FOILED AGAIN

Ben's ruthlessness shocked Jethro Musseldine. Up until the assault on
Little Rock, he had not known just how well-equipped the Rebels were.
Now he knew. He had lost nearly a third of his army in Little Rock.
Something had to be done to stop the rampaging of Ben Raines. The man
was so ... godless.

At Russelville, Arkansas, Musseldine made up his mind. He ordered his
columns halted. "We shall fight the many-headed beast here," he
announced. "We'll force the Great Satan to meet us mano a mano!"

Then he had to explain to his true believers exactly what that meant,
for many of his followers weren't too swift when it came to gray matter.

"This will be the end of Ben Raines," Musseldine shouted to his
wild-eyed followers. "This will be Ben Raines's last stand in America . . ."

Uh-huh. Yeah. Right.

When Ben heard that, he was reminded of that old joke about Custer's
last thoughts: Holy cow, where'd all these Indians come from'?

2 BOOK YOUR PLACE ON OUR WEBSITE

AND MAKE THE READING CONNECTION!

We've created a customized website just for our very special readers,
where you can get the inside scoop on everything that's going on with
Zebra, Pinnacle and Kensington books.

When you come online, you'll have the exciting opportunity to:

View covers of upcoming books

Read sample chapters

Learn about our future publishing schedule (listed by publication month
and author)

Find out when your favorite authors will be visiting a city near you

Search for and order backlist books from our online catalog

Check out author bios and background information

Send e-mail to your favorite authors

Meet the Kensington staff online

Join us in weekly chats with authors, readers and other guests

Get writing guidelines

AND MUCH MORE!

Visit our website at http://www.pinnaclebooks.com

3
William W. Johnstone

PINNACLE BOOKS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

http://www.pinnaclebooks.com

4 This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022

Copyright © 1996 by William W. Johnstone

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher,
excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this
book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to
the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any
payment for this "stripped book."

Pinnacle and the P logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off. First Printing:
November, 1996 Printed in the United States of America 10 98765432

5 Prologue

During the final days of the second millennium, the end came. It had
been predicted; some even planned for it. Most didn't. Those who did
plan were called survivalists-some were called militia-and they were
much maligned by the press and by the government. The left-leaning
liberal press belittled them and the very government to whom they were
paying taxes portrayed them as evil, racist, and dangerous. A few were
just that, but not most. The majority of those who practiced survivalism
and who joined militias were decent men and women who had simply grown
disgusted with big government. They were wolves, making plans to
survive, while others around them were dewy-eyed lambs unknowingly
waiting for the slaughter, despite the fact that they had been warned
time and again that the lid was about to blow off. The lambs stood with
their hands out, waiting for the government to run their lives, tell
them what to do and when to do it, and give them

6

something for nothing-paid for with tax-payers' money, of course.

Many survivalist groups were harassed by federal agents and vindictively
punished. People were killed by federal agents; others watched as their
possessions were seized or destroyed by agents of the federal
government. But the movement could not be broken. It grew as the end
approached, as did the hatred and fear many in the government and the
press felt for the men and women who made up the various groups around
the nation.
When the end came-and it was the end of civilization and order and
reason world-wide-training and discipline saved many of the
survivalists, or Constitutionalists, as many preferred to be called.

One of the quiet survivalists was a man called Ben Raines.

Ben belonged to no organized group, although federal agents had for
years tried to prove he did. Like most Constitutionalists, he owned no
illegal weapons, paid his taxes, obeyed the law, and lived a quiet and
peaceful life. Because of his so-called radical views, he did receive
the occasional visit from the feds, but like many other Americans who
longed for a return to the true meaning of the constitution and a
commonsense form of government, Ben learned to live with the creeping
socialism and the uninvited intrusions into his privacy. However, he
didn't have to like it and was quite vocal in his opposition of it.

That got Ben's name on the list compiled by federal enforcement
agencies; the list containing the names of

7

Americans who had broken no laws but needed watching anyway.*

Real red, white, and blue democracy at work.

But in the end, the prying and the snooping didn't do the feds a bit of
good . .. the whole goddamn world fell apart.

And it was the Constitutionalists and the Survivalists who convinced Ben
Raines that he should be the one to lead the nation out of the ashes of
destruction and chaos.

Ben reluctantly agreed, with conditions attached: the new government
would bear little resemblance to the old government, for the old
government had stopped working. It worked for many years, until Congress
started screwing around with the Constitution and passing so many laws
the average tax-paying citizens didn't have a clue as to what was going on.

It would not be that way in the new government.

The new government, at first, would be called the Tri-States.

Unlike the old government, the Tri-States would not attempt to be all
things to all people all the time. That was and is impossible in a true
democracy. Consitution-alists and Survivalists know that, to a very
large degree, we all control our own destinies-or should. The government
need not get involved, and in the Tri-States, the government would not
get involved.

Ben Raines laid the groundwork for the new, common-sense government.
When a society is based on common sense, there really isn't much need
for lawyers.

*Author's note: that list does indeed exist.

8

William W.Johnstone

In North America, when the end came, the ratio was something like one
lawyer for every three hundred and ninety people-the highest in the
world! The Tri-States had lawyers, of course, but the beauty of the
Tri-States is that there aren't that many laws.

A common sense society means that if someone breaks into my house and I
catch them at it, I am going to shoot them on the spot. And after I
shoot them, I won't be arrested, won't be tried, won't go to jail, and
can't be sued by the thief s family or by the thief, should he or she
survive.

A common sense society means that if you buy an over-the-counter drug
and eat the whole damn package and fall over dead, the manufacturer and
the druggist can't be held liable for your stupidity.

A common sense society means that if someone gets drunk and has a wreck
and kills himself and a whole bunch of other people, the families of the
survivors can't sue the beer company or the person who sold the
irresponsible nincompoop the beer. (It's called controlling one's own
destiny.)

It takes a special type of person to live in a society based on common
sense. It takes a person who has respect for the rights of others. For
all the rights of others, regardless of race or religion or creed.

Ben Raines figured, and calculated correctly, that only two or three out
of every ten Americans who survived the Great War could prosper and
enjoy life in a free society. It was a radical change from the old form
of government, where the government was constantly interfering in
everybody's business, with new rules and regulations and complicated
paperwork.

In the Tri-States, crime was virtually non-existent. The

9

main reason being, it just wasn't tolerated. In the Tri-States, not only
was carrying weapons allowed, each citizen was required to have weapons,
for everyone of age was a part of the Rebel Army. Once the government
outside the Tri-States crawled to its knees and again started screwing
around in the lives of its citizens, the press called the Tri-States a
gun-powder society. As in so many cases, the press was only half right.
The people who chose to live in the Tri-States did so willingly and
happily. They were people who did not have to lock the doors to their
homes at night or take the keys out of their car or live in fear of
being mugged or assaulted. Any street in any town in the Tri-States was
safe to walk upon any time of the day or night. There were no slums, no
gangs, no drive-by shootings. There was full employment. In the
Tri-States, everybody who was able worked. Or got out. There were no
free rides. The old and the young and the infirm were cared for with the
utmost compassion. Values and respect and morals were taught in school.
In the Tri-States, morality was once more in vogue. Teenage pregnancies
were rare and it wasn't due to schools handing out condoms to young
people. That came about by like-minded parents and educators teaching
children values and self-respect, beginning at a very early age. Reading
was emphasized in the Tri-States.

Civil liberties types were appalled at what was going on in the
Tri-States. It was such a quiet and happy place. Something must be wrong
with a society where everybody is contented. Life isn't supposed to be
that way. You're supposed to have discontent and dissent and troubles
and woes and personal analysts and psychiatrists and head manipulators
and so forth. Something must be

10

William W. Johnstone

drastically wrong with a society that wasn't wallowing in a plethora of
misery.

Why are these people smiling?

Because they're happy, stupid!

But the government of the former United States of America just couldn't
tolerate the contentment that was found in the Tri-States, and
eventually moved against the society, finally over-running the residents
of the Tri-States with sheer force of numbers. The main objective was to
kill Ben Raines.

But Ben Raines was as hard to kill as the Tri-States philosophy.

After the fall of the Tri-States, Ben rebuilt his army of Rebels and
moved against the government of the (once) United States; a government
that had begun to turn on its citizens again, becoming everything that
the old Tri-States was not; becoming exactly what it was before the
Great War that nearly destroyed the world.

Ben and his Rebels began claiming territory out of the ashes of defeat
and despair and destruction. First it was a small area called Base Camp
One. Then it grew, until finally thirteen states adopted the philosophy
of the old Tri-States.

The central government of what used to be known as the United States of
America finally capitulated and held out the hand of peace to Ben and
his Rebels.

Ben accepted the hand of friendship and cooperation and the two nations
within a nation began working together ... as much as liberal and
conservative can ever work together.

But for years before the Great War, many people in America had been
conditioned to expect the govern-

13

11

ment to do nearly everything for them, including thinking.

All this freedom scared them.

What the hell do you mean, we control our own destinies'? What the hell
do you mean, tellin' me I have to work at a job I don't like? What is
this common sense crap? I got a right, man. What do you mean, turn down
my radio? I'll play my radio as loud as I want to. Screw you.

On the other side of the coin, there were those blue-lipped,
narrow-minded types who simply could not tolerate any type of open
society. If they didn't like it, you couldn't have it. Didn't matter if
they lived in New York and you lived in Montana, they knew best. Period.

You may not read this book because we consider it nasty. You may not
have an abortion because we don't think it's right. You may not own a
gun because we are opposed to that. Like-minded people may not band
together and form their own government because we won't let you.
(However, we are perfectly within our rights to force our views on you.)
On and on and on.

Gimme some money! Gimme a free ride! Gimme food! Take care of me from
the womb to the tomb or we'll riot and burn and destroy.

Eventually, that's what happened.

And like Humpty Dumpty, it could not be put back together again.

14 Book One

If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the poor
offering of my life, the victim shall be ready, at the appointed hour of
sacrifice, come when that hour may. But while I do live, let me have a
country, and that a free country.

-John Adams

15

Ben was glad when he could no longer see the smoke from the fires of
discontent. The big transport plane had entered Rebel-controlled
territory. For hundreds of miles, the scene had been even worse than
Cecil had described.

"We should never have left the country," Ben muttered. "I went against
my own philosophy."

But he knew that even had he stayed, he could not have changed the
course of events.

Ben dozed off and was awakened by the pilot's voice. "We'll be landing
in about twenty minutes, General. The airport is secure."

"Landing into what?" Ben whispered.

Chaos. Rebellion. Upheaval. Mindless acts of violence and destruction.
Civil war. Mobs of people running amok, after having reverted back to
barbarism. Burning and looting and killing and raping. White against black.

16

William W. Johnstone

Black against white. White against white. Black against black. Senseless
brutality involving all races.

"Everything we fought for, destroyed," Ben whispered. "The nation in ruins."

Again.

Back to the ashes.
Ben looked at his reflection in the window. His hair was streaked with
gray. He was middle-aged and, for a man his age, in superb physical
condition-but now, for the moment, he felt old.

As the plane slowly descended, Ben allowed himself to wallow, briefly,
in self-pity, something he almost never did. His personal team, Jersey,
Corrie, Beth, Cooper, and the teenage girl he had adopted while in
Europe, Anna, sat away from him. They knew that when Ben was in a lousy
mood-as he was now and had been ever since receiving the communique from
Cecil-it was best to leave him alone.

Ben's plane was the first one down, a dozen other huge transports coming
in right behind his. Ben stood up and stretched the kinks out of his
muscles and joints and deplaned. He spotted Cecil Jefferys standing on
the edge of the tarmac and walked over to him. The men stood in silence
for a moment, content to look at each other, as good and old friends
will do. Ben had to struggle to hide his shock at Cecil's appearance.
The black man's hair was now completely white, his face deeply lined.

Cecil put out his big hands and gripped Ben's shoulders in an unusual
display of affection. "God, but it's good to see you, Ben."

"Same here, Cec."

17

17

"I've got a fresh pot of coffee, some food. We'll talk while we eat.
Come on."

In a private room off the main terminal building in what had once been a
major American airport, the men sat and talked and ate.

"What happened, Cec?"

"The whole damned countryjustfell apart, Ben. With practically no warning."

"President Blanton?"

Cec shook his head. "We don't know where he is. We don't know if he's
alive or dead or hurt or what. We do know that most of his staff, his
inner circle, are dead. We think he and his wife might have made it out.
But we don't know for sure."

"The new capital?"

"In a shambles. Taken over by malcontents. It's bad, Ben. Real bad.
We've lost about two thirds of the SUSA, including the old Base Camp
One. But we deactivated the missiles there before we pulled out. They
can't be launched. I doubt if these idiots can even find the silos, much
less get into them. In all our years of war, Ben, I have neverseen
anything to equal this. The slackers, the malcontents, the
give-me-something-for-nothing bunch, and all the rest must have been
planning this for months-maybe years. And they've got some real brains
behind this movement."

"Sure they have," Ben said sarcastically. "All those ultra-liberals we
read the riot act to several years back. I should have seen this coming."
Cecil stared at him for a moment. "Ben, do you really believe . . . ?"

"I damn sure do."

"But Blanton was one of them!"

18

William W. Johnstone

"Was is the key word, Cec. He changed. He and I became friends. Friends
as much as we ever could be. Certain members of his old party just
couldn't take that." Ben shook his head. "I should have seen this coming."

"Oh, hell, Ben! Nobody could have seen this coming. We've got the best
intelligence network in the world, and we didn't see it coming. If what
you're saying is true, then the old ultra-liberal wing of Blanton's
party just sacrificed God only knows how many thousands of people."

"They don't care about that. To them, the end justifies the means. They
want back in power. They don't give a damn how that comes to be."

"That's monstrous!"

"Yes, it certainly is. I preached for years that liberals were a greater
threat to individual freedom than communism. Now tell me what happened."

Cecil drained his coffee mug and sighed. "People began peacefully
gathering along our borders. One day there were five thousand, the next
day a hundred thousand, the next day half a million. Then they started
pouring across and rioting and looting. They came across our borders in
human waves, thousands and thousands of men and women and children.
Hell, Ben, we couldn't open fire on unarmed civilians and little kids.
We used rubber bullets and gas but they kept coming; our people were
overwhelmed by the solid crush of humanity. We were spread thin as it
was and the rioters broke through in dozens of places and began
circling, trying to trap our people. But now they had weapons-"

"Carefully planned out, wasn't it?"

"It damn sure was. Communications became impossi-

19

19

ble. Our people had to keep falling back, fighting a rear-guard action
over hundreds of miles of border. All this happened in a day, Ben-one
day. Blanton's military was trying to contain the rioters in their
territory, but they were spread much thinner than we and were quickly
overwhelmed. Once the rioters became armed, we started using deadly
force. Our field reports show that we killed probably twenty-five
thousand rioters and wounded that many more before we were finally able
to stand and hold."

Ben sighed and nodded his understanding. "I'm leaving a token force in
Europe. Bringing the rest of them home. But it's going to be weeks
before we have all of our equipment back Stateside. We're just going to
have to do the best we can until then." Ben smiled. "Hell, Cec, we've
fought worse odds."
Cecil leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. "Jesus, ol' buddy,
I'm tired." Then he smiled and it was the old Cecil once more. "I've
been out of the field for a long time. I don't see how you do it."

Ben returned the smile. "For the most part, I've never left the field.
That's how I do it."

Cecil cut his eyes to Jersey, Ben's bodyguard, standing silently by the
door. The diminutive Jersey, all five feet of her, was as lethal as a
spitting cobra. Trained in martial arts, she could kill with her hands,
as well as being expert with gun, knife, or garrote. Everyone knew she
was in love with Ben, but it was a love that was not to be, and Jersey
knew and accepted that.

"I hate to hit you with this, Ben ... I know it's early. But what's the
agenda?"

Ben looked down at the map before him; the territory the Rebels had lost
was highlighted, and it was huge.

20

William W. Johnstone

"We start reclaiming our territory. Slow and easy. But this time we're
going to be fighting a political war as well as a fire-fight. I hate to
use the term, but we're going to have to win the hearts and minds-"

Cecil groaned and Ben laughed. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Cecil said, "I don't believe these people we'll be fighting, many of
them, even want a government, Ben."

"Maybe so. But this nation can't exist without some form of government.
We certainly can't have anarchy. And the liberals don't want that either
... in the long run. But for now they're using anarchy for their own
gain. We have a government, Cec. As long as there are people working
together to make something better, to pull something useful out of the
ashes, we have a government. But when we start our push, we're going to
take it easy. We're going to talk to the people and listen to what they
have to say. That's something that hasn't really happened since town
meetings went out of style. Maybe we'll never be able to put this
country back together again. Maybe we'll die as old men trying to do it.
Maybe we'll die tomorrow trying to do it. But we've got to try. It can't
be business as usual. We did something wrong, Cec. Blanton did something
wrong. But our basic Tri-States philosophy works; we proved that. At
least it works for us. But how about the millions of people who say they
can't live under that type of open government? What about them? Is it
that they can't live under our rules, or that they won't live under
them? We won't be able to solve the problem until we understand it."

Cecil stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. The laughter took years
from the man. "What is this, a new Ben Raines?"

21

21

"In a way, perhaps it is. Might be better, might be worse. We'll just
have to see." He looked over at Jersey. "What do you have to say about
it, Little Bit?"

"Well, the way I see it, we're going to kick them in the ass and then
extend a hand to help them up."

Ben laughed. "That about sums it up. Now let's go see if it works."

22

The transports never stopped except for maintenance. As the days drifted
slowly into weeks, the Rebel battalions were gathering strength, back on
American soil. Still Ben made no moves against those malcontents who now
controlled-or thought they did-much of what used to be called the
Southern United States of America. The SUSA. He would not move until he
was up to full strength.

Ben had left three battalions in Europe for a time, to assist and advise
the growing European forces: Batts 21, 16, and 17. He pulled everyone
else back to the States.

Ships began docking at safe ports, unloading thousands of tons of
equipment, including tanks and Hummers and helicopter gun ships and the
souped-up P-51s that made up much of Ben's air force.

Ben was almost ready to move.

Ike McGowan's 2 Batt was the last one to leave Europe.

23

23

When the ex-SEAL's ship docked, a plane was ready to take him to Ben's
HQ, now located in what used to be known as Alabama.

After shaking hands, the two men poured mugs of coffee and got down to
business. "Is it as bad as the reports I've been getting, Ben?"

"Worse, Ike. We've got a lot of territory to reclaim. And it's going to
be a nasty business. We're up against hundreds of thousands of
malcontents-for want of a better word-and we've got fifteen battalions
to do it with. We've got the Gulf to our south, the Atlantic to the
east, and facing the enemy west and north. I've made contact with some
of their leaders, but they refuse to negotiate any terms. No compromise.
For one of the few times in my life, I'm willing to compromise and bend
some, to prevent blood-shed, and the enemy won't hear of it."

"So we start kicking ass and taking names, right?"

Ben sighed. Ike could see that he was clearly troubled. "It's not that
simple any more. I wish it was. But I can't go in and start killing
kids. The malcontents know that. I wish I could think of a better word
than that, for malcontent just doesn't fit many of these people. I am
firmly convinced that many are really good, decent people . . . solidly
opposed to the Tri-States philosophy."

"But they are also people who won't practice live and let live, Ben,"
Ike said softly.
"You're sure right about that. The same types of people who, a decade
ago, supported gun control, more government interference in private
lives, higher taxes for some totally worthless social programs, etc., etc."

"So what's the plan, Ben?"

24

Ben met Ike's eyes. "That's the problem. I don't have one."

Ben was stymied and he would be the first to admit it. He worked up and
then rejected a dozen plans over the weeks while he waited for all his
people and equipment to be made ready.

But when everything was ready, his people sitting on "Go," Ben still did
not have a plan.

Mike Richards, the Rebels' Chief of Intelligence, had hit the road
moments after his plane touched down right behind Ben's, and he and half
a dozen of his spooks had vanished into the countryside.

Just as Ben was planning to tear his umpteenth plan to shreds, Mike
casually strolled into the CP, pulled a mug of coffee, and sat down.

"So nice to see you," Ben said drily.

"Thanks," Mike said with a small smile. "Good to be back."

Ike walked in, shook hands with Mike, and then took a chair.

Mike took a sip of coffee, set the mug down, and said, "Billy Smithson
is dead. What was the free state of Missouri is now in the hands of rabble."

"Damn!" Ben said. "That explains why we haven't been able to contact him."

"Both President Blanton and his wife were wounded. They're going to be
all right, but it will be some time. They're in Canada ... or what used
to be Canada. Parts of that country blew up, too."

"Does Homer need any help?" Ike asked.

Mike shook his head. "No. They're safe and well-

25

25

protected. But the Joint Chiefs are dead. All of them. National Security
Council-such as it was-dead. Most senators and representatives were
caught in session in the capital. They're dead. We have no government.
None."

"What started it, Mike?" Ben asked.

"It was a well-planned coup, engineered by the old left wing of the
President's party. Many of whom were voted out of office a decade back
.. . but still stayed active in the shadows. Their plan was to control,
to one degree or the other, everything east of the Mississippi River,
and Simon Border and his forces most certainly control quite a bit of
territory west of the river."
Mike left it at that, drained his coffee cup, and stood up, pulling
himself another mug. He sat back down and exhaled wearily.

"You look hungry, Mike."

"I could eat."

Ben sent out for sandwiches.

Mike wolfed down two sandwiches, sipped his coffee, and leaned back in
his chair. "Well, Harriet Hooter and her bunch helped plan the coup, but
it backfired on them. The rabble turned on them. They couldn't control
the mobs when they went on a rampage, as mobs always do. Some of the
left-wing were killed in the first few hours of rioting. We don't know
if Harriet and her immediate cronies are among the dead or not. The
capital was sacked, looted, and burned by those mindless goddamn mobs of
heathens. And they were of all colors. No placing the blame on any one
group. Now the movement, if that's what you want to call it, has
splintered into several dozen smaller groups, each group controlling a
certain section of territory. And

26

William W.Johnstone

each group vowing to fight right alongside the other if need be."

Mike paused for another sip of coffee and Ben asked, "I was always under
the impression that Simon Border was a big fan of Harriet Hooter and
those that follow her; couldn't she have taken refuge with him?"

Mike sat his mug down on the desk. "It's a possibility, providing she
and the others could get to him. But they were all in Charleston when
the riots began, and Border is headquartered in Colorado. Harriet
thought she was going to just walk right into the New White House and
take over. She didn't take into account a mob's mentality. And there's
something else-my people have uncovered a coup within a coup. Border was
playing both ends against the middle. For a couple of years now, he's
had people roaming all over the nation, quietly talking with citizens.
And when we pulled out for Europe, Simon's people really went to work.
When they were through, they had convinced most of the more or less
reasonable-thinking men and women to come over to his side. They left
Harriet and her group of fruitcakes the rabble, the punks, the gangs,
and the hardcore criminal element."

Ben held up a hand. "Let me see if I can finish it for you. Drink your
coffee and relax. Simon knows it's going to take us some time to deal
with the groups on the east side of the river. While we're doing that,
he's going to be hard at work building up his army and defenses, right?"

"You got it."

"And Simon Border's people helped arm and supply the rabble, right?"

"Give the man a ci-gar."

"That no-good, hypocritical son of a bitch!"

27
27

Mike smiled. "Right again, boss."

Ben drummed his fingers on the desktop. "Scouts reports that since the
takeover, those on the east side of the Mississippi River, most of them,
have turned once clean, quiet little towns into nothing more than filthy
squatters' camps."

"Right again, for the most part. There   are a   few who have maintained the
towns and villages, but damn few. Most   don't   know how to keep the
sewerage and water plants working, and   don't   know jack-crap about power
plants. It's pretty dismal. We're just   about   back to ground zero, Ben."

"We won't be for long," Ben said, a grimness behind his words and a hard
glint in his eyes.

As he had done so many times in the past, Ben began walking the long
lines of Rebels, his team a couple of steps behind him. Anna walked
Ben's Husky, Smoot, on a leash. Stretching out for hundreds of yards
were fifteen battalions of Rebels and Therm's short 19 Batt.

Therm's wife, Rosebud, had clouded up like a thunderstorm when Ben
finally relented and gave Therm a front-line command. Ben had quickly
backed down from that and Therm, with a sigh, finally accepted the fact
that he was going to be CO of a short battalion that handled all the
tedious paperwork and logistics and the thousand and one other details
that keep the machinery of war running smoothly.

Ben knew he had grossly underestimated both Simon Border and Harriet
Hooter and her pack of screwballs. He silently vowed never to do that again.

Ben, as always, wore no insignia. He didn't have to.

28

William W. Johnstone

Everybody knew who Ben Raines was. And he and his team were the only
Rebels that wore the old French-style lizard BDUs.

There was little banter between Ben and the men and women who made up
the Rebel Army-not this time. This time the Rebels had their backs
against a wall and they all knew it There was no doubt in anyone's mind
that the Rebels would be anything except victorious in the upcoming
fight-no one had ever defeated the Rebels -but, to a person, they knew
this fight was going to be the worst they had ever fought-in more ways
than one.

This was going to be a full-blown civil war.

But it was still not clear in Ben's mind why Simon Border did what he
did. There were other ways he could have carved out his own little
empire. Ben would not have made any effort to stop him, and Blanton's
armed forces had been so under-strength he would have been unable to
prevent it.

As Ben walked die long lines of Rebels and equipment, acknowledging a
salute here, a wave there, and a nod here, he concluded that Simon must
want to be king of America.

A roar of incoming planes brought Ben's attention back to the present.
The recon planes were returning from another photo op. The pictures
would be ready for viewing in minutes.

Ben turned to Corrie, a step behind him. "Have the battalions move to
their staging area. All batt corns at my HQ."

Ben would be taking his 1 Batt and two other battalions and moving
direcdy west, to reclaim the territory originally known as Base Camp
One, then he would cut north and start the move up to the Missouri border.

29

29

The other battalions, in groups of three, would head straight north,
staying east of the Mississippi River, eventually clearing out the
squatters all the way up to the old SUSA's northern boundaries, from the
Mississippi River running west to east.

