SMG and his many thoughts until the scouting parties began drifting back into camp.

“If there are any human beings in the forest, General,” the team leader of the first returning scouting party said, “they’ve become invisible.”

Another team leader reported: “The towns are dead, General. We could find no signs of life. Looks to me like there ain’t been nobody in these towns for years.”

“All right,” Ben said. “At first light, we move out.” He traced the route on an old, worn map. “We’ll cut due east here and head for this point, there are ridges along here. We find the highest one and dig in and sit

still for a time, until that first team I sent out reports back with answers to questions. We’ve got to know where we’re going before we can start.”

“Very profound, Raines,” Gale later told him, a smile on her lips. “Those words will probably go down in the annals of weighty sayings.”

“Kinda like, “The longest journey begins with a single step,” Miss Roth?”

“Oh, at least that.”

“I’m going to miss you, Ms. Roth.”

“For maybe fifteen minutes, Mr. Raines. When the hell do we eat? I’m hungry!”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Any of you boys believe the crap this Captain Willette fellow is handin’ out?” Abe Lancer asked the gathering of mountain men.

““Bout as much as I believe in kissin” a rattlesnake,” Ranee replied. He punctuated that by spitting a long, brown stream of tobacco juice, hitting a hard shell bug dead center, stopping the beetle in its tracks.

“There are some folk in the mountains take offense to that remark,” Clement reminded the man. He winked at his buddies.

“Them snake-handlers wanna kiss a rattler,” Ranee replied, “that’s they business. Long as they don’t shove that ugly bastard up to me for a smooch. Feel the same way “bout this Willette person. ‘Cept he’s worser than a damn rattler.”

“I believe that,” Willard spoke. “Rattler will give a body some warnin” if he’s got time.”

“We all agree on that,” Abe said, bringing the bantering to a close. “Any of you men, or any of your kin, been approached by Willette or any of his people?”

“Near’bouts all of us,” a long, lean man spoke. “And I think we all told “em the same thing. And that was to get the hell off our property and don’t never come back.”

All the mountain men shook their heads in agreement.

“They know where General Raines is at?”

“They found out where they think he is,” Claude said. “I got that from a Reb. And they’s ‘posed to be an army comin” up from the south part of Georgia to join them troops Willette sent out. They plan is to keep the general away from this area long enough to really convince any holdouts among the Rebs that Willette is really a fine fellow, really doin’ all this in the general’s behalf.” He spat his opinion of that on the ground. “Anybody dumb enough to believe all that bull-dooky would eat shit, run rabbits and howl at the moon.”

All the men laughed politely at the old adage.

“What’s the chances of us gettin’ them held prisoner a-loose?” The question was tossed from the gathering around the porch.

“Slim to none,” Andy spoke for the first time. More than five words in a stretch from Andy was considered to be a lengthy speech. “But I’m of a mind that we all oughta give “er a try. I think, even though ain’t none of us ever seen this here General Raines, he come in here not just to help hisself, but to help us too. I think us folk in the mountains, if we try, we could maybe pull this country back together again-or at least give ‘er one hell of a run for the money. They’s quite a few of us ol” boys left in these parts, and I think we’ve been sittin’ on our backsides long “nough. Time for us to git our guns and lend a hand in this matter. And that, by God, is all I got to say on the subject.”

He stuffed his mouth full of twist chewing tobacco and began chomping.

To a man, the gathering looked in silent shock at Andy. No one among them had ever heard him put so many words together in all their life. Finally Abe spoke.

“Right pretty speech, Andy. You got anything else to add?”

Andy spat. “Nope.”

Abe stood up, signaling the meeting was over. “All right, boys. Let’s get our guns. Looks like we got us some fightin” to do.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dan paced the floor of his cell in the Base Camp jail. He had gone over and rejected a dozen escape plans in an hour. He just couldn’t see any way out of the jail. The leaders of their respective units had been widely separated. Purposely, Dan thought. And the jail was completely ringed by heavy machine gun emplacements.

Dan sat down on the edge of his narrow cot and quietly fumed.

Cecil stood gazing out the window. He looked directly at a .50-caliber machine gun, the muzzle of the weapon pointing straight at him, not more than seventy feet away. The detention barracks was actually an old jail, unused and unoccupied for many years. It had been condemned by the department of HHS back in ‘87, a new jail ordered built. The world war had erupted before the new jail even got off the blueprints.

Cecil looked around him and grimaced in disgust. “Pretty goddamn good jail, if you ask me,” he muttered.

Juan Solis wondered if his brother had gotten away in time. He thought so, since he had not seen Alvaro being jailed at any time since Juan had been incarcerated.

He wondered how many Rebels got away, and how many had been duped by Willette’s line of bullshit? And like the others in the long cell block, Juan wondered what would be his ultimate fate?

Mark Terry wondered what was happening to Peggy. He had asked, politely, if they could be housed together.

No.

“Anybody seen Peggy?” Mark called softly.

“Down at the far end, Mark,” Cecil’s voice reached him. “She’s all right. So far, no physical harm has come to any of us. How long that will continue is up for grabs.”

“Knock off that goddamn chatter!” a commanding voice shouted. “Talking is not permitted among you traitors.”

“That’s Jerry Bradford,” Cecil said, ignoring the command. “He is one I never would have thought would turn against us.”

“Did you hear what I said, Jefferys?” the voice yelled, anger in the tone. “What the hell’s the matter with you-are you deaf?”

Joining in the game, Col. Dan Gray called out from the other end of the cell block. “How many got away?”

“Quite a number of our combat troops,” Cecil answered the question in a loud voice. “Much more than enough to return and kick the treacherous asses

of these malcontents and dirty traitors.” He was hoping to get some response from Jerry Bradford.

Bradford ran down the corridor to stand in front of Cecil’s cell. He was red-faced and so angry he was trembling from rage. “You’re calling me a traitor? You? You’re nothing but a filthy coward, Jefferys. You took General Raines’ friendship and puked it back in his face. I hope you all get put against a wall and shot!”

Cecil stood calmly, listening to the Rebel vent his rage. He met the man’s gaze with calm and steady eyes. “Jerry, do you really believe, deep in your heart, that I would do anything to hurt General Raines?”

Jerry didn’t back off. “The facts don’t lie, Jefferys.”

“There are no facts, Jerry,” Cecil replied softly. “Listen to me.” He wanted to keep the man talking as long as possible. “All that you people have seen and heard was invented.” He paused, wanting to choose the next direction very carefully. “I don’t know by whom, Jerry. And that is the truth. But I wish you had come to me with the rumors and their source when you first heard them.”

Jerry Bradford was a man in his mid-thirties, a college grad. He was a man who held the rank of master sergeant in the Rebel army. A man who was an expert at managing the huge equipment list of the Rebel army. He was a man known for his level-headedness in any type of bad situation. And Cecil played hard on that quality.

Cecil pressed on, knowing the other prisoners were listening. “Jerry, you and the other people don’t follow me, or Ike, or Dan, or Juan, or Mark. You follow Ben. We all follow Ben. I wouldn’t dream of

asking any of you to allow me to step into Ben’s shoes. Me being black and all.”

Jerry’s intelligent face became confused. “Black? Hell, Cecil, what has that got to do with anything? None of us care what color a person is. You know that.”

“I hoped that’s the way it still stood, Jerry. All right, now tell me this: Any blacks in Willette’s immediate company?”

Jerry was thoughtful for a moment. “You mean those that came in here with him?”

“Right.”

Jerry sighed. “Well … now that you mention it, no.”

“That’s right. Any Hispanics, Jews, Orientals, Indians?”

Jerry stared at Cecil for a long moment. Then he abruptly slung his M-16 on his shoulder. “Never thought about it, Colonel Jefferys. But I have to say the answer is no.”

Cecil was back to “Colonel Jefferys” with Jerry. He let it slide. “Now see if you can answer this, Jerry: Where did this so-called evidence about me and the others come from?”

“Well … hmm.” Jerry thought about that. “I don’t really know, Colonel. To be honest about it. One of Captain Willette’s people always seemed to come up with it. And it seemed like we practically had to drag the information from whoever it was.” He met Cecil’s eyes. “Pretty slick, huh, Colonel? Yeah. One of Willette’s people. And it was always put so we could take it either way. And like I said, they were always reluctant to say anything bad about any of you. At first.”

“And then once they had you hooked, they played you all like a big bass?”

Jerry sighed heavily. “Yeah, they sure did, Colonel.”

“Beginning to see some light at the end of the tunnel, Jerry?”

“Yes, sir. I sure am. And I don’t like what’s at the end of that tunnel.” He reached for the keys on his belt. Cecil’s voice stopped the hand movement.

“No, Jerry.”

“Sir?”

“I think this place is not only the best place for us in terms of you finding out more truth for yourself but probably the safest place for the time being. Think about it.”

After a moment, Jerry nodded his head. “Right, Colonel. I see. Accidents might happen on the outside. Yeah. OK. I’ll make sure one of the regular Rebels is on duty at all times. Goddamn it, Colonel, feel like the world’s prize idiot. We … none of us had the forethought to question any of what was said. It just … it was like a chain reaction, I guess is the best way to put it. Colonel,” he said, a worried look on his face, “why did we want so badly to believe it about the general and about all of you?”

“Number of reasons, Jerry. We’re all very tired. We’ve just come through one hell of a summer with the Russian and the battles fought.* And I’m just now beginning to realize how smooth-tongued Willette and his people can be. And, don’t take this the wrong way, Jerry: We are all just too damned dependent on Ben. And those are his words, Jerry. I’ve heard him say them many times. And, Jerry, those of us with any type of advanced education are now in the very definite minority. A mob’s mentality can be very infectious even to an educated person. There are many more reasons, Jerry. That’s just the high points.”

Jerry clutched at any straw to help ease his mind. “Was it… was it hypnosis, Colonel?”

“No, Jerry. It was mob hysteria and too much love for Ben Raines.”

He squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir. You’re right. And it was pure stupidity on the part of people who should have known better. And I’m at the top of that list. I’ll pick the ones I talk to very carefully, Colonel,” he promised. Jerry removed his .45 pistol from leather and handed it and a spare clip through the bars. “You keep this well-hidden, Colonel. When I come back on guard duty, I’ll bring a couple more guns until I can get you all armed.”

“Jerry?” Dan called.

“Sir?”

“Some C-4 and detonators, too, please.”

Jerry laughed. “You betcha, Colonel. Consider it done.”

Cecil said, “Be very careful who you discuss this with, Jerry. Very careful.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Colonel,” Jerry assured him. “That sucking sound you heard a few minutes ago was me, pulling my stupid head out of my ass.”

Cecil laughed, feeling, for the first time in hours, a slight glimmer of hope. “I have to say this, Jerry.

Brace yourself for Ben’s taking off when all this is over.”

“We never mentioned it aloud, Colonel, but that was part of it, too-among us older troops. We put too much on the man, didn’t we?”

“Yes. Ben is his own man, Jerry. None of us had any right to foist something on him he really didn’t want. Took me a long time to reach that decision, but I finally made it.”

“Who will lead us, sir?”

“Whoever Ben appoints, Jerry.”

“I hope it’s you, sir,” Jerry said.

“Thank you, Jerry.”

“I’ll be back in about an hour, Colonel. I’ll bring the C-4 and a couple of pistols this next trip.”

When Jerry’s bootsteps had faded away and the door to the runaround closed behind him, Dan said, “You took an awful chance, Cec. That could have blown up in your face. Awfully cheeky thing you did, but I am so glad you seized the moment and brought it off.”

“So am I, Dan. So am I. It was a risk, but I felt it the only chance we had left us.”

“I will feel ever so much better when I have my hand wrapped around the butt of a pistol,” the Englishman said.

Cecil hefted the .45. “I can tell you, friend. It does feel good.”

CHAPTER NINE

She looked at the small contingent of Gray’s Scouts that had accompanied her out of the Rebel Base Camp. Roy Jaydot, his Russian wife, Katrina. Tina’s fianc`e, Bob Graham. Mary Macklin. A dozen others.

“We’re too small a group to do much damage to Willette’s bunch,” Tina said. “First we’re going to have to link up with the other teams of Scouts that made it out.”

They were camped on the northernmost banks of Carters Lake, just off Highway 382. They were well-supplied, for at Colonel Gray’s orders, each of his Scouts had slipped out of camp several times, each time carrying a load of food or ammo or mortar rounds, caching them in the deep timber. And in teams of twelve or fourteen, Dan had sent them out of the Base Camp, on some pretext or the other-anything to get as many of his people out before the coup went down.

Most of the highly trained and superbly conditioned men and women known as Gray’s Scouts had gotten out, with only a few taken prisoner. Even though the coup had gone down much quicker than anyone had anticipated.

“Have you thought about making an attempt to link up with Dad Raines?” Bob asked her.

“God, yes. Many times during the past few hours. But I don’t know exactly where he is. Odds of us finding him are against us. I think we’re much better off staying in this area and linking up with the other teams of Scouts.”

Tina was team leader, and no one questioned her authority. She was as skilled a guerrilla fighter as anyone in the Rebels, with the possible exception of Ike, Dan or her father.

“Eagle Two to Eagle One,” the backpack radio softly crackled. “Lookin’ for a home.”

Tina moved to the radio operator’s side, taking the mic. “This is Eagle One. We’re out of the home nest. Come on.”

“Jose Ferranza here, Tina. Got my team all with me. Where you wanna link up, Big Momma?”

Tina’s team members chuckled at Jose’s words. Tina was actually a captain in Gray’s Scouts, but like special troops the world over-when there was a functioning world-special troops almost never stood on formality, for theirs was an easy camaraderie that few outside the unit ever understood.

“I’ll Big Momma your ass, you wetback.” Tina laughed the words, knowing Jose would take it in good humor, as it was meant.

“Your boyfriend is much too large,” Jose replied, laughing. “I am a lover, not a fighter.”

“Bullshit,” Bob muttered. Sergeant Ferranza was one of the most feared guerrilla fighters in Gray’s Scouts.

“Give me your coordinates, Eagle Two,” Tina radioed.

Tina checked her grid map as Jose gave his position in coded words. “We’re close,” she said. “We’ll find you. Stay put.”

“Ten-four.”

“Let’s go,” Tina ordered, picking up her M-16 and automatically checking the weapon. The fire control lever was on auto, the safety on. “We’ll find three, four more teams and then we’ll be strong enough to do some damage at Base Camp.” She glanced toward the southeast. “Sit tight, Dad,” she muttered, slipping into her pack. “Don’t get it in your head to do something rash. Just sit tight.”

The team moved out, as silent as ghosts wearing cammies.

CHAPTER TEN

Dan felt the comforting cool press of the 9mm Browning against the skin of his belly. Bradford had succeeded in arming all the prisoners in the jail, and in bringing in enough plastic explosive to blow up half the building. But Dan knew several hundred more had been rounded up and were being held under heavy guard in an old football stadium nearby. Despite the obvious and, to Dan and those now in jail, quite odious fact that the coup had been successful, Dan could not envision how it had been done so swiftly. Neither could the Englishman fathom the why of it all.

He knew more than half of the camp had been subtly swayed by Willette and his people, but that still left more than a thousand Rebels for Willette and his people to contend with. Say, three hundred and fifty had been taken prisoner in the swiftest coup Dan had ever heard of. And most successful, he grudgingly conceded.

But damn it to hell, he thought, that still left over six hundred men and women-all fighters. What had happened to them?

All right, he calmed himself, forcing his anger to

subside and rational thinking to take control. Think about it, he urged his mind. Say, two hundred out of that thousand were setting up homesteads throughout the vast tracts of land newly claimed by the Rebels. They would not have heard anything about the coup. And if they did hear, they would keep their heads low.

That left approximately four to five hundred.

His own Scouts numbered one hundred and fifty. Most of them had gotten free and clear of us in the nick of time.

That left, say, three hundred and fifty. Most of them were with Ro and Wade, with some scattered old-timers mixed in, Doctor Chase and his wife included. That bunch had scattered like the wind, heading in all directions.

So, there it was. All neatly added up.

Some of the more level-headed of the bunch, people like Jerry Bradford, older and better educated Rebels, after speaking with Jerry, had seen how they’d been duped and were now back in the fold, so to speak. But they were few, no more than forty, and that might be stretching it.

Time, Dan knew, was the enemy. The real enemy. Forwith each passing hour, those Rebels with Willette, the younger, more impressionable, poorly educated men and women, would become more firmly convinced Willette was right and Cecil and Dan and the others were the enemy.

Dan ceased his restless pacing and sat down on his bunk. He thought: It’s going to be bloody. And there is no way to prevent that from occurring. Lord God

on High, but it’s going to be a bloody bitch.

As if reading his thoughts, for Cecil had been listening to Dan’s restless pacing, he called softly: “I’m not looking forward to pulling the trigger on some of these people, either.”

“Nor I, Cec,” Dan softly called. “But what I don’t understand is the why of it all. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“To destroy Ben Raines,” Peggy said, joining in the conversation.

“Yes,” Dan agreed. “But still that does not answer the why of it all.”

“Vendetta,” Juan called. “That is the only possible answer. A blood debt, if you will. Probably one so old it is doubtful General Raines himself even remembers it.”

“The lengths people will go to settle old scores,” Dan muttered. Then, to himself, he said, “It’s coming apart. Everything Ben Raines dreamed of is coming apart. Ike is being hunted; Ben is cut off with only a small detachment, while more than a thousand men are hunting him. The camp is divided, with a bloodbath looking us in the face.” He sighed. “It’s coming apart. Once more, we shall have to pick up the pieces from the ashes of hate and blood and start anew. But what will happen when those of us with age and education and experience are gone?”

The Englishman did not like to dwell long on that last question. For like Ben, he knew only too well what would happen.

“A return to the ashes,” he muttered. “Back to barbarism and savagery and paganism. I hope I do not live to see it.”

“We shall persevere,” Cecil called. “Everything Ben has worked for will, indeed, must, endure. It is up to us to see that it does.”

“And when we are gone?” Dan called, feeling the weight of his age, even though he was not yet fifty, fall on him with a crushing invisible force.

Cecil did not reply.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Take the one on the left,” Ike whispered. “Shoot him in the chest. Try to miss that walkie-talkie. I want it. I’ll waste the pus-gutted dude on the right.”

Two rifles cracked. Two men from the Ninth Order went down in howling heaps. One kicked and squalled in agony, his legs jerking as life slowly left him. Nina’s shot had gone high, the bullet striking her man in the throat, almost tearing the head from him with the expanding slug. Blood spurted in two-foot-high arcs until his heart ceased its pumping. The man drummed his booted feet on the earth and died.

“Shit!” Nina said, working a fresh round into the chamber of her .270.

“No point in bitchin’ about it,” Ike told her. “You got him.”

“But I was off the mark by a foot!” she said. “I haven’t missed like that in years.”

“You were shootin’ downhill, little one,” Ike said. “Downhill shootin’ is always tricky. We’ll wait a few minutes, see if any of their buddies come runnin’. Then you cover me while I get the walkie-talkie. Maybe then we’ll be able to keep more than one jump ahead of them.”

The pair lay in the brush on the crest of the hill. Within seconds after the shooting, the birds once more began their singing and calling. No more men of the Ninth Order appeared. Ike counted off another sixty seconds.

Ike rose to his feet. “You see anything other than me movin’ around down there, blow the ass off it.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, now rough with beard stubble. “Yes, sir.”

Ike grinned. “This ain’t no time for romance, darlin’.”

He made his way cautiously to the site of the dead men. The air was foul with urine from relaxed bladders and excrement from bowel movements. Ike was especially wary of Dobermans, for he was very familiar with those animals who had been silent-trained. They were awesome and deadly. Few people realize just how much damage even an untrained dog can do to a man, and how quickly. Ike was as fully trained in the art of handling an attacking dog as any man who is not an experienced dog handler. But all that was just training, and Ike hoped he would never have to find out how good the training had been.

No dogs were present, much to Ike’s relief. And no more live men, either.

He stripped the dead men of their warm, lined field jackets, and took the long-range walkie-talkie. He left their weapons; both carried shotguns. He shoved their bodies over the edge of a deep rocky ravine, thinking perhaps if they were found, the missing walkie-talkie would not be noticed. He hustled back up the hill and flopped down beside Nina, extending the antenna. Chatter came to them immediately.

“They done killed Langford and Benny,” the excited voice said. “I heard the shots and then couldn’t get neither of them on the radio. You copy all that? Over.”

“Stand clear of “em. Don’t get any closer than you have to. Sister Voleta says to keep pushin” “em north. ‘Bout five more miles and we’ll have them boxed in the meadow up yonder.”

“How ‘bout usin” the dogs again?”

“Negative to that. The dogs is being sent south to track General Raines and his bunch.”

“That’s a relief,” Nina said.

“In a way,” Ike responded.

The radio crackled once more. “How’s things at the Base Camp?”

“Ever’thang is jam up and jelly tight. The Base Camp is ours.”

“Oh, goddamn it!” Ike cussed. “What in the hell is going on?”

“OK. We’ll keep pushin’ “em north. Point out.”

“Your Base Camp has been overrun, Ike?” Nina asked. “By the Ninth Order? I didn’t think they were strong enough to do something like that.”

“They aren’t. Not by themselves. That goddamn Willette and his pack have to have something to do with this.”

“Willette?”

He told her, briefly, all he knew and suspected about Willette and his people.

She was silent for a moment. “Then … this Captain Willette must be tied in with the Ninth Order, is that what you think?”

Ike nodded. “I guess so, Nina. Like I said before

when we talked about it, this whole business is so screwed up, I really can’t tell you what in the hell is going on.”

Ike got to his feet and helped Nina up. He looked around him, got his bearings, and started walking-south. There was a determined set to his jaw and a cold look in his eyes.

“Ike!” She tugged at his arm. “We’re heading right back toward them.”

“That’s right, babe. We sure are. We’re goin” back to Base Camp. I got the monkey and the skunk syndrome about this mess.”

“You mean, you’ve had all this good stuff you can stand?” she asked with a grin.

“You hit it right, Nina. We don’t have to worry about the dogs, and those sorry bastards up ahead don’t much worry me. I just hope they get in my way.”

“You’re cute when you get mad, Ike.”

“Aw, shit!” Ike said, blushing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tony Silver had every available man he could spare in the long convoy. The group from north Florida had rolled in, and the column had rolled out heading north. But Tony was having second thoughts about Ben Raines. He had asked one of Voleta’s people why she hated Raines so.

The guy had mumbled something about Ben Raines being a false god and a scourge on the face of the earth. Tony thought all that to be a crock of crap. Raines probably screwed Betty one night and shortchanged her. Or, he thought with a smile, short-dicked her.

He laughed aloud at that.

His driver met Tony’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Something, boss?”

“Naw. Just thinking, that’s all.”

“Boss, what’s the deal with this General Raines, anyways? How come it’s so important for us to take this dude out?”

“That’s kinda what I was laughing about, Bill. “Cause I don’t really know, myself. But we got a deal with this Sister Voleta, and Tony Silver don’t never welch out on no deal.”

“Right, boss.”

Tony leaned back in the comfortable rear seat of the old Cadillac limo. Sister Voleta/betty Blackman was not leveling with him, and Tony did not like to be in the dark in any deal he was part of. Just too damn many unknowns.

He sighed, thinking: OK. First we kick the ass off Ben Raines, and this time there was no doubt in his mind that would be done. They would have Raines outnumbered ten to one. Then Tony would deal with Voleta. Permanently.

After he screwed her.

The men and women of Ben’s contingent dug in deep in the brush and timber on the ridge, digging in carefully, doing so without disturbing the natural look of the terrain. The ridge afforded them the best vantage point they could find, in terms of defense. And to a person, they knew the upcoming battle must be a decisive victory.

In front of them, at the base of the ridge, lay a small creek that would have to be forded by any attackers choosing a frontal assault. That would slow them considerably. To the rear was a long northeastward pointing finger of a lake. Ben doubted any type of amphibious assault would or could be launched against their position. To the east lay a tangle of thorny brush and marshland. The west was thick timber and undergrowth.

Captain Rayle came to Ben’s side. Ben liked the young captain, for Rayle would speak his mind

…

respectfully. “At first I was dubious about your choice of a defendable position, sir,” he admitted. “Now I see you have chosen the best possible position in the entire forest.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Ben replied, hiding his smile. He had not lowered his binoculars. He swept the land once more, in a slow half circle. Lowering the field glasses, he asked, “Everything shaping up Captain?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve hidden and camouflaged vehicles well. Someone would have to literally walk right into them before they were detected. We hid them just off a fire road to our northeast, easily accessible when we decide to leave. We have .50-caliber machine guns facing in all directions, dug in. We’ve filled every container we could find from the surrounding towns with fresh water. It’s been tested and to be on the safe side, we’re in the process of adding purification tablets. We have well-dug mortar pits completely circling the crest of the ridge. M-60’s are supplementing the heavy .50’s. At your orders, we have no Scouts out forward. All personnel are accounted for and dug in on this ridge, sir.”

Ben could ask for no more than that. Captain Rayle’s report touched all bases. “Very good, Captain. How’s the food situation?”

“More than adequate for a sustained assault, sir. I have people digging a medical bunker in the center of the ridge. Ms. Roth has taken charge of that, sir.”

“I just bet she has,” Ben muttered.

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“Ah … nothing, Roger. Talking to myself, that’s all. Instruct your people there will be no firing until I give the word.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, Roger. Now comes the most difficult part.”

“Sir?”

“The waiting.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tina had linked up with three other teams of Gray’s Scouts. They were now less than a mile from the outskirts of the Base Camp, spread out in a thin line to the north of the main complex of buildings. The radiopersons had changed crystals in their walkie-talkies so they could communicate without being detected by Willette’s people.

“Big Momma?” the backpack radio crackled. “We have smoke to the west, and … I guess some answering smoke from the east. You suppose that would be Wade and Ro talking to each other?”

The two young men, Wade and Ro, and their youthful followers, most between the ages of ten and eighteen, had been, almost to a person, male and female, raised in the savage wilds of the ravaged land once known as America. They had grown thus far without benefit of mother or father. Most could not read or write. Most did not know the meaning of the word “parent.” Love was something that was unknown to them, at least to the point where they could put that emotion into words. Happiness was not being hungry or alone or cold. They grew up eating whenever they could find food; knives and forks and spoons had been replaced by fingers. They carried what they owned on their backs.

These young people had linked up with Ben Raines only a few months back, joining him to fight against the Russian, Striganov. These young people thought Ben Raines to be no less than a god. For all their young lives they had heard of the wonders performed by Gen. Ben Raines, of how the man could not be killed, how he was a nation-builder, how he fought a giant mutant and killed it with only a knife. So much more. They loved Ben Raines, and they were prepared to die for him.

Many were so young in age, mere children, but they were oh-so-wise in the ways of survival. They knew the ways of the woods as well as any living thing, for until recently, that is where they lived, observing and imitating the ways of animals. Ro and his followers in the east, Wade and his followers to the west.

Now they were preparing to make war against those who spoke harshly of General Raines and Colonel Ike and the other older, wiser men of the Rebels.

“I would imagine so, Eagle Five,” Tina spoke into the mic. “Those kids are woods-wise and deadly when pushed. They can take care of themselves. I’m just glad they’re on our side.”

“Eagle One, this is Eagle Six. We’ve been monitoring your exchanges. We have just moved into position on the south side of the camp. Do you have any firm plans?”

“Affirmative, Eagle Six. We free the birds at 2000 hours tonight.”

“Ten-four, Big Momma. We’ll begin neutralizing

the guards on the south side beginning at 1958. Good luck. Eagle Six out.”

Tina turned to a team member. “Take someone with you and try to make contact with Ro and Wade. Tell them what we’re planning and coordinate with them.”