Everything that was necessary had been packed up and moved out, ready
for the road. In a bare office, Ben faced his commanders. "We've
bombarded the squatters with leaflets for three days now. They certainly
know we're coming. Scouts report that they finally got it through the
squatters' heads that we mean it, and have begun moving many of the
non-combatant women and kids out." Ben sighed audibly. "But many have
stayed behind ..."

A loud groan went up from the batt corns.

"I know, I know," Ben said. "That means no shelling, no softening up
with mortars and artillery. We do it eyeball to eyeball, down and dirty.
I know you all well, and I know I speak for everyone here when I say
that none of us wants to hurt a child." He shook his head. "But this is
war and that is certainly going to happen. Probably before we get past
our first skirmish. There is nothing I can say here that will prevent
it, or ease the personal pain when it happens. Ah ..." He sighed. "Words
fail me here. What can I say to you? That we're fighting for our land?
Yes, we are. But probably many of the people we'll be up against lived
here before we came along. And don't think I haven't thought about that.
With the exception of the gangs of punks and the criminal element we'll
be facing, there are no clearly defined good guys and bad guys; no black
hats or white hats. We're all wearing gray, so to speak. I've spoken to
Rebels who have told me they have brothers and sisters

30

and aunts and uncles and cousins out there facing us. This is not going
to be a pleasant campaign-for any of us. At least not until we cross
that Mississippi River and face Simon Border and his forces. Then we can
start kicking ass the Rebel way. Any questions?"

There were none.

"All right, people. Let's do it."

Since the Rebels were deep inside their own territory, they hit no
trouble spots die first day out. It was noon of die second day before
the Scouts, ranging miles ahead of the main column, radioed back to get
ready for some trouble.

Corrie grimaced at the speaker and lifted the mic. "What sort of
trouble, Far Eyes?"

"The kind we don't handle very well," the scout said. "Hang on. I'm
trying to sort all this out."

"What the hell is she talking about?" Ben asked. In die Rebel Army, any
woman who could make it through die rugged training of special
operations groups such as die Scouts became a part of that unit. But
there was no slack cut because of gender, and no bullshit was tolerated
from the men once diat female proved her metde. The Rebels had proven
years back that women were just as effective as men in combat.

Ben and team were riding in a large, completely modified van that seated
six comfortably. The van had been bullet-proofed. A truck carrying their
equipment and supplies traveled behind diem, but each team member did
carry an emergency kit containing a diree-day supply of food.

"I can't think of anything we don't do well," Ben

31

31

bitched. He reached up and unhooked a mic.' 'Far Eyes, this is Eagle.
What are you talking about?"

"Protestors, sir. People have formed a human chain across the highway.
The road is completely blocked with men, women, and children."

"Shit!" Ben said. He keyed the mic. "All right, Far Eyes. Back off until
we get there."

"Ten-four, sir. With pleasure."

Ben occupied the captain's chair beside Cooper, the driver. Jersey and
Corrie had the two captain's chairs behind them, and Beth and Anna were
in the rear. The big custom-built van was crowded with gear, but not
uncomfortably so.

"How far away are we from the Scouts' location, Corrie?"

"About twenty miles, boss."

Ben nodded, a sudden smile creasing his lips. Cooper glanced at him.
"You think of something funny, boss?"

"Maybe. Just maybe, I've come up with a way to temporarily deal with
some of these . . . situations. Without a lot of bloodshed. That is, no
bloodshed if these squatters have any sense at all. We'll see."

"Boss," Corrie said, "all Scouts in all sectors are reporting protestors
forming human chains across roads and bridges."

"Tell all forward units to hold what they've got until I meet with the
people up ahead. Tell them they will have instructions within the hour."
He looked back at his team. "Cross your fingers and wish me luck, gang."
The blonde-haired, pale-eyed Anna said, "Why not just shoot them,
General Ben?"

"Let's give them a chance first, Anna," Ben told his newly adopted
daughter. The team had quickly discovered that Anna, despite being only
fifteen or sixteen

32

William W.Johnstone

(she wasn't sure which), was a fierce fighter who gave absolutely no
quarter to an enemy.

"Bah!" Anna replied. "If these people are not our friends, then they
must surely be our enemies. I do not see any middle ground."

"Hush," Ben told her.

Anna was quite lovely, and very mature for her age. She also had a
figure that had caused more than one Rebel to walk into trees and poles
while watching her. But Anna had a streak of savagery in her that Ben
had not been able to rid her of.

Anna had been orphaned when she was a very small child, and had been on
her own until captured by the Rebels in Hungary; in her early years she
had to fight dogs for scraps of food. Dan Gray had remarked to Ben that
while Anna was lovely and charming and highly intelligent, she was, at
times, only a cut above a feral child.

Ben had not taken offense at the statement, for he knew what Dan said
was true.

Anna loved to get in close with an enemy and use a knife-and she was
very, very good with a blade. Anna was also fiercely loyal to Ben and
the Rebels.

"Scouts have pulled back about a mile from the protestors," Corrie said.
"They're just up ahead."

When they reached the Scouts, Cooper parked in the middle of the road
and Ben and team got out. "Are these people armed?" Ben asked.

"No, sir. Not a weapon anywhere. And it isn't an ambush. We checked the
area. It's clean."

"Let's go see these people," Ben said, climbing back into the van. "Lead
the way, boys and girls."

"What do you have in mind?" Jersey asked.

Ben smiled. "You'll see."

33

"It's the devil himself!" a woman cried out as Ben stepped from the van
and walked toward the group.

"Idiots!" Jersey muttered.
Anna said something under her breath, in her native tongue. No one in
the team knew what it was she said, but all knew it was highly
uncomplimentary, directed at the gathering of malcontents in the road.

Ben faced the group, all chained together like galley slaves. "Are you
people crazy, or do you have a death wish?" he asked the front row of
men and women, who had chained themselves together across the two-lane
highway in Alabama.

"Kill us if you must," a man told Ben. "But you will never stop our
movement."

"And what movement is that?"

"The movement to reclaim America for all."

"Take other people's property and squat there, you mean?"

34

William W. Johnstone

"You took the property of others with your vile Tri-States philosophy,
did you not?"

"As a matter of fact, we didn't. Those who chose not to live under our
laws were compensated for their property, and paid well for it, I might
add."

Ben felt just a bit foolish, standing in the middle of the road, talking
with people who were chained together. When none of the squatters
responded to his defense of the old Tri-States, he turned to several
Rebels standing with heavy bolt cutters and motioned them forward.

"Oh, my God!" a woman shrieked. "They're going to kill us all." Kids
started crying.

"Nobody is going to hurt you, lady," Ben assured the woman. "We're just
clearing the road so we can move on."

"You go on and do that," a man shouted. "But we're staying right here.
We have homes and we've broken the land, getting ready to plant."

"OK," Ben said. "Stay."

Both Rebel and civilian were astonished at that. They stood and stared
at Ben. The Rebels working the bolt cutters paused, then continued
cutting the light chain.

"Do you mean that, General?" a woman asked.

"Sure. Believe it or not, I will try to avoid bloodshed. I don't care if
you stay and work the land and grow a garden. We encourage all our
residents to grow gardens. You didn't try to ambush us. You all appear
to practice personal hygiene. The children with you are cared for and
well-fed. So stay if you like. But you will be living under Rebel law,
and that might take some getting used to."

When none of the civilians said anything, Ben smiled at the group, now
free of their chains. "You think it's

35

35

some sort of trick, don't you? Well, it isn't. But if you had fired on
us, the ending to this little drama would have been much different. All
right, how many in this group? Who is the leader? You have to have one.
Come on."

A man pushed through the crowd and stepped forward. "I ... ah, I guess I
am, General."

"Tell me, why did you choose this particular place to stop?"

"Because the village didn't appear to have been occupied in years. We're
not thieves or outlaws, General. We wanted to make sure we weren't
taking someone else's property."

"What is, or was, your profession?"

"I was a schoolteacher, as was my wife. That's her right over there." He
pointed to a very attractive lady.

"Fine. That's good. We need teachers. Corrie, have one of our PT's come
in here ASAP."

"Right."

"What's a PT?" the man asked.

"Political team," Ben informed him. "They'll update you all on Rebel law
and what we do in our public schools."

"I hope you teach," the man's wife said, walking over to stand beside
her husband.

"Oh, we do that, ma'am. Rest assured of that. In the SUSA, the students
don't run the schools, the teachers do-"

The husband and wife both smiled.

"-and on occasion, the teachers do plant the board of education firmly
against the butts of deserving students."

The smiles broadened.

36

William W. Johnstone

"Sports are secondary in the SUSA. We have sports, of course, but
education comes first."

The husband and wife sighed in anticipated contentment.

"The PTs will brief you all. OK?"

"It sounds like heaven to me," the woman said.
"It isn't, ma'am. I assure you of that. All we've done is brought
everything back to a common sense form of government. And it will take
some getting used to, believe me. So ... get squared away and start
teaching your kids. It'll be planting time shortly. Do you have seeds
and equipment?"

"We have seeds. No modern equipment."

"We'll see that you're properly equipped to farm."

A man stepped out of the crowd. "May I say something, General?"

"Sure. Free speech is freer here than in any other place on the face of
the earth."

The man smiled. "You and your Rebels are not at all like what we were
told you would be. We were told by members of Representative Hooter's
organization, and also by members of Simon Border's group, that you were
right-wing savages. That you all lived by the gun and that if we came in
here and tried to stay, we would all be slaughtered. The women raped and
the men tortured."

Several of the Scouts burst out laughing at that, and soon all the
Rebels standing close enough to hear were chuckling.

"Well, I hope you've seen that isn't true," Ben countered. He caught the
eye of a little girl clinging to her mother's hand and Ben smiled at
her. She smiled shyly.

37

37

He dug in his pocket, found a package of gum and offered her a stick.

"She doesn't know what that is, General," the mother said. "It's been
years since any of us have seen a real package of gum."

The sadness of that statement hit Ben hard. In the SUSA, life had pretty
much returned to normal. But outside the SUSA, it was grim. Ben slowly
nodded his head and gave the gum to the mother. "Corrie, we'll break for
lunch. Let's help these people get settled in. Get the medics up here."

The teachers' names were Frank and Lois. Frank told Ben there were about
a hundred adults and about half that many kids in the group.

"About a dozen or so members of your group don't much like me, do they?"
Ben asked.

"They hate you," Lois said.

"I am getting weary of the dirty looks. Let's confront them and hear
their beefs."

Facing a small knot of men and women, Ben asked, "What's the matter with
you people? I'm trying to help you and you're acting as though I'm some
sort of monster."

"We don't like the Tri-States philosophy," one of the men finally said,
after looking at the others in his group. "We think it's barbaric. The
very idea of shooting someone just because he's trying to steal your
car, or your lawnmower . . . that's hideous! Why not try love and
compassion and reason? Instead of guns, why not build gymnasiums, with
proper basketball courts. Now, that's the way to control crime."

38

William W. Johnstone

Ben knew that to attempt to argue with that type of logic would be
hopeless. Living under the Tri-States form of government, this small
group of people would be either dead or moved away within a few months .
. . probably the former.

"It works for us," Ben told the group. "And if you stay here, that's the
law you will live under. You might get away with ignoring it for a time,
but within a few months, we'll have reclaimed our territory. Then you'll
have no choice in the matter. I can tell you right now, the best thing
for you people to do is leave. I won't force you out-I won't have to do
that. You'll screw up. It's just a matter of time. But let me make
something very clear to you all: when you fuck up big-time in this
society, you're apt to get seriously hurt or seriously dead. I'd give
that some thought. If you decide to pull out- and I hope you do-we'll
take you to our borders and give you food packets that will last for a
week or so. The rules and laws of the SUSA are few, but they are set in
granite. Your civil rights end at somebody's else property line or
business. I'll wager you were all left-wing liberal democrats back
before the Great War. And I never met a left-wing liberal democrat that
could understand common sense if it was stuck up their ass with a
Roto-Rooter. If you value your lives, I would strongly suggest you
leave. And do so now."

"You will provide us with food and transportation?"

How typical, Ben thought. "I will do so gladly," he replied.

"Then we'll leave."

"Good."

After the group had marched off, Lois said, "General, there must have
been half a million people who

39

39

streamed across the borders of the SUSA. How are you going to reclaim
your territory against that many people?"

"With conversation and reason and compromise whenever possible, as I did
with you people. With force, when that fails. But make no mistake about
it: we will reclaim our territory."

Lois looked at the Rebels standing close by, men and women in the
absolute peak of physical condition, eyes and skin glowing with health.
She sighed. "Is your philosophy worth all the killing, General?"

"It is to us," Ben replied.
For the first few days and perhaps fifty miles in all directions of the
Rebel push, the Rebels used conversation, compromise, and diplomacy with
the people. Not many shots were fired, but those shots that were fired
convinced many of the squatters that if they didn't want to conform to
the Rebel philosophy, and desired to stay healthy, they had best head on
back to whence they came-and do it post haste. Those that didn't, and
offered resistance, were buried.

"We're still deep in the south part of our own territory," Ben told his
batt corns by radio late one afternoon. "For the most part, we're
meeting people who want to work with us and stay and make a future for
themselves and families. The criminal element and the punk gangs and
other assorted rabble are still north and west of us, and in a few areas
along the east coast. My Scouts have not yet reported any signs of the
slaughter of our people, but we all know we'll find them sooner or
later. Not something I'm looking forward to seeing."

40

William W. Johnstone

Ben signed off and leaned back in the kitchen chair one of his people
had found for him.

Where in the hell were the gangs of punks and thugs? he wondered.
Thousands and thousands of people had poured across the borders. That
was solid fact-confirmed.

Where the hell did they go?

Hiding somewhere.

But where?

Waiting.

For what?

There were lots of places for them to hide. But what would they be
waiting for?

That was something that was baffling even to Ben's Chief of
Intelligence, Mike Richards.

"Survivors from the rabble attack coming in," Corrie broke into his
thoughts. "Scouts intercepted about a dozen families. ETA thirty
minutes. Most of them are disabled or retired Rebels, boss. And some of
them are in pretty bad shape."

"Have them taken directly to the MASH tent," Ben said, after fighting
back the white-hot anger that filled him. He picked up his Thompson and
walked outside, Jersey and Anna right with him.

"Bastards want to make war against disabled vets and non-combatant women
and small kids," Ben muttered through nearly clenched teeth. "I'll give
them war like nothing they've ever dreamed in their wildest nightmares."

Ben paced up and down until the survivors arrived, working off much of
his rage.
His rage returned when the survivors were trucked into the camp.

41

41

The first man out of the deuce-and-a-half was a man who had been with
Ben since the dream of the old Tri-States was first discussed. He'd
fought with the Rebels for years, until being severely wounded and
forced into retirement a few years back. He'd been homesteading up near
the Tennessee border when the rabble came pouring across. Ben's rage
came rushing back.

"Gene!" Ben said, shaking the man's one good hand. The other hand had
been blown off several years back. Ben looked at the man. "What can I say?"

"Good to see you, General. We never expected anything like this. They
came pouring across the borders like ants toward honey. They killed my
youngest boy. Shot him down as he ran to the house to warn us we were
being attacked. I had to leave him in the backyard. There was no time to
get the body." There were tears in the man's eyes. He wiped them away
with the back of his hand. "I don't know what happened to my oldest
daughter, Marie, and her husband. They were fighting a rear-guard action
so Rose and me could get away with the grandkids. I think they bought
it, General."

Ben nodded his head, not trusting his voice to speak.

"Goddamn lousy trash and street crap," Gene continued. Then he smiled
very grimly. "I circled around and caught me one of them." He lifted his
left arm, showing Ben the double prosthesis hook where his hand used to
be. "I used this on the son of a bitch. Didn't take him long to spill
his guts-literally."

"Are you coming with us, Grandpa?" a young girl with a bloody bandage
around her head called.

"I'll be along, sweetie," Gene told the child, smiling at her. "You go
with the soldiers." He turned back to Ben. "She thinks her mother will
be returning. I don't.

42

William W. Johnstone

Anyway, General, there were four gangs that hit my place, among many
other homes. Those other survivors told me what happened to them and
their loved ones. Raped, tortured, mutilated. No racial crap here,
General. They were a mixed bag. The leaders are Ray Brown, Carrie
Walker, Tommy Monroe, Dave Holton. They were heading for our old Base
Camp One. Going to hold it for somebody. The guy I caught said he didn't
know who. And if he did know, it died with him."

"All right, Gene. Thanks. You go on over to the MASH tent. Get checked out."

"There's more, General. I'd like to tell you all of it." "Sure, Gene.
Sure. You want some coffee?" The old Rebel shook his head. "No, thank
you, sir. I can wait. It's gonna be a real bitch, sir. A lot of the
people who came across the border are pretty decent people. Many of them
helped us along the way, until the Rebel patrols found us. The people
shared what food they had with us, comforted the young. They were told,
by someone-that's a little vague-that the Rebels wouldn't open fire on
them. Well, at first our people didn't. But then they had to. Many of
those in the front wanted to turn back, but the punks and thugs and
criminals were all in the rear, and when some of the decent types wanted
to retreat, their own people, supposedly their own people, fired on
them, forcing them on. The Rebels didn't kill and wound as many as first
thought. Many of the men and women were shot in the back by the punks
and thugs. The people were lied to, General. Many were told that you and
President Blanton had reached an agreement to open up the borders of the
SUSA, and that they'd be welcomed. They really

43

43

got suckered." Gene's eyes found Anna and smiled. "Who's this, General?"

"That's a little waif I picked up over in Europe, Anna. I couldn't get
rid of her, so I said 'what the hell,' and adopted her."

"Got a mean look in those pretty eyes, General."

"She's been on her own since age five, fighting to survive."

"That'll put some meanness in a person, for sure. I'll get on over to
the medics. Doctor Chase with you?"

"No. That old grouch is about thirty or so miles behind this column."

Gene looked around him. "New faces. A lot of the old bunch is gone,
General."

"Yes." Ben's reply was softly offered. "Yes, they are. Buried all over
the world."

"Is it ever going to stop, General?"

"Truthfully, I doubt it. At least not in our lifetime. Too many people
hate us."

Gene nodded his head in understanding and agreement. "We've got room for
millions and millions of people here in the SUSA. But instead we've got
thousands and thousands. We know our system works. How come so many
others can't see it?"

"Don't get me started on that, Gene."

Gene smiled. "Yeah, I seem to recall you could get real worked up on
that subject Well, there's about twenty-five or so trucks 'bout an hour
behind this one, General. Filled with old soldiers like me and what's
left of their families. We've all agreed to go back into uniform for
this fight. We're about company-sized, I reckon. Soon as we get patched
up and plugged up, we'll wander on over to the quartermaster and draw

44

William W. Johnstone
some gear. You might say the Over-The-Hill-Gang is ridin' again."

"Glad to have you with us, Sergeant. We'll damn sure find a place for you."

"I figured you wouldn't kick up much of a fuss. This is gonna be a fight
to the finish. And it damn sure isn't gonna be over in any hurry." He
threw Ben a salute and limped off.

"One of the toughest and meanest guerrilla units back in my country was
made up of older men," Anna said, watching Gene limp away. "They
couldn't run as fast as we could, or march for as long, but the punks
and thugs and creepers soon learned they could fight like hell."

"What happened to them?" Jersey asked.

"Last I heard they were still up in the mountains, fighting." She looked
at Ben. "Where are you going to assign those old men, General Ben?"

"Wherever they wish, Anna."

' 'Pilots report our old Base Camp One area is crawling with crud,"
Corrie called to Ben. "Heatseekers show several thousand people."

"Our underground facilities?"

"They appear to be safe and secure to this point."

Certain areas in and around the old Base Camp One were honey-combed with
underground chambers, the tunnels and bunkers filled with thousands of
tons of supplies and equipment. Other areas contained carefully
constructed and concealed underground storage tanks, where hundreds of
thousands of gallons of fuel were stored (the Rebels had thousands of
tons of equipment secretly cached all over the lower forty-eight).

"They have SAMs, they have SAMs," Corrie said, as

45

45

soon as the pilots' words crackled through her headphones.

"Any planes hit?" Ben asked.

"Negative. No hits."

The souped-up version of the old P-51, now called the P-51E, which made
up a large part of Ben's air force, usually came in right on the deck,
rendering SAMs all but useless against them. The pilots came in so low,
by the time the SAM was readied and fired, the planes were gone and out
of range, flying at about 550 mph, tops. The pilots seemed to thrive on
the danger of it, which did not come as any surprise to Ben. He thought
all combat pilots to be half nuts anyway.

It would have amazed Ben to learn that most combat pilots thought
themselves to be a hell of a lot safer where they were than where Ben
was, and they thought Ben was half bonkers for taking the chances he
took on the ground.

"Corrie, have we received any further word on President Blanton's
condition?"

"Negative, boss."

"His staff?"

"Only that first confirmation that most of them were killed during the
first hours of looting. It was rumored that a few got away. But that's
still just a rumor."

Ben knew that Mike Richards had gotten a few people into the Charleston
area. They had reported back that the city was a shambles. The looters
and other equally vile and worthless street slime had gone crazy when
all order had broken down.

"We'll call that a dead city," Ben had said, after hearing the dismal
news about the sacking of the nation's capital. "When we rebuild the
capital, it won't be there.

46

William W.Johnstone

If I have anything to say   about the rebuilding, and I strongly suspect I
will, we'll build the new   capital in the center of the nation-where it
ought to be. And it won't   be the crime or welfare capital of the damn
world either. Not like it   was before the Great War."

"Why weren't the looters shot on sight?" Anna had asked.

"If I had been in command, they would have been shot-on sight," Ben had
responded.

But for now, Ben looked toward the west. He couldn't go slam-banging
straight through to the old Base Camp One. Everything between here and
there had to be cleaned out first. He wanted no major resistance forces
at his back.

Ben turned to Corrie. "Get Jackie and Danjou up here ASAP. We've got
some planning to do."

47

"You stay north of us on 80 and drive straight across the state," Ben
said to the commander of 12 Batt, Jackie Malone.

She nodded her head.

"Danjou, we'll give you time to get in place down south. You get on
highway 98 and drive straight across. My 1 Batt will hook up with you
here." He jabbed a finger at the map. "And we'll push across together."

The French-Canadian nodded his head.

"We'll be meeting the hardcore of resistance, so get me some prisoners.
I want to find out everything I can about who is behind all this mess."

"General," Jackie said, "you know what Ike and Georgi and Buddy and Tina
and Dan are going to do when they hear of this," she reminded him.
Ben smiled. "Let them scream all they like. Won't be a thing they can do
about it. Except complain."

Buddy and Tina were Ben's kids. Buddy commanded

48

William W. Johnstone

8 Batt, the special operations group, and Tina commanded 9 Batt. Ike had
been with Ben since the beginning. Ben and the ex-Navy SEAL were just
about the same age-Ike was second in command of the Rebel Army,
commanding 2 Batt. Dan Gray was British, a former officer in the Special
Air Service. Dan commanded 3 Batt. Georgi Striganov, CO of 5 Batt, a
Russian, and Ben were once bitter enemies, until Ben and the Rebels
kicked his butt and Georgi decided the best thing to do, if he wanted to
stay alive, was to join with the Rebels. West, a former mercenary, was
engaged to Tina; they would marry someday. West commanded 4 Batt. Pat
O'Shea, a wild Irishman, commanded 10 Batt. Rebet was CO of 6 Batt. Raul
Gomez headed 13 Batt. Buck Taylor was commanding officer of 15 Batt.
Greenwalt was the CO of 11 Batt, and Jim Peters the commander of 14 Batt.

Batts 16,   17, and 21, commanded by Post, Harrison, and Stafford, had
been left   behind in Europe. But Ben was seriously thinking of pulling
them back   Stateside. He was waiting for a report from Mike Richards
before he   made that decision.

Rebel battalions were much larger than conventional military battalions,
and tfiey were self-sustaining, carrying with them artillery, armor, and
fully equipped MASH units. When a Rebel battalion pulled out on the
highway, their vehicles stretched for miles. It was an awesome sight to
witness, from the HumVees to the massive sixty-ton main battle tanks.

Ben looked at Danjou and Jackie. "I don't want the other battalions to
know what we're doing until we're in place. I don't want to have to
listen to a lot of bitching

49

about it. OK, let's roll. Danjou, give us a bump when you're in place.
Let's do it, people."

Scouts reported trouble as soon as they crossed the state line. The
sniper fire was heavy and it forced the column to a halt.

"MBTs buttoned up and roll," Ben ordered. "Take them out."

The sixty-three-ton M1/M1A1 MBTs surged forward. With a top speed of 45
mph, it did not take them long to get into position. The Rebel armorers
had reworked the guns on the tanks and the MBTs bristled with firepower.
The MBTs could run on diesel, gasoline, or aviation fuel. The armor was
state-of-die-art, far superior to the ceramic and reaction-type armor
used on the older models.

"Those houses to your left," a Scout told a tank commander. "Ten o'clock."

The MBTs swiveled their turrets, lowered their cannons, and the 120mm
main guns began to roar, hurling out HE rounds. The houses began
exploding as if made of matches.
"All Scouts on our three fronts reporting heavy sniper fire," Corrie
told Ben. "Tanks are rolling."

"Any anti-tank missiles fired?"

"Negative."

Ben smiled, but it was devoid of humor. "Simon Border's people have all
of them. He never had any real plans to defend the territory east of the
Mississippi. He's sacrificing these people, giving his own followers
time to beef up and dig in. Simon and Hooter fed these rabble a line of
bullshit and they swallowed it. Everything

50

William W. Johnstone

I initially prophesied is coming to be. Years ago I predicted that the
country would first break up into small nations within a nation. That
happened. After those small nations fell, the country would split up
into several large nations. That is happening now."

"That's why so many people are frightened of you, boss," Beth said.
"You've been dead accurate on the future of not just North America, but
the world. The rumor now is you have a third eye."

Ben smiled. "All-seeing and all-knowing, huh? Me and Johnny Carson."