Two Scouts slipped silently into the deep timber.

“Woods are too damn quiet,” Willette observed. He had been watching the timber through binoculars, attempting to detect some alien movement. He had been unable to spot anything out of the ordinary.

“My guts tell me we’re being watched,” Carter said. “Small of my back is itchy.”

Willette lowered the glasses. “Yeah. Me, too. We’re being watched from all sides. Something’s in the wind. Inform the people that the traitor, Tina Raines, and those who follow her will probably launch an attack tonight. They’ll be trying to free the other traitors. Tell them tonight will be a test of their loyalty. Tell them that while no one among us wants any bloodshed, that may not be possible under the circumstances. And be sure to add that all this is being done for General Raines. Everything we do is for him. Those that choose to fight the traitors will be looked upon favorably in Ben Raines” eyes.”

Carter chuckled. “I never thought it would be this easy, Tom. It’s slick. Just as slick as owl’s shit.”

“I only wish we had more people,” Willette said. “If we had one more company, victory would be assured. But I think we got it anyway.”

“You want me to really fire “em up, Tom?”

“Yeah. Preach to them.” He laughed. “Divide and conquer. It works every time.”

“Divide and conquer,” Carter repeated the words. “That’s good, Tom. Who said that?”

“I think it was Robert E. Lee.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ike listened to more chatter on the walkie-talkie and looked at Nina, lying on her stomach by his side in the brush.

“Blivit,” he said.

“Blivit?”

He grinned, the smile wiping years from his face. “Yeah. That’s an old military expression. Means ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag. And that’s exactly what’s happenin” right now.” He shook his head. “My God, how did this thing mushroom so rapidly? A few days ago, it was just rumors floatin’ around the camp. Now the new base is overrun, my buddies in lockup, and Ben is on the run. I should have shot that goddamn Willette ten minutes after he joined the convoy.”

Nina suddenly tensed. “Ike?” she said, pointing through the thick brush. “Look over there. Almost directly in front of us.”

Ike cut his eyes, not moving his head, for movement is picked up faster by experienced woodsmen than sound. A slow smile made its way across his lips. “Well, now,” he whispered.

A half dozen men were standing in a knot, about a hundred and fifty yards from Ike and Nina. All the

men were heavily armed. A voice, obviously agitated, reached them.

“I tell you all, goddamnit, I heard voices a minute ago.”

“Aw, horseshit, Also. Colonel McGowen and his pussy are miles from here. The forward team reported them moving north. If you heard any voices, you was hearin’ your own head talkin’ from all that moonshine whiskey you drunk last night.”

The men laughed roughly.

It was their last dirty bark of humor on this earth.

Ike clicked his M-16 onto full auto, nestled the butt into his shoulder, and burned a full clip into the knot of Ninth Order. The black rifle did its work, the so-called “tumbling” bullets knocking the men off their feet, slamming and jerking them around like so many mindless marionettes, the strings of which were being manipulated by an insane puppeteer. The bullets spun the men into trees and stained the virgin ground beneath them with wet, sticky crimson.

“Come on!” Ike said to Nina.

Together, they finished the job, with a single bullet to the back of the head of any left alive. Working swiftly, they stripped the men of ammo, with Nina discarding her .270 for an M-16. They hung bandoleers of ammo about them like old-time Mexican bandits, the bandoleers crisscrossing their chests. The men all wore canteens full of water, attached to web belts; those went around the waists of Ike and Nina. Ike hooked a half dozen grenades to his new harness and gave several grenades to Nina, showing her how to hook them in place. He showed

her how to work the additional walkie-talkie.

“Now you have communications, Nina-in case we get separated. I’ll go over the nomenclature of the M-16 once we get some distance between us and them.” He pointed to the cooling carnage sprawled unsightly on the forest floor. “Let’s split, babe. Now we got some firepower.”

“Can we run away now?” Lilli asked.

The three young girls were playing dolls in Tony’s motel quarters outside Savannah. Lilli had seen dolls before, lying like shattered little beings amid the rubble of man’s hate and destruction, but the child had no earthly idea what one was supposed to do with them. Now it was kind of fun, dressing them up in little doll dresses. Once you knew where to look in the old stores, you could find all sorts of pretty things to dress up all kinds of dolls.

“We’re guarded,” Ann flatly informed her. “And the windows is barred and the doors got special locks on them. We can’t get out. These three rooms,” she said, pointing left and right, to the adjoining motel rooms, “is it. You still hurtin?” she asked Lilli.

“Some. But it’s better. It really hurt when Tony done it to me. I’m gonna tell ya’ll something: I don’t like that Patsy woman none at all. She done things to me made me feel … well, kinda dirty. You know what I mean?”

“She done it to me, too,” Peg said. “It don’t hurt, but I don’t like it.”

Ann said nothing about the cruel woman called Patsy. Patsy had forced the girl to have sex with her

more than once, with Tony watching one time. And she had forced Ann to strap on a huge penis and act like a man. That’s when Ann really began scheming and plotting ways to escape. But first she wanted to somehow hurt Tony as badly as he had hurt her. She already thought she knew how she was going to get even with that Patsy woman.

“What’s wrong with you, Ann?” Lilli asked. “Your face looked funny for a minute.”

“Yeah,” Peg said. “You sure are quiet.”

“Just thinkin’ about ways for us to get out. I can’t come up with nothing yet. But I will. I betcha on that.”

A key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. A burly man stood in the open doorway, grinning lewdly at the three young girls. “Shuck outta them jeans, babies,” he said. “Patsy’s on the way up here with another chick. And I’m gonna watch the action. Hell, I might decide to join in. I ain’t had me no young gash in a while.”

Lilli began weeping, her face pressed into her hands. The man stepped to the bed and slapped the girl, knocking her to the carpet. He jerked up one of her dolls and savagely twisted the head from it. The doll made a momma-momma sound. He dropped the head to the floor, where it bounced into a corner.

“Don’t you hurt my dolly!” Lilli screamed.

The man laughed at her, then looked at the other girls. “How’d you like for me to take all your dollies away from you?”

“No!” the girls cried.

“Then git naked, babies. All of you. Show me the bare butts and pussies.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The first team of Gray’s Scouts ran into a patrol just inside the main compound. A patrol of coup members, leaving for a nighttime search of the immediate woods rounded a corner and came face to face with the Scouts.

Jimmy Paul, leader of the Eagle team, did not have time to raise his M-16.

“Traitors!” the coup member screamed at the Scouts. The leader lifted his sawed-off ten-gauge shotgun and pulled the trigger, blowing Jimmy’s belly out his back, part of the stomach lining wrapping around the backbone, ripping and tearing out the stomach along with several yards of intestines.

The patrol and the Scouts blasted away at each other at point-blank range. No one among either side survived the encounter.

The camp erupted in gunfire, the muzzle blasts pocking the night like a Fourth of July celebration planned and executed by a pyromaniac with a full arsenal at his command.

Jumping to his booted feet before the first echoes of gunfire died away, Colonel Gray shouted, “Now!” He hit the detonator, activating the C-4. The cell door lock blew apart. Other explosions rocked the

old jail as cell locks were shattered. Gray, Juan, Cecil, Mark and Peggy stepped out into the smoky runaround of the cellblock. Mark was armed with an M-M-10 machine pistol.

“I’ll take the point,” he yelled, running toward the still-locked door to the cellblock. He held a block of C-4 in one hand.

Before he reached the door, it swung open, two armed coup members stepping into the smoky hall. Firing one-handed, Mark pulled the trigger, fighting the rise of the weapon. The slugs jerked the pair backward in a macabre dance of pain and death. Mark tossed one of their M-16’s to Colonel Gray, the other to Cecil. He ripped off their ammo pouches and threw them over his shoulder toward the newly freed prisoners. Dan and Cecil caught the full pouches and slung the straps over their shoulder.

Peggy Jones leveled her pistol and shot a young coup member between the eyes just as he rounded a corner, an AK-47 at the ready. He slumped back against the wall and slid downward, blood and brains leaking from the back of his head, staining the old brick of the jail.

“Take his weapon, Juan!” she yelled, as the hallway filled with coup members.

Gunfire ripped from the coup members’ rifles and pistols. Peggy went down, a bullet in her side. Juan jerked up the Kalashnikov assault rifle and swept the hallway clean, using a clip of 7.62 ammo, the slugs slamming young coup members right and left, filling the hall with smoke and pain and the odor of blood and death.

“I’m OK!” Peggy yelled. “The slug just grazed me.

It went clear through.” She tore off her shirt tail and the belt from a dead man to fix a quick pressure bandage.

“Let’s go!” Dan shouted, pushing through the stalled crowd, jumping over the body-littered hallway.

Outside the jail, the situation was chaotic, with no one really knowing who was friend or foe. Coup members were firing wildly in the darkness, many times the bullets hitting their own people.

And Abe Lancer and his men were massing to free those men and women and children held inside the football stadium.

“Anything moving?” Ben asked the young guard.

The young Rebel, attached to Captain Rayle’s command, almost jumped out of his boots.

“Jesus Christ!” he said. “No, sir.” He calmed himself, taking several deep breaths of the cool night air. “God, sir, you move like a ghost. I didn’t even hear you come up behind me. How do you do that, sir?”

Ben laughed softly and patted the young man’s shoulder. “Settle down, son,” he told him. “They’re not here yet. The attack will probably start no sooner than ten o’clock tomorrow.”

“How do you know that, sir?”

Other Rebels had gathered around the southeast sentry post. Ben smiled. “Because I changed the crystal in one of our PRC-6’S and wired the mic button closed. I strapped the walkie-talkie to a telephone pole in the town of Troy. I’ve been listening to the forces gather there. Heard some very profane chatter,

too. They have no idea where we are. But they did bring dogs, though, and intend to turn them loose with their handlers at first light. Give them two hours, at the most, and they’ll pick up our scent. Their main force will probably mount the first assault against our front position about 1000 hours.” Ben glanced around him. “Captain Rayle?”

“Sir?” The captain stepped forward.

“Now that we know where our adversaries are, Captain, I want some surprises waiting for them. You send out teams to use what mines we have and lay them there.” He pointed out the area. “The terrain all around us is not suitable for vehicular travel, so it will be a foot soldier’s nightmare-for them, not us. Have your people, when they have exhausted our mine supply, start constructing swing traps and punji pits. Stagger your teams so none will be working more than a couple of hours. They’ll all need rest for the battle tomorrow. It’s going to be a bloody one, people. Their blood, not ours.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain saluted and walked away.

Ben continued his circling of the camp, inspecting each sentry post personally, chatting with the Rebel on duty.

“Can you just imagine that?” a Rebel said, after Ben had walked away. “Strapping a walkie-talkie to a pole and then listening to every word that’s said. Now who would have thought of that?”

“Ben Raines,” a woman said gently.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They set their walkie-talkies on low volume and listened to the speakers whisper the news of what was happening at the Base Camp, far to their south and west. Many of the reports were conflicting in nature. Some were hysterically given. Others were almost incoherent. All were second and third hand given, received and then transmitted from point to point along the network of the Ninth Order outposts, stretching far. One thing was certain: Whatever was happening at the Base Camp … it was not going well for Willette and his people.

“You heard it,” Ike said, taking the walkie-talkie from his ear.

“Yeah, but most of it was so garbled I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Big break out,” Ike said. “Some coup members have rolled over and are helping Cec and Dan and the others. That’s good news. Tina Raines a traitor?” He shook his head in the darkness of the copse where he and Nina had made their night camp. “It’s beyond me how anyone could ever convince anybody of that bullshit. For Christ’s sake … Tina is Ben’s adopted daughter. He’s more of a father to her than her real father.”

“They have many ways, Ike,” Nina said. “They can wear a person down with half truths, twisted versions of what is real and what is not, and just plain outright lies. What did it used to be called? Oh, yeah, brainwashing. That’s it. And believe me, Ike, they know all the tricks.”

“It’s bloody and it’s awful,” Ike stated the truth quietly. “Friend against friend. Worse than the damned War between the States, I reckon. Or at the very least, a lot like it.”

“The War between the States? I ain’t never heard of that one, Ike.”

“Civil War?” he prompted.

“That one neither.”

So very young, Ike thought. But the real sadness lies in the loss of history. She knows nothing of history. My God! he mentally raged. It’s truly coming apart, just like Ben predicted. If we can’t begin some sort of turnaround, with permanent settlements, complete with schools and teachers, any semblance of civilization will be gone in another two decades. All gone. Back to the caves.

Jesus!

“Tell me about that war you just named, Ike,” Nina said.

“That was a war that happened a long time ago, Nina. It ended almost one hundred and forty years ago. It was the North against the South. And it was fought for a number of reasons, one of them being slavery.”

“Who won?”

“Nobody,” Ike said. “The nation did not ever heal properly after that. The slaves were freed, but that

would have happened anyway, was happening, all over the south.” He started to tell her the story of President Lincoln meeting the author, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and of the president saying: “Mrs. Stowe. The woman who started the Civil War.” But Nina would never have heard of Lincoln, much less Stowe.

“Somebody had to win, Ike,” Nina prompted him.

“Yeah. The North won.”

“I get the feeling you didn’t like that.”

Ike laughed. “Honey, I’m old, but I’m not that old. I was born in the deep south-Mississippi-but I don’t hate nobody for the color of their skin. My first wife was black, if you wanna call somebody with skin like burnt honey black. It’s just that … that ol’ war was so stupid.”

“All wars is stupid,” she said flatly.

“Yeah,” Ike agreed, then paraphrased a line of George Orwell’s. “But some is more stupid than others.” He laughed at that.

“What’s so funny, Ike?”

“I was thinking of a classic work of literature. A book called Animal Farm. I’ll find a copy for you to read.”

“Will I understand it?”

“I’ll help you with it.”

The young woman nestled closer to the comforting bulk of Ike. He put an arm around her. She said, “I wish I was smart like you, Ike.” Her tone was wistful. “I can read and write pretty good, but I mostly had to teach myself. My formal education ended when I was ten, I think. Maybe eleven. That was …” She frowned in recall. was ‘89, I think. Maybe

‘90.

Maybe I’m a year older than I think. I just don’t know. It’s all so confused in my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I never have before. Maybe it’s time.” She stirred in his arms and said, “We didn’t get hit the way a lot of places did back in ‘88. We lived in West Virginia. In the mountains. Little bitty place. Yeah, now I remember. It was in the early part of ‘89.1 remember “cause it was still winter. Mom and Dad went out to look for food. They … well, they just never did come back. I had a brother, too. But he went off one day and never come back neither. Then I went to live with an aunt and uncle, but they had a whole passel of young ‘uns and didn’t really want another mouth to feed. When I was thirteen, my uncle tried to rape me in the woods. I took off and never once looked back. I been livin” hand to mouth ever since. I like to read though. I sometimes prowl the old stores and find books that the rats and mice ain’t chewed up. It’s hard readin’ at times, “cause I ain’t got a whole lot of knowledge of big words. Them that I ain’t real sure of, I skip over. Sometimes I can find a dictionary and look up the meanin”. It helps.”

“Don’t you ever think about a … a permanent place?” Ike asked. “I mean, a home, with a husband and kids and all that?”

“Aw, Ike. In them books I read about them things. Big ships with dancin’ and parties and stuff like that. I read about love and romance and pretty dresses and fine ladies and gentlemen. But that ain’t never gonna be no more. It’s over. I ain’t never gonna see New York City or none of them skyscrapers. They’re all gone, Ike. I went into a department store one time,

I think it was in Kentucky, up north. I found a right pretty dress and high-heeled shoes and all that stuff. Put on some perfume, too. Then I looked in a big long mirror. Good God, Ike! I looked like a plumb idiot. I like to have never got that perfume smell off me.

“No, Ike, them ways is gone forever, and you know it well as me. It ain’t never gonna come no more. The people-them that I choose to talk to-don’t even talk about them times no more. They’re just too busy trying to survive, that’s all. You know, Ike, I feel kind of… cheated, I guess is the right word. I mean, I ain’t bitchin’ none about it. Don’t do no good. It’s … all them good things … it’s just over. You know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Ike replied softly. “Part of what you say is true. But Ben Raines has this dream of putting it all back together. And we did it out in Tri-States.”

“Nobody ever put Humpty Dumpty back together again, Ike,” she said with childlike honesty.

“And Little Bo Beep and her sheep?” Ike kidded her.

“I know what you mean. Yeah, I heard about Tri-States. Tried to get there a time or two. Got as far as Kansas one time. I think I was sixteen. Near “bout that. Some men caught me and gang-banged me.” She said it with no more emotion than discussing a can of green beans. “One of them ol” boys had him a dick looked like a fence post. He really hurt me. I started bleedin’ real bad and I guess that scared them. They dumped me and took off. Just left me buck-assed naked in a old house. After I got better, I started I practicin’ my shootin’. That’s when I got me my first

270. I tracked them sorry bastards for two months, lad me a horse back then, too. Good horse. I named rim Beauty. I remembered that out of a book I read about a horse and a girl. Me and Beauty followed them men. Took me awhile, but I found “em and I killed ‘em all. Lost Beauty the next year. He just got sick and up and died. I cried.”

She said it all so simply, but with such deep feelings in her voice, Ike felt a tenderness touch him in hidden places within his soul.

“You best get some sleep, Nina,” he said gently. “And don’t worry. I promise you, everything will be all right.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Captain Tom Willette felt his coup attempt coming apart. Gathering up four of his men, they drove to the football stadium amid the wild shooting and shouting. The men stood by the old fence and then, as if on silent signal, they walked to the .50-caliber machine guns placed around the field and without a word opened fire on the weaponless, defenseless prisoners. Willette had a grim smile off satisfaction on his lips as the heavy .50 bucked in his hands, rattling out its death song. The bastards and bitches followed Ben Raines, they were Willette’s enemies. That was that. He felt no sympathy for the women and children dying by his hand. Really, he rather enjoyed their screaming and crying.

The belts reached the end of their brass and the .50’s fell silent. The Rebels guarding the prisoners looked at the sudden red carnage with horror in their eyes. They knew most of those who now lay dying, chopped to bloody bits on the grass of the old playing field. The screaming was something hideous.

A coup for the sake of General Raines was one thing. But this … this monstrous act… this was just plain murder.

But before they could react, Willette and his men had vanished.

The young guards threw down their weapons and ran onto the field, calling for the medics to come quick.

Abe Lancer and his men appeared at one end of the old playing field. The scene before their eyes was unreal. That could not have happened. Young children and women lay sprawled in twisted death, the ground beneath them soaked with blood. None of the men had ever witnessed anything to match this awful sight in the blood red night.

“Oh, my God!” Abe said.

“Must be three, four hundred women and kids out there,” Andy said. He turned his head to one side and vomited on the grass.

Through the glare of the portable lights that illuminated the field, Abe and his men saw the young guards running toward the fallen victims. Believing them to be the ones responsible for this act of horror, Abe yelled, “Kill them sons of bitches. Kill all them bastards.”

Rifles cracked in the smoky, dusty, confused and bloody night.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

On the edge of the Talladega National Forest in eastern Alabama, Sam Hartline sat in his communications truck and monitored the radio traffic from Raines” new Base Camp in north Georgia to Ben Raines in South Carolina. The mercenary’s smile was huge. He was thinking about a statement made years before, from a Red Chinese leader, speaking of the United States of America. “We won’t have to attack that country,” the Red leader had stated. “For America will destroy itself from within.”

Hartline laughed aloud. He said, “Quite true. And it happened rather along those lines, too. And now-he laughed again-“the same thing is occurring among the troops of President-General Ben Raines.” He threw back his handsome head and howled his laughter. “Oh, I love it! I truly love it. Ben Raines, you sanctimonious son of a bitch, you’re finally getting your comeuppance at last, and it’s long overdue. Oh, I love it!”

Hartline had suffered too many humiliating and disgraceful defeats at the hand of Ben Raines to possess any feelings toward the man other than raw hate. True, that hatred was intermingled with some degree of respect, but the bad blood between the two men far

overrode anything else.

“My nemesis,” Hartline muttered. “The stinking albatross hanging about my neck. Ben Raines. But this time, Ben, I am gleefully witnessing your little kingdom crashing down around your ears. And I am pleased. Oh, I am so very, very pleased to hear it fall.”

Friend shooting friend. Women and babies being slaughtered like dumb animals. This was better than the Civil War.

“I love it!” the mercenary yelled. “Oh, I love it.”

He turned up the volume. “And it looks like about two hundred or more people dead or dying,” the unknown Rebel from north Georgia said to Ben Raines. “Most of them are women and kids. It’s bad, General. The camp is still in a lot of confusion. But we think we’ve put down the coup attempt. Willette and his immediate group got away.”

“But not before they killed the prisoners?” Ben radioed from the depths of the Sumter National Forest.

“Yes, sir. And many of the young Rebels who joined Willette ran off into the deep timber, after grabbing a lot of ammo and other supplies. We have teams out looking for them.”

In South Carolina, Ben released the mic button and cussed.

“Probably cussing a blue streak of profanity,” Hartline said with a mocking, knowing smile. The mercenary was as freelance now as when he was working for the CIA in Laos in the early seventies, for the Mozambique-based units of SWAPO in the late seventies, for Qaddafi out of Libya in the early eighties, and for the Russian IPF forces only recently.

Sam Hartline answered, totally, to no master. His services, his army, was for hire to the highest bidder; and unlike most mercs, Hartline would switch sides as quickly as a snake strikes-money was the only master.

Of late, though, money was no good. It was power and women Hartline sought. And now he had broken, temporarily and very amicably, with the Russian general, Striganov, and his IPF forces. Hartline pulled his army out with him. His army was a short combat battalion of thugs and perverts and malcontents. Hartline was looking for Tony Silver. Tony was a man Hartline could understand, for although Hartline would not admit it-indeed, he did not know it-he was as mentally twisted as Silver. Hartline enjoyed torturing people. He enjoyed listening to women scream in pain and sexual humiliation. He enjoyed breaking people, mentally and physically, reducing them to slaves, eager to do his bidding, however perverted and cruel it might be-and usually was.

His men were as twisted as Hartline, most of them-but just like Hartline, they were excellent soldiers, understanding tactics and logistics and weapons and discipline.

And that was something Tony’s men were not: good soldiers. But once Hartline got them under his command, he would whip them into shape, both mentally and physically.

Sam Hartline and Ben Raines had one thing in common: They were both fine soldiers. Any similarity ended there.

Hartline turned cold eyes to his radioman. “You have them located yet?”

“Yes, sir. They’re in the Sumter National Forest in South Carolina.”

“Very well. We’ll let those foolish people who call themselves the Ninth Order suffer some losses trying to take Ben Raines. They’ll fail. I don’t care how they have him outnumbered, they won’t take him. His troops are too good. With any kind of luck, Raines will suffer some casualties. We’ll take him on his way out.”

He turned to a man standing quietly in the darkness, just outside the open door at the rear of the truck. “How are the men, Captain?”

“Well rested and spoiling for a good fight, sir. They’re getting fat and lazy with nothing to do.”

“Well, if we tangle with Raines’ people, they’ll damn sure have a good fight on their hands,” Hartline assured the man.

“Looking forward to it, sir.”

“Yes. So am I.”

“Transmissions from the Ninth Order commanders to the men planning to attack Raines, sir,” the radio operator said. “They just received the go-ahead.”

“Good,” Hartline said with a smile, rubbing his hands together. He turned once more to the captain. “Get the men up and moving. Warm up the trucks. I want us to be east of the ruins of Atlanta by dawn.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hartline said, “You’ve got a hundred tired troops, Raines. I’ve got five hundred fresh ones. This time, you bastard, I’m going to kill you.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I hear them,” Ben said, appearing by the sentry’s side on the bluff of the crest. “Head’s up now. Be ready for anything.”

Dawn was three hours old, the air clear and cold on the ridge. Dogs bayed in the distance. The wind was blowing west to east, a point in the Rebels’ favor.

“You sure can move quiet, General,” the young Rebel said. ““Bout as quiet as anyone I ever heard walk.”

“Some people think I’m a ghost,” Ben kidded the Rebel.

And knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say.

The Rebel looked at Ben strangely, an odd glint in his eyes.

“Don’t take that seriously, son. I was only kidding you.”

“Yes, sir.” But the young Rebel wasn’t so certain about that. He’d heard, many times, all the stories told about General Raines. All the amazing things. General Raines just had to be a little bit more than mere human. Or, the thought touched him with a light chilling effect, a little bit less.

Ben looked at his watch. 1000 hours. The troops of

Tony Silver and the Ninth Order were right on time.

The Rebel Ben had spoken to the previous night was also checking his watch. “The general said they’d be here at ten o’clock,” he said to a group of Rebels. “And here they are. Right on the money.”

The Rebels shook their heads. No one ever questioned Ben Raines.

One more rung on the ladder of legend.

The distant baying of the dogs changed. “All right,” Ben said. “Get ready. The dogs have picked up scent.”

The thin line of defenders waited for several moments. The dogs drew closer, their barking more excited.

“I can’t spot the dogs, sir,” a lookout called.

“They’ll be along,” Ben said. “Mortar crews facing southeast, stand ready with twelve pounders. You have coordinates, observers?”

“Yes, sir! Still too far away for effect, but they’re closing fast.”

“Sing out when they reach range.”

“Yes, sir. The dogs are visible, sir.”

“The first wave will be right behind them.”

Several hard explosions reached the Rebels dug in on the hill, faint screaming following the explosions.

“Claymores got a few of them,” Ben said with a faint smile. He knew first-hand how deadly the feared Claymores could be.

Mines buried in the ground began crashing, flinging bits of bodies into the air. The painful howling of dogs could be heard.

“I hope it killed all them damn dogs,” the young

sentry said. was ‘Fore I joined up with you, General, I was travelin” with this girl. Beth was her name. I was seventeen, she was fifteen, she thought, wasn’t really sure how old she was. We was over in central Texas, between Austin and Abilene. Come up on these men. They turned dogs loose on us. No reason for it. They just done it to see what we’d do, I guess. I guess they thought it was sport. The dogs got us separated. I will never forget it. There wasn’t nothing I could do. Them dogs tore her to pieces. Them men just laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. I got back to our truck and got my gun. Killed two of “em. Or at least hit them. The others run off. I hate dogs. I know it ain’t right for me to hate all dogs for what just a few done, but I can’t help it. Can’t seem to ever get that sight out of my mind.”

Psychiatrists could have a field day with me and my bunch, Ben thought. The shrinks would be leaping for joy. I wonder how many shrinks are still alive? Ben silently pondered. Not many. Those liberal bastards probably couldn’t survive in the real world.

Ben, like so many men who were a part of military’s special, highly elite troops, had a dim opinion of most psychiatrists.

“No one in their right mind could blame you for feeling the way you do,” Ben told him. “Not after seeing what you saw.”

The observer halted any further conversation. “The first wave has halted at twenty-five hundred meters, sir,” he called, his voice crackling out of Ben’s speakers. He had them hanging loosely around his neck.

Ben put on the headset and asked, “You have them locked in?”

“Yes, sir,” the mortar crew chief replied calmly. “I can put them right up their noses.”

“All right, Sergeant. Then go ahead and clear up their sinuses.”

Ben heard the sounds of tubes being loaded, the thonk and the following flutter as the rockets flew toward target.

A few silent seconds lapsed between firing and impact. Then the ground below the men and women on the ridge erupted in sound and fury. The mixed mortar rounds, HE and WP, turned the area into an inferno, the white phosphorus rounds igniting the dry brush and timber. Burning shards of WP slammed into human bodies and began burning their way into flesh. Men ran screaming in agony; some flopped on the ground and rolled about, trying to ease the burning.

Nothing they did would stop the horrible pain as the phosphorus burned through flesh and bone.

“Gonna be forest fires come out of this,” the young Rebel standing beside Ben observed.