Cooper looked over at him. "Who is Johnny Carson?"

Simon Border looked at the road-weary and much bedraggled group before
him. Harriet Hooter, Rita Rivers, and several odiers of Hooter's New
Left party had made it across the river to safety. The rest were either
dead or missing and presumed dead.

"I never thought the masses would turn on us," Harriet said, her voice
numb with lingering disbelief and shock and weariness. "We were trying
to help them. Our plan was to take from the have's and give to the have
not's. I just never dreamed anything like this would happen."

"Of course, you didn't, my dear," Simon said. Like all practicing
hypocrites, the lies flowed out of his mouth as easily as the truth.
"But we have a place for you all here. The armies of the Democratic
Front control nearly all of the western half of North America.
Eventually, we plan to move against Ben Raines and once more reunite
this nation, and bring it back to its former greatness. With your help,
of course," he added with a smile.

51

51

"You can count on us," Rita River said. "My new main squeeze, Issac
Africa, has written a rap song about the great Satan, Ben Raines. Would
you like to hear it?"

"Ah . . . no, not at this time," Simon said quickly. He hated rap music
and everything connected with it- including blacks-but he kept that
concealed. "Some other time, perhaps. Issac Africa? Ah, yes. Isn't he
the militant who now thinks he controls what was once the state of
Missouri?"

"He doesn't think he controls it," Rita said proudly. "He does control
it. Issac and his ANA-that's the Army of the New Africa-will show Ben
Raines who is really the meanest cat on the block."

"Army of the New Africa," Simon muttered. "And this, ah, Issac person is
the commanding general of the ANA?"

"Not really, but sort of. He's actually the Premier of New Africa.
Mobutomamba is the head of the army."

"Mobutomamba? He's from Africa?" Simon questioned.

"Naw," Rita said. "He's from South Carolina. But he's descended from
kings. His grandmother told him that."

"How interesting. Well, I wish them the best of luck in fighting Ben
Raines." They are certainly going to need all the luck they can get,
Simon silently added.

Although Simon Border despised Ben Raines and everything he stood for,
he would never make the mistake of underestimating the man, or his Rebels.

Simon Border's face looked remarkably like a cot-tonmouth snake, and he
was just about as dangerous. Simon played all angles: to some he was the
great eman-

52

William W.Johnstone

cipator, to others he sat on the right side of God. Others saw him as
the salvation of America. Before the Great War, Simon had been an
advocate of wealth redistribution, womb-to-tomb health insurance for
everybody (no matter that it would bankrupt the country), midnight
basketball, a Bible in every home, death to any who practiced abortion.
That was one side of the man. The other side was much darker. Of course,
Simon was a racist, a hypocrite, a womanizer, a fraud, a snake-oil
salesman disguised as a preacher, and a charlatan. He could be all
things to all people at a second's notice.

But Simon really did think of himself as the savior of freedom-freedom
as he narrowly denned the word, that is.

Simon shook his head. Mobutomamba? It was so sad. Another
self-proclaimed descendant of kings who was going to get rudely
dethroned when he butted heads with Ben Raines.

Simon cleared his head of those thoughts. He couldn't worry himself with
the woes of others. Besides, this Mobutomamba sounded like some sort of
nut...

He was sure right about that.

However, there was more than one type of nut. And whenever law and order
breaks down, the nuts surface.

Just south of where Issac Africa and his band of fruitcakes were holding
sway, there was another band of banana-cream pies who had risen up,
proclaiming all of Arkansas as theirs . . .

Ben looked up from his map and blinked. ' 'Who did you say was claiming
all of Arkansas?"

53

53

"The Reverend Jethro Jim Bob Musseldine," Corrie said, struggling to
keep from laughing.

"You have to be kidding!"

"No, sir," Corrie said, regaining her composure. "And he's reported to
have a following of about ten thousand."

"Ten thousand!"'Ben blurted.

"Yes, sir. And from the reports the Scouts are sending back, they are
well-armed and spoiling for a fight."

Ben sighed. "What's his beef?"

Rebel artillery and Rebel snipers, using .50 caliber sniper rifles which
had an accurate killing range of over a mile, had knocked all the fight
out of the forward units of the rabble army and had advanced about ten
miles inside what was once known as the state of Mississippi before
picking a spot to bivouac for the night.

Corrie smiled. "He and his followers don't like your philosophy on
hunting . . . among other things."

Ben had to think about that for a moment. He knew that over the years he
had angered some people with his so-called stance on hunting. But Ben
wasn't anti-hunting at all-he was anti-poaching. Ben did believe that
there should be areas set aside for animals to live as God intended them
to live, without fear of humankind, letting Mother Nature control the
animal population through natural predators. But in the SUSA there were
many, many areas wide open for hunting, millions of acres.

Ben decided it had to be the "other things." "What other things, Corrie?"

Corrie's smile widened. "Oh, he's anti-abortion, wants prayer in public
schools . . . you want me to go on?"

54

William W. Johnstone

Ben exhaled   and shook his head. "The entire country has fallen apart.
There isn't   a stable government in all the fifty states, much less on
the federal   level, chaos and violence is the order of the day, and this
idiot wants   to start a war with me because I believe that abortion
should be a   personal choice and left up to the woman."

"He is also opposed to any type of legalized gambling and you're on
record as saying that also is a personal choice."

"Wonderful," Ben said.
"The squirrels are coming out of the trees again, boss," Cooper said.

"They damn sure are, Coop."

The team wandered off for chow and Anna came to sit beside Ben. The girl
had tailored her BDUs to fit snugly and had her blonde hair cut short.
The spring night was pleasant and the bugs were few enough to be
tolerated without insect repellant, but in a few weeks the mosquitos
would be fierce. Anna propped her short-barreled 5.56 CAR against a
porch railing and sat down.

"What are you thinking about, General Ben?" she asked as she petted Smoot.

"What a mess this country is in, Anna. And if it can ever be fixed."

"Like Humpty Dumpty?"

"Yes. Just like Humpty Dumpty."

"We had people like those we're now chasing in the old country, too,
General Ben. They weren't much good for anything. Whiners and slackers
and complainers and people who want something for nothing. I never had
any use for them."

Ben wasn't at all sure he wanted to know what Anna did with those types
of people. The girl had a savage

55

55

streak in her, coupled with a solid streak of pragmatism. She was also
very intelligent and surprisingly well-read, considering that she'd been
on her own since about age five.

Anna cut her eyes to Ben and smiled, as if reading his mind, which, Ben
thought with a small smile, she might well be able to do, since she
sprang from the loins of gypsies. "No, General Ben, I didn't shoot them
willy-nilly. But they did learn very quickly to stay far away from me
and the people I ran with. We planted little hidden gardens to grow
vegetables. Why couldn't they do the same? But no, they wanted us to do
all the work and then they would try to steal from us or want us to give
them the food we worked for. We shot them when we caught them stealing
from us. But General Ben, food is life. Didn't we have the right to do
that? I think so."

Ben wondered if Anna was trying to tell him something or just making
conversation. If it was the former, he wasn't going to take the bait.

"I have read in books and magazines about this insurance people could
buy for their homes and vehicles. The person pays so much money a month
or a year so that if his possessions are stolen, the insurance people
pay him to replace the goods. And then the amount of money he pays each
month or year for the insurance goes up according to the value of goods
stolen . . . which doesn't seem quite fair to me. But if the thief was
caught, not much was ever done to him because the prisons were full, and
if the authorities wanted to put one prisoner in jail, one had to be
released. Wouldn't the authorities have been helped if law-abiding
people were able to protect what was theirs without fear of being
arrested or sued by lawyers?"

56

William W. Johnstone

Ben had to agree. "Yes, we who adopt the Tri-States philosophy think so."

"So do I. But back when the world was whole, it didn't work that way
very often, did it?"

Ben shook his head. "No. Not very often."

"Well, we shared what we grew with the old people, and why not? They
were the ones who had worked all their lives, supporting the nation with
their blood and muscle and sweat. The old have a right to live out their
years in dignity and comfort. But the gangs of thugs and punks preyed on
the old. We shot those types of people whenever we could find them. I
used to dress up like an old woman, carrying a sack of potatoes or fruit
or bread, and go limping and tottering down a street where my people
waited in ambush. Pretty damn quick the punks and thugs learned to never
come into the area we controlled. However, we did let them enter to
remove the bodies." She stood up, grasping her CAR with one hand and
Smoot's leash with the other. "Come on, Smoot. Let's take a walk. See
you. General Ben."

Ben watched her go, then became conscious of eyes on him and turned his
head. Doctor Lamar Chase, the Rebels' Chief of Medicine, was standing
close by. "How long have you been standing there, Lamar?"

"Ever since Anna sat down. I damn sure wouldn't want that child for an
enemy, Ben." He sat down in the camp chair Anna had just vacated.

"She's tough."

"Tough! She's ruthless."

Ben smiled.

"Ben? What are you going to do with these thousands and thousands of
people who have invaded the SUSA? When we catch up with them, that is."

57

57

Lamar had just caught up the main column. He'd been late joining because
of a morass of paperwork.

"I'm going to use reason with those who will listen."

"And those who won't?"

"You know the answer to that, Lamar."

The doctor watched Ben roll a cigarette and grimaced in disgust, but for
once he didn't say anything about Ben's smoking habits. "Have you given
any thought to reuniting the entire nation, Ben?"

"Yes, I have. Quite a lot of thought. But unless you want a return to
the old form of government, which sure as hell didn't work, I don't see
how we can do it."

"But what we set up didn't work either, Ben. Not for the whole."

"You know damn well it wasn't meant to, Lamar. You just want to argue."

Lamar was getting too old for the field, but he wouldn't admit it and
would not voluntarily give it up, although nowadays he did little
operating and had a staff and a driver to look after him. But he still
ran the department with a iron fist. "I'm sure you've heard the theory
that the men who drafted and signed the Declaration of Independence were
divinely inspired?"

"Of course."

"Do you believe it?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't know, Lamar. Could be. Maybe so. Why?"

"Oh ... I was just wondering how they might have handled this mess."

"They wouldn't have let the nation get into the mess in the first
place," Ben said sourly, ignoring Lamar's smile, but knowing the doctor
had aced him into this debate. "We wouldn't be in this mess if those
assholes

58

William W. Johnstone

in government back during the last decade, and four decades before then,
had adhered to the Constitution and applied a little common sense in the
first damn place."

As it always happened when Ben started getting wound up, Rebels began
gathering around. Chase had forgotten about that. He looked all around
him and grumbled, "I am not going to sit through another of your
harangues, Raines. I would rather watch paint dry.'' Then he noticed he
was completely blocked in. "Shit!" the doctor said, and leaned back in
the chair.

"OK, Lamar," Ben said, waving a hand at the Rebels gathered around. "You
explain to them why America fell apart, why it went bankrupt, why
federal law enforcement agencies became stooges for the government, in
many cases no better than the old Nazi Gestapo. Tell us why the
government allowed the IRS to become the most powerful agency in
Washington, answerable to no one? You want me to reunite the entire
nation? OK. Tell them how we can do that and still preserve our way of
life. Come on, wise-ass, enlighten us." Ben folded his arms across his
chest and smiled at Lamar.

"I swear you set this up, Raines."

"Me? You opened this conversation, not me."

Lamar looked all around him. "Go on back to your duties!" he shouted.
"Go on, now, or I'll have you all lined up for a short-arm inspection."

Since about a fourth of the Rebels were women, they got a good laugh out
of that. "You think that would really bother us?" one yelled.

"Oh, good Christ!" Lamar muttered.

Then the humor got a little raw as some of the women

59

59

began suggesting where to line the men up for the inspection.

"Make way, dammit!" Corrie shouted, shoving and pushing her way through
the throngs of Rebels. "Ike on the horn, boss. And he is very unhappy."

Ben stood up. "I really hate to leave you like this, Lamar. I'd like to
stay and hear your lecture. But ..." He shrugged. "Duty calls."

"Now wait a minute, Raines! You can't leave me trapped in here!"

"Close ranks behind me!" Ben shouted.

As the Rebels closed ranks, trapping Lamar, the doctor yelled, "Raines,
you insufferable jackass!"

Ben walked away, chuckling.

60

"Goddammit, Ben!" Ike yelled over the miles. "What in the hell do you
think you're doing, splitting your command? I thought we agreed that-"

Ben tuned him out until Ike paused for breath.

"Calm down, Ike. I'm not exactly alone, you know. I've got a battalion
of troops, plus armor and artillery, plus Lt. Bonelli's people. Now stop
yelling. Have you been meeting any resistance?"

"Very little, Ben. But we have found numerous places where our permanent
residents were executed. Whole families wiped out."

"We've found the same thing. What do you hear from the others?"

"Same thing. The troops are pretty damned steamed about it and spoiling
for a fight. But so far all we've run into is some scattered sniper fire."

"Cat and mouse, Ike."

"Yeah, that's the way I figure they're playing it. But what's their game?"

61

61

"I don't know." Ben paused, thinking fast. "Ike, stand by for a burst
transmission."

"Ten-four, Ben."

"Corrie, order Scouts to start back-tracking us. I think the bastards
are trying to put us in a bottle."

"Coming up from behind us, boss?"

"Coming from all directions may be more like it."

Ben taped a short message and it was compressed and sent out in burst to
all batt corns.

All over the SUSA, Rebel units began shifting troops.

Lamar stepped into Ben's CP. "I've got to get back to my hospital
convoy, Ben. I-"

"No time, Lamar," Ben interrupted. "I'm getting that old cold and
familiar feeling. I think we're about to get hit. And hit hard. Get to
cover and stay put."

Lamar visibly paled. "Ben, my people only have a couple of platoons
traveling with them. And-" He bit that off.

"And what, Lamar?"

"Cecil is with the convoy."

"What!"

"He flew in a couple of days ago. Said he was tired of waiting around
back at the assembly area. Said he wanted to be near the action."

"Jesus, Lamar-"

"Dammit, Ben," the doctor flared back. "The man is the elected President
of the SUSA. He's my boss. Technically, he's your boss. I couldn't tell
him no."

Ben turned to Corrie. She was already on the horn to the hospital
convoy. "The convoy is under attack, boss! Rabble and punks coming at
them from all directions."

"I should have stayed with them," Lamar muttered.

62

William W. Johnstone

"Why?" Ben asked. "So you could get killed with them? Don't be an
idiot." He looked around him. "Anna?"

"Right here, General Ben."

"Take Doctor Chase and Smoot and get to cover. Stay with them."

"Yes, sir."

"Batten down the hatches, people," Ben ordered. "It's about to get
lively around here."

But before Anna, Chase and Smoot could get to cover, gunfire tore into
the old house, knocking out what remained of the windowpanes and gouging
great holes in the walls. Ben and the others hit the floor.

Cooper dragged his SAW over to the window and Ben shoved a can of 5.56
ammo his way; the can contained 200 rounds.

"Light up the sky," Ben shouted over the rattle of gunfire. "Let's see
what we're up against."

Somewhere along the outer perimeters of the Rebel camp, a Big Thumper
opened up, spitting out 40mm grenades. A .50-caliber machine gun was
added to the roar and crash.

"All battalions under attack." Corrie's voice came over the rattle of
combat.

"Figured this one out a little too late," Ben muttered, crawling to a
window just as the night was lit with IF mortar rounds.

"Shoot anything not in BDU's," Ben shouted. He spotted half a dozen men
running his way, clad in various articles of dress and carrying a
variety of weapons. On his knees, he held the trigger back on his old
.45 caliber Chicago Piano and blew a full magazine in their direction,
fighting to hold the powerful old SMG level.

63

63

The line of men went down like bowling pins as the fat slugs tore into
flesh and shattered bone. "Keep those flares going!'' Ben shouted,
ejecting the empty mag and slipping home a fresh one. "Keep the night
bright."

Anna had stowed Lamar and Smoot in the windowless center bathroom of the
home and now joined the fight.

"Goddammit, Raines!" Lamar shouted over the sounds of battle. "I'm a
doctor, not a dog-sitter!"

"Where'd you put them?" Ben yelled.

"In the bathtub," the teenager returned the yell, grinning at her
adopted father.

Two men suddenly appeared in the darkened hall of the home and Beth
shifted the muzzle of her M-16 and blew them backwards. They landed in a
lifeless sprawl of motionless arms and legs.

A man dove through a broken window, landing right on top of Jersey and
knocking the weapon from her hands. Cussing a blue streak, the
diminutive Jersey brought both hands hard over the man's ears. He
screamed at the sudden pain in his head. Jerseyjammed fingers into his
eyes and then into his throat. She used her knife to finish it, driving
the blade deep into the man's belly and twisting it up. Blood sprayed
from his mouth.

'' Yuck!'' Jersey said, wiping off her blade and crawling over to her
weapon.

Anna turned and gave several men a full magazine from her CAR just as
Ben was tossing grenades into the night, the flash and boom of the
Fire-Frags followed by shrieks of pain as shrapnel ripped into flesh.

Cooper was laying down a steady stream of fire with his SAW, stacking
the bodies up outside the home.

64

William W. Johnstone

"The rabble is falling back on all sides," Corrie said. "We've beaten
off the first wave."

"Get the hospital convoy on the blower," Ben told her.

"Trying, boss. But they're not responding."

"Keep trying."

Lamar appeared in the darkened archway, holding Smoot's leash. Anna
walked over and took the leash.

The room became quiet, everyone waiting for a response from the radio
van with the hospital convoy.

Nothing.

Only static.

"Eagle to Mercy One, Eagle to Mercy One." Corrie repeated the call.
"Come in, Mercy One."

Corrie cut her eyes to Ben. She shook her head.

Lamar opened   his mouth and Ben held up a big hand. "There is nothing we
can do until   dawn, Lamar. We'd be easy targets on the road tonight. If
they've been   wiped, they've been wiped. But I'm sure some got away.
They're just   out of contact, that's all."

"Cecil-"

"I try not to think about that. But don't sell Cec short. He's a tough
old bird. You're forgetting he's Special Forces trained. I pity the
rabble who corners him this night."

"Where is that goddamn nigger president?" The hard voice sprang out of
the darkness. "We killed everybody but him."

Cecil was belly-down in a weed and brush-filled ditch that ran alongside
an old soybean field, about a hundred feet away from what was left of
the burning, smoking

65

65

rubble of the hospital convoy. He had a full canteen, his sidearm and
M-16, and his knife for close work. Cecil had been out of the field for
a long time, but brutal training dies hard. He was unhurt except for a
cut on his upper left arm. Cecil waited and listened.
"Maybe we got bad information." The voices began drifting to him. "Maybe
he wasn't with this convoy."

"Could be. Search the bodies again just to be sure."

Cecil watched as beams from flashlights began darting about like mad
fireflies. If I just had one full squad with me, Cecil thought ruefully,
/ could wipe out the whole damn worthless bunch of these bastards.

Might as well wish for the moon, he thought, ceasing his wishful thinking.

Although he was well-hidden in a drainage ditch, with tall weeds all
around, Cecil ducked as a harsh beam of light was cast out into the
field to his right.

"That white-haired son-of-a-bitch ain't here. I'd know him anywheres."

Oh, really? Cecil thought. Now how might that be?

"I swore on my mother's eyes, I'd find that nigger bastard and kill
him," the same man said. "The day he run me out of Louisiana. Him and
that goddamned uppity Ben Raines. I swore I'd see them both dead someday.''

Interesting, Cecil thought. I wonder why we ran him out?

"Just 'cause I wouldn't stop whuppin' my young'uns, they come 'round
givin' me orders that I had to go. They took my young'uns. Ain't seen
'um since. Prob'ly wouldn't even know me now if n I did run into 'um."

"Hell, Jeeter. They prob'ly Rebels by now. Fightin' agin us, you know?"

Ah, yes, Cecil thought. Jeeter. From down in that part

66

William W. Johnstone

of the parish that Ben used to call the land that time forgot. White
trash of the worst sort. Tell it all, you miserable piece of shit. Tell
your friend how you sexually abused your daughters, starting when they
were about ten years old, you miserable bastard.

"Man's got a rat to whup his kids," another voice added.

"Shore do," Jeeter said. "Well, hell, come on. Let's go. That nigger
wasn't with this bunch. We'll rat-eo ahead and find out how Denver done
with Raines' bunch."

"Shit!" a man said, his voice filled with contempt. "They done prob'ly
kilt 'em all. These Rebels ain't shown me nothin' when it comes to
fightin.' They ain't nothin' but a bunch of candy-asses, you ax me."

Cecil fought back an almost overwhelming urge to rise up and empty a
full mag at the voices. He calmed down and willed himself to lay still
in the ditch and watch as the men faded into the night.

Cecil waited for fifteen minutes, then slowly made his way toward the
wrecked, looted and still smoking ruins of the convoy. He found a
walkie-talkie and checked it-it still worked. The Rebels' repeater
system was still functioning, so he could talk to damn near anywhere in
the SUSA. Trying his best to ignore the bloody and mangled and sometimes
charred bodies, he filled a pack with food and ammo and slipped away
into the darkness. In the timber, he switched over to the emergency
frequency and keyed the talk button.

"Eagle, Eagle. Come in, Eagle."

Miles away, Corrie was on it immediately. "This is the Eagle's Nest,"
she radioed, frantically motioning for Cooper to find Ben. "Come in."

67

67

"Eagle's Nest, this is-" Cecil grinned "-Ol' Black Joe. You copy this,
Eagle's Nest?"

"Ol' Black Joe?" Ben said, running into the room. He laughed. "Well, he
hasn't lost his sense of humor. Give me that mic, please, Corrie. Joe,
this is Eagle. Report."

"Entire convoy wiped out. They took no prisoners. Supplies looted and
vehicles, most of them, burned. The truck took some sort of hit in the
rear, rocket I think, and tipped over-threw me out and into a ditch. I
got overlooked by the rabble. It's our old friend Jeeter from the land
that time forgot who seems to be heading up this pack of crap."

"I remember him. Are you hurt?"

"Negative. Just my pride. I'm going to rest for a time and eat a bite
and then catch some Z's. Don't try to extricate me this night. Too
dangerous. I'll see you in the morning."

Ben knew better than to ask for a position. "All right, Joe. That's
ten-four. Hang tough."

"You got it. Joe out."

"That's a relief," Jersey said.

"Yes," Chase agreed. "But five percent of our field doctors and medical
staff are dead, and a lot of valuable supplies with them. All the whole
blood we collected for this push, refrigeration units and all the OR
tents and instruments." He met Ben's eyes and shook his head. "I have a
real lousy feeling about all this, Ben. I have this feeling that
conditions are going to get a lot worse before they begin to turn our way."

"I have a feeling that you just may be right, Lamar."

68

William W. Johnstone * * *

All battalions took hits the night the rabble and punks attacked. After
the fire-fight, there were Rebel dead to be buried, and Rebel wounded to
be patched up.

Batt 1 suffered five dead and twenty wounded, two of the wounded not
expected to live.
At first light, 'Ol' Black Joe' made contact with Ben and Ben turned his
1 Batt around and headed back to the ambush site, Scouts ranging out in
front of the long column.

They hit no resistance along the way. The rabble had no stomach for a
daylight fight, and that disappointed the men and women of 1 Batt, for
after the sneak attack of the past night, they were more than ready for
a fight.

As the first Scouts approached, Cecil rose up out of the field and
walked to the shoulder of the road. The Scouts did a visual on the man
walking out of the field, determined it was the President of the SUSA,
and immediately fell into defensive positions around him.

"Relax, boys and girls," Cecil's calm voice touched them. "No bogies
around here. They're long gone. I've been scanning die area since before
dawn."

The Scouts treated Cecil with the same respect they showed Ben Raines.
Everyone knew the two men were as close as brotfiers and had been for
years. Everyone knew that Cecil had been with Ben since the beginning of
the old Tri-States dream, right after the Great War. A medic with the
Scouts sat Cecil down and began checking him out.

"Orders, Mr. President. Doctor Chase told me to do this."

69

69

"I understand, son," Cecil said. "You have any pills in that kit for old
age?"

"Wish I did, sir."

By the time the cut that Cecil had suffered was cleaned out and
bandaged, the main column had arrived, the massive MBTs leading the way.
Ben and Cecil shook hands, then stood and smiled at one another for a
moment.

"It was close, Ben. Close." Cecil's eyes found Sergeant Major Gene
Cousins, now fully decked out in Rebel BDUs. He waved him over. "What is
this, Gene? Are you back in action?"

"Yes, sir."

"You feel up to snuff?"

"All the way, sir."

"How many old soldiers that can still cut the mustard you figure you
could round up?"

Ben narrowed his eyes.

"Hell, sir ... maybe five or six hundred if I could put the call out,"
Gene answered.

"Put it out. Right now. And as of now, you are my battalion sergeant major."
Gene grinned. "Yes, sir!"

Ben shook his head and stepped into it. "Cec, what the hell do you think
you're doing?"

Cecil cut his eyes. "Getting back into it, Ben. It's personal now."

Chase had walked up. "Are you out of your mind, you old goat? You're in
no shape for the field."

"The hell I'm not. As long as I take my pills, I'm in as good a shape as
Ben . . . almost," he added with a grin. "And who are you to be calling
me an old goat, you old goat!"

70

William W. Johnstone

"Your designation would be 22 Batt, sir," Beth said, stepping between
the President of the SUSA and the Rebel Chief of Medicine, jotting that
down in a small notebook.

"Thank you, Beth. 22 Batt it is."

Chase threw up his hands in disgust, snorted, and walked away, back to
the ruined convoy, to see if he could salvage anything.

"You're sure about this, Cec?" Ben asked.

"Positive."

Ben nodded.' 'All right. Corrie? Pull some armor and artillery up here.
Assign a MASH unit and get some Scouts in here. He'll need a political
team and an interrogation team. Notify Mike Richards so he can assign a
couple of his spooks to 22 Batt."

"Yes, sir."

Ben turned back to Cecil. "I have a great XO in mind for you. And he's
past due for a promotion. I can jump him a couple of grades."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Lt. Bonelli."

Cecil chuckled. "And that would get him out of your hair, right, Ben?"

"Why . . . Cecil! That never crossed my mind."

"What a terrible liar you are, Ben. You get worse as you get older. All
right. I'll take him. Mix his people in with mine." He looked at Corrie.
"Corrie, find me some good communications personnel."

"Right, sir. I know just the people."

Ben said, "Now, Cec, you take it easy until you get accustomed to the
field. You've been out of it for a long time."

"I know. Hell, most of my people will be around my
71

71

age ... or older. Just be sure we are well supplied with Geritol."

"I think you look very distinguished, sir," Anna said.

Cecil grinned.

"Yes, your white hair really sets off that black beret," she added.

Cecil's grin faded.

"Gotcha!" Ben said, and laughed at the crestfallen expression on his
friend's face.

72

Ben halted all forward movement of the battalions until Cecil's 22 Batt
was set up and fully equipped and staffed. To say the least, 22 Batt was
unusual. The youngest Rebel was nineteen, the oldest was seventy.

"Incredible," Doctor Chase said, after reading the last of the fitness
reports on the personnel of 22 Batt and closing the folder. "I can
truthfully say I have never seen anything with which to compare it. I
should assign two MASH units to this battalion. We have an amputee who
is battalion sergeant major. We have a one-eyed old fart who is at least
seventy years old. One of the officers is the grandfather of one of my
doctors. Half of 22 Batt is on some sort of medication for various
ailments, and some of them have recurring bouts of gout, for Christ's
sake. And these people are going into combat?"

"Pulling out in the morning," Ben told him. "They'll be about forty
miles north of Jackie's 12 Batt, coming

73

73

in just above the northernmost boundaries of the old Base Camp One. And
don't sell them short, Lamar."

"Oh, I know they can fight. Hell, I know all of them. For years. I've
treated most of them at one time or the other. It's just a hell of a way
to run a war, Raines."

"It's personal now, Lamar. These men are out looking for blood. Some of
them lost their entire families." He smiled. "Besides, it's as you
said-Cecil is the elected President of the SUSA. I can't tell him what
to do."

"Right, Raines," Chase said sarcastically, cutting his eyes heavenward.
"Sure."

"Your people all set, Lamar?"

The doctor nodded his head. He started to speak when a runner walked
into the room.
"General?"

"What is it?"

"Simon Border is on the horn. He wants to talk to you.''

Ben rose from the chair. "Well, now. How interesting. Want to come
along, Lamar?"

"I'm not in the least interested in anything that nut has to say. But
you watch yourself, Ben. He's slick. He's conned millions of people over
the years."

"Only those who wanted to be conned, Lamar," Ben countered.

Ben stepped inside the communications' truck and took the mic. "This is
Ben Raines."

"General Raines." The snake-oil smooth voice of Simon Border came over
hundreds of miles. "We finally get a chance to chat."

"What's on your mind, Simon?"

"Preventing a war."

"You started this conflict, not I."

74

William W. Johnstone

"Nobody started it, Ben. The people became desperate, that's all.
Desperate people are capable of anything. They were hungry, they wanted
jobs. You refused to open your borders. That's all it was."

"Cut the shit, Simon. We have intelligence working just as you do. We've
taken prisoners. We have the whole sorry story. So don't try one of your
famous con jobs on me."

There was a long moment of silence, with only the faint hiss of static
from the speaker. "Well, General Raines," Simon finally spoke. "Let me
be the first to inform you of something you probably don't know-Homer
Blanton has officially resigned the presidency-"

"That is news," Ben said to those in the truck and those waiting and
listening outside. "If it's true."

"The government of the United States is no more. The United States of
America is officially kaput. The nation is up for grabs, so to speak.
Now then, you and I can either fight each other for the next decade, or
longer, or we can attempt to work something out. What do you say?"

"I'm listening."

"Good. Very good. That is a start."

"Don't believe anything that Republican son-of-a-bitch has to say!'' The
braying voice of Rita Rivers came over the miles, loud and clear.
"Oh, my God!" Ben said. "She's still alive."

"The man is a fascist!" Harriet Hooter squalled.

Simon was deliberately leaving the mic open so Ben could hear it all.

"Harriet Hooter," Jersey said. "I don't think you could kill that woman
with an axe."

75

75

"As you can see, Ben"-Simon's voice was calm- "you do have enemies."

"Simon, I've had enemies since the concept of the Tri-States philosophy
was first discussed. Years before the Great War. What else is new?"

"Don't make any deals with that honky, racist Republican
son-of-a-bitch!" Rita hollered.

"He's a tyrant!" Harriet shrieked. "He's a modern-day Vlad the Impaler.''

"If you want to have any kind of conversation with me, Simon," Ben said,
"get those two idiots out of your communications room."

A long moment passed. Ben thought the transmission had been broken.
Finally, Simon came back on.

"Sorry about that, Ben. I had to have the two ladies forcibly removed ..."

Ben smiled. He had a mental picture of that.

"Ben, do you think our two nations could co-exist?"

"What's happened to you, Simon? The last word I got is that you had
sworn to destroy both me and the Tri-States concept of government."

"Those were hastily spoken words, Ben. I sincerely regret them. But yes,
that was my plan. I will freely admit that was my plan up until a few
weeks ago. But why should we both deplete our manpower and resources
fighting each other in a bloody war that might not ever end? Why not try
to co-exist?"

"What the hell is he up to?" Ben said. "He's done a complete one-eighty
on me." He keyed the mic. "Simon, I'm game for anything that would save
innocent lives. And I stress innocent lives."

"That's good, Ben. Fine. With those words, we have both taken the first
step toward agreement."

76

William W. Johnstone

"What boundary lines are we talking about here?"

"You keep your SUSA, Ben. I will not interfere with your retaking of
that territory. Here are the coordinates my people have worked out ..."
With the exception of Texas, Simon cut the nation directly in two parts.
He would take the sixteen western states. The midwest, the north, and
the northeast would be decided upon at a later date.

"Yeah, you bet," Ben muttered. "What the hell are you up to now, Simon?"
He keyed the mic. "All right, Simon. We're in agreement so far. We'll
talk more later."

"Very good, Ben. As of this moment, all hostilities between us are over,
agreed?"

"Only if you give me your word you will cease immediately all support of
the rabble who invaded our territory."

"You have my word on that, Ben. We'll talk again soon." Simon broke the
transmission.

"Get all batt corns in here, Corrie. We'll delay the push-off until
we've discussed this new twist."

"You really trust Simon Border to keep his word, Ben?" Cecil asked.

"I don't know, Cec. But if I have to fight, I'll take words over weapons
any time. Let's see what the others have to say about it."

Ike opened the debate. "We know Simon Border had Billy Smithson killed,"
the ex-SEAL said. "His people killed off the Joint Chiefs. His people
killed all the members of the National Security Council. His people
tried to kill the President and the First Lady. We know

77

77

Simon Border masterminded and organized the assault against the SUSA.
Now all of a sudden he runs up the white flag of truce and wants to make
a deal. Why?"

"Perhaps the man finally recognized the futility of fighting us," Ben's
son Buddy said. "We both have well-equipped and seasoned armies. Why
continue the bloodshed when half a loaf is better than no loaf at all?"

"That's a good point, son," Ben said. "But consider this: Simon has
never settled for anything less than one hundred percent. He despises
our concept of government. He swore publicly to see me destroyed and
then grind the Tri-States philosophy of government under the heel of his
boot. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's sincere. Maybe he really believes
our two systems of government can exist side by side. Well ... I
personally think the man has something up his sleeve. But I also think
we should give his plan a try. It's going to take us months to clear out
the rabble and get our SUSA up and running again. If we can have Simon
Border off our backs during that time, so much for the better. Cecil,
the people elected you to run the government of the SUSA. What do you
think?"

Cecil was thoughtful for a moment. "I think we should give it a very
cautious try."

"Then that's it. Let's start clearing our territory."
Ben put out the word on short-wave radio and by dropping leaflets: We
are reclaiming our territory. Surrender and you may leave peacefully.
Resist and you will be killed.

Two days later, the Rebels slammed west and north like a mighty armed
fist. When they hit roadblocks,

78

William W. Johnstone

the main battle tanks blew them apart, along with any defenders that
were foolish enough to be standing behind them. The Rebels began
retaking towns and villages in brutal hand-to-hand combat. By the end of
the third day out, the Rebels had advanced more than fifty miles in all
directions. They had killed and wounded hundreds and taken hundreds more
prisoner. By the end of the first week, the Tri-States army had to stop
their advance because so many Rebels were needed to guard prisoners, it
was cutting into the effectiveness of the advance.

Ben was touring one prisoner camp with Ike, discussing what the hell to
do with them.

"We demand to be taken care of, General Raines!" one prisoner shouted
from behind the loose-strung wire. "We have rights, you know."

"Sometimes I hate that word almost as much as I did political
correctness," Ben said.

"What the hell are we going to do with all these people, Ben?" Ike
questioned. "We're all going to be on short rations if this keeps up. We
just don't have the food to keep on feeding them much longer."

"We have rights! We have rights!" the prisoners began shouting.

Ben stood for a moment, looking at the chanting men and women. "Turn
them loose."

"What?"

"Turn them loose with a warning that if they try to steal food or wage
war against us, we'll shoot them on sight. Male or female. Makes no
difference."

"I don't know, Ben," Ike said doubtfully.

Ben lifted his Thompson and blew a full magazine of .45 rounds into the
air. The sound was enormous in

79

79

the warm spring afternoon. The chanting stopped and the prisoners fell
into a sullen silence.

"Bullhorn," Ben said. A guard produced one and Ben lifted the bullhorn
to his lips and said, "Now that I have your attention, I have an
announcement to make. I am ordering your immediate release-"
Ben waited until the cheering had died down.

"You will all be given five days' field rations and pointed north. Go
that way and keep going until you are out of our territory. Don't even
think of staying and squatting in the SUSA. You are not wanted here. Not
if you insist on our feeding and housing you without you giving us
something in return."

"What are you going to do if we stay, General?" a woman shouted. "Kill us?"

Ben didn't hesitate. "Yes," he said bluntly. "Unless you agree to obey
the laws we have in force in the SUSA. Those of you who wish to stay and
work and obey the law are welcome. We'll help you get started. You'll be
welcome here. But that isn't going to happen; not with a large
percentage of you. You people waged war against us. You wanted what we
worked to build; but you wanted it given to you. You are not the type of
people we want in the SUSA and we will not tolerate your presence. I
don't know how I can be any blunter than that."

"Then . . . who is left to see to our rights and our needs?" a man called.

"Goddammit!" Ben lost his temper.

"Here it comes," Jersey muttered.

Ben lifted the bullhorn. "You take care of yourselves!" he roared. "You
band together and form little communities. You work together to grow
gardens and raise chickens and cattle and sheep and hogs. Get something

80

William W. Johnstone

through your thick skulls, people: the government of the United States
of America no longer exists. It's gone. Finished. Done. Kaput. Through.
Ended. The day of the free ride is over. In all likelihood, it will
never return, not as you all have known it. It certainly will never
happen in the SUSA. Now, for the first time in your lives, you control
your own destinies. How you live is entirely up to you. If you want to
work and get along with your neighbors-whatever color they might be- and
obey the law and live under the few rules we have on the books in the
SUSA, that's fine. Then by all means, stay, you'll be welcomed and given
some help in getting started with your new way of life. Open those
gates," Ben told a guard.

The barbed wire gates were opened and Ben pointed north, lifting the
bullhorn. "For the rest of you bastards and bitches, that way-" he
pointed "-is north. Get your field rations over there." He pointed to a
line of trucks. "Then get on that road and keep on walking until you are
out of our territory. You'll know when you reach the boundary-it's still
littered with Rebel dead that you worthless trash had a hand in killing
during your mindless rush for a free ride and a handout." Ben slung the
bullhorn and slipped a fresh magazine into the Thompson, jacking a round
into the slot. He lifted the bullhorn. "Now get the hell out of my
sight. And you goddamn well better stay out of my sight. Move!"

Of the several hundred prisoners in this camp, most quietly shuffled
over to the supply trucks and drew rations. They got on the highway and
started walking north. Most did not look back. Ben's words had chilled
them to the bone. About forty men and women stayed.
Ben walked over to the small group, his team right

81

81

with him. He carefully eyeballed each man and woman. "So you think you
want to try life in a Rebel-controlled zone, huh? OK. That's fine." He
looked at Beth. "Have a runner get a political officer over here. These
people have a lot to learn in a very short time."

"Right, boss."

"What about the ones you just put on the road, Ben?" Ike questioned.
"You want them followed?"

Ben shook his head as he handed the bullhorn to Cooper. "No. If they
fuck up, we'll know about it."

"And if they do?"

Ben met his old friend's eyes. His expression was bleak and very easy to
read. Those forty odd men and women who had elected to stay could read
it, too. The silent message touched them all with a icy hand.

"Right," Ike said.

Two men and two women exchanged glances, shook their heads, stepped out
of the group, and walked over to the supply trucks. They drew rations
and started walking slowly north.

"Thirty-eight out of four hundred stayed," Corrie said. "That's just
about right."

Statisticians had worked out that only about three out of every ten
people could, or would, live under the laws that governed the SUSA.

Ben turned back to the group who had elected to stay. "The SUSA can be a
very easy, peaceful, and laid-back place to live, folks. Or you can make
it very a difficult and unpleasant place to live. That is solely up to
you. The political officer will carefully explain the rules to you. You
listen well and take his or her words to heart. Understanding and
adhering to them is a matter of survival here. Now, people, you'll be
starting fresh

82

William W. Johnstone

here. Just like the old French Foreign Legion, your past is forgiven and
forgotten. I don't care what name you give for your permanent papers.
But that will be the name you will live under and die with. Good luck to
you all."

Ben turned to Corrie. "Bump all prison camps. Cut the rabble loose and
head them north. You know what to say."

"Right, boss."
Ike smiled. "Some of those people are going to circle back and squat, Ben."

Ben nodded his head. "When they do, I hope they pick a very comfortable
place to squat. They're going to be buried there."

83

Hundreds of families who had settled in die SUSA had been killed by the
rampaging rabble. As die Rebels pushed further in all directions, they
began finding more and more evidence of the mindless and wholesale
slaughter of citizens. The rabble they now encountered were the
hard-core. The Rebels found entire families, from the oldest to the
youngest, killed execution-style, their family pets lying dead beside them.

As diey rolled past the ruins that was once Meridian, Mississippi, Ben's
mood became foul. As they approached the rubble that had been Jackson,
Ben's orders came as no surprise to any Rebel.

"No more surrender talk. These are savages we're dealing with. Hit them
first, hit them hard, and finish it."

As the Rebels approached the eastern edge of die old Base Camp One, the
remaining bands of rabble finally

84

William W. Johnstone

realized the futility of any further resistance and began fleeing for
their lives.

Ben and his 1 Batt rolled and rumbled onto the soil of the old Base Camp
One. Ben ordered the long column halted and got out of the van to stand
for a moment, looking out over fields that should have been long planted
with corn and beans and cotton and milo. Weeds waved in the soft gentle
breeze.

"This will tell you something about the caliber of people who invaded
our land," he said, speaking to no one in particular. "No thought for
the future. They just ate up everything we had stored and then wondered
why there wasn't any more. These are the types of people the old liberal
wing of the Democratic Party used to piss and moan about. They spent
several trillion dollars of taxpayer money feeding and clothing and
housing these worthless sacks of shit. That money would have been put to
better use by stuffing it down a rat hole."

Anna had left the road to kneel down and dig up handfuls of the rich
earth. "It's so rich," she said, rejoining the group. "It would grow
anything. Why didn't the rabble plant food?"

"Because they're assholes," Ben said bluntly. "They want somebody else
to do it for them: work the land, harvest the crops, and then give them
the final product-cleaned and cooked and prepared, of course." He
sighed. "Let's push on. See how much damage was done."

It was awful.

The leader of the four gangs that had occupied the town, Ray Brown, had
lived in Ben's house. He had also killed Ben's dogs and thrown their
bodies in a ditch
85

85

that ran behind the house. Scouts had found what was left of the dogs
and buried them before Ben arrived.

Ben's team watched him very carefully as he received the news about his
pets. His facial expression did not change. But his eyes turned as cold
as the sea.

"It will not be pleasant for Mr. Brown when we finally meet," was all
Ben had to say about the matter.

"I hope Ray Brown has a high pain tolerance," Cooper whispered. "'Cause
it's going to take him a long time to die."

"For a fact," Jersey agreed.

Ben looked at the graves of his beloved dogs for a moment, then turned away.

His team gave him a very wide berth. They had witnessed Ben once before
as he beat a man to death with his fists ... to a person, they knew what
Ray Brown had waiting for him.

Most of the men and women who had left President Blanton earlier to take
positions in the administration of the SUSA were dead. Rebels found
their bodies in a shallow mass grave. The remains of the men and women
were carefully removed, ID'ed, and reburied with honors.

Survivors of the attack began trickling in and the massive clean-up began.

Conservative estimates were that the residents of the SUSA had suffered
about sixty percent casualties.

"Get the crops in the ground," Cecil ordered. "What we can plant this
late, that is."

"Does this mean, I hope," Ben asked, "that you are disbanding your 22
Batt and stepping back into an administrative role?"

"No, it does not," Cecil quickly responded.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

86

William W. Johnstone

"You know damn well we've still got a massive job ahead of us, Ben.
We've got to hunt down and destroy at least hundreds and more than
likely thousands of gang members. An entire nation is in shambles, and
you know perfectly well that someday it's going to be up to us to try to
put it back together again." He held up a hand, stopping Ben before Ben
would deny he had any such plans. "Save it, Ben. I know you too well.
Besides all that, we still have Simon Border and his army to deal with.
And we'll have to fight them someday; you know that as well as I do. We
really have no reserves left to fall back on. You're going to need every
Rebel you can put in uniform."
Ben was forced to concede the point.

"Have you had any word about our people out west?" Ben asked Corrie. "We
should have pockets of resistance out there."

"We've been unable to reach any of them," Corrie told him. "Mike
Richards thinks Simon's army hunted them down and wiped them out."

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Mike asked, strolling into Ben's office.
Mike had been out of touch for several weeks, as was his custom.

He poured a mug of coffee from the ever-present pot and sat down. "Those
aligned with us out west haven't been entirely wiped out," he said. "But
not many are left. Simon cozied up to them at first. Then when they let
their guard down, he moved in hard and brutal. Now Simon has started his
gun-grab among the citizens. He's leaving some carefully selected
citizens hunting rifles and shotguns, and that's it. No handguns, no
semiautomatic rifles. But I can't figure out exactly where he stands
politically."

87

87

"Neither can anybody else," Ben said. "For years I thought of him as a
liberal's dream. But lately I've had to revise my thinking somewhat. I
have a suspicion that Simon wants to be king of America.''

"Well, if we move fast enough, before Simon finds and destroys all
pockets of resistance, we will at least have some support from a
percentage of the people once we kick it off."

"If we kick if off," Ben said, and that got him some startled looks.

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "There is always the possibility that Simon
will keep his word, although I don't hold out much hope for that. I'd
like to speak with Homer Blanton and get his input on this matter." Ben
clarified that. "Homer is a career politician, I'm a soldier. Now that
the man has his head screwed on straight, and has stopped listening to
people with their heads in the clouds, he makes some sense. Personally,
I'd like to see him return to the States, specifically here in the SUSA,
and go to work for us."

"For Christ's sake, Ben!" Mike blurted. "Doing what?"

"As a diplomat, Mike. We're going to need some of those. Half the world
is getting to its feet, while America has been knocked down flat-again.
We're going to need people with Blanton's experience. We're going to try
to reach him tonight."

"You mean that, Ben?" Blanton asked. "I wouldn't have brought it up had
I not meant it, Homer. We need you down here."

88

William W. Joknstone

By the sound of his voice, Blanton had recovered from his near fatal
wounds received during the coup.
"I can send an escort for you. You just say the word."

Blanton chuckled. "We've come a long way, haven't we, Ben?"

"Yes, we have. But we still have miles to go. How about it?"

"You've got a deal."

"Good!"

They worked out the details and then Ben smiled and leaned back in his
chair. "The wound has been closed," he muttered. "Now the healing has
begun."

Homer's wife still didn't like Ben very much, but at least raw hate was
no longer shining through her eyes. She had spent several days touring
the SUSA and had found, much to her surprise, it was nothing like what
her goofy left-wing aides had, a couple of years back, convinced her it was.

"How about becoming our Secretary of State?" Cecil asked Homer. "But I
have to warn you, we're starting from scratch."

Homer looked sad for a moment. "All my old friends who joined you?"

Ben sat silent as Cecil said, "Most of them are dead. We found many of
them buried in a mass grave. They'd been executed."

"Their families?" the former First Lady asked.

"Killed with them."

"My God!" she said. "What manner of people are we dealing with here?"

Ben wanted very much to tell her: the same kinds of

89

89

people you pissed and moaned about for years. But he held his tongue for
Homer's sake, and Homer knew it, quickly ducking his head to hide his smile.

After they had left the building, Ben and Chase stood in the hallway and
talked for a moment

Chase studied Ben's face for a few seconds and said, "I don't like that
smile, Raines. It's one of your sneaky ones. What's going on in that
devious mind of yours?"

Ben spread his hands. "Why, nothing, Lamar," he said innocently.
"Nothing at all."

"You also tell lies, Raines. But perhaps I'm better off not knowing." He
checked his watch. "I'm late. I have to leave for a few days. Make some
inspections of outlying aid stations. Stay out of trouble, Raines."

"See you, Lamar."

Outside the building, standing with his team, Ben said, "Have our 1 Batt
ready to pull out. Do it quietly and stay off the air with it. I want
supplies for a sustained campaign. A full MASH unit with us. Everything
on the QT, people."

"Cecil is going to hit the ceiling," Ben warned him.

"That's the beauty of it. Cecil is stuck here with Homer, showing him
around and getting him settled in. His 22 Batt and Jackie and Danjou are
here with their battalions protecting the area. Everyone else is gone.
Now is the perfect time for us to slip off north and mix it up a little
in Arkansas."

Corrie smiled. "You have a very sneaky mind, boss."

Ben laughed. "Sure, I do. Everybody knows that."

Anna looked at him. "This Ray Brown in Arkansas, General Ben?"

"So I hear, Anna."

"Thought so," she replied.

90

William W. Johnstone

Cecil glared daggers at Ben, but there was nothing he could do about
Ben's pulling out. As the elected president of the SUSA, it was his job
to run the country, see to the many and much needed appointments,
entertain dignitaries, and so forth. Ben was commander of the armed
forces and could leave whenever he wanted to leave.

And he wanted to leave.

"You don't play fair, Ben," Cecil bitched.

"Right."

"This is sneaky."

"Ain't it the truth."

"Crap!" Cecil said in disgust. "How about thisjethro Jim Bob Musseldine
and his army of ten thousand up in Arkansas?"

"What about him?"

"You're only taking one battalion, Ben."

"First of all, it hasn't been verified that Musseldine has anywhere near
ten thousand men. So far, all we've been able to determine is that he's
some sort of a nut and has about twenty-five hundred people in his army.
Besides, air support is only forty-five minutes away, tops."

"You know I'm going to catch hell from Buddy and Tina about this."

"Oh, for a little while, maybe. They'll get over it."

Cecil stared at him for a moment. He shook his head, shrugged his
shoulders, and sighed. "I give up, Ben. You're impossible. Have been
ever since I met you. I should have guessed what you were doing years
back, watching you put together the nucleus of 1 Batt. You

91

91

filled the ranks with men and women who thrive on danger. You don't have
a single person in that battalion-including the damn doctors-who is
happy outside of combat. I don't know why I continue wasting my time."

"I don't either," Ben said with a laugh. "Why don't you quit warting me
about it?"

Cecil grimaced. "I might as well. You're going to be out in the field
until the day you die."

"I hope so."

"You will stay in touch?" Cecil asked, his tone decidedly sarcastic.

"Why, of course."

"Thank you for that."

Ben smiled and patted his arm. "Have fun now, ol' buddy."

Cecil watched him walk off, thinking: Why in the hell did I ever let
that man talk me into politics?

In the gray light of dawn, Ben walked the ranks of his personal
battalion. Cecil was correct-the men and women of 1 Batt loved walking
the razor's edge. Another point that Cecil had nailed down was that Ben
was very careful about replacements. He chose them personally, after a
careful review of records and talking to other Rebels. Some of the men
and women in 1 Batt were ex-Scouts and special operations people; men
and women who had grown just a bit too old for the often times wild and
wooly antics of those teams, but were perfect for 1 Batt.

Ben also allowed his people some latitude in dress. Dan Gray, the former
British SAS officer, who was a

92

William W. Johnstone

stickler for discipline and uniform codes, often cast a very jaundiced
eye at how some of the men and women of 1 Batt dressed. Some of them
looked as though they had just stepped right out of Snoopy's World War I
fantasies, with drooping handlebar moustaches, pony-tails, beards, and
occasionally the awfulest combinations of uniforms one could imagine.
But no one could cast aspersions at how they fought. The men and women
of 1 Batt, from cooks to Scouts to tank commanders to medics, were the
best of the best. And they were, to a person, one hundred and ten
percent loyal to Ben Raines and the Tri-States philosophy.

Ben glanced at Corrie. "All right, Corrie. Let's do it."

"Kick ass time!" Jersey shouted, and hundreds of voices joined in.
93

"He's done what?" Ike roared over the miles, his words rattling the speaker.

Cecil repeated his statement.

Dan jumped in. "Counting all the rabble that withdrew to Arkansas, Ben
might well be up against thousands of hostiles.''

"At least," Georgi Striganov stepped in.

"So what do we do?" Raul Gomez asked.

"Nothing," Tina broke in. "Because Dad is doing what he wants to do. You
all know he's always been a lone wolf. He'll never change. You also know
that if he gets in too deep, he'll call for back-up. Besides, lest we
all forget, he is the boss."

"He's also hard-headed as a goat," Ike said.