“It will be raining by two o’clock this afternoon,” Ben told him, not taking the binoculars from his eyes. He viewed the wreckage below with a soldier’s satisfaction.

The young Rebel looked toward the skies. The sky was clear and cloudless. But if General Raines said it was going to rain … get your poncho out.

“Continue lobbing them in,” Ben spoke into his headset. “Drive them back. Let’s clear their ranks out as heavily as possible during the first wave.”

The mortar crews continued working steadily for two more minutes before Ben called for them to cease firing. Lifting his field glasses to his eyes, he viewed the ripped low ground before him. He smiled as he looked at the smoking battleground.

Broken, shattered and bleeding bodies littered the scarred landscape of the earth. Arms and legs and heads had been torn from torsos and flung yards from the mangled trunks. Small fires were burning on the south side of the creek. A burning pine tree suddenly exploded like a bomb going off as the sap ignited.

“I count almost a hundred dead, General,” Captain Rayle said, appearing at Ben’s side. “They’ve probably dragged forty or fifty wounded out of our line of sight, back into the deep timber. We hurt them, all right.”

“They’ll leave us alone from that direction for a while,” Ben said. “You lookouts on the flanks and to the rear, heads up, now. They’ll be sending out sniping teams.” Ben walked to the hastily dug communications bunker. “What’s the word from the Base Camp?”

“Nothing since last night, sir.”

“Mopping up,” Ben told her. “The worst job of them all.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“How many did we lose?” Tina asked Colonel Gray.

“Too bloody many,” the Englishman replied. “Counting the wounded, the dead, the desertions, we have had our strength cut by about forty percent. Old General Walker was killed, along with about half of his old soldiers who joined us. Walker died with a rifle in his hands, though. Reports say the old boy killed several of Willette’s men before they gunned him down.”

“Eagle Three is reporting some pockets of resistance still to the east of us. The Scouts say they’ll have it contained in a few hours. I’m sorry about General Walker. I liked that old man. Did he really fight in World War II?”

“He sure did,” Dan replied, just a touch of awe in his voice. “With Merrill’s Marauders in Burma. He was a hero again in Korea, and was a general during the early days of Vietnam.”

Cecil strolled up, his face grim. “I have ordered our people in the field to offer surrender terms only once. After that, if our teams are met with armed force, the coup members are to be destroyed. I want this put down hard!”

“That’s all we can do, Cec,” Mark Terry said, joining the group. There was a bloody bandage tied around his head and he had taken a nick on his left arm. He was grim-faced. “About twenty percent of my people were involved in the takeover attempt. I’m having those who survived shot at this moment. I warned them after that fiasco with Hartline and the IPF forces that any breech of orders would result in a firing squad.”*

The group was silent for a moment, listening to the punishing shots roll from just north of the camp. Mark’s eyes were tortured as he listened, knowing those were his people he had ordered put against the wall.

“How is Peggy?” Dan asked gently.

Mark sighed. With a visible effort he pulled his attention away from the shots of the firing squads. “She’s OK. Her wounds were not serious. Doctor Chase and his medical people just returned to camp. That old man is randy, folks. He was leading a team of guerrillas in the woods. His people killed two teams of Willette’s people.” Mark kicked at a pebble with the toe of a jump boot. His eyes were downcast, as if something heavy was weighing on his mind.

“Something on your mind, old man?” Dan asked.

Mark blurted, “Sally McGowen was among those killed at the football field.”

“Oh … balls!” Dan said.

“How about the children?” Tina asked.

Mark shook his head. “Dead. Sally tried to protect them with her body, shielding them. It was a brave but futile gesture. The .50-caliber slugs went right through her. The kids bought it.”

“That’s not going to set well with Ike,” Dan said. “He and Sally have been experiencing some troubles in their relationship, but he adored those children.”

Juan Solis and his brother, Alvaro, walked up. Both were bloodstained and dusty. “Willette and what was left of his bunch are gone. Disappeared into the timber, witnesses say. And it was Willette and some of his men who killed those people at the football field. Shot them in cold blood. Laughing as they murdered them. Witnesses who survived say Willette treated the entire matter as one big joke. Some of the Rebels guarding them, when they saw what was happening, dropped their weapons and ran to aid the wounded. Abe Lancer and his men were attacking the stadium, got there just in time to see the guards running. They thought the guards were a part of the murderers and opened fire on them. It was a night of confusion all the way around.”

“That couldn’t be helped,” Cecil said. “I’ll speak to Abe and his people. We’re at the point where a traitor is a traitor is a traitor-to paraphrase Gertrude Stein.”

“What outfit was she in?” a young Rebel sergeant asked the ex-college professor turned guerrilla fighter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“They’re pulling out of the timber,” Ike said, after listening for a moment to his walkie-talkie. “But before we make any hasty moves, let’s lay low for a few hours. It could be a trap.”

“You mean, they may know we have communications, now?”

“Yeah. But from what we just heard, the coup attempt at the Base Camp failed. But we took a lot of casualties puttin” it down. Lots of folks got killed.”

“Your wife?”

“I don’t know,” Ike replied. “I’m worried about the kids.” He looked at Nina. “Don’t read that as hard as it sounded. Kids and olds folks always take it on the chin in any war. I’ve seen too much of it not to know that’s the way it goes down.”

“I don’t wanna grow old,” Nina said flatly. “I feel sorry for old people. I seen it time after time, old people just pushed aside. Bad people abusin’ them. It ain’t right.”

“That’s the way it was when the government of the United States was operatin’ at full tilt, too, Nina. Don’t get me started on that subject. I always did feel there should have been special laws for the punks and crud who attack and abuse old people.”

“What law would that have been, Ike?”

“Put the punk sons of bitches against a wall and shoot them.”

Together they lay in a thicket and listened to their walkie-talkies. Within moments of the initial pull-back order, the radios fell silent as the searchers pulled out of range. Ike and Nina waited for an hour. The surrounding timber was silent except for the singing of the birds and the barking of squirrels as they went about their yearly tasks of gathering nuts for the fast-approaching winter months.

“Pretty and peaceful,” Nina said. “I wish the whole world was peaceful.”

“Maybe it will be someday,” Ike replied.

“Don’t put no money on it,” her reply was pessimistic.

The pair ate a cold lunch, washing it down with fresh water from a rushing mountain stream. At Ike’s orders, they gathered up their weapons and other gear and moved out, heading south.

This time they moved slowly and as silently as possible, stopping every hundred or so yards to check for sound or movement in the deep timber.

But only the natural sounds of forest inhabitants greeted them. They neither saw nor heard any of the men who had been chasing them.

Nina touched Ike’s arm. “I think they’re really gone.”

“Yeah, I agree, little one.” He looked at an old road map and then glanced around him, getting his bearings from deep in the timber. He pointed to a spot on the map. “We’ll head out for this little town. This state road right here shouldn’t be too far off.

We’ll find it, and take it into town. If we have any luck at all, we’ll find some wheels and barrel-ass back to Base Camp. I wanna find out what’s happened to Ben.”

“You’re really worried about Mr. Raines, aren’t you, Ike?”

“Worried maybe ain’t the right word. Ben is tough as wang-leather. It’s just … well, we’ve been together for a long time.”

“Kinda like the way brothers is supposed to feel?” Nina questioned.

“Yeah,” Ike said with a smile. “Brothers.”

“OK. So lead on, Mr. Shark.”

Ike wore a pained expression. “I keep tellin’ you, damnit. It’s SEAL, not shark. SEAL!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Here they come,” Ben’s headset whispered the lookout’s words. “They’re gonna try to make the creek and that little stand of timber this side of it. They reach that timber, we’re in trouble.”

“Settle down,” Ben said. “They won’t make it. Mortar crews! Commence firing. Snipers, in position, ready when and if they get into range. Hold your fire, all others. They’re too far off. We don’t want to waste ammo.”

Ben was thoughtful for a moment as the first rockets left the tubes. He turned around and looked the area of the Rebels over. “Flanks and rear!” he yelled. “Stand ready. I think this is a diversion tactic. Keep your eyes glued to your perimeters.”

Captain Rayle came to Ben’s side. “Too few of them for a major assault, sir. I’ve ordered snipers to the flanks and rear.”

“Concentrate your people to the east and west, Captain. Leave a few at the rear. It’s much too wet and marshy back there. The terrain would slow them up too much and there isn’t enough natural cover.”

Ben adjusted his headset and pressed the talk button. “Mortar crews, slack off firing. Just let them know we’re here. Chiefs, readjust every other tube to

the coordinates at the timber and brush lines east and west. Pronto.”

“Yes, sir,” came the immediate reply. “Readjusting.”

Removing the headset, Ben walked to the crest of the ridge, stopping behind old fallen trees and newer felled trees the Rebels had chain-sawed down and then covered with natural brush and other foliage. He lifted his binoculars and caught the rustle of leaves at the timberline a few hundred meters from the base of the hill. He turned to a machine gunner, sitting patiently behind a big .50. Another Rebel squatted beside the heavy man-killer, ready to assist-feed the belt into the weapon.

“Adjust down a few degrees, son,” Ben told the machine gunner. “I want the fire from this weapon directed left and right of that old lightning-blazed tree. See it? Good.” Ben patted him on the shoulder. “You three with .60’s-over here.” Ben pointed silently and those Rebels manning the lighter .60-caliber machine guns nodded and slipped into position.

“Let them think we’re not aware of their plans,” Ben said. “Let them get clear of any cover before opening fire. When you do commence firing, I don’t want any left alive. All right? Good. Hang in there, people.”

Ben walked across the wide tabletop of the hill, now cluttered with instruments of war and hastily dug bunkers, housing mortar teams and communications equipment. He studied the base of the hill and its westward lie of underbrush and stunted timber. The mortar teams were laying down a slow

but steady fire. Those men who had attempted the push from the front were retreating, leaving behind them their dead and wounded.

Ben studied the land below through his binoculars, James Riverson standing patiently by his side, the big senior sergeant towering over Ben’s own six-feet-plus height.

“There,” Ben muttered, catching a slight wave of tall grass, brittle-appearing now in late fall. He looked at Riverson. “You catch that, James?”

“Yes, sir. They’re amateurs.”

“Direct the operation from this flank, will you, James?”

“Yes, sir.” Riverson began calling softly for machine gunners and mortar crews to readjust degrees.

The men below the ridges were not amateurs, but they were not much better, certainly not professionals. All the men and women with Ben were trained to the cutting edge. They were as professional a group of soldiers as any left anywhere in the nuclear and germ-torn world. And they were far superior to most. Every man and woman in the Rebels was cross-trained in at least three specialties. A machine gunner might be a qualified medic and a demolition expert. A medic might be a sniper and a tank driver. That type of training was a holdover from Ben’s days in the U.s. Army’s elite Hell Hounds, a spin-off of the Ranger/special Forces units. The old Hell Hounds had been such an ultra-secret group that even among top ranking officers of the military, many did not know of their existence. Ben and his people waited motionless, deliberately

allowing the men on the ground below them to get into position. They waited until the flanking attack began, and still waited, waited until the men w clear of any near cover. Then the Rebels opened up with everything they had at their disposal.

The Rebels caught the troops of Tony Silver and the Ninth Order in the open. The screaming of the wounded and the dying on the slopes of the flanks filled the air as heavy machine gunfire literally sliced the foot soldiers to bloody rags and bare bone and steaming, ripped-open bellies. Mortars pounded the earth and grenade launchers lobbed their payloads into the smoky air.

The firefight lasted no more than two minutes. Two minutes that to those receiving the lead and shrapnel and feeling the pain seemed more like two years.

“Cease fire,” Ben spoke into his mic.

Just as the last echo was fading into memory, the radio operator called out. “General? I’ve got the fix on their radio frequency. You want to listen, sir?”

Ben held one headphone to his ear and listened, a smile playing across his lips.

“Pull back!” the voice shouted hysterically. “Goddamnit, pull back.”

“Give us some covering fire!”

“Shit! They ain’t shootin” no more.”

“I don’t give a fuck! I ain’t moving “til I git some coverin” fire.”

“Goddamnit, they’re creamin’ us. They’s too goddamn many of “em and they got better firepower than us.”

A firm voice overrode the frenzied, frightened voice.

“Platoon leaders-report.””

“First platoon here. And I’m it! I got no more men left. Every fuckin” one of them is dead. I’m gettin’ the hell outta here.”

“You men stand firm!” the hard voice of command nipped the order.

“Oh, yeah? Well, fuck you! And fuck Ben Raines

.”

“Yeah,” another man’s voice took the air. “And fuck the horse he rode in on, too. I’m takin’ my boys and gittin’ the hell away from this death trap.”

“This is Tony Silver,” a calmer voice took over. “All my men fall back. We’ll regroup over at a town called McCormick. Move out now and gather at the trucks.”

“Ten-four, Tony,” a man said. “We’re pulling out how.”

“Silver! You have your orders from Sister Voleta. If you disobey them, I’ll-was

“Stick it up your ass, Wally,” Silver cut him off. “I’m not sayin’ we run away. Just usin’ common sense and orderin’ a regroupin’. Think about it, man. Look at them dead bodies down there. Hell, they didn’t even get close to Raines’ position. The goddamn creek is runnin’ red with blood. Everything is all fucked up at Base Camp; Willette’s people blew it, man. Use your head. We got no mortars, no artillery. No way we’ll ever get to Raines. He’ll sit up there on stinkin’ hill and kill us all, one at a time. And You can bet on this, too: Anytime he wants to leave, him and them people with him can punch a hole in lines bigger than a whore’s cunt. OK. So we lost a battle. One battle, man. That don’t mean we lost the whole war. Some famous dude said that, long time

back. There is always another time, man. Think about it.”

Silence for several heartbeats. “All right, Tony. You’re right. Sister Voleta will just have to accept the loss and draw up another plan. All troops around the hill withdraw and backtrack to McCormick. We’ll regroup and map out plans there.”

“What about the wounded, Wally?” another voice was added to the confusion.

“You wanna go out there after them?” the challenge was laid down.