"You're a fine one to talk, you illiterate Mississippi redneck
ex-porpoise," Dan Gray needled his friend, knowing Ike would come back
at him.

"SEAL!" Ike shouted at the man, correcting him for

94

William W.Johnstone

about the ten thousandth time. "That's SEAL, you goddamn goofy limey."
Then he told the Englishman to go pour a cup of tea and stick it where
the sun don't shine.

Several hundred miles to the west, Corrie had the conversations on
speaker in the van and everyone was laughing.

The laughter died away when Corrie, monitoring their battle frequency on
her headset, said, "Trouble just up ahead, boss."

The column was about forty miles inside the Arkansas border, pushing up
from the south.

"What do we have?" Ben asked.

"Several hundred rabble occupying the town. Far Eyes has had them under
observation for about an hour. Light weapons and a few machine guns. No
mortars or anti-tank weapons have been spotted. It appears the rabble
killed the residents. There is evidence of a mass grave just outside the
town."

"MBTs up and circle the town. Mortar crews up and get into position."

Corrie relayed the orders and the big sixty-three-ton monsters surged
forward, other vehicles pulling off to the shoulder to let the tanks
rumble past.

The small town, probably populated by no more than a thousand people
before the Great War, had been reduced to about two-hundred-and-fifty
new people since the SUSA became reality. They had worked hard, planted
their crops and gardens, maintaining neat lawns and freshly painted and
well-kept homes, and were starting a new life.

Now they were dead at the hands of rabble.

Cooper had driven up close to the town and Ben stood by the side of the
van, giving the area a once-over

95

95

through binoculars. The streets were littered with trash. Windows had
been smashed from newly opened stores and shops. Ben was sure the few
places of business had been looted. They always were.

Ben said, "Corrie, I'm certain this bunch of trash doesn't have the
sense to operate a military radio. What CB channel are they on?"

"Nineteen," she answered promptly.

"That figures," Ben muttered. "All right, Corrie. Tell those idiots in
the town to give it up.''

"I already have. They said for you to kiss their ass."

Ben sighed. "The originality of that reply boggles the mind." He
grimaced. "Take the damn town."

It wasn't much of a fight. After less than ten minutes of the strafing
of heavy machine-gun fire from the Rebels, and few mortar rounds which
landed in the streets, the rabble hoisted a white flag and began
streaming out, their hands in the air.

But this time, Ben had a new twist to the taking of prisoners. Each
person was photographed and fingerprinted and blood was drawn for DNA
matching . . . should that person ever be foolish enough to return to
the SUSA.

"We didn't hurt or kill nobody," a man said during questioning. His eyes
were shifty and scared. ' 'The town was empty when we got here."

"He's lying," a PSE operator told Ben.

"Sure, he is. But we can't prove it. No witnesses. All we can do is head
them north."

"They all claim to have no knowledge of anyone named Ray Brown," Ben was
told. "But one of them was wearing this ID bracelet. It belonged to
Major Rogers, General. His wife's name is engraved on the back. He

96

William W. Johnstone

never took it off. His wife gave it to him just before she was killed.
That was back when he was a lieutenant. When we were fighting in the
northwest."

When Jerre had been killed, Ben thought. Then shook off that sad memory.*
"Rogers was one of the bodies found in that mass grave back at Base Camp
One, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bring this man to me."

"Right away, sir."

Ben had set up a CP in an old house on the outskirts of town. The
prisoner was led in and sat down in an old straight-backed chair.

"I ain't done nothin,'" the man protested. "Yall ain't got no call to
treat me this a-way."

Ben held up the gold ID bracelet and let it speak silent volumes as it
slowly twisted in his fingers.

Sweat broke out on the man's forehead.

"Where did you get this bracelet?"

"I ... ah ... swapped a feller for it."

"You're a liar."

The prisoner looked around him. Anna was squatting down, her back to a
wall, sharpening her already razor-sharp knife. She looked up at him.
Something in those very cold, pale young/old eyes was strangely
frightening. Beth was staring at him. Cooper was standing behind the
prisoner. Jersey was standing beside Ben, her dark eyes unreadable.
Corrie was at the radio.

"What do I get for the truth?" the man whispered.

"Your life," Ben told him.

The man nodded his head. "That's fair, I reckon.

o SURVIVAL IN THE ASHES- Pinnacle Books.

97

97

Ray Brown's got at least three other gangs with him. All tole .. . maybe
three to four thousand people when they all group up. They's Carrie
Walker and her bunch. Tommy Monroe and his gang. And Dave Holton. I was
with Tommy Monroe for a time. Joined up with him in Alabama. That's
where I'm from original. Tommy's a bad one, General. Probably badder
than Ray, you get right down to it. And he knows military tactics, too.
Was a sergeant in the army for a time, he was."

"What kinds of weapons do the gangs have?"

"All kinds, General. Machine guns, surface-to-air missiles, mortars,
rocket launchers. They ain't got no big guns or tanks, though. We tried
to get them tanks started y'all had in the depot back south of here, but
nobody could get 'em to crank."
Ben smiled. It would take any member of a tank crew about one minute to
get them running again: a little matter of a missing part which rendered
the tanks inoperable.

"Go on," Ben said.

"We was promised all sorts of stuff if we'd join up. Land to work, a
nice home, a car or truck. A better life."

Ben stared at the man in disbelief. Same old song, different jukebox.
The song was titled Something for Nodiing. Ben sighed. "There are
thousands of cars and trucks sitting idle all over the country. Stick a
battery in one, fill it up with gasoline, and drive it off."

The man shrugged. "Why go to all that bother if someone else is gonna do
it for you?"

Anna shook her head at that.

' 'Anyways, when I seen what Ray Brown done to your dogs, I 'bout puked.
I've always like dogs; don't like to see no harm come to 'em. I knew
right then and there I'd better haul my ass outta there. And I done 'er,
too.

98

William W. Johnstone

But on the way out, I come up on Tommy Monroe. He had him some
prisoners. Him and his people had raped the women-some of 'em no more
than children-and they used 'em bad, too. Tommy, he just lined up the
folks and shot 'em dead. He tossed me that there gold bracelet he took
off a man's wrist. That's how I come by it. And that's the truth."

Ben looked over at Corrie and she nodded her head. She was wearing a
headset and was monitoring what the PSE operator in the next room was
saying. The prisoner was telling the truth.

"How'd you get up here?" Ben asked.

"Started out walkin.' These old boys come along in cars and trucks and
give me a ride. Then y'all showed up."

"And you plan to do what?"

"Drift, I reckon."

"You have no plans, no thoughts of the future?"

The man shrugged his shoulders. "I quit high school in the ninth grade.
Finally got me a job drivin' a pulp-wood truck. But I couldn't stay out
of trouble. I like to drink. I was in jail when the Great War blew
everything to hell and gone. Then it was just hand to mouth for a long
time. I'll just bum around, I reckon."

"Do it outside of Rebel-controlled territory," Ben told him.

"You can count on that." Some fire returned to the man's eyes. He glared
at Ben for a moment. "Who the hell do you think you are, General? You
ain't got no right to tell me I got to work."

"And you have no right to expect us to feed you and house you and clothe
you and see to your medical needs while you lay up on your ass and do
nothing," Ben countered.

99

99

"That's the way it used to be."

"No more."

"I can see that plain."

"All right. You can go," Ben told him. "Hit the trail. North. And keep
going until you're out of our territory. Then you can keep going north,
or turn east or west; makes no difference to me. Just get gone."

"You're a cold, mean son-of-a-bitch, Ben Raines."

"I've been called worse."

"I 'spect you have." The man stood up and stared at Ben for a few
seconds. "You'll never make your rules work nationwide, Ben Raines. The
American people won't stand for it."

"I have no plans for the entire nation."

"Lemme ax you this, General: so you get all set up here again. All your
rules and such. What are you gonna do when hundreds of thousands, maybe
millions of folks, come floodin' 'crost your borders again? Shoot 'em all?"

"It might come to that. But I hope not."

"Then y'all better get ready to fight for the rest of your lives. They's
millions of folks around that ain't got no jobs and ain't got no hope of
ever gettin' none. And they ain't gonna live under your laws, General."

"Then they've got a real problem."

"I ain't never, ever, seen no one like you, General."

"Thank you."

The man blinked. Shook his head. "Can I go now?"

"Please do."

Ben sat quietly for a time after the man had left, the only voice in the
room that of Corrie, touching base with the other battalions in the field.

She finally told the team working the main communi-

100

William W. Johnstone

cation truck to take it. She took off her headset and leaned back.
"They're all reporting the same thing, boss. Wherever they go, hundreds
of people just milling around. Not doing anything, just looking for
something to eat. Walking around in rags, picking through the rubble,
living in filth. We're going to have some real health problems before long."

'' Probably billions of chickens wandering around, laying eggs
everywhere," Ben said, just barely hanging on to his temper. "Untold
thousands of cattle and hogs and sheep. Can't these goddamn people do
anythingiov themselves? We started from scratch, why can't they?"

Corrie waited until Ben had ceased his angry muttering. She smiled and
said, "However, there is one small bit of news you'd better know now."

Ben cut his eyes. "I don't know whether I want to hear it. But go ahead."

"Remember you said that leaving that little con artist Emil Hite in
Europe was the one bright spot in our returning to the States?"

Ben sighed. "All right, Corrie. What has that little bastard done now?"

"Nick Stafford just radioed Cecil at Base Camp One. Seems that Emil Hite
has just proclaimed himself to be the SUSA's ambassador to Hungary."

Ben put his forehead down on the cool surface of the old table he was
using for a desk. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ask Cecil to
please recall our, ah ... new ambassador and bring him home."

"Where do you want him assigned?"

"How about the moon?"

"Not feasible at this time."

"How about assigning him to Thermopolis?"

101

101

"Rosebud said she'd shoot him."

"Emil or Therm?"

"Both of them."

Ben raised his head and smiled. "Then assign him to Cecil's 22 Batt."

"Cecil is your best friend!"

"That's what friends are for."

Corrie was busy for a few moments, the speaker turned off so Ben could
not hear the transmissions. "Cecil says he'll be happy to recall Emil.
But he is strictly your baby."

' 'How about assigning both Emil and Cooper to a two-man observation
post in the Rockies?" Jersey suggested.

"Now, now, my little cactus flower," Cooper said.
Jersey tossed him the bird. "Screw you, Cooper!"

"You have just put into words my one burning desire, you lovely little
Apache princess." Cooper was moving toward the door before the words
left his mouth, Jersey right behind him. Fortunately for Cooper, he
could always outrun Jersey. But this day, when he had outdistanced the
shorter-legged Jersey, he made the mistake of hiding in an old two-old
outhouse. The outhouse had just recently been abandoned as a secondary
relief station and the pit was still rather fragrant.

Jersey began rocking the old privy, with Cooper screaming like a
banshee, and finally turned it over. Cooper fell a few feet. Into the pit.

It was quite an operation getting Cooper out, involving the use of a
Hummer with a winch and the Rebels all wearing gas masks.

Jersey made herself scarce. She knew Cooper was going to get her for this.

102

William W. Johnstone

"You like snakes in your sleeping bag, Jersey?" Ben asked with a smile.

"I really didn't mean for him to fall into the shit pit," Jersey said.

"How about a dead skunk in your sleeping bag?" Corrie asked her.

"It was an accident, I tell you!"

"He'll probably put dead mice in your canteens," Anna suggested.

"Look, you guys," Jersey moaned. "Cooper has an inventive enough mind.
He doesn't need any help from you. Just keep your suggestions to
yourselves, huh?"

But Cooper was all forgiving and sweet (after he took several showers),
and that made Jersey even more nervous.

"He's plotting to get you," Ben said with a smile.

"Yeah, when you least expect it," Beth said.

"This is going to be something to see," Corrie remarked.

"I can hardly wait," Anna said.

"Will you for Christ's sake do something, Cooper!" Jersey yelled at him.

But Cooper would only smile and say, "All is forgiven, my little desert
blossom."

"In a pig's ass, it is," Jersey snarled at him.

"This is a lot more fun that actually doing something," Cooper told Ben
one evening after chow.

"Are you going to pull something on her?"

Cooper shook his head. "No. But Jersey thinks I am. That's why it's so
much fun."

As the column slowly advanced north, in a zig-zag route, taking various
highways, they began to see signs of a massive and hurried exodus by the
punks and rab-

103

103

ble. But still no signs of Jethro Jim Bob Musseldine or his army.

"Do they even exist?" Ben asked one late afternoon, as the Rebels were
making camp for the evening.

"If they do, they're staying off the radio," Corrie said. "I have a
hunch they're using CBs in a very limited way. We've intercepted nothing."

Ben sipped his coffee and then said, "I swear I've felt eyes on me."

"Me, too," Jersey agreed.

"Oh, hell, Jersey," Ben told her. "That's Cooper, lusting after your body."

Cooper waggled his eyebrows and grinned, nodding his head in agreement.

Jersey gave him a dirty look.

Corrie held up a hand for silence. She listened, and then said, "Scouts
have made contact with Musseldine's people. We are being warned to turn
back now or die."

"Wonderful," Cooper said.

Beth yawned at the warning.

Anna spat on the ground in contempt.

Ben drank his coffee and said nothing.

"Boss," Corrie said. "I have contact with Musseldine."

Ben took the mic. "Musseldine?"

"What do you want, Raines?"

"We need to talk, Musseldine. Before we start butting heads in a
needless war."

"I have only this to say to you, Raines: leave our territory at once or
die."

"You're an idiot, Musseldine." Ben tossed the mic back to Corrie and
went off to find the mess tent.

104

Rebel tanks blew the roadblock and guards apart at first light, sending
various body parts flying all over the place.
Musseldine's men returned fire, mostly in the form of small arms. The
bullets clanged off the tanks and went whining away into the warm and
humid summer air.

"FO's have their positions spotted," Corrie said, standing beside Ben.

"Mortars," Ben said.

Mortar crews began laying down a devastating walk-in of 81 and 60mm
rounds. Musseldine's forward positions soon fell silent. The Rebels
advanced to find shattered bodies and smashed weapons.

"Stupid," Ben said, looking down at one foxhole, and at what was left of
several men after a 60mm round had landed directly in their midst. "So
far as we know, these people aren't thieves or murderers or criminals

105

105

of any type. Why won't they at least sit down with me and talk this
thing out?"

No one said anything because they all knew that Ben was not expecting
any reply.

"Corrie, see if you can make contact with this Mussel-dine. Arrange a
meeting. This bloodshed is not necessary. ''

The column was about thirty-five miles south of the ruins of Little
Rock, on highway 167.

"Boss, Musseldine wants to know if you are ready to surrender." Corrie
asked, struggling to hide her smile.

Ben looked at her, then took off his helmet and scratched his head.
"Bring me one those prisoners. I've got to find out something more about
this squirrel."

"Right, boss. Ah . . . diere is something you should know ..."

Ben arched an eyebrow.

"Every man we captured was carrying a Bible."

"Oh, me," Ben said. "I really hope we aren't dealing with a bunch of
religious nuts."

"I wouldn't want to bet against it," Beth said.

"We'll soon know."

The prisoner's eyes shone with the light of a fanatic. "We are the Army
of the Salvation, the Sword, and the Hand of the Lord!" the man shouted
at Ben. "And you, sir, are an abomination."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes! You are the Great Satan! And Brother Mussel-dine has decreed that
you must be destroyed."
"Sorry if I don't wish you luck." Ben was beginning to put it all
together. "And what church did he pastor before the Great War?"

106

William W.Johnstone

"The Church of the Salvation, the Sword, and the Hand of the Lord, of
course."

"Naturally. How silly of me to ask."

"God is on our side!"

How many men had mouthed that same phrase over the long and bloody
centuries? How many had died with those words on their lips? How many
really believed it?

"This bloodshed is not necessary," Ben told the man. "I believe we can
talk this matter through and reach some sort of setdement."

"Never!" the man shouted, startling everybody standing close-by. "The
Rebels are the scourge of the earth and must be destroyed!"

"This guy's not totin' a full load, boss," Cooper said. "He's about two
bricks shy."

"Degenerate!" the man shouted at Cooper, the veins in his neck standing
out. He was red-faced and sweating. "Filthy follower of the Great Satan!"

"Where in the hell do all these dodos come from?" Jersey asked.

"Whore!" the prisoner shouted at her. "Dirty harlot of the devil!"

"Get this crackpot out of here," Ben ordered, before Jersey could
butt-stroke him with her rifle. The man was led away, shouting Biblical
phrases, more or less.

"Boss, Musseldine says he has nothing to say to you," Corrie said. "He
says we all have the mark of the beast on us."

"Revelation. "Ben sighed. "I'm sorry to say that we're dealing with
religious fanatics-true believers. There probably won't be any
compromise from these people. They are one hundred percent right, and
everybody

107

107

else is one hundred percent wrong. There is no middle ground with them."
Ben expelled air, his face grim.

"For the sake of peace, I'd back out and give them the state," Ben said.
"But that wouldn't satisfy them for long-nothing ever does. They want it
all."

"That's just half the story, boss," Corrie said. "Communications has
just begun to pick up transmissions out of Missouri between Issac Africa
and some general who calls himself Mobutomamba."

Ben blinked. "What the hell was that last name?"

Corrie smiled. "Mobutomamba. According to our intel, this Issac Africa
has four divisions of troops. Their divisions are about three times the
size of our battalions. First division is commanded by General
Mobutomamba. The other commanders are Colonel Cugumba, Colonel Kenyata,
and Colonel Zandar."

"You have got to be kidding!"

Everyone started laughing at the expression on Ben's face.

Ben looked at one of his sergeants. "Do you know anything about this
Issac Africa, Lewis?"

"No, sir. That's a new one on me. But I do know this damn Zandar nut.
He's a bad one. He was in prison when the Great War hit the globe. He
was oh, maybe nineteen or twenty at the time. A black militant who
belonged to a terrorist group that had declared war on all whites. He
killed a white police officer who had pulled him over for speeding. He
had just started his prison term when the balloon went up."

"You knew him personally, Lewis?"

"I went to high school with the son-of-a-bitch in Cleveland. Until he
dropped out in his junior year. He came from a real good family. Upper,
upper middle class.

108

William W. Johnstone

That's the shame of it all. Hell, he wasn't oppressed. He had money,
clothes, car, good looks. Sharp as a tack. He was accepted by everybody.
Well-liked for a time. I don't know what turned him around. He showed up
at school one day wearing robes and beads and those silly goddamn hats.
He started preaching hate. And it went downhill from that point. I
stayed the hell away from him."

"Thank you, Lewis."

The sergeant nodded. "I came over to tell you we came out clean in this
litde fight. No dead or wounded. But those prisoners we took are nuts,
General. What do you want to do with them? They're driving my people crazy."

Ben chuckled at the expression on Lewis' face. "I'll have a chopper come
in and take them back to Base Camp One for more interrogation. We're
going to hold here until we can find out exacdy what die hell we're up
against with this Musseldine character."

"Right, sir."

"Death to the Philistines!" the faint shout came from the prisoner compound.

"This war just keeps getting weirder and weirder," Ben muttered.

Back at Base Camp One, the newly appointed Secretary of State of the
Southern United States of America settled right in and went to work.
Since there wasn't as yet a lot to do on the international scene, Homer
started helping Cecil widi the administrative duties of running the SUSA.

Blanton's wife, older now and a hell of lot more tactful

109

109

(and wiser in the ways of the world) than when she'd first met Ben
Raines, began making plans to start teaching at a local college as soon
as it reopened. The first thing she noticed (with a slight smile) was
that the textbooks were not in the least politically correct-they were
accurate. The textbooks detailed events as they happened, not as some
had wished they had occurred, and portrayed people in their order of
importance, favoring no ethnic or political group.

Mrs. Blanton's eyes had widened considerably since the Great War blew
the entire world apart a decade back, and widened even more since the
assassination attempt. She understood (finally) what Ben and the others
had done. For as he had told her, or tried to tell her some months back:
"Look lady, six thousand years ago, the Jews had a working government, a
written language, schools, etc. At the same time, my European ancestors
were sitting around in caves, grunting at one another and painting
themselves blue. We all had to start somewhere. Every race of beings had
their order of advancement. I'm not going to whitewash history- no
racial slur intended-just to satisfy some ethnic group. In the SUSA,
we'll teach what actually happened, not what some group wished had
happened."

At the time, she thought Ben to be racist.

She saw now that her thinking could not have been further from the truth.

"We've got three battalions of Rebels left in Eastern Europe," Cecil
told Blanton. "What is your thinking on leaving them there?"

Older now, and much more the statesman, Homer sat back and gave that
some thought. "Let's leave them there for the time being as advisors and
administrators

110

only," he finally said. "I don't want them in any combat role. And I
sure as hell don't want us to get bogged down over there. We've got too
many problems here in North America to resolve before we can take on the
world.''

Cecil smiled. "You and Ben really aren't that far apart in thinking."

Blanton returned the smile. "Not anymore, at least. But he had to kick
me in the ass to make me realize that."

Cecil laughed. And yet another friendship was born out of misunderstanding.

Far to the north of Ben's position, Issac Africa read the dispatch with
great interest and growing anger. Simon Border was up to something-but
what? According to the dispatch, Rita Rivers couldn't figure it out
either. But that came as no surprise to Issac. Rita was ugly as a mud
fence, but a great fuck. However, she didn't have the common sense Allah
gave a goose.

And neither did Harriet Hooter.

Both of them together couldn't change a light bulb.

Issac crumbled the note and tossed it. Rita and Harriet had no more
stroke. Politically, they were finished. Therefore, Issac had no more
use for Rita. Simon Border would make a place for both of them in his
organization, but it would be positions of no importance.

Issac's main concern now was that goddamn Ben Raines. Issac knew that
once Ben got pissed off, he would squash that loony-tunes honky redneck
Musseldine like a bug.

Then Issac would be next.

111

111

Issac was under no illusions about that, either.

No army anywhere in the world had ever defeated the Rebels, including
the U.S. Armed Forces. Issac had a lot of troops; the Rebels had more
and they were much better equipped. The Rebels had rocket-assisted
artillery that could lay back twenty miles and hit the targets with
scary accuracy.

So what was the best course of action?

Issac knew, but it galled him to even think about it.

Compromise.

But would Raines even talk about a compromise?

One way to find out.

He headed for his communications building. If he could just buy a little
time, perhaps he could build up his army so strong that even Raines
might have second thoughts about attacking him.

It was worth a try.

What had once been the thriving city of Little Rock was a shambles,
almost exactly as the Rebels had left it after bringing it down in their
relentless quest to rid the earth of gangs and thugs and punks and the
hated Night People.

There was one difference now: the rabble were squatting amid the ruins.

"Why?" Anna asked, upon sighting the men and women and kids. "With all
the land and homes theirs for the taking, with cows and chickens and
pigs and goats and sheep by the hundreds of thousands, why are they
picking through the trash, always on the verge of starvation?"

Ben didn't reply. His eyes were sweeping the area

112
William W. Johnstone

ahead. Something was all out of whack here but he couldn't immediately
bring it into focus.

"Hold it up right here, Coop," Ben said.

Cooper stopped the van. "What's wrong, boss?"

"I don't know. Corrie, order tanks buttoned up and forward. Everybody
get ready for a fight. I think we've been suckered."

"How?" Cooper asked.

"Just a hunch, Coop. Just a hunch. See how the women are staying between
us and kids at all times? See how both the men and women are all dressed
in long coats? Hell, it must be ninety degrees out there. They're hiding
weapons. Back us up behind the tanks."

But Ben's warning came too late. The so-called "rabble" suddenly dropped
behind carefully worked out and previously chosen defensive positions
and opened fire on the Rebels.

A battle tank was coming up fast, trying to get between the van and the
attackers, but it was just a few seconds too late. A mortar round
exploded in front of the van, rocking the heavy vehicle and pocking the
bullet-proof windshield. Light machine-gun fire hammered against the
grill and the radiator began pouring out clouds of steam.

"Out the back!" Ben yelled. "Grab what you can and get the hell out of
this tin coffin before it blows."

Ben and his team quickly exited out the rear of the van with just
seconds to spare. A rocket slammed into the side of the van and the
vehicle exploded in flames. The force of the explosion knocked Ben and
team to the street, momentarily stunned, but otherwise unhurt. They
scrambled to their boots and raced for cover.

"Talk about walking into an ambush with our eyes

113

113

wide open," Ben panted, as he crouched down behind what was left of a
brick store-front wall.

"Nobody picked up on it, Boss," Jersey said. "These people are better
than we thought."

Ben brushed the dust off his Thompson and nodded his head.' 'Yeah. But
we do have a slight problem, gang.''

His team looked at him over the rattle of weapons.

"We're cut off," Ben said.

114
Musseldine's people tried a frontal against Ben and team. It was
suicide. The guns of the MBTs opened up and chopped them to the pavement
of the littered street.

"Cooper, you and Anna take the rear," Ben ordered.

Cooper grabbed his SAW and a can of ammo and he and Anna got into position.

Ben was thankful now that he had sent Smoot back to Base Camp One,
getting the Husky out of harm's way.

A long burst of heavy machine-gun fire kept the heads of Ben and team
down for half a minute.

"They'll be working closer under that cover," Ben shouted over the roar
of combat. "Coming out of the alleys from side and rear. Get ready for it."

Several of Musseldine's people rushed the side, making it over the piles
of brick and junk that were once the building.

115

115

Anna caught one in mid-jump and gave him a burst from her CAR, the .223
rounds stitching him from groin to neck. He fell in a lifeless lump at
her boots.

Cooper made a one-handed catch of a thrown grenade and tossed the
pineapple back with about one second left on the fuse. "Down!" he
yelled, just as the grenade blew. The pineapple exploded about two feet
off the ground and the shrapnel from it peppered several of Musseldine's
fighters.

"Are they brave or just stupid?" Jersey called over the painful
shrieking of the horribly wounded.

"They're religious fanatics," Ben replied. "And that makes them doubly
dangerous."

Then there was no time for talk as Musseldine's people charged Ben's
position.