No one picked it up. The airwaves remained silent.

“That’s what I thought,” Wally spoke.

The wounded lay beneath the guns of those on the hill. They lay screaming as life ebbed from them, staining the ground under their broken and bodies.

“Fuck Ben Raines,” someone finally spoke. “And fuck them people with him. Jesus. Them people fight like crazy folks.”

“Pull out,” Wally said.

Ben laid the earphones on top of the radio. He winked at the radio operator and she smiled at him. Ben said, “It is the spirit which we bring to the fight that decides the issue.”

“That’s pretty, General,” she replied, the admiral don she felt for the man shining in her eyes. “Did you just make that up?”

Ben laughed. “No, dear. A man by the name of Douglas MacArthur said that, a long time ago.”

“Oh. What was he, sir, a poet or something?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“How far are we from the South Carolina border?” Sam Hartline asked his driver.

was “Bout three hours, sir. We’ve really been pushing lit.”

“We have made good time. OK. Let’s take a break and get some rest. Our forward patrol reported the interstate out up the road a few miles. They’re scouting an alternate route now. We’ll angle up toward Clark Hill Lake when we get cranked up again. Our last frequency scan showed Raines and his people to be around the town of McCormick. I want us to hit them just at dawn. This time I’m going to wipe the I pavement with Ben Raines” ass.”

The driver chuckled. “Won’t Raines be surprised? Hell, he thinks we’re still in California.”

“He won’t be surprised long,” Hartline said. “Just long enough for me to shoot that bastard right between the eyes. McCormick. That’s where you die, Raines.”

“Scouts out, now!” Ben ordered. “Just as soon as you see their bugout is real, let us know. We’re pulling out right behind them. I’ve got a hunch about

this place. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

The Scouts slipped down the brush-covered side of the ridge and vanished into the timber.

Ben took Captain Rayle and James Riverson aside. Opening a map, he said, “We’re going to take this old road over to Highway 28, head north all the w up to Anderson, then on to where we pick up Highway 76. We’ll follow that across the top of Georgia and swing down, come into the Base Camp from the north. No one will be expecting us from that direction. Instruct the radio personnel to use o short-range radios. I don’t want anyone to be able to track our movement and pinpoint our location by radio frequency. I want to know exactly what has happened at Base Camp before we go blundering in there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Within the half hour, the Scouts reported the enemy’s bugout was for real. The men of Tony Silver’s army and the men of the Ninth Order had tucked their tails between their legs and ran like frightened rabbits.

Ben looked at the dead men on the ground below the ridge. “Take what equipment we can use and get all their ammo. Start tearing down here and loading the trucks and Jeeps. I want us on the road by two o’clock.”

He went to Gale’s side. Throughout the battle, she had sat withand comforted the wounded in the center of the camp, in a shallow, hastily dug bunker.

Ben stood for a moment, watching her calmly change the bandage on a young man’s arm. The Rebels had taken no casualties during this fight, but

still had some seriously wounded from the previous firefights of this trip.

“How’s it going, old girl?” Ben asked.

She lifted her eyes to his. “Old girl!” She shook her head. “Why I’m just fine, Ben. All my teenage years were spent longing to meet a man who would keep me constantly sitting in the middle of a war.”

Ben laughed at her.

She smiled at him and said, “Come on, Raines, tell the truth, now. You enjoyed every second of the battle, didn’t you? Come on, admit it. You live for the thrill of combat, don’t you?”

“Me, darling?” Ben rolled his eyes in protest. “Why … I’m a peace-loving man, full of love for my fellow man.”

She made a disbelieving, choking sound. “What you are, Raines, is so full of bullshit I don’t see how you can walk.”

He laughed and stepped down into the shallow bunker. Leaning down, he kissed her. The wounded in the bunker applauded them both. Gale blushed and Ben bowed courteously. All the Rebels loved to hear Gale and Ben have at each other. And most were amazed the relationship had lasted this long, for General Raines was not known for staying with one woman very long. Not since Salina.

“We’ll be pulling out soon, Gale. I’ll send someone over to help you with the wounded.”

“We heading home?” she asked.

“In a roundabout way, yes.”

“But first you have to see if we can get in another fight along the way, right?” she asked dryly.

Ben smiled. There was truth in what she said.

“We’ll get back to Base Camp in one piece,” he assured her. “Sure you won’t change your mind and come with me when I go traveling?”

“Not on your life, Buster. I want to have my babies in Chase’s clinic.” “Our babies,” Ben corrected.

“I can see it all now,” Gale said. “Years from now telling the twins about where their father was while they were being born. “Oh, he was out toodling about the country, starting wars and rescuing people and probably chasing after every woman he could find. For he has it in his head to single-handedly repopulate the earth.””

The wounded Rebels cheered and applauded.

“Darling,” Ben said, “you know I’ll be true blue to you while I’m gone.”

Gale fumbled in her duffle bag and pulled out a roll of toilet paper, handing it to Ben. “Like I said, Raines: full of it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When the engine in the old GMC pickup coughed and sputtered and finally roared into life, Nina clapped her hands and squealed in delight. She had never learned to drive. The one time she tried, she drove slap into a huge oak tree and cut a gash in her forehead. After that, she either walked or rode horses. Hell with cars and trucks.

But this time was different: Ike could drive. The GMC had been found inside a locked garage behind a barn. The owner had put the GMC short wheelbase pickup on blocks, and then removed the rubber. Using a hand pump, Ike inflated the tires and lugged them down tight.

A battery had been located, still in its factory box, and acid was added to the cells. The transmission was stiff from lack of use. Ike changed the fluid, changed the oil, checked the brakes, and he and Nina were on their way.

They found an old gas station just down the road, and using a long hose, Ike hand-pumped gasoline into containers, storing those in the rear, then he filled the tank.

Mice had found their way inside the cab of the OMC, and the seat was badly chewed, with several

springs sticking out. Nina covered the seat with a comforter from a house.

“How far is it to your place, Ike?” Nina asked.

“Pretty good jump, kid. And we’re not going to be able to push this old baby too hard.” He patted the fender of the GMC. “We got some pretty rugged country to travel over.” He unfolded an old road map and laid it on the hood, tracing their proposed route with a blunt finger. “We’ll take this road to Dahlonega, and then cut due west. We’ll be home this time tomorrow, I’m betting.”

“Providin’ we don’t run into more trouble, that is,” she cautioned him.

“Yeah,” Ike agreed. “There is that to consider.” He smiled and patted her shapely butt. “You ready, kid?”

“That depends on what you got in mind.”

Ike laughed. “Travel, baby. Get in the truck.”

“I’m so disappointed.”

“Well …” Ike hesitated.

“We got time,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice husky. “I reckon we do, at that.”

Ben and his Rebels pulled onto Highway 28 just as the sky darkened ominously and the black clouds began dumping silver sheets of rain on the small convoy. The young Rebel Ben had spoken to earlier about rain glanced at his wrist watch. It was two o’clock.

He told the Rebel sitting next to him about the general’s statement concerning forest fires and when it would rain.

His companion, a Rebel buck sergeant who had been part of Raines’ Rebels for years, merely shrugged. “The general knows things we don’t know and never will. I learned a long time back not to wonder about it too much. Just accept it.”

“I guess that’s the thing to do.”

The rain made Gale nervous. The heavy down-pouring on the roof of the pickup sounded like bullets. “This is not just a rain, Ben. This is a damned storm.”

“Yeah. Next month it’ll be sleet and freezing rain. We’ve got a lot of work to do back at Base Camp before hard winter locks us in, and not much time to get it done. I’ve noticed that since the bombings, back in ‘88, the winters all over the country are getting more severe each year, and the summers more savage.”

“My friends at the university, scientists, said the bombings changed many of the weather patterns. I remember them saying that countries that had never experienced snow and ice before were now having hard winters.”

“That’s true, so I hear. I suspect future generations will have a great deal more to contend with, weather-wise.”

She picked up a sour note in his tone. She had heard it before. “You really don’t hold much promise for the future, do you, Ben?”

Ben waited until a particularly hard drumming of rain on the cab of the truck abated before replying. “Not unless what is left of the population does a drastic turnaround, Gale. Oh, we’ll make it all right. The Rebels, I mean. I suspect this recent coup attempt

will be the first and the last among our ranks. We’ll just be much more selective from now on as to whom we allow to join us. And we’ll set up shops and small factories and businesses and schools, give our people some degree of formal education. And I suspect there are other older people around the world doing much the same-right this moment. But older is the key word, Gale. As we-you and I, and others within our age spectrum-grow older and die, the burning desire for knowledge, book knowledge, will fade and die with us. Not all at once, certainly, but more like a gradual diminishing.

“Now, that does not mean civilization is going to abruptly roll over and die. What it does mean is that most will return to the land, a nation of small farmers and craftsmen.” He smiled. “Excuse me, crafts-persons.”

“Very funny, Raines. Ha-ha. Please continue. Try to keep me awake.”

“I’ll do my best, dear. It has been a rather boring day, thus far, right?”

“Raines …”

“OK. OK. I can foretell it with as much accuracy as Nostradamus-unless this nation picks itself up and turns it around, and does it quickly. After we’re gone, the younger ones will keep the old cars and trucks running until they fall apart. But in a hundred years, Gale, few will possess the knowledge to build a car or truck. Airplanes will be something for people to sit and look at, wondering what in the hell they can do with them. I don’t want to lecture, Gale, for you know what I’m driving toward.”

“Education,” she said quietly.

“That’s right. And Gale, we now have in this country, one entire generation-those who were, say, eight to ten when the bombs fell-who can’t read or write. It scares me, Gale. It really frightens me.

“Look at the area we’ve traveled through these past months, Gale. Look at what is occurring in this nation. Only very small pockets of men and women-for the most part, older men and women-are attempting to set up schools and organization and have some semblance of law and order and rules of conduct. The thugs and punks and assorted criminals that seem to crawl out of the gutters in times like these are at their glory. And it’s going to get much worse as time marches on. Tony Silver, for example, is nothing more than a modern-day warlord. Sister Voleta/betty Blackman is, well, nuts, I think.”

Gale went on the defensive. “But the young can’t be blamed for their attitudes, Ben. They’ve had no examples to look up to.”

Ben surprised her by agreeing. “That’s right, Gale.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Drop the other shoe, Raines.”

Ben grinned. “One cannot blame the young for their lack of judgment because they never knew, really, any type of civilized society. And those now in their late twenties and early thirties, like you, Gale,” he said blandly, “knew only a very permissive, liberal type of government as teenagers, before the bombings. Blaming them is just as pointless. Blame the mothers and the fathers and lawmakers and judges and record producers and TV programmers, beginning in the mid-sixties and continuing right up to

the bombings for the lack of understanding of discipline and work ethics and moral codes and rules of order-if one just has to point a finger of blame. I did enough of that back in the late seventies and all through the eighties, as a writer. A lot of us did. Those of us with any foresight at all. The majority chose not to listen. Fine. Now I can sit back and take a grim satisfaction in the outcome of it all.”

Gale did not vocally counter-punch with Ben on that, for in her time with the man, she had learned Ben was almost totally unyielding in his philosophy as to what had contributed to the breakdown of the United States of America. As a teenager in St. Louis, after the war of ‘88, Gale was one of those who had taken part in human rights marches against Ben Raines and the nation he and his Rebels had carved out west: the Tri-States.*

Ben’s philosophy was that there had been too much government intervention into the operation of privately owned businesses, too much interference in the personal lives of citizens from big government, too many lawyers and too many judges and too many lawsuits. Ben felt that when there was a United States of America, it was probably the most sue-happy nation on the face of the earth.

“Don’t forget a common sense return to government,” Ben broke into her thoughts. “Something Americans refused to demand from their lawmakers and assorted great nannies in Washington.”

“Raines, I wish you would stop getting into my head like that. All right. What are you going to bitch *Out of the Ashes

about now? You going to jump all over the ACLU again?”

“Nope,” Ben said, surprising her again. “I am certain that group did a lot of good work defending the poor and indigent and the elderly. And a lot more. But most of their good work never reached the ears of the majority. All we heard about was their screaming about those poor misunderstood folks being put to death for brutally murdering an entire family, or for raping, torturing and killing some five-year-old girl. We heard they defended those slobbering punks, trying to get them off with every cheap legal trick they could think of. I think the ACLU must have had a lousy PR department.”

Gale bristled, as Ben knew she would. That was why he’d said it.

“You consider human life very cheaply, don’t you, Ben?”

“Cheap human life, yes. But I’ve put my ass on the line far more times than I can remember for decent, law-abiding folks, Gale.”

“Stop twisting my words, Ben Raines. You know what I mean. Maybe that group of lawyers you’re so down on simply placed a great deal more value on human life than you?”

“But on whose human life is what always baffled me, Gale,” Ben countered. “The victim’s or the criminal’s?”

She opened her mouth to retort and caught Ben’s smile. She knew he was deliberately goading her, for he loved to make her angry.

“Way to go, Raines. You did it again. How come you like to get me all upset, huh?” She stuck out her chin defiantly.

“Back in the “good ol” days,” dear, one of my greatest delights was in putting the so-called needle to liberals.”

“You would. Well, you’re not going to get another rise out of me. I just won’t play your game anymore.” She turned her face and gazed out the window at the stormy afternoon.

“OK,” Ben said lightly. “Isn’t this a pleasant day for a drive in the country?”

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “All right, Buster-I know you’re up to something. So give.”

Ben’s face was a picture of innocence. “Darling, I’m not up to anything. I’m just adhering to your recent request.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are. When pigs fly, baby.”

“Well, since you insist, I was thinking about an old buddy of mine who lived in New York City. We were in the service together.” He stopped speaking and looked straight ahead, concentrating on the rain-swept old highway, twisting the wheel to avoid the debris that littered the highway.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

“Your buddy. What the hell else?”

“Oh. Well … what is it you want to know about him?”

“Raines, you are the most exasperating man I have ever known.” She shook a small fist under his chin. “How’d you like to have a fat lip?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in violence?”

“You … you …” she sputtered.

“All right, all right. Mike was coming home from work one evening and a couple of New York City’s more baser types tried to mug him. He quite literally beat the shit out of both of them. Broke the neck of one. Almost tore the arm off the other. He did break it in about six places. Mike must have really been pissed off. The punks went to that … ah, particular organization of lawyers we were speaking of a few miles back-that one you no longer wish to discuss-and with their help, the bastards sued my buddy. The criminals sued the victim for damages. Did you hear me, Gale?”

“Yes, Raines!”

“I just wanted to be sure. Anyway, since mugging obviously isn’t, or wasn’t, a particularly odious offense in the Big Apple, and the punks knew their chances of going to prison for what they’d done was slim to none, they admitted what they’d done, sued my buddy-and won. Now, would you care to ask me why I don’t-or didn’t-particularly care for that organization? And for asshole judges with shit for brains; let us not forget those pricks.”

“Raines, I realize any further debate with you on this subject is pointless, since you have a head as hard as a billy goat, but have you ever even vaguely considered the thought about the punishment fitting the crime?”

“I believe that is the longest question I ever heard in my life. But in reply: no. Not since I grew up and realized it was a pile of garbage.”

Gale almost choked on the apple she was munching on. “A pile of garbage! Ben, that is the most insensitive thing I have ever heard you say.”

“Why?” Ben asked, a puzzled look on his tanned face. As usual, a liberal question or statement confused him, had all his life. “The one thing the government never did try in their so-called war on crime is to completely eradicate it. To me, it’s very simple: If a country has no criminals, that country will have no crime. I proved that in Tri-States. It isn’t a theory, Gale. It worked.”

She shook her head and stubbornly held on. “That philosophy would never work in a nation as large as the United States.”

“That’s what I advocated some years back. Now I’m not so certain. It’s a moot point, anyway.” He fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

Gale dropped the apple core into a paper bag and glared at Ben. “Oh, hell, Raines. Go on, get it said.”

“You sure?”

She laughed at the dubious expression on his face. “I’m sure, Bern. I told you I’d be the first to let you know if I ever got tired of you and your soapbox.”

“Very well. You’re too young to remember much before the bombings. You were just a kid, and since both your parents were liberal, it’s doubtful you got the entire picture, free of whitewash.”

“Oh, way to go, Raines.” She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “But you’re probably right. Just get on with it, huh?”

“It’ll take more than a few words, Gale.” He spun the steering wheel to avoid colliding with a downed tree that was blocking half the road. “Because it takes several things to make a crime-free environment. And not necessarily in this order. It takes full employment. Two or three or six percent unemployment

won’t do it. Full employment is the only way. Why do you want to hear this, Gale?” Ben looked exasperated. “What are you, a masochist?”

“Beats looking at the weather,” she replied. “Just get on with it.”

Her flip reply gave her inner feelings away, at least to Ben. Liberalism had failed miserably. If there was to be, ever again, a workable society built out of the ashes, it had to be something other than the unworkable flights of fancy the liberals had forced upon the taxpayers of America. She wanted to explore all avenues.

“We had full employment in Tri-States, Gale. We had it because healthy, able-bodied people were required to work.” He cut his eyes at her and smiled. “You may interrupt at any time, dear.”

“You forced people to work, Ben?”

“I certainly did, darling. But not at a job they were physically unable to handle. I wouldn’t put a person with a bad heart out digging ditches or a mental defective working at a computer.”

“Very commendable of you, I’m sure,” she said dryly. “Please, do continue. It’s fascinating.” She found another apple and chomped away.

“Back before the bombings, certain organized labor unions advocated a thirty-five hour work week, in order to put more people to work. Very nice of them. But they wanted no cut in pay; they wanted business to absorb the cost. And that leads me right into a restoration of the work ethic. A day’s work for a day’s pay. Pride in one’s work and a cessation of living solely for the weekend and never mind that the product the assembly-line workers were building was

shoddy. And many of them were just that.

“In Tri-States, we took a hard look at the way factories and businesses were run, and we changed the structure of it all. Employee ownership is one way we found that really works. And we did it without the threat of unions hanging over our heads.

“We completely reworked the income tax system. We found that a rigidly enforced graduated scale worked best for us. It was difficult for one to become a millionaire in Tri-States, but certainly not impossible. Everyone paid their share of income tax-everyone. There were no exceptions. We closed virtually all loopholes and made the filing form sol simple a sixth grader could fill it out. You see, Gale, we were able to do that because we did not allow lawyers to have a goddamn thing to do with it. There weren’t many lawyers in Tri-States. There were no fancy lunches or dinners to be written off the income tax as ‘business related.” We stopped virtually all that nonsense, because we all knew it had been so badly abused in the past.

“We started by attacking and challenging many of the so-called “little items.” Company cars, for example, incorporating for another. In Tri-States, one could incorporate all day if one wished. But it wouldn’t help a bit when it came to taxes. No tax breaks there. One could write off a company car, but only for the time one actually used that in the operation of the business. And God help the person who tried to cheat, for the system came down hard.”

“How in the world did you people make it work, Ben? … it boggles my mind. It just seems so … unworkable.”

“Because we did a one hundred and eighty degree turn, honey. We returned to the values this nation was supposedly built upon. Oh, we had people who cheated. Sure we did. But over the years we found them. The system was such that it was almost impossible to get away with crime. I guess it all came back to our type of government. It was a common sense type of government.”

She held up a slim hand. “Whoa, Ben. Kindly explain that, please. Every Rebel I talk with says the same thing. What in the hell is a common sense type of government?”

“Gale, before the bombings, the government of the United States was so top-heavy with bureaucrats it was sinking under its own weight. The government had laws on top of laws, not just the federal government, but local and county and state. The individual citizen had practically no control over his or her life. Day to day living had turned into a stroll through a minefield of legal entanglements. Criminals had more rights than victims. The average citizen really did not know if he could legally protect his life or property or family with deadly force or not. Much of government, while not corrupt-although a lot of that was going on-was confused. Much like the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing. I became very apolitical. That’s not a strong enough word. I, along with millions of others, became discouraged with government. Depressed with the entire system. Our national debt was staggeringly high, with no end in sight. Something had to give. And it did. The whole damned world exploded in war.

Ben paused, looking around him through the gloom of the raging afternoon’s storm. Common sense form of government, he thought. God, how to tell this gentle lady who still could not hit the side of a barn at point-blank range with any type of weapon-how to tell her? How does one who wholeheartedly adopts the fact-and Ben knew it was fact, not theory-that society does not reject those who choose a life of crime, the criminal rejects society, how does one explain that to a person who throughout her formative years had been not-so-subtly brainwashed by a liberal doctrine? Ben had tried a few times before … failing each time.

He took a deep breath-sighed heavily. “Gale, if a person puts a No Trespassing sign up in the front yard, it does not mean the back yard can be explored at will by anyone who so desires. That sign means, quite literally: Keep your ass off this property. All this property. Anyone who possesses even a modicum of common sense wouldn’t set one foot on that posted property. Now I’m not saying the person who put the sign there has the right to kill a trespasser by ambush, without any warning. But I do maintain that if the property owner steps out with a shotgun in his hands and ordered the trespasser off, and the trespasser refuses to leave, what happens after that lies solely on the head of the person who violated the property owner’s rights. Do you follow me?”

“Reluctantly, Ben. Of course, I follow you. I’m not stupid.”

“Perhaps we’re getting somewhere at last,” Ben said with a chuckle. “But, Gale, a liberal doctrine, which is by no means based on any semblance of

common sense, theorizes that no one has the right to use deadly force in the protection of property rights or private possessions. And that is precisely why the nation endured a crime wave unparalleled in its history, beginning when the Supreme Court and federal judges began sticking their goddamn noses into the lives of private, law-abiding, American citizens. States’ rights became a thing of the past. Not that the states didn’t abuse some of those rights, because they did, in many ways. But if a state chooses to put a criminal to death, after going through proper procedures and reviews, then that should be the individual state’s prerogative, and the federal government should keep the hell out of it.”

Ben laughed aloud, laughing at himself. “Sorry, Gale. Government interference was always a sore point with me.”

“I never would have guessed, Ben,” she said, smiling. “Was it really that bad, Ben?”

“Yes. And getting worse with each year. Along about… oh, the early eighties, I guess it was, we finally put a man in the White House with courage enough to try to get Big Brother off the backs of the citizens. And oh, Lord, did the sobbing sisters and weak-kneed brothers howl. And, to their credit, the Supreme Court, I think, finally woke up and began to see the writing on the wall. The death penalty was restored-over the howlings and moanings and weeping of many liberal groups-and the states began the slow process of barbecuing and gassing and shooting murderers.”

“Ben, that’s awful!”

“I don’t see it that way and never will. Gale, in Tri-States,

our kids were taught from a very early age to respect the rights of others. That it is against the law to kill, to steal, to cheat, to trespass, to practice blind prejudice, and that they could get seriously hurt, or killed, if they violated the law. And, Gale-it worked. We proved all the so-called experts wrong. Flat wrong. We of Tri-States proved that crime does not have to be tolerated. We proved it can be eradicated. I really hope I am not the only person planning to chronicle the last days of this nation’s-indeed, the world’s comhistory, for I want somebody else, with a fair and reasonable nature to point out to the future generations, that Tri-States worked. That crime and greed and laziness and stupidity do not have to be accepted. That they can be wiped from the face of any society if that society will work together, be of like mind, but not a nation of clones. That is my wish.” Gale put a hand on Ben’s arm. “You’re a hard man, Ben Raines, but you’re a pretty good man, too. Would you pull over right there?” She pointed to a cut-off gravel road.

“You have to go to the bathroom in this weather?”

“No. I wanna get that sack of canned fruit out of the back. I’m hungry!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The rain was not confined to the South Carolina area; it was pouring down all over the southeastern United States. A sudden and very violent storm was sweeping the already ravaged land. It was as if the hand of God was punishing the battered earth.

The storm forced Ike and Nina to seek shelter in an old barn. They holed up there for the night, Nina clinging to Ike.

The remaining troops of Silver and the Ninth Order, now a beaten and bedraggled and sodden and sullen bunch, elected to spend the night at McCormick. They made plans to pull out in the morning. Nothing would be moving this night. So they thought. But Hartline and his men would be on the move. Toward McCormick.

But something began gnawing at Tony’s guts. He had a bad feeling about McCormick. Some intangible sense of warning tugged at his streetwise hoodlum’s brain. He gathered up fifty of his men and pulled out quietly just as darkness wrapped her evening arms around the rain-soaked, lightning-and-thunder-pounded area. Tony and his party headed south on Highway 221, spending the night just outside Augusta.

It was a move that saved his life. For a while longer, that is.

At the Base Camp in northern Georgia, Tina Raines ran through the heavy down-pouring to the communications shack. Slipping off her poncho and hanging it on a peg by the door of the old home, she turned to Cecil.

“Any word from Dad?” she asked.

Cecil shook his head. “Nothing, Tina. But that doesn’t mean anything has happened to Ben. Your father is the toughest man I’ve ever seen. Ben is very hard to kill.”

She nodded her head. Most of what was said about Ben was no myth. “How about Ike?”

“Intercepted messages from the Ninth Order tend to substantiate initial reports that Ike played hell with those chasing him. Them, I should say. But nothing from Ike himself. Ike is as tough as an alligator, Tina. And when he gets stirred up, as mean as a cobra. Ike’s all right.”

“The base is secure,” Tina reported. “We didn’t lose as many people as first thought. Thirty-five percent max. Many of our people headed for the deep timber when the coup attempt went down. They’re straggling back in now, in small groups.”

“That is good news,” Cecil said with a smile. “What do Gray’s Scouts report about the strength of the Ninth Order?”

“A Mister Waldo-he’s some relation to Abe Lancer-who lives up near a town called Tellico Plains says the Ninth Order is still strong. Strong enough to do us some damage. That crazy woman who heads up the Order is said to have really pitched

a fit when her people failed to kill Dad. She has-again, this is according to Mister Waldo-some sort of long-standing grudge against Dad. Goes back years and years, so the report went.”

Cecil frowned and shook his head. “It’s so odd, Tina. I don’t recall Ben ever mentioning anything about her.”

“Neither does anyone else. I’ve spoken with Jane, Jerre, Rosita, Dawn….” She paused and then began laughing. The laughter proved highly infectious. Within seconds, the room of people were all laughing, the pent-up tension within them all flying out the open window into the stormy night.

After a moment, Cecil wiped his eyes with a large bandana and said, “All of Ben’s women, you mean? Those you know about, at least-right?”

Tina nodded, still chuckling. “Yeah. My old man is something of a Romeo, isn’t he? Anyway, none of those I spoke with know anything about any woman named Voleta.”

“Probably changed her name,” Mark said. “Lots of people did after the first bombings wiped out so many records. Juan was correct when he pegged this whole thing as a blood debt. God, she must really hate General Raines.”

They all nodded their agreement. Each with their own thoughts as to what they would like to do to the woman called Voleta. None of the individual thoughts contained anything pleasant.

Tina looked at Cecil. “We have volunteers tagging and body-bagging the victims of the coup. This storm is supposed to blow out of here before dawn-that’s according to the mountain people. I’m opting

for a mass grave, Cecil. How about you?”

“Yes,” Ben’s second-in-command and close friend replied. “Easiest and most sensible way. But we’ll do it with as much dignity as we can muster. I spoke with a stone mason who lives near here. One of Abe Lancer’s men. He said he’d start work as soon as we furnished him with a complete list of the names of those who died.”

“We’ll do that first thing in the morning. The volunteers have said they’ll be working right through the night.”

“Yes,” Cecil said. “All of us want this hideous chapter of our lives over and done with as quickly as possible.” He met Tina’s eyes. “Has your father said anything to you about wanting to leave here-alone, I mean?”

“He’s mentioned that he wants to get away for a time, return to his chronicling of the events leading up to and just after the bombings of ‘88. Yes, I imagine Dad will do just that.”