But two more main battle tanks had joined the fracas, and they opened up
with .50 caliber machine guns and M-60 machine guns, laying down a
devastating half circle of fire around Ben's position. Musseldine's
people went down like broken bowling pins, flopping and kicking and
screaming their lives away on the littered and now blood-soaked street
and alleys.

"We have a narrow window to our left," Corrie called. "But it'll be
closing in a matter of seconds."

"Let's take it!" Ben shouted. "Go, people, go! Follow me!" Ben was over
the wall and running before anyone could stop him.

The few seconds of the safety net closed as Musseldine's people shifted
around.

Ben came face to face with a burly and bearded man, a wild light shining
in his eyes. Ben stuck the muzzle of the old Thompson in the man's face
and pulled the trigger. The man's head exploded in a shower of blood

116

William W. Johnstone

and brains and bone, all of it splattering the brick wall behind him.

Ben and team ducked into a building as the window of opportunity was
completely sealed off.

A woman came running and shrieking toward Jersey, shouting something
about saving babies from the devil's knife of abortion and calling
Jersey a whore of evil.

"Oh, fuck you!" Jersey said, then shut her up permanently with half a
mag of .223 rounds.

"What kind of nuts are we fighting?" Jersey panted. "Abortions?"

Ben shoved a fresh mag into the belly of the Thompson. "A wing of the
old religious right-the extremist branch of it. The nuts are really
coming out of the woodwork now."

"All the years we've been fighting the punks and warlords and street
crap and Night People, they've been in deep cover, training," Cooper
remarked, keeping an eye on the street from his position behind a
blown-out window.

"You got it, Coop," Ben agreed.

"And I thought we had some real piss-heads in my country," Anna said.

Ben smiled at the now grimy-faced teenager. Even the dirt and gunsmoke
and dust of battle could not hide the young woman's astonishing beauty.

Ben looked up as a roaring came to his ears.

"They're all over us!" Beth shouted, rising to meet the charging crush
of Musseldine's fanatics as they came streaming in through a hole in the
concrete block wall.

Then it was hand-to-hand in a bloody no-quarter fight to the finish.

117

117

Thousands of miles away, at his mansion in Africa, Bruno Bottger smiled
and leaned back in his chair. The recently arrived and decoded reports
from his spies in North America were pleasing to his eyes. Ben Raines
and his Rebels were fighting for their very existence in the States.
Bruno's people had done their jobs well, infiltrating Simon Border's
organization, infiltrating Jethro Musseldine's army, and working hard to
bring down Homer Blanton's administration.

Everything was going exactly as planned and right on schedule.

The native men and women and children in the territory that Bruno's army
now controlled in Africa had been either killed or cowed to the point
where they were no longer any threat.

All those found with AIDS had been exterminated shortly after Bruno had
arrived. Everyone was tested (those that refused the tests or tried to
run were shot), and anyone who tested positive for HIV had been gassed
or shot and their bodies burned. Entire tribes had been wiped from the
face of the earth.

The Nazi flag now flew over thousands and thousands of acres of Africa.
Gold mines and diamond mines were now solidly under Nazi control. Some
of the richest farmland in the world was now producing crops for the men
and women and children of the New Reich.

Bruno Bottger closed his eyes and his smile widened in satisfaction.

Ah! he thought. Life is good.

118

William W. Johnstone

None of the hundreds of roaming gangs of rabble, none of the
self-proclaimed warlords, nor the armies of Issac Africa or Jethro
Musseldine worried Simon Border. The rabble and the warlords had no real
organization and Africa and Musseldine were both idiots. Ben Raines
would deal with all of them in his usual manner.

It was Ben Raines that worried Simon.

Simon Border trusted Ben even less than Ben trusted Simon.

Simon had no intention of allowing Ben and his Southern United States of
America to flourish. And Simon knew that Ben was probably well aware of
that.

It was just a matter of time before their armies would clash.

Ben emptied a magazine of .45s into the knot of screaming fanatics and
then slammed the butt of the Thompson against a head and heard the skull
bone pop under the impact. Jersey had emptied her M-16 and was now using
an entrenching tool from her pack; the blood was flying with each savage
slash from the sharpened blade. Anna was using a machete and had already
sent several heads slopping to the dirty floor, unblinking and frozen
eyes wide open in death shock. Corrie was swinging her CAR like a club,
with devastating results. Cooper and Beth remained at their positions,
keeping others of Musseldine's army at bay outside the ruined building.

Troops and MBTs finally smashed through to Ben's

119

119

position and the assault from Musseldine's men and women was broken . .
. for the time being.

Every member of the team was cut and bleeding from minor wounds, but
none suffered any serious injury. Tough body armor and helmets had saved
them all from being badly wounded.
"Get out of these ruins,'' Ben ordered, brushing away a medic who had
rushed up and started fussing over him. "The city is a deathtrap.
Everybody out of here."

The Rebels began pulling back until they were clear of the ruins of
Little Rock.

There, Ben let the medics go to work on him.

"We sure got suckered into that one," Ben remarked, as the aid man
finished cleaning out a cut on his cheek. He gave Ben a shot to dull the
pain before he started stitching up die two-inch long knife slash. While
the medicine was taking hold, he gave Ben a tetanus shot and then
started closing die cut.

A Scout walked up. "We know now what kind of weapons these nuts have and
what kind they don't have," he reported. "They have only a few rocket
launchers. But diey have plenty of heavy machine guns and enough mortars
to cause us some grief."

Ben nodded his head.

"Hold still!" the medic said.

"Sorry," Ben muttered.

"The men and women of Musseldine's army are highly disciplined and
reasonably well-trained in military tactics," the Scout continued.
"We're not dealing with amateurs. But only a few wore any type of body
armor and they appear to have no universal dress code."

"But they're damn good guerrilla fighters," Ben

120

William W. Johnstone

replied, his words slightly slurred due to the deadening of part of his
face.

"They are that," the Scout agreed, a grimness behind his words. "We took
some hits."

"Give it to me."

"Eighteen dead. Twenty-five wounded. Five of them not expected to make it."

"Corrie, order replacements up from the ready pool."

"Right, boss. I've got a big nine-passenger wagon on the way up from
Base Camp One. It's one of the last made before the Great War. Our
people just finished bullet-proofing it and adding some electronic gear."

"Cecil order that wagon found and updated?"

"Right. He thought our van sucked-his words."

Ben smiled, then sobered. "All right, people. Let's bury our dead and
start making some plans to teach a hard lesson to Mr. Musseldine and his
army of fruitcakes."

The first lesson came in the form of heavy artillery from Ben's massive
self-propelled 155's. They began dropping in every type of round in
their arsenal, including tactical CS gas. When Musseldine's people came
staggering out of their holes, Rebel snipers, many of them using
specially built .50 caliber rifles, lined them up in the cross-hairs and
killed them. Closer in, die MBTs were slinging out anti-personnel and HE
rounds. Then Ben ordered the P-51E's in, loaded with napalm.

When it came to warfare, Ben was not a nice person.

Ben's Rebels circled the city, pounding it and surrounding areas with
land-based artillery and air attacks

121

121

for two days and nights without a break. When Ben finally ordered a halt
to the bombardment, there was little left of what had once been the
capital of Arkansas. The city was a smoking, burning ruin, stinking of
death and the lingering residue of CS gas.

"Scouts in," Ben ordered.

"It's a dead city," they reported back.

"Let's go," Ben told his team, climbing into the big four-wheel drive
vehicle just up from Base Camp One. The original seats had been pulled
out and six individual seats installed. A hole had been cut into the
roof and a ring mount with a machine gun had been added to the
strengthened roof of the big wagon. The wagon didn't get much in the way
of gas mileage, but it was comfortable and well-armored.

With two MBTs leading, Ben once more entered the city.

A deadly stillness greeted the Rebels, punctuated only by die crackling
of an occasional fire, as die napalm-ignited flames ate into old and
smashed wood.

"Pull over there," Ben said to Cooper, pointing to a Scout checkpoint.
He lowered die window. "Prisoners?" he asked the young Scout.

" 'Bout a dozen so far, General. They're a pretty sad-looking bunch.
Held 'bout a half mile further down. On your right. Interrogation teams
are there now."

Cooper parked at die interrogation site and Ben and team got out,
walking over to die one-story building that had, miraculously, escaped
the barrage virtually unscathed. An officer from the psychological
warfare and interrogation unit had just stepped outside as Ben drove up.

"All the fight got knocked out of this little bunch,

122

William W. Johnstone

General," the officer said with a smile. "Forty-eight hours of
continuous artillery bombardment and air strikes will do that. According
to them, we trapped about three thousand of Musseldine's people in the
city. After the ambush, they apparently relaxed, thinking we had pulled
out. The artillery and air strikes really came as quite a surprise. The
CS gas drove a lot of them out of their holes and the incoming got them.
Those that were near the outskirts got wasted by our snipers."

"Children?" Ben asked softly.

The officer hesitated for a moment. "Some kids were among the group, sir."

"Shit!" The oath exploded from Ben's mouth.

"That ought to tell you what kind of people they are, sir. Bringing kids
into a battle zone."

"But the children are still dead."

"Yes, sir."

"Suffer the little children unto me," Ben muttered under his breath.

"Sir?"

Ben waved that off. "Nothing. Just talking to myself. Any word on where
Musseldine's HQ might be located?"

"He doesn't have a permanent HQ. That's been confirmed. He's constantly
moving from one location to another. But his people are spread out from
west to east at the top of the state."

"I certainly know that part of the country. Were you with us at that time?"

"Yes, sir. I was in another part of the nation. But I heard about it."

A few years back, Ben had been captured by a bunch of wackos. For
several weeks after his escape, he had

123

123

waged a devastating guerrilla war against those who had taken him prisoner.

"Boss?" Corrie called. "Pilots report large groups of people heading
north. They're spreading out all over the top part of the state. Visuals
confirm it is Mussel-dine's people. Men, women, and children."

"Do not fire on them," Ben ordered. "Make that perfectly clear. Do not
fire on them. I don't want any more children harmed."

"Right, boss." Corrie quickly relayed the orders.

When she had done that, Ben asked, "Any word on the whereabouts of Ray
Brown?"

"Negative."

"He'll surface," Ben muttered. "And when he does, I'll be there." Ben
was unaware of the psychological warfare officer looking at him
strangely. "And then," Ben added, "I'll see just how well he can die."

"This thing with Ray Brown sounds personal, sir," the officer said.

Ben looked at him. The officer thought he had never seen such deadly
coldness in a gaze. "Very personal," Ben said, then walked over to the
wagon and got in.

"Where to, boss?" Cooper asked, when everybody was in their seats.

"North. Let's settle this thing with Musseldine. Tell the battalion to
fall in, Corrie. Scouts out."

"You may never find this Ray Brown person, General Ben," Anna said.

"I'll find him," Ben replied. "Whether it takes one month or ten years,
I will find him. And whether he surrenders or I capture him . . . I'll
kill him."

124

Ben's ruthlessness shocked Jethro Musseldine. Up until the assault on
Little Rock, he had not known just how well-equipped the Rebels were.
Now he knew there was not a single weapon of war the Rebels did not
possess . . . nor would Ben Raines hesitate to use any of them.

As his people advanced north, Musseldine dejectedly assessed his
situation. He had lost nearly a third of his army in Little Rock.
Musseldine was certain that somehow he had failed God, and this was his
punishment.

Perhaps God didn't really want him to fight Ben Raines after all. Could
that be it? Was this a sign from Above? No, Musseldine rejected that. .
. absolutely not . . . Well . . . maybe it was. Jethro wasn't all that
certain that God had instructed him personally to fight the Great Satan
called Ben Raines. That vision might have been brought on by
indigestion; he had eaten a whole berry pie that evening before retiring.

125

125

But for sure something had to be done to stop the rampaging of Ben
Raines and his Rebels. The man was so ... well, godless.

Jethro was on a mission ... a crusade. When the nation was restored,
there simply had to be prayer in public schools, as well as Bible
classes beginning in the first grade. Abortion must be halted at all
costs. Any mention of evolution would be forbidden. And non-believers
would be cast out and stoned . . . that's what the Bible said must happen.

Well, it sort of said that. . . depended on one's interpretation.

At Russellville, Arkansas (what was left of it), Mussel-dine had made up
his mind. He ordered his columns halted.

"We shall fight the many-headed beast here," he announced.

He ordered his people to form a line stretching from Russellville east
to Searcy (what was left of it).
"We'll force the Great Satan to meet us mono a mono!.."

Then he had to explain to many of his true believers exactly what that
meant, for many of his followers just weren't that swift when it came to
meshing together gray matter.

"This will be the end of Ben Raines," Musseldine shouted to his
wild-eyed followers. "This will be Ben Raines's last stand in America ..."

Uh-huh. Yeah. Right.

When Ben heard that, he was reminded of that old joke about Custer's
last thoughts: Holy Cow, where'd all these fuckin' Indians come from?

126

William W. Johnstone * * *

"Well, it's not that bad a place to make a stand," Ben said, looking at
a map. Intelligence had quickly picked up on the signals from
Musseldine's camp. "He's got the Arkansas River and this lake to his
west, and the White River to his east. That would slow us down some if
we wanted to do an end-around. How about these little towns around the
area?"

"When the gangs   of rabble came in, most of the people fled," a Scout
told him. "Many   of them headed into the Ouachita Mountains to wait it
out. We've made   contact them and advised them to keep their heads down
until the smoke   clears."

"The children with Musclehead's people?"

The Scout smiled but did not correct Ben. "We have confirmed that he has
ordered them moved north, out of harm's way. Intel has intercepted a
number of messages to that effect."

"I want one last try at talking to this man," Ben said. "Corrie, see if
you can contact thisjethro Musclebrain."

"Musseldine, boss."

"Right. Whatever."

After a few moments, she said, "Musseldine on the blower, boss."

Ben took the mic. "Jethro, Ben Raines here. We don't have to be enemies.
This fighting can come to a halt right now. It's all up to you."

"You mean, surrender, Raines?"

"No. Just quit fighting and go home. Keep your weapons. Let's live in
peace. How about it?"

"You're trying to trick me!" Musseldine screamed.

127

127
"No, I'm not. No trick. We can end the fighting and you and your people
can just go home."

"It's a dirty trick! That's what it is. It's a filthy, rotten trick."

Ben sighed. "Musselbone, it's no trick. We can work together and
co-exist in peace. Set up your private schools and teach religion. I
don't care. You can have a church on every corner if that is what you
wish. Forbid abortions in your towns. I won't interfere with that and
neither will any of my people-"

"I abhor a liar. And that's what you are, Raines. You are not an
honorable man."

"What the hell does it take to convince this nut?" Ben muttered. He
looked at Corrie. "I want every weapon that is capable of delivering
tear gas and pepper gas made ready."

"They're ready, boss. Helicopters circling now, two minutes away. All
troops have been issued tear gas and pepper gas canisters."

"Fine." He lifted the mic. "Musselfoot, are you there? Let's sit down
and talk this thing out. We can live in peace."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Jethro screamed.

Ben stared at the speaker and shook his head.

Jethro started preaching to Ben.

"Oh, shit!" Ben said. "I'm offering him peace and he's giving us a sermon."

Musseldine was ranting and raving and gulping air, running his words
together as if he had suddenly been transported to the Plain of Shinar
and was standing in the center of the Tower of Babel. Then he started
speaking in tongues.

"What die hell is that?" Anna blurted.

128

William W. Johnstons

"He's got the spirit," Ben told her.

"I hope it's not contagious," Anna replied.

Ben keyed the mic. "Musselhead," he said wearily.

Anna giggled. "MusseWme, General Ben."

"Right. Whatever." He lifted the mic. "Are you receiving this?"

"Ummgomalottagoogooda.''

"Muskethead, get a grip on things. Speak English. This is important.
I've trying to save lives here."

'' SlopgooyumgoochyJerryLeeandElvistoo.''
"Shall we have the artillery start dropping in the gas?" Anna asked.
"Please?"

"Hell,no," Ben said. "We can't interrupt a religious ceremony. That
would be unconstitutional. I think." He pressed the talk button.
"Muscatel, are you back to earth yet?"

"Gammaboggiewoogierockumsockumgomango!"

"He sounds like Emil Hite," Jersey remarked.

"Emil makes more sense than that." Ben frowned. "Most of the time, that is."

"FOs report Musseldine's people, all up and down the line, are standing
up, boss," Corrie said. "They're dancing and waving their arms and
appear to be speaking in tongues."

' 'This is not good,'' Ben said.' 'Tell all forward observers to get
into protective gear and start falling back."

"Slay the infidels!" Musseldine shouted, rattling the speaker.

"Now he's beginning to make some sense," Ben said. "Well, sort of."

"Drive the godless Philistines into the sea!"

"What sea?" Cooper asked. "Nearest body of water around here is that
pond over there."

129

129

Ben spoke into the mic. "Musselman? Can you hear me?"

'' Whopbopaloomabopbamboom!''

"If you could put guitar and drums behind that, it'd be real catchy,"
Jersey said with a straight face.

He couldn't help it. Ben burst out laughing.

"I hear the sounds of the many-headed beast rising out of the fiery,
smoking depths of hell!" Jethro shouted.

"I kind of wish we'd stayed in Europe," Beth said. "At least that war
made some sense."

Ben wiped laughter tears from his eyes. "This may work out to our
advantage, if he can really get his people all worked up. Have everybody
stand by to throw gas. I think that nut is going to do something really
stupid."

'' Gird your loins!" Musseldine screamed orders to his people. "We have
Michael with us and . . . ah, John Wayne, too."

"Now I knowhe's going to do something really dumb. Everybody into
protective gear. Shake out those gas masks."

"Prepare to slay the dragon!"
"Is that us?" Cooper asked.

"That's us," Ben told him.

"Blow, bugle, blow!" Musseldine screamed.

"Here it comes," Ben said.

"Charge!" Musseldine shouted.

Ben looked at the speaker. "Did that fool say what I think he said?"

"I believe he said 'charge', boss," Corrie said.

"That's what I thought."

Corrie's radio squawked. "General, there are hundreds of those crazy
sons-of-bitches charging us up here!

130

William W. Johnstone

Many of them have forgotten their weapons and are charging us with empty
hands. They're shouting in some strange language."

"They're all speaking in tongues." Ben grabbed the mic. "Get out of
there. I'm sending in gas. Eagle to air leader. Get in there and drop
those gas canisters. Cover the land. Mortar and artillery . . . start
putting the gas to them."

Over the speaker, they could hear the faint shouts and wild speaking in
tongues from the charging troops of Musseldine.

Ben slipped on his mask as the first canisters of gas were hurled into
the air.

"Hell of a way to fight a war," Ben muttered.

There were no casualties on the Rebel side and very few among the
soldiers of Musseldine. While Mussel-dine's people were staggering
around, blind and incapacitated from the gas, the Rebels disarmed those
who had remembered to bring their weapons along on the wild charge. Some
of Musseldine's people escaped, but not enough of them to cause any
worry for Ben.

After the medics flooded Jethro's eyes and he could once more see, Ben
had him brought to his temporary CP. He waved him to a chair. "Jethro,
are you still dancing with angels on the head of a pin, or do you now
have both feet firmly on the ground?"

"I am quite lucid," Jethro said stiffly.

"Marvelous. Should you decide to go off again, speaking with the angels,
warn me so I can clear out."

"I am not gripped by the spirit very often."

131
131

"Good. I'm very relieved to hear that. Where are you from, Jethro?"

"Fayetteville."

"And your, ah, followers?"

"From all over the state."

Ben stared at the man. Really a nice-looking fellow, now that the light
of fanaticism had faded from his eyes. Ben guessed him to be about his
age. "Jethro, what would you do if I told you to go home?"

Musseldine blinked. "Why ... go home, I guess. I mean, you have our
weapons. We're defenseless."

"We'll return the weapons to you."

Musseldine looked startled. "You will?"

"Yes, I will. As long as you will swear with your hand on the Bible that
you and your people will never ever again use them against us."

Musseldine slowly nodded his head. "All right. Yes. I will agree to that."

"That's fine. Now then, are you fully convinced that I am not the Great
Satan?"

Musseldine flushed. "Ah, yes, General. I guess I, ah, got a little
carried away with that."

"Somewhat," Ben said, very drily.

"But I remain adamantly opposed to abortion."

"That's your right, Jethro. And you certainly have the right to speak
out against it. Just don't try to physically stop someone from seeking
an abortion should they choose to get one. The other side also has rights."

"Yes. I understand that."

"I hope you do, Jethro. Look, I don't care if you teach religion in your
private schools. I'm personally opposed to private elementary and high
schools... in many areas I don't believe they teach reality. But I see
now that if

132

William W. Johnstone

the SUSA is to survive, I'm going to have to bend a little. And I'm
amenable to that. We're all going to have to do some bending and
readjusting."

"That's fair," Musseldine said.

"You want some coffee?"
"That would be nice, General."

Ben had coffee brought in. After sugaring his, Ben said, "I pose no
danger to you and your people, Jethro. But we both have a real threat
facing us from the west."

"Simon Border," Jethro said quickly.

"You got it."

"I understand that you have reached some sort of agreement with him."

The man might be half nuts at times, Ben thought, but he has a good
intelligence network. "That's true. If he'll stand by his word."

Jethro took a sip of coffee. "That's good. Real coffee. Well, General, I
wouldn't count on Border doing that. I don't trust him at all. He
professes to be a liberal. But I think what he wants is to be king of
America."

Ben smiled. Just before the Great War knocked the world flat on its
back, the word liberal had become one of the most hated word in the
English language. Social programs and blatant political pork, pushed
through Congress, had very nearly bankrupted the nation, caused taxes to
soar, and in many cases had politically and bitterly divided family and
friends. "Oh, I don't trust him, Jethro. That's just one of the reasons
why you and your people will return home fully armed. I'll be counting
on your help when push finally comes to shove."

"In the form of Simon Border and his army?"

"Among others, yes. But mainly Simon. We'll clean out the gangs of punks
first."

133

133

"You can count on us, General."

Ben wondered if, when Jethro and his people were needed the most, the
man would once more start hearing heavenly voices? But Ben knew he
didn't have much choice in the matter. The Rebels were spread much too
thin as it was, and desperately needed all the allies they could get.

Ben opened the map case and took out a map of Arkansas.' 'When I leave
here, I'm going to drive straight up to the Missouri line and contact
this Issac Africa. I'm told he wants to talk and perhaps work something
out. Maybe we can, if the deal is anywhere fair. But he's not going to
like what I have to say to him."

"I've met him, General. The man despises all whites." He looked at Ben
for a moment.' 'Just as you should despise me for the ambush against
your people in Little Rock."

Ben shook his head. "I don't work that way, Jethro. One of my closest
friends and commanders is a Russian named Georgi Striganov. Georgi and I
butted heads all over the U.S. for a time. Now he's as much a part of
the Rebels as I am. You and I had our battles, now it's over and we'll
work together."
Ben smiled and Jethro returned the smile. "You were saying something
about this Issac person?"

"Yes. I tried to work something out with him. But I soon gave that up as
hopeless. I tried to point out that all-white and all-black states have
been tried several times since the Great War. They all failed. He says
his won't fail."

Ben nodded. "If that is the course he chooses to take, I can assure him
it will fail. I'll place a full embargo against his state. He'll receive
no help or trade from

134

William W. Johnstone

the SUSA. I won't be a party to wild, unreasonable hatred. And that's
what it seems Issac Africa thrives on."

' 'Do you blame many of the blacks for feeling as they do?"

"Yes, I do," Ben replied without hesitation. "There is no place for
racial hatred any more. No room for it. Racial hatred and racial
divisiveness doesn't exist in the SUSA. We won't tolerate it. We're all
Americans here. Our society is based on common sense; that's why so many
people can't live there. The words nigger, honky, spic, slope, kike,
wop, dago, greaser, beaner, and all the other derogatory words are not
used in the SUSA. Our young kids have never heard them. You know how we
work, Jethro. I don't have to explain it to you. Take your people and go
home. Tend your crops and gardens and open your shops and mind your own
business and keep your powder dry. You're part of the SUSA now. We stick
together."

Musseldine smiled. "Count on it, General. Say, sure you wouldn't like to
attend our Sunday services, Ben?"

"I think I'll pass, Jethro. Like the old country song goes: Me and Jesus
got our own thing going."

Musseldine laughed, saluted, and left the CP.

Beth walked into the room that Ben was using for an office. She held a
clipboard in one hand. Ben spotted it and groaned. He knew she was going
to put some bad news on him.

"We just received a lot of reports from Scouts working outside the SUSA,
boss. It's chaos out there. All semblance of order and reason have
broken down in approximately twenty states, midwest, north, east, and a
couple of states in the far west. We don't know what is happening in the
far northeast. But California is a killing ground. Nearly everything we
accomplished over

135

135

the years-outside of the SUSA-has gone right down the toilet."

Ben sat down, leaned back, and smiled. "By all means, Beth, don't spare
my feelings. Give it to me straight."

She smiled at the easy sarcasm. "Simon Border and his Democratic Front
are managing to keep the lid on in the states they control. But little
brush wars have begun to spring up in what was called Missouri. Mostly
black against white and so forth. Michigan is an open battleground, and
so is New York State."

"Jesus, we're back where we started!"

"That's about right, boss. Except for here in the SUSA and the area
under the control of Simon Border. It's a total breakdown everywhere else."

"In the rubble of New York City?"

"Thousands of people are living there. The Scouts can't get on the
island to really check it out. We don't know how the hell the people
there are living."

Ben sighed. "They're not living. They're existing. How about Night People?"

Beth hesitated. "Well . . . intel thinks there has been a heavy
resurgence of those creepie bastards and bitches."

"Damn! You have any more cheery news?"

She laughed. "That's it. For now."

Ben thanked her and leaned back, putting his boots up on the battered
old dining table he was using for a desk. Nearly everything the Rebels
had accomplished over the long and bloody years had been either
destroyed or damaged. In essence, they were almost right back where they
had started.

"So we start all over," Ben muttered. "Why the hell not? We've done it
before."

136

Ben and his people waited until Ike and a couple of other battalions had
cleaned out their sectors in the SUSA and then pulled them over to his
TO. Ike brought Buddy and his 8 Batt and Dan and his 3 Batt.

"I've got some things to say to this Issac Africa," Ben told his people.
"But I wanted you batt corns here when I did." He looked at Corrie. "OK,
Corrie. Let's get the man on the horn."

"General Raines," the voice sprang from the speaker. "Issac Africa here.
I hope you're not planning on doing anything foolish, like attacking me."

Ben was silent for a few heartbeats, then said, "No, Issac. I have no
plans at this time to attack you." Ben's son, Buddy, arched an eyebrow
at that statement. "I'm going to leave you alone and let all the hate
you have destroy you. That is, if all those black and white and brown
and tan guerrilla groups you have all around you don't do it first."

137

137
"They won't," Issac came right back. "I took this land just like you and
your Rebels seized all of the territory you now claim, General."

"You're about half right, Issac. We took the land. But we didn't drive
out or kill all the blacks as you did the whites. Many of them stayed to
work right alongside us. But you and your followers are all alone,
Issac. All you have is each other and your unreasonable hatred for
anyone not of your color. The SUSA is not going to trade with you,
Issac. And I won't give you a shipping route to any port we control.
Neither will Simon Border. So that means anything you grow or
manufacture, you either eat and use or it rots and rusts. You might try
some northeastern ports, but they're not going to be open for some years
in the future. No, Issac, you won't last. But I'm not going to waste my
time and put my people at risk fighting you. Not unless you make some
hostile move against us. I don't believe I have anything else I care to
discuss with you, Issac."

Issac was cursing as Ben handed the mic to Corrie and she switched the
frequency, stilling the wild profanity.

"He might last several years, Ben," Ike cautioned.

"He might. But I suspect not. Intel reports dozens of small guerrilla
bands nipping and biting at his people from all sides." Ben smiled.
"Many of those guerrilla bands supported and equipped by us, of course."

Buddy smiled at his father's words and cut his eyes to Ike. Ike sighed
and handed Buddy a silver dollar. Ben watched the exchange and said,
"One of these days, Ike, you're going to learn not to gamble with my son."

"I believe that time has come, Ben. I'm a slow learner. So what's next
for us?"

138

William W. Johnstone

Ben walked over to a window-minus the glass and boarded up-and stared
out through the cracks for a moment. When he turned to face the group,
his expression was serious. "It's become obvious to me, and I suspect to
all of you, that the SUSA cannot continue as a separate nation within a
nation. Isolationism just won't work. Oh, it was a grand plan and it
worked for a time. However, too many forces and factions are against us
for us to stand entirely alone. Somehow, someway, we've got to attempt
to heal the entire nation ..."

Ben watched as the expression on Ike's face changed to one of disgust
and he dug in his BDU pocket and handed Buddy another silver dollar.

". . . if we don't do that, we're going to be fighting at our borders
forever."

"Shit!" Ike said.

"You have a better plan, Ike?" Ben asked.

Ike shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. But Ben, my God, what a massive
undertaking."

"I know, Ike, I know. And we're going to have probably as many failures
as we do successes. But if we don't try, we're going to be in combat for
the rest of our lives and the SUSA will fall from neglect . . . among
other reasons. Our kids and their kids and their kids will know nothing
but war. I just don't see any other route to take."

"Father," Buddy said. "We can't help people who won't help themselves.
You know that."

"But we have to try, boy. For one thing, I don't want history recording
us as making no effort toward restoring North America in its entirety. I
personally don't think we'll be able to do it. But when we lay down for
the last time, we can go out knowing that we tried."

139

139

Dan said, "So the plan is to take the country-that portion not
controlled by Simon Border-and do it village by village, county by
county, and start re-education programs for the masses?"

"That's about it, Dan. We go in and prop up the people. And if they fall
after we do that ..." Ben shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what
we'll do."

"Oh, many of them will fall," Buddy said matter-of-factly. "After we
take them by their little hands and show them what to do and give them
the materials and some help, and then pull out, probably about half of
them will fall right on their faces. Because the government won't be
there to pick them up and dust them off and prop them up again. Father,
you know damn well-we've proven it-that only about a quarter of the
population of North America can live under a common-sense form of
government. The rest either can't or won't. I want to go on record as
saying this is going to be a colossal waste of time and effort.''

Ben's face hardened. "Well then, boy, I'll ask you the same question I
asked Ike: Do you have a better plan?"

"No," the young man replied. "I do not." He held up a hand, silencing
Ben before he could speak. "I understand why you're doing this, Father.
Noble thoughts not withstanding. You've had our medical people working
around the clock producing vaccines. We're going to inoculate the masses
to keep epidemics from occurring ..."

"Why not just inoculate the Rebels and our supporters, and allow the
epidemics to take out those worthless people?" Anna suggested.

"I agree with Anna," Buddy said quickly.

140

"Jesus Christ!" Ben flared. "And people call me cold and unfeeling."

Dan and Ike exchanged glances and faded back, silently leaving the
house, as did Ben's team, letting father and son and adopted daughter
verbally have at each other. The only team member who stayed in the room
was Jersey. The devil couldn't have moved her from Ben's side.

"Doctor Chase is on the way in," Corrie told the group. "He's bringing
in our share of the vaccines. Buddy and Anna will not change the boss's
mind."

"You can bet on that," Beth said.

"And your opinion of the plan, Beth?" Ike asked.

"It's a practical plan, General," Beth replied. "One we've tried before
in a limited way. We failed then and will probably fail now. But we will
get to a certain percentage of the population. And a certain percentage
will, once propped up, stand on their own two feet and succeed."

"I knowyou have the stats all worked out, Beth," Dan said. "So what are
they?"

"About thirty percent, maybe as high as thirty-five percent, of the
population-that we get to, that is- will stand with us and work to
restore the nation. The rest will whine and bitch and piss and complain
about everything. They'll moan about civil rights and constitutional
rights and gun control and this, that, and the other thing, and about
how they're not appreciated and eventually they'll drop out and wander
off. But nothing they do, or fail to do, will ever be their fault. It
will always be the fault of someone or something else- usually society.
But in the main I agree with the boss. We've got to try."

141

141

Anna came out of the house and up to the group. "General Ben has a
temper, doesn't he?" she asked.

Ike chuckled at the expression on Anna's face. "Is Buddy still alive?"

"Buddy decided to go along with the plan," the teenager said, "but I
still think it's stupid." She looked up at the sounds of planes as they
began their airport approach. "Who is that?"

"Doctor Lamar Chase," Ike said. "Now the fun begins."

Lamar took a sip of his whiskey and smiled. "Ben Raines, the great
humanitarian. Quite a difference from the fire-breathing dragon I recall
from years back. Kill 'em all except six, and save them for pallbearers."

"You disagree with what I propose, Lamar?"

The men were alone in the den of the house.

"Oh, no, Ben. Not at all. I think it's a grand plan. If you can pull it
off, it'll be the happening of the new millennium. How about Issac
Africa and his people? Do they get inoculated, too?"

"If they want it. But they won't. Issac will convince the majority of
his followers that it's some sort of trick. Issac was one of those who
preached that the CIA deliberately started AIDS to wipe out the black
people in Africa.''

"Are you putting me on?"

"No."
Chase shook his head in disgust.

"Did you bring everything we need, Lamar?"

"Oh, yes. And I can be resupplied with no problem, by air drop if
necessary. Our people down south have

142

William W. Johnstone

been working around the clock cranking out vaccines. How about this
Jethro Musseldine and his people?"

"I've sent medics over there with vaccines. They'll rejoin us after
we've taken, or retaken, I should say, the airport in Memphis. What will
this be, the third goddamn time? I'm getting where I know that airport
better than my own house."

Chase lifted his glass. "To success."

"I'll sure drink to that."

Three full battalions of Rebels on the move was a sight to behold.
Dozens of tanks and both towed and self-propelled artillery. Several
hundred deuce-and-a-halves, HumVees, Jeeps, APCs and Bradley Fighting
Vehicles, and huge tanker trucks. The column stretched out for miles.

The long column headed northeast, toward the ruins of Memphis. They
crossed the river and to a person were shocked at what they found.

"There must five or six thousand people living in the rubble," Scouts
reported back. "Probably more than that. What in the hell is the matter
with these people?"

"As if we didn't know," Ben muttered. "Let's go check it out, Coop."

"It's God's will," one man dressed in nothing more than rags said to Ben
on the outskirts of the city. ' 'All is lost. The mighty have fallen. We
are doomed to wander forever like the lost children until the end comes."

"You're a blathering idiot," Ben told him. "Drive on, Cooper."

"Help us!" a man cried out as the big wagon drove

143

143

slowly past him, standing with a group of men and women and kids. "We're
starving."

"Stop," Ben said. He got out, his team with him, and walked over to the
man. "Did you say you were starving?"

"Yes, sir. Please give us food."

Ben was speechless; it was one of the few times in his life he was
struck dumb for a moment. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He
pointed to a vacant lot about a hundred feet away. "You see those
feathered fowl pecking at the ground over there?"

"Yes, sir. I do."

"Those are chickens, you nitwit. Of the male and female variety. There
are eggs over there in nests. Chickens are also very good to eat. Go
gather the eggs and kill and cook the chickens. But not all of them.
Keep some alive to produce more eggs and allow some of the eggs to
hatch. Little chickies pop out of the shells. Little chickies grow up to
be big chickies. Do I have to write it all down for you?"

"You're a very insulting man," a woman mouthed off, walking up to the
team. "Who are you, anyway?"

"They must have just come in from the dark side of the moon," Jersey
muttered.

"Ben Raines."

Those two words stilled the group for a moment. They stood and stared at
him.

Finally the woman said, "If that is true, then you have an obligation to
help us."

Ben blinked a couple of times. "I do?"

"Of course. You have plenty, we have nothing. You must share."

Ben stared at the woman. Took off his beret.

144

Scratched his head a couple of times. He began walking around in small
circles, muttering some highly profane words. He stopped with his back
to his team and said, "Somebody better handle this, for I am rapidly
losing grip on what little temper I have left."

Jersey stepped up to the woman, all five feet of her, the butt of her
CAR resting on one hip, and said, "What the hell's the matter with you,
lady? Are you some kind of fuckin' fruitcake?"

The older and taller woman stared down at the diminutive Rebel. "I am a
professor of philosophy, young lady. And I am not accustomed to being
spoken to in such a manner."

"Oh, yeah?" Jersey got all up in the woman's face, standing on her
tippy-toes to do so. "Well, philosophize this, Miss Hoity-Toity-we are
not obligated to do a damn thing to help you. Why don't you try living
dangerously for a change and help yourselves?"

"I should slap your face!"

Jersey smiled. Sort of. "When you try that, lady, you best make sure
your heart belongs to God. 'Cause your gimlet ass is damn sure gonna
belong to me!"

Ben turned to see the older woman's reaction to that. When the words
came, they came as no surprise to him.
The stringy-haired, grimy-faced woman drew herself up, her eyes
flashing. "You damn right-wing, war-loving, gun nuts are to blame for
all that's happened to the good decent people of America," she hissed.
The words sprang past her lips like venom from a spitting cobra. She
turned to glare at Ben. "If you hadn't insisted on your barbaric nation
none of this would be happening. We were on our way back to a full
democracy, but you had to break away."

145

145

Ben had his temper under control by now and he walked over to the woman.
"A full democracy, lady? No. I don't know what it was you had, but it
sure as hell was not a democracy. Even Homer Blanton-who is now the
SUSA's secretary of state-admitted that it wasn't working. And as far as
you being hungry, lady . . . don't talk to me about hunger when this
country is overrun with chickens and cattle and sheep and hogs."

"I am a vegetarian, General," she announced primly. "I do not eat the
flesh of living creatures."

Ben leaned down, put his nose about an inch from hers (which was
running, he observed) and roared, "Then eat weeds, goddamnit!"

Ben raised no objections when Lamar began setting up his MASH tents and
lining the people up for shots and physicals. "Just don't give that damn
philosophy professor any shots that were developed from eggs or sheep
shit or calf brains, Lamar," he said sourly. "She'd rather infect an
entire nation."

Doing his best to keep from laughing in Ben's face, Lamar turned his
back on Ben and busied himself with paperwork.

"How'd that goddamned woman ever get down here from Vassar or Harvard or
Princeton, or wherever the hell it was she spewed her nonsense?" Ben asked.

His entire team burst out laughing at him. Lamar could no longer contain
his own high humor and he started cackling and howling.

Ben endured the laughter stoically. When it had died away, he asked,
"What is that woman's name? Did anybody find out?"

146

"Janet House-Lewiston," Beth said, wiping her eyes. "With a hyphen."

"One of those types," Ben muttered. "Where's her husband?"

"She doesn't have one," Corrie said.

Ben looked at her. "Now I am confused. I'm not at all surprised to learn
she doesn't have a husband, just confused. If she's not married, what is
the hyphen for?"

"House was her father's name," Jersey said. "Lew-iston was her mother's
name."

Ben sighed. Rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "Where is that woman
now?"
"She's helping over at one of our inoculation tents," Lamar told him,
pointing. "Over there. She was a nurse for a few years before she got
her PhD. and turned toward an academic life."

Ben muttered something under his breath and glowered darkly in the
direction Lamar had pointed.

Suddenly, from that direction, shouts and laughter rang out.

"I'm sure that's her causing all that commotion," Ben said. "She
probably found a cockroach and wants to make a pet out of it."

His team grinned but said nothing. They all knew that Ben was very
ecology-minded and tender-hearted toward animals; but there was a limit
to everything, especially when one professed to be starving.

Ben watched as a woman left the MASH tent   where the shouting and
laughter had originated and began walking   toward the tents where Doctor
Chase and Ben were headquartered. Ben did   not recognize the woman. But
as she drew closer, he could see that she   was a very attractive lady.
Closer still, he could see that she was

147

147

about forty, with light brown hair, cut short, and possessing a very
shapely figure. There had been a time when Ben knew every member of the
Rebels by their first name. But no more; those days were long past. Now
there were thousands of Rebels.

The woman walked up to where Ben was sitting in a canvas camp chair. He
looked at her. Her face was familiar, but he could not dredge up a name.
Green eyes, very pretty in a mature way, filled out her BDUs nicely.

"General Raines, may I have a word with you?"

"Sure. Go ahead." Ben did not notice as his team began backing up,
putting some distance between the boss and themselves. Chase smiled,
ducked his head, and continued working at his papers.

"General, there is this perfectly horrid little man who suddenly
appeared at the tent where I was assisting the doctors-"

Ben stared at the woman. Oh, no. No way. It couldn't be her.

"-he claims to be a general in your army. The people with him are just
as confusing as he is-"

Ben sat up straight in the chair. My God, it was her! The grimy-faced,
stringy-haired woman had metamorphosed from a moth to a butterfly. It
was what's -her-name. Amazing what a bath and clean clothes could do.

"The man is horrible, General. I insist that you do something with him
immediately. He is disrupting a very vital function."

Ben ceased his visual inspection of the lady's physical attributes and
stood up as his mind began putting together all that she had said.
148

"A little man?" he questioned.

"Yes."

"Claiming to be a general?'

"Yes. He's dressed like something out of Beau Geste. I certainly hope he
isn't a general."

"He isn't. Lady, do you always have to be the bearer of bad news?"

"I beg your pardon?" Janet questioned. She stepped closer, looking up at
Ben. She really was quite pretty. And smelled good, too. Unlike a couple
of hours back when she smelled like sheep dip. "Do you actually know
this obnoxious person?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"My general!" The shout came from some distance away.

"Oh, shit!" Ben muttered.

"Watch out, boss,"Jersey called. "Here comes Emil."

"It looks like a band of escaoed loonies with him," Beth added.

"What's this?" Lamar asked, looking up from his paperwork, his
half-glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Emil Hite ran up, lost his footing as he tripped on a brick, and went
sailing onto the table Chase was using for a desk. Chase went over
backwards in his chair just as the folding table collapsed. Emil landed
on his feet, off balance, and went lurching into Janet House-Lew-iston,
who fell against Ben, all three of them landing on the ground, Ben on
the bottom, with Janet on top of him. All in all, it was not an
unpleasant experience for Ben.

Emil bounced to his feet. "My general!" the little con artist shouted,
saluting in the French fashion, palm out. "I have arrived."

149

149

With Janet still on top of him, Ben said, "Yes, Emil. I can see that."

"Now that we are here," Emil said. "Where would you like me and my
people to go?"

With Janet struggling to get off him, it was with great effort that Ben
refrained from telling Emil the first thing that popped into his mind.

150

Jersey and Beth got Janet off of Ben, standing her up, and Cooper helped
Ben to his boots. Ben stood glaring down at Emil, the hard look bouncing
off the smaller man. The little con artist was very hard to insult or
intimidate.
"Did I and my followers arrive at an inopportune time, General?" Emil asked.

Ben almost told him that anytime Emil arrived was inopportune for
somebody. He bit back the thought, looking at the colorfully dressed
Emil and his small band of followers. When Emil had first joined the
Rebels, his following had been large, Ben recalled. Whatever else he
was, Emil and his group had suffered their share of dead and wounded
over the years. No one could fault them for lack of courage. "The first
thing you do, Emil, is get out of those clothes and into BDUs. When that
is done, you report to Dan Gray for orders. Understood?"

"Yes, my general!" Emil saluted, turned around, and

151

151

almost fell down. He recovered nicely and he and his group trotted off.

"My God!" Janet said. "Where did you find him?"

Ben turned and smiled at the woman. "Actually, he found me, some years
back. Emil means well."

"Blivet," Jersey said, before walking off a few yards. Lamar was on his
hands and knees, trying to collect all his papers before the breeze sent
them flying, Anna helping him. Cooper was trying to figure out how to
reset the folding table.

"Blivet?" Janet questioned.

Ben laughed. "That's an old military expression. It means ten pounds of
shit in a five-pound bag. Pretty well sums up Emil Hite. He grows on you."

"Like gangrene," Lamar grumbled.

Ben righted a camp chair and waved to it. "Sit down, Ms. House-Lewiston."

Janet hesitated, then sat. Lamar had retrieved his papers and gone into
the big squad tent. Janet said, "I want to tell you something, General ..."

Ben sat down and waited.

Janet said, "I think . . . well, it's a fine thing you and your Rebels
are doing for these people."

"It's a matter of health priorities, Ms. House-Lewiston. We don't want
an epidemic on our hands." Although that might be one way of taking care
of the problem, Ben thought, and was shocked by his thinking. Janet
looked at him for a moment. "No purely humanitarian gesture on your part
at all, General?"

"Not one tiny bit, Ms. H.L. Except for the very young and the very old."

Janet was silent for a moment. "What happens when you run out of vaccine?"

152

"A lot of people are going to get sick and croak, Ms. H.L."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Will you please call me Janet?"

"Certainly, Janet."

"Thank you. Will you have enough vaccine, General?"

"Not with us. Not for all the diseases that people have to be inoculated
against. But we'll be resupplied within a couple of hours after calling
for it. We aren't that many air miles from Base Camp One."

"I've heard all about your Base Camp One."

"I just bet you have. And I'll also bet that not ten percent of what you
heard is true."

She smiled and Ben took notice of it. The smile wiped years from the
woman's face and it was a very pretty face.

Janet visually took in what some had described to her as cruel features
and cold, hard eyes. Ben's eyes were unreadable, and his features could
sometimes be hard. But not cruel. Unless he wanted them to mirror that.

Ben continued, "The estimates of people who survived the initial attack
and the plague that followed it were understated drastically. As were
the number of cities destroyed," he added sarcastically. "Thanks to a
very elaborate scheme we only uncovered about a year ago."

Janet had no comment on that, although she knew perfectly well what Ben
was talking about, having been a staunch supporter of Harriet Hooter and
her liberal left party. "How many people do you think now inhabit North
America?"

"Millions. Getting an accurate count is going to be

153

153

damn near impossible for awhile. But if I had to take a guess ... I'd
say about a hundred million. It seems we're constantly having to revise
that figure."

"A hundred million," Janet whispered. "When the Great War came the
population was approximately two hundred-sixty-five million in the
United States."

"That's right."

"And only about thirty-five percent of those of voting age chose to vote
in the last nationally held election," Beth the statistician spoke up.
"That should have told Washington what the majority of Americans thought
of politicians.''

Ben smiled. If Janet wanted to match stats for stats with Beth, she was
going to be in for quite a surprise. But Janet noticed the smile on
Ben's lips and very astutely picked up on its meaning.

Corrie called, "Boss? Scouts in the city are reporting a very familiar
smell."
Ben knew what she meant. He nodded his head in understanding and looked
over at Janet. "Have you had any disappearances among your group?"

"Why ... as a matter of fact, yes. But among the homeless, people come
and go all the time. Sometimes they return, sometimes not. Why?"

Ben stood up. "Get 1 Batt assembled, Corrie. It's time to go headhunting."

"Right, boss."

Ike was on his way to Nashville, Dan to Knoxville, and Buddy was back
with his special operations group.

As usual, Ben and his 1 Batt were doing what they liked best:
lone-wolfing it.

"Headhunting?" Janet questioned, tugging at Ben's shirt sleeve.

154

"You've got creeps living in the rubble of the city, Janet. Night
People. Cannibals. That's why some of your group didn't return."

She visibly paled at the thought. "I ... I thought all that was just a
myth."

"Not hardly." Ben looked at Jersey, who had slipped on body armor and
was standing close. "You ready, Little Bit?"

She smiled. "We finally get to go to work. Kick ass time!"

Janet shook her head at Jersey's words.

The rubble of downtown Memphis stood stark and silent before them. But
to a person, the Rebels could feel eyes on them; feel the white-hot hate
directed at them from the unseen eyes.

"Watch   out for those manhole covers," Ben said. "The bastards do like to
pop up   out of them." He looked over at Janet, who had insisted upon
coming   along with the team, despite Ben's warnings that it wasn't safe
and it   was going to be bloody and brutal. "Excuse me. Person-hole covers."

Janet sighed.

"I like killing creepies," Anna said.

Janet cut her eyes to the teenager. "Child, these people can't help
themselves. I'm sure they all came from single-parent homes and many
were abused as children. They were also deprived of the childhood toys
that others around them had in abundance. They probably were unable to
receive adequate hot lunches in school and that affected their ability
to learn. This is their way

155

155

of striking back at what they perceive as an uncaring society.''
Anna stared at the woman. Unwrapped a piece of gum and stuck it in her
mouth, chewing for a moment. "Horseshit!" she said, then walked off a
few yards.

Ben smiled at the brief exchange.

"That is a very impudent child," Janet said.

"You and Anna should talk later on," Ben told her. "She could tell you
something about a lousy childhood. And something about a fierce drive to
better herself without being on the public dole. She's a damn good
soldier, too." Ben turned and walked into the ground floor of what used
to be one of Memphis's largest department stores. His team followed him.

Janet hurried to keep up. She was unarmed, since she didn't believe in
the individual owning or carrying of guns, or the use of them against
human beings or animals.

"That woman is a ding-a-ling," Anna whispered to Ben.

"She's politically liberal," Ben returned the whisper.

"Ding-a-ling," Anna insisted.

Ben smiled and walked deeper into the darkness of the ground floor of
the multi-storied old building.

A very faint odor reached his nostrils as he passed a door that led to a
downstairs storage area. Ben paused, sniffed around the edges of the
closed door, then stepped back, pointing at the door. Cooper and Beth
took grenades from their battle harness and stood ready as Ben put his
hand on the doorknob.

"Whatever in the world are you going to do?" Janet asked.

"Make boom-boom," Anna told her.

156

William W. Johnstone

"There may be innocent people down there!"

"If they are, they're being prepared for serving as appetizers," Jersey
told her. "Now get the hell out of the way."

"Pull the pins," Ben said, then jerked open the door.

The fire-frag grenades were tossed into the darkness. Ben slammed the
door closed and jumped behind cover, jerking Janet to the floor behind a
counter with him.

The door blew off its hinges and brought with it   the agonizing cries of
men and women whose flesh had just been shredded   and peppered with
shrapnel. Cooper used his Squad Automatic Weapon   to spray the shrieking
and stinking darkness below. The howling stopped   and only the smell
remained.

In the rubble of what was once downtown Memphis, a battleground suddenly
erupted as creeps opened fire on the Rebels.
Cooper bi-podded his SAW and bellied down, an extra can of ammunition
beside him, as the others took up tight defensive positions in the old
department store.

"That was horribly brutal," Janet said to Ben.

"Write your Congressman," Ben told her. "Excuse me-Congress-jbmon."

"All units now coming under attack," Corrie reported. "Rebels at the
MASH stations holding."

"Let us rock and roll," Ben said with a smile.

Janet looked at him and shook her head.

The ground floor of the littered and rubbled old department store turned
into a battle zone as robed creeps literally began coming out of the
woodwork, pouring onto the floor in stinking screaming bunches.

Ben and his team, working out of a defensive circle,

157

157

laid down a blistering wall of fire that stopped the charging creeps hot
and dying in their own blood.

Janet lay on the dirty and littered floor, both hands over her ears.

Ben and Beth began cossing grenades while Corrie, Cooper, Jersey, and
Anna poured on the fire-power from weapons set on full automatic.

The attack broke off as suddenly as it began.

"Out, out, out!" Ben yelled. "Corrie, advise all units to fall back. Get
out of the downtown district."

When all units were clear, Ben said, "Now call in air strikes. HE and
napalm. Blow it up and burn it down."

"You don't mean that!" Janet said.

"Watch me," Ben replied.

In their stinking lairs, in basements and other underground caverns all
over the city, the Night People waited, knowing full well what was
coming at them next. They knew Ben Raines's tactics as well as he knew
theirs.

The Rebels backed off, threw a thin and gappy defensive circle around
the city, with the Mississippi as one stop-gap, and let the P-51E's and
the attack helicopters have a field day.

When the planes and choppers would finish a run, Ben would order his
tanks and SP and towed artillery to hammer the city. The air bombardment
went on all day and the ground artillery all night, until what had been
left of Memphis was in total ruins or on fire.
Ben then stationed snipers all over the city to shoot down any creep who
might crawl out from under the ruins. If a hole leading underground was
found, the Rebels dropped satchel charges down it or blew up any wall or
half-building close by, forever sealing the tunnel.