“And … Gale?” Cecil asked softly.

Tina smiled. “She wants him to go-alone. She is fully aware of the fact that no woman holds Ben Raines’ attention for very long. Not since Salina. Dad is going to fall really in love one of these days. And when he does, it’ll be a sight to see. But for now, he wants us settled in tight, Gale to have a home, and then he’ll wander.”

“He’s not going to want any bodyguards,” Mark said.

“No,” Tina agreed. “And if anyone tries to burden him with them, he’ll find a way to shake them.”

Cecil sighed. “Let’s face that when the time comes

around, people. Right now, though, let’s all get some much-needed rest for a few hours. We’ve still got a lot to do.”

Ben halted his convoy at a motel complex just off Interstate 85 and ordered then to eat and rest. Everyone was beat, some near exhaustion. Ben looked as refreshed as if he’d just risen from an uninterrupted eight hours’ sleep.

After a cold meal, most of the Rebels unrolled their sleeping bags and bedrolls and crashed on the floor. They were asleep in five minutes, oblivious to the storm that raged outside the motel complex.

Ben and Gale, after tossing everything in the motel room outside, and checking the carpet for fleas and other vermin, inflated the air mattress and laid a double sleeping bag over the gentle firmness. Gale was sleeping in two minutes.

Ben stood just outside the closed motel room door, watching the lightning lick across the night sky, the wicked needles lancing furiously, bouncing and lashing through the low heavens.

Ben looked at the firmament. “Where is it all leading?” he questioned the night. “Are you going to give us one more chance, or is this your way of saying the human race has had it, all because we failed you?”

Thunder crashed and scolded the sodden ground; another burst of lightning flickered acidly, illuminating the lone man standing by the railing of the second floor. More thunder rolled, punishing the air with waves of fury.

“Sorry,” Ben said, “but this display further convinces

me that you had a hand in all that happened.” Ben’s words were not audible over the howling fury. A line from a long-ago Tennessee Williams play came to him: Hypocrisy and mendacity. “That’s the way the world was leaning, right? Sure. Get drunk on Saturday night and dress up in finery on Sunday and go to church and pray for forgiveness at best, go to church for the show of it at worst. Cheat your friend, your neighbor, the customer, and fuck your best buddy’s wife. Right? Yeah. Buy expensive grown-up toys while half the world’s children starved to death and this nation’s elderly had to grub around in garbage cans just to survive. That is, if the summer’s heat or the winter’s cold or the damned street punks didn’t kill them-right?”

The worst and harshest slash of lightning Ben had ever seen lit up the entire sky. The sulfuric display was followed by a deafening crash of thunder. More lightning danced from cloud to cloud and from cloud to earth.

Ben stood undaunted and unafraid and alone on the balcony. “What are You attempting to tell us, or me?” Ben questioned the almost mindless fury of the storm. “Or are You trying to say anything at all? Do You even exist? Or were You just a figment of someone’s vivid imagination thousands of years ago?”

The earth trembled under the barrage of God’s wrath.

Ben stood with his face to the heavens-and toward Him. “All right, all right,” he said. “What’s the matter; can’t You take a joke?”

The lightning and thunder ceased abruptly, the rain picking up in volume.

“That won’t do it,” Ben said. “I don’t believe in miracles, and the rain alone won’t wash it clean. Hundreds of years must pass before portions of this earth-Your earth-will once more be inhabitable. I believe You allowed the disaster to happen. Now what are You trying to do, ease your conscience?”

The lightning and thunder began anew.

Ben laughed. “I’m not afraid of Y. I respect Y. But I’m not afraid of Y. I’ll tell You what: I think You’ve given up on this planet. That is my belief. I have always believed this planet earth was only one of many You populated with beings. And now You have turned Your attention to others. Fine. I don’t blame You a bit. Now I don’t know about this fellow called the Prophet who is wandering about, following me. I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me. But I do know this: I am not the man to restore Your earth. A little part of it, maybe. But the rest is up to Y. So get off my back. I’m tired. I’m going to wander for a year. Maybe longer. Alone. Leave the machinery of government and building nations in someone else’s hands. Cecil Jefferys. He’s a good man. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

The lightning and thunder and driving rain eased off a bit.

“Interesting,” Ben noted aloud. “I’ve had some strange conversations in my time, but this takes the cake.”

A lone spear of lightning touched down.

“All right,” Ben said. “It’s pure survival from this point on, isn’t it? Sure. Little pockets of determined people will set up fortress-like villages and try to pull something constructive from the ashes. Maybe

they’ll-we’ll succeed. I’ve got something like that in the back of my mind. After I return from my wanderings. I think we’ve got maybe a seventystthirty chance of success. With us on the low end of the odds scale.”

The rain had dwindled down to a sprinkle; the lightning had completely stopped.

“All right,” Ben spoke to that which only he could hear at that moment. “Fine.”

He walked back into the motel room, undressed, and lay down beside Gale. She turned to face him in the darkness.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone, Ben.”

“You did. I was carrying on a sort of conversation with God.”

Several moments of silence passed. “Really?” she finally said. “Did He reply to your mutterings?”

“Well, yes. In a manner of speaking.”

“Sometimes I worry about you, Raines. I really, really do.”

She rose from the pallet and wandered around the barren room.

“What in the hell are you looking for?” Ben asked. He was thoughtful for a moment. “Don’t tell me; let me guess: You’re hungry.”

In reply, she bit deeply into the crisp tartness of an apple.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The savage torrents of rain and storm blew past the town of McCormick, South Carolina, in the early morning hours. But the raging passage had also concealed the movements of Sam Hartline’s men as they slipped silently into position in the town. With practiced ease, the mercenaries planted explosives around the town, enough explosives to flatten three towns the size of McCormick.

Easy, Hartline thought, smiling in the night. Raines has become so confident he’s let his guard down.

The top mercenary knew that happened to the best of people at times. He remembered the time when he’d had one of Raines’ women, Jerre, the blond beauty. He, too, had become overconfident and let his guard down. That moment of carelessness had almost cost Hartline his life.*

He remembered it with bitterness and hate on his tongue.

Smiling, he lifted his walkie-talkie. “Now!” Hartline whispered hoarsely into the speaker cup.

The small town of McCormick blew apart from the *Fire in the Ashes

massive charges of explosives planted in key locations. The gasoline in the cars and vans and trucks of Tony Silver and the men of the Ninth Order ignited and blew, sending flames leaping into the air and illuminating the now clear and starry night.

Bits and pieces of bodies were hurled through broken windows to land in a sprawl on the littered street. Great bloody chunks of once human beings were flung about like damp bits of papier-m`ach`e. Ropelike strands of intestines coiled and steamed in the fall coolness. Screaming, mortally wounded men crawled about on the street, yelling for help, watching their life’s blood pour from them. Heads without bodies bounced and rolled on the concrete.

As the men being attacked fought their way out of sleep and fear and confusion, reaching for their weapons and their pants, running out into the streets, they were chopped to bloody shards of flesh by heavy machine gunfire. AK’S and M-16’s and M-60’s and heavy .50-caliber slugs ripped and tore and spun the men around to fall in dead heaps on the concrete.

“No prisoners!” Hartline yelled over his walkie-talkie. “Kill them all except Ben Raines. I want to shoot that son of a bitch personally.”

“Ben Raines!” One of Silver’s men lifted his head to look at Hartline through the blood dripping from a massive head wound. “But Ben Raines ain’t-was

He never got to finish his sentence. A .45 slug from one of Hartline’s men put the final period to the man’s life.

The firefight was short and bloody and savage. And totally without mercy. Sam Hartline’s men took no prisoners. They hunted down the wounded and

those few who had escaped the initial carnage and shot them.

Just as dawn was pushing silver gray into the eastern skies, Sam Hartline, cigar clamped between strong, even white teeth, walked the streets, inspecting the bloody havoc he had ordered. Hartline snorted his disgust as he walked up and down each stinking, bloody street that had housed what he had assumed to be Raines’ Rebels.

“I should have known better,” he muttered. “Goddamnit, I should have known better.”

Hartline’s final smile before he reluctantly accepted what had happened was anything but pleasant.

“The lucky son of a bitch did it to me again,” Hartline said.

“What do you mean, Sam?” his second-in-command asked.

“It was too easy. Just too easy. I should have spotted it. But I didn’t. Who in the fuck are these people?” He threw the question at anyone who might know the answer.

His men stood around him, bewildered expressions on their faces.

“Look at the condition of these weapons,” Hartline said, pointing to an M-16. “You think Ben Raines would allow a weapon that filthy? Hell, no, he wouldn’t. Look at the clothing. Raines’ Rebels wear tiger stripe, black, or leaf cammies. These yoyos are dressed in anything they can find. Shit! In short, people, we hit the wrong bunch.”

Captain Jennings, his second-in-command, was incredulous. “Well, who in the hell are these people, then?”

Hartline shrugged. “Damned if I know. I’d guess the bunch Raines was fighting when we intercepted the radio messages. No telling where Raines got off to.”

“Well,” Captain Jennings struggled to find something bright out of the butcher job. “At least this gives us fewer people to have to worry about fighting at some later date. Right, Sam?”

Hartline laughed and punched the man lightly on the upper arm. “Right, Jennings. I knew I could count on you to find something of value out of this mistaken identity.”

“So what now, Sam? Do we chase Raines?”

Hartline thought about that for a few seconds. He shook his head. “No. If I know Ben Raines, and believe me, I do, he won’t be using any long-range radio transmissions. So we’d be chasing the wind just trying to determine where he is or where he’s going. Let’s head south. We’ll break the good news to Mr. Tony Silver about the misfortune that befell his little army. Without his strong-arm boys to back him up, I think Mr. Silver should be quite easily persuaded to join our ranks.”

“I’m told he’s got the market cornered on young chicks,” Jennings said with an ugly, anticipatory smile.

Sam felt a warmth spread throughout his groin. The images of moaning young girls and firm flesh and tight pussies filled his head. Just the thought of inflicting pain excited him. “Yes,” he said, returning the smile. “So I understand.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ben’s convoy reached Highway 76 and edged west by northwest, traveling slowly, with heavily armed Scouts spearheading the way. They saw a few signs of life passing through Seneca, in western South Carolina, but the smoke from cooking fires coming from chimneys was all they saw. Ben made no attempt to contact any of those inside the closed and shuttered homes.

At Westminster the convoy swung still further north and moved into the mountains, again entering another part of the Sumter National Forest, edging toward the Chattahoochee National Forest, an immense tract of mountainous terrain that stretched for almost a hundred miles across the top of Georgia. The Rebels crossed the Chattoga River and Ben ordered the column halted for the noon meal and some rest at a town called Clayton.

“A hundred and fifteen miles to go, people,” Ben told his contingent. “Approximately. But we’re going to take our time getting there. We’re going to keep our heads up and stay alert. This is Ninth Order territory, so be alert for ambushes. When we get up to Lake Chatuge, up near the North Carolina border, we’ll contact Base Camp. See what’s shaking

down there. If they can tell us we’re close to the headquarters of the Ninth Order, we may just wait there for more troops and just go on and wipe that bunch of nuts from the face of the earth. We’ll just have to wait and see. For now, you people get some food in you and take a rest.”

“Like I said, Raines,” Gale told him. “You get off on combat. When did you get your first gun as a child?”

“When I was about six months old,” Ben said with a straight face.

“Come on, Raines! Will you get serious?”

“I am serious. I literally cut my teeth chewing on the barrel of my great grandfather’s old Civil War .44. It was a Remington, I think.”

“I believe it, Raines. I really believe it.” She walked away, muttering, toward the chow line.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ike failed to see the huge hole in the old highway and the right front wheel dropped off into the weather-rutted pothole, slamming both him and Nina around in the cab. Both of them heard metal popping and both began cussing.

Then they saw the entire wheel, with tire intact, go rolling down the old highway.

Nina said some very unladylike words, ending with, “Well, Ike, I guess it’s back to walking.”

Ike looked at the right front of the pickup. There was no repairing this damage. Ike said a few choice words and pulled the pickup out of the road, parking it on the shoulder.

Both of them looked at the highway marker on the right side of the road. BLAIRSVILLE. The mileage was unreadable, but it had been a single number.

“At best it’s one mile,” Ike said. “The worst it can be is nine miles.”

Ike was thoughtful for a moment, then checked the old map. “I got a hunch, Nina. Let’s forget about Blairsville and head for this lake up near the North Carolina border.”

“Why there?” she questioned. “Won’t we be going away from Base Camp?”

“Yeah. But like I said: I got a hunch. You game?”

“I’m with you, Ike.”

The pair gathered up what they could carry and began trudging up the center of the road, Ike bitching with each step.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A huge hole had been scraped out of the damp earth and the bagged bodies of the men, women and children killed in the coup attempt were carefully laid in the excavation. The earth began claiming them as the bulldozers covered the silent shapes of friends, wives and husbands, lovers, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters.

Those men and women who had sided with Captain Willette in the coup attempt were placed in another pit far away and covered with earth. Their final resting place would go unnoticed and unmarked.

Cecil read several passages from the Bible as he stood over the raw earth. The names of those killed had been given to the stone mason and he was working at his laborious task. It would be weeks, perhaps months, before all the names were cut into several large stones.

Cecil closed his Bible, shook his head at the tragedy of it all, and walked away from the grave site. A runner from the communications shack found him and handed him a message.

“It’s from that fellow that General Raines told us about,” the runner said. “That Harner fellow down in Macon.”

Cecil looked at the handwritten message. “Have word that a large force of mercenaries destroyed Tony Silver’s army along with most of the troops of the Ninth Order who had been in combat with General Raines’ Rebels in South Carolina. Have word that slave revolts occurring on many of Silver’s work farms in both north Florida and south Georgia. Still about five hundred of Silver’s army left and about that many men of the Ninth Order. A full platoon of Silver’s men camped just east of the ruins of Atlanta, around Stone Mountain. We skirted them this morning and are proceeding toward your Base Camp. Will arrive camp area noon tomorrow. Harner.”