158

"There were street gangs of young people in that city," Janet said,
putting accusing green eyes on Ben. "Not anymore," Ben told her.

When the Rebels pulled into Memphis, much of the city was rubble. This
time when they pulled out of Memphis, they left behind them a downtown
that was in smoking ruins. They left the airport runways and the tower
intact. Ben armed several hundred of the survivors he'd found on the
outskirts and they immediately began cleaning up and clearing out a
subdivision and small mall just south of the city.

"Forget the city," Ben told the group. "We've got to go back to the land
if we're ever going to pull this nation out of the ashes of ruin. You'll
be in constant communication with Base Camp One and resupplied as you
need it. Good luck."

Much to Ben's surprise, Janet House-Lewiston elected to go with the Rebels.

"It's the safest I've felt in a long time," she told him. "And you may
take that as a compliment if you wish."

But before the Rebels pulled out, Ben had received some sobering and sad
news from Cecil.

"Mexico and Central America just blew wide open, Ben. South America is
in chaos. Civil war is raging in every country south of our borders.
It'll take Europe years to get back on its feet, and God only knows how
it will end south of us. Here in the SUSA, I have issued emergency
currency and declared the old dollar worthless. Every one of our
residents who held those old dollars was reimbursed. But that will stop
the outlaws from using the money they stole here. We're not quite

159

159

back to where we started from. I can see some light at the end of the
tunnel. And Ben, I recalled our troops from Europe. We need them here in
case of another attack. The Europeans said they could take it from this
point and wished us good luck and thanks."

"Fine with me, Cec. It'll be good to have them home. As for the luck,
we're going to need all we can get."

' 'There is more, Ben. Those three American reporters you got along with
so well in Europe are back. They left here yesterday by resupply convoy.
Should be catching up with you in a couple of days."

"Cassie Phillips, Nils Wilson, and Frank Service?"

"That's them."

"That's fine with me, but who are they reporting for?"
"Our newspapers down here," Cecil said with a laugh.

"Sounds good. Any word on Simon Border's boy, Bobby Day?"

"He's back with Simon. He's working on Simon's newspaper, The Voice Of
Reason. "

"Shit! Voice of reason, my aching ass."

Cecil laughed.

' 'You have any more good news you want to share, Cec?"

"I believe that's enough for one day, buddy. Ol' Black Joe out."

"OF Black Joe? "Janet questioned, standing close to Ben.

"It's Cecil's idea of a joke. He finds it amusing."

"It's macabre."

Ben shrugged that away. He had found that if Janet even had a sense of
humor, she kept it well-hidden. Ben had discovered years back that most
left-wing liberals were the most humorless people on the face of the
earth ... at least to his way of thinking.

160

The long Rebel column took Highway 51 out of Memphis, heading toward
Kentucky, traveling slowly, carefully checking each town and village
along the way. The gangs that had invaded the SUSA had seemingly dropped
off the face of the earth. Ray Brown, Carrie Walker, Tommy Monroe, and
Dave Holton would not hesitate to attack lightly armed civilians, but
they wanted nothing to do with Ben Raines. They, and every member of
their gangs, knew that Ben would kill them with no more emotion than if
he'd squashed a roach. Scouts had been unable to find a trace of the gangs.

But Mike Richards, head of Rebel intel, had learned something that
really came as no big surprise to Ben.

"The gangs are working, albeit indirectly, for Simon Border," Mike
reported one hot summer's day. "I know we suspected it all along, but
now I have concrete proof."

"And their main objective is to kill me," Ben finished it.

"That's it, Ben. With you out of the way, Simon's thinking is the Rebels
would fall apart."

"That just proves what a fool he is. He can't seem to realize that the
Rebel movement is far more than mere flesh and blood. It's a philosophy
that will never die. Killing me would accomplish nothing. Hell, it would
make me a martyr."

1 Batt was bivouacked near what was left of the town of Union City, just
a few miles south of the Kentucky border. The gangs of punks and thugs
and rabble had hit the town hard, leaving much of it in ruin. No
resident had returned. It was a silent ghost town, utterly devoid of
life. The Rebels could not find any evidence of a mass grave, so they
had to assume the people had just fled when the gangs poured across the
border.

Mike had nothing to add to Ben's last statement. He

161

161

sipped his coffee in silence. But Ben knew the man had something on his
mind. Mike would get to it, sooner or later.

After eating a sandwich and working on another cup of coffee, Mike
finally said, "Ben, don't you think it's time you got out of the field?"

Ben smiled and said nothing.

"Ben, you're a middle-aged man. You're the Commanding General of the
most powerful army on the face of the earth. CGs don't lead combat patrols."

Ben had risen to walk over to the ever-present coffee pot. He turned and
looked at Mike. "Is this your idea, Mike?"

"Not entirely. A lot of the troops would like to see you slow down."

Ben laughed. "Oh, yeah. Right. Well, I bet you I can name most of those
so-called 'troops.' Ike, Cecil, Danjou, West, Nick, Georgi, Buck-"

Mike held up a hand. "OK, OK, So you can name them. But they do have a
valid point."

"Mike, Georgi is the same age I am. Ike is about the same age. Dan isn't
far behind us. Hell, we're all getting older. You're no spring chicken."

"I'm not the supreme commander, Ben."

"Cecil is the elected supreme commander, Mike."

"On paper." Mike tossed the very true words at Ben. "The troops follow
you, Ben. They always have, they always will. And you can't argue that."

Ben made no attempt to argue it. He knew it was true. "Mike . . . I'm
not a politician. Never have been, never will be. I'm too blunt. I don't
like to tell lies and try to fool the people. I'm a soldier. I'm happy
in the field. I'd be miserable out of it. When I become a liability

162

in the field, nobody will have to tell me. I'll voluntarily remove
myself. End of discussion. I hope."

Mike nodded his head in understanding and lifted his coffee mug in a salute.

After a moment, Ben asked, "Where the hell did all the people go, Mike?"

"Good question. My personal thought on the matter is that they scattered
in small groups. They've living on cold rations and keeping their heads
down until they see which way the wind is going to blow."

"Millions of them?"
"Who really knows how many people survived the Great War and the time
after it? Our own people are having to revise our figures every week.
And how many people were killed by the rabble and the punks while we
were over in Europe?"

"They've got to be networking some way."

"Short quick bursts on CBs, probably. Hell, Ben, they know a power play
is going on between you and Simon Border. Even those who are aligned
with us don't want to get caught up in the middle of it. The others-the
majority of them-have sensed that you're planning on pulling this nation
back together and they don't want any part of Rebel rule." Mike looked
long at Ben. "A hard question, Ben?"

"Go ahead."

"Are we really going to try to heal the entire nation? And if so, what
happens to the SUSA?"

Several seconds passed before Ben answered. And when he did, it wasn't
what any Rebel wanted to hear. "I don't know, Mike. I just don't know."

163

Slowly, slowly the Rebels were driving the punks and thugs and the
looking-for-something-for-nothing crowd out of the territory known as
the SUSA. Most went voluntarily, but more than a few elected to fight.
Those who went under their own steam crossed the borders with their
lives. Those who chose to fight were buried (when enough of their bodies
could be found) in unmarked graves and forgotten. One by one, the batt
corns began radioing in that their sectors were clear.

Now Ben had some hard decisions to make. He flew back to Base Camp One
and met with former President Blanton and Cecil. Ben was never one to
beat around the bush. "Decision time, folks. Do we try to heal the
entire nation? Can we? Will it work?"

"That part of the nation not under the control of Simon Border, you
mean?" Cecil asked.

"For the time being, yes. But sooner or later we'll have to fight him."

164

"Cecil has discussed this subject with me many times in the weeks you've
been gone,'' Homer said. He smiled. "It may surprise you to learn that I
take a more conservative stance than Cecil on this issue. My reply would
be a very cautious yes. Selected states only. The rest would have to wait."

That startled Ben. He stared at the former president of the United
States, at one time, the most liberal president ever elected.

Homer said, "It is my opinion that the cost in Rebel lives would be too
great."

Ben cut his eyes to Cecil. "And you, Cec?"

Cecil nodded his head in at least partial agreement with Blanton. "Homer
and I did agree that the final decision should be yours, Ben. I've
already sensed that you want to start a clean-up. But do it slowly and
stay out of   Simon Border's territory. Let's don't try to bring any more
states into   the SUSA, but just prop up the ones east of the river and
see if they   can stand alone. During that time, we'll be finishing up
getting our   own house in order and keeping a careful eye to the west."

Ben slowly nodded his head. "All right. It's a go, then. But I want you
both to realize that it is going to take two or three years."

"Or longer," Cecil said.

"And during that restoration period," Homer said, "I can be spending
some time in Europe, strengthening our ties over there. We just might
have to ask for their help, for a change."

Ben said, "China remains an unknown. So does Russia." He paused and
smiled a soldier's smile. "Israel

165

165

has taken care of the militant Arab movement. At least that part of the
world is relatively quiet.''

"The grave usually is," Homer said, very, very drily. "But we all knew
that was coming."

Ben said, "When I heard what had taken place over there, it reminded me
of a bumper sticker I saw some years back: Nuke their ass and take the gas."

"And they did." Cecil put an end to that.

"Cecil has something else to say to you, Ben," Homer said, cutting his
eyes to Cecil.

"Oh?"

Cecil said, "I know you'll never leave the field, Ben. And I also know
that my dream of getting back into the field was just a dream. My job is
here. But I will keep my 22 Batt intact, here. As other Rebels get hurt
or have to retire from the field, I'll use them as replacements for 22
Batt. It's a strange way to run an army, but, hell, the Rebels aren't
known for doing things the conventional way."

"Give some thought to this, gentlemen," Ben said. "Sooner or later,
we're going to have to deal with Bruno Bottger. Simon Border is an
asshole, true enough. But Bottger is the real threat to world stability.
We know now that he controls the entire southern half of Africa. His
factories, manufacturing the machinery of war, are running around the
clock, seven days a week." Ben again smiled, but this time it was a
savage curving of the lips. "However, I have a plan to slow him down;
drop a few flies in his ointment, so to speak."

Both Homer and Cecil leaned forward, Homer asking, "Want to share it
with us?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

166
***

In a very remote corner of Base Camp One, carefully guarded from any
unwelcome eyes, three hundred African-American volunteers from the Rebel
army were going back to school. They were going to learn some of the
languages and dialects, customs and dress of their ancestors. They were
studying the topographies of Africa. When they "graduated," so to speak,
they were also going to be experts in the use of explosives, sabotage,
all manner of weapons, guerrilla warfare, and the politics of democracy.

Every mission had to have a code name to work under. A black company
commander who had volunteered for the assignment, and who also possessed
a wicked sense of humor, came up with a suggestion: Ebony.

Project Ebony was born.

From Kentucky to the Carolina coast, the Rebels were poised to start the
push north. Ben had lined them up numerically, with his 1 Batt in far
western Kentucky, and Buck Taylor's 15 Batt's right flank overlooking
the Atlantic Ocean. Ben had placed Therm's 19 Batt in the center of the
line, about two miles to the rear, right behind Pat O'Shea's 10 Batt.
Therm's short battalion, which would be the central hub of all
communications and logistics, was protected by two full companies of
combat-hardened Rebels, beefed up by tanks and helicopter gunships.

Finally Ben had, after giving the matter a lot of thought, named Emil
Hite as recreational director of the SUSA.

167

167

' 'What the hell is a recreational director supposed to do, Ben?" Cecil
had asked.

' 'He's going to inspect playground equipment all over the SUSA."

"Do you know how long it's going to take Emil to figure out this is a
bullshit job?"

"Long enough for me to get several hundred miles to the north," Ben
replied. "I hope."

"And in the meantime, I'm stuck with him."

Ben laughed. "That's what friends are for."

"Seems like we did this once before," Ben muttered, just moments before
push-off time. "I wonder how many more times we'll have to do it?"

Corrie knew he did not expect a reply.

Ben glanced at his watch. 0557.

Everyone except Corrie was in the wagon. She stood by Ben's side, ready
to radio the orders to move out.

0558.

The air was filled with the stink of fumes from rumbling engines.
The Rebels waited.

0559.

"Far Eyes reports no opposition for twenty-five miles straight in,"
Corrie reported. "South to north and west to east."

Ben glanced at his watch. "Let's do it, Corrie."

"What they found were fires," Corrie said softly.

Ben looked at her. "Say again?"

"Fires, boss. The retreating punks are setting everything they can on fire."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Ben cussed. "Corrie, get every avail-

168

able plane and chopper we have up here ASAP. Odd-numbered battalions
strip down to shelter tarps, light arms, field rations, and all the ammo
they can stagger with. We've got to get behind those punks. The armor
assigned to those battalions will make the push with the even-numbered
battalions . . . and not ahead of them. Get cracking, Corrie."

Ben looked at Jersey, sitting in the wagon. "How do you feel about
jumping, Jersey?" he kidded her, knowing full well how much she disliked it.

"Shit!" Jersey said.

The push-off was delayed until noon, when all odd-numbered battalions,
or portions of them, could be boarded and in the air. As many as
possible of those Rebels who were jump-qualified (and that was just
about all of them) chuted up and made ready to go out the door, while
smaller planes flew ahead and dropped ground controllers and pathfinders
to set up the DZs and secure them.

Back at the various staging areas, which in Ben's case had been moved
south to an old military base, it was organized chaos. The officers were
yelling at the sergeants and the sergeants yelled at everybody,
including the officers.

"It's President Jefferys on the blower for you, Boss," Corrie yelled at
Ben. She had to yell to be heard over the roar of plane engines.

"Tell him I don't have the time right now. I'll get back to him in about
two hours." Ben smiled. "By that time we'll be on the ground," he muttered.

"President Jefferys says if you jump in with your battal-

169

169

ion, he's going to have you court-martialed," Corrie shouted.

"Tell him to go shit in his hat!" Ben yelled. "Come on, Corrie. Get your
gear on and let's go!"
"I'm going to tell the President to go shit in his hat?" Corrie
muttered. "Yeah. Sure I am."

Once airborne, it did not take long to reach the DZ.

Equipment checked and static lines hooked, Ben moved toward the open
door, waiting for the light to pop on. The rush of cold air quickly
dried the sweat on his body.

Ben looked at Jersey, standing right behind him. He grinned at her. She
solemnly nodded her head. Jersey was not at all thrilled about jumping
out of airplanes.

Ben knew he was getting just a bit too old for this. And he was well
aware that once a person reached forty years of age, there were only two
kinds of jumps: those that hurt a little and those that hurt a lot.

The red light blinked on.

"Stand in the door!" the jumpmaster yelled.

Ben shuffled to the open door. He would be the first one out.

Seconds ticked past. The green light blinked on.

The jumpmaster slapped Ben on the leg. "Go, General!"

Ben stepped out into a thousand or so feet of big empty. The static line
jerked his chute out and Ben grunted from the opening shock. He looked
up to see if his chute was full and no panels blown. The ground was
coming up fast. Seemed to him back when he made his first jump, the
ground didn't come up at him this fast. He had time for a quick smile.
Of course, that had been thirty years back. He spilled a little air to avoid

170

William W. Johnstone

landing in trees, and with his feet together he let his equipment bag
drop from the fifteen-foot tether and then made contact with the ground,
relaxing and rolling. It had been a perfect drop. He still hurt. He was
getting too damn old for this. He popped his harness and was on his
feet, working fast to gather up his chute and then get his gear together.

As he almost always did when weight was a factor, Ben had left his old
Thompson behind and was carrying an M-16-a CAR. The weapon was lighter
and so was the ammo, so he could carry more of it.

Ben looked all around him. Everyone was down and appeared to be OK.

The Combat Control Team, or Ground Controllers (still called pathfinders
by some) had come out of hiding and joined up with the main body.

"Find the enemy and let's get this dance started," Ben said to Corrie.

Corrie radioed the orders and the Combat Control Team and Scouts took
off at a trot.

"Goddamnit, Jersey!" Cooper yelled. "Hold still. I'm trying to get you
untangled."
Ben looked at the scene a dozen yards away and laughed. Jersey was on
the ground, all tangled up in the silk, the shroud cords and the risers,
cussing a blue streak.

Ben helped clear Jersey and get the tiny Rebel to her boots. "Shit!"
Jersey hollered. "I hate jumpin' out of airplanes!"

"Gather around me!" Ben shouted. "Corrie, tell that platoon leader if he
doesn't stop blowing that goddamn whistle the only way he's going to be
able to blow it is when he farts!"

171

171

Corrie relayed the orders, changing the terminology just a little bit.

The whistle stopped. Abruptly.

"Anybody hurt?" Ben yelled.

A few scratches, a few bruises, one sore back (he landed out of
position, feet wide apart), and one twisted ankle.

"Pilots reporting the enemy about four miles south of our position,"
Corrie said. "A large group in various types of vehicles. Traveling
northeast, heading our way on Highway 45 and the old parkway. What was
left of Mayfield is burning."

Ben looked at a map. "They won't try to invade Missouri, and they can't
cross the river at Cairo or Paducah; those bridges are out." He placed a
finger on the map. "That's where they'll try to cross. We need as many
of those vehicles as we can salvage, so let's do this ambush right."

The terrain was perfect, rolling hills and brush that had not been cut
back in years. The battalion got into place, with snipers carefully
positioned to take out the drivers first.

' 'This bunch is led by a woman,'' Scouts radioed.' 'We grabbed a couple
of stragglers and they were more than willing to talk to us."

"I just bet they were," Ben muttered. He did not ask if the stragglers
were still alive.

"Name is Carrie Walker." The Scout began winding down his verbal report.
"And she is a bad one. ETA your position is two minutes."

In the cold impersonal words of a written report,

172

the ambush would be: Highly successful with maximum casualties inflicted
upon enemy with minimum injuries to Rebel forces.

In other words, the Rebels shot the shit out of the punks.

The punks and thugs and street slime had not seen the planes as they
approached the DZ, for the pilots had flown miles out of their way to
avoid flying over the area controlled by Carrie Walker's gang, coming up
to the DZ from the west, instead of the south. The punks saw a couple of
planes returning, but that meant nothing to them.

They drove unsuspecting into a deadly ambush.

The Rebels took out the drivers first, and when the punks began jumping
out of the cars and trucks in a wild panic, the Rebels cut them down,
coldly and efficiently. For the most part, the Rebels finished it, then
and there. They did not have the medical people nor supplies to
adequately treat many wounded-other than their own-so it was much more
humane to end it permanently rather than let any mortally wounded linger
for hours in terrible pain.

Carrie Walker was only slightly injured, when her driver had his brains
splattered all over the upholstery, the car had slewed off the road and
into a ditch. Carrie's head had hit the dashboard, cutting her forehead
and knocking her goofy for a few minutes.

She now found herself with her hands tied behind her back, facing Ben
Raines.

Carrie was an attractive woman, in her mid-thirties. But her eyes were
cold and cruel and her mouth set in what appeared to be a permanent
snarl. She glared defiantly at Ben.

173

173

"We'll skip the social amenities," Ben told her. "I know who you are and
you know who I am. And I imagine you've got a pretty good idea what is
going to happen to you. Do you have anything to say?"

"Fuck you, Ben Raines!"

"Not terribly original." Ben leaned back in the old kitchen chair in the
dusty living room of an abandoned farmhouse and looked at the woman.
"Oh, come on, Carrie. You mean you're not going to tell me about your
tragic childhood, or how you don't know right from wrong, or how you
were molested by your cousin as a child, or how you were traumatized by
a police officer when you were a teenager, or some such shit as that?"

She spat at Ben, the spittle landing on the scarred old table he was
using as a desk. "If I did, would that make much difference to you?"

"Not a bit, Carrie. Because I don't buy any of it. Never have, never will."

"Me and my gang sure fucked up your little playhouse down south, didn't
we?" she asked proudly.

"Oh, for a very brief time. We'll get back to normal before long. But
you'll be dead and in the ground. So what did you accomplish?"

It slowly began to dawn on the gang leader that Ben was going to have
her shot. Ben watched her face change as the realization struck home.
Carrie jumped as a volley of shots rang out a few hundred yards to the
left of the old house. She said, "Hey, man! That was .. ." Her voice
failed her.

"Some of your followers, Carrie. I've declared martial law. Resist us in
any way, commit crimes against the general populace, and you die. Those
leaflets were

174

dropped all over the nation, weeks ago. You can read. You knew we were
coming."

"Say, uh, you wouldn't, like, uh, maybe gimme one more chance, would you?"

"No. We've questioned several of your gang. I know your history."

"Look here, General," the woman whose life's work had been one of all
manners of crimes against society blurted, as she began to panic. "I got
rights, you know? I mean, like, man, I got a right to a lawyer and a
trial and all that shit. If I'm convicted, I got a right to appeal the
sentence."

Ben slowly shook his head. "You have nothing, Carrie. You have only what
I choose to give you, and I am not in a very charitable frame of mind.
You see, I lost a lot of good friends down in Base Camp One. I
understand you personally castrated one Rebel officer and left him to
bleed to death."

She sighed. "I could give you names, General. I mean . . ."

"I know all the names, Carrie." Ben read from a clipboard. "Ray Brown,
Tommy Monroe, Dave Holton, Sandy Allen, Dale Jones, Hal and Robin Ford,
Karen Carr, Fred LaBelle, Beth Aleman, Jack Brittain, Les Justice, Thad
Keel, Foster Payne, Craig Franklin . . . Do you want me to continue?"

"How? I mean, like, there ain't no law. No computers workin.' How'd you
get all those names?"

But Ben would only smile at her. Sort of. "We have religious people with
us, Carrie. Do you want to speak to a minister, a priest, or a rabbi?"

"Fuck, no."

Ben held out his hand and Beth gave him another

175

175

clipboard. He glanced at it for a moment, then lifted his eyes to hers.
"Some of your people were more than happy to speak to us, Carrie. You
have tortured innocent civilians in ways that would be the envy of the
Spanish Inquisition. You've murdered entire families and laughed and
bragged about doing it. The list of things that you've done is
disgusting and perverted and evil. Do you deny any of it?"

"Would that do me any good?"

"No."

"Then . . .fuckyou, Ben Raines!"she screamed. "Hell, no. I don't deny
any of it. I had a hell of a lot of fun. So go ahead, shoot me. I don't
give a damn."
"OK," Ben said.

176

The men and women of 1 Batt waited until the trucks carrying   the earth
movers arrived, and then watched as the bodies of the Walker   gang,
including Carrie, were buried in a mass grave. The chaplains   with the
battalion played hi-lo with a deck of cards to see who would   get the
duty of speaking a few words over the grave.

The rabbi lost.

"Shit!" he said, then composed himself. "I'll say a silent prayer."

"Make it brief," Ben told him.

"Thank you."

The transports caught up with the Rebels who had jumped in and the
Rebels headed north for a day's fast run, then started spreading out
west to east, blocking all major arteries with troops and armor,
throwing up a line that stretched for several hundred miles. The
easternmost odd-numbered battalion cut due south and met up with the
easternmost even-numbered battalion

177

177

who had turned north. There were gaps in the line, big ones, some of
them running for miles, but the gaps were open meadows, swamp and marsh
land, nearly impenetrable forests thick with underbrush, rocky ravines,
and a couple of mountain ranges. Those areas were patrolled by
helicopter gun ships and fixed-wing planes.

With no way to cross the Mississippi River, the punks found themselves
in a box. A very deadly box.

The Rebels waited.

The three reporters, Nils, Cassie, and Frank, had driven up to the
southern front, along with Janet House-Lewiston. They were stopped at
Ike's 2 Batt HQ and not allowed to go any further. Ike patiently
explained to Janet why that had to be.

"Why don't you call for them to surrender?" she asked, wondering why
Cassie, Nils, and Frank suddenly rolled their eyes in disbelief.

"They had their chance to do that," Ike told her. "They had several
weeks to do that."

Janet's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Ike?"

"I'm saying, lady, that we don't take many prisoners. Not after they've
been offered surrender terms time and again, and continue to fight us
and go on raping and torturing and murdering civilians."

Janet took a deep breath and Ike sighed patiently. "But these gang
members aren't Night People. They aren't cannibals. They're human beings
who took a wrong turn, that's all. They deserve a chance at life."
"Stay out of matters that don't concern you, lady," Ike warned her.

"But this does concern me! This should be the concern of all decent
human beings everywhere. I over-

178

heard someone saying that after the ambush, General Raines had
prisoners. If he can take prisoners, why can't you?"

Ike stared at her for a moment. "Ben doesn't have them anymore, lady."

"What do you mean? I distinctly heard that soldier-" She stopped
mid-sentence as she finally grasped Ike's coldly spoken words. Her mouth
dropped open in shock.

"Close your mouth, lady," Ike told her. "It's summertime. You might
swallow a bug."

Janet quickly closed her mouth and glared at Ike. She finally found her
voice. "Are you telling me that General Raines actually executed those
people?"

"That's right, lady."

"That is ... monstrous!"

"No, lady. That's justice." Ike turned and walked away.

Janet whirled around to face the reporters. "Do you people condone this
. . . this barbarism?"

Nils Wilson shrugged his shoulders. "I had a buddy used to say that when
in Rome, do as the Rumanians do."

The three reporters walked away, leaving Janet trying to figure that one
out.

The Rebels began nailing the lid on the box. Each day, the Rebels would
move forward several miles, closing the gap, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Many of the trapped punks panicked and tried to break free. Rebel
snipers, using custom-made .50 caliber sniper rifles, stopped them dead
. . . literally. Others

179

179

were caught out in the open by helicopter gunships and chopped up by
machine gun and cannon fire.

At night, Rebel Scouts and special operations people went head-hunting,
with silenced weapons, knives, and garottes. At first they brought back
ears as proof of their kills, until Ben got word of it and told them to
knock it off.

A few thugs were taken prisoner and allowed to live- a very few. And
then only after they had cooperated fully with the Rebel questioners.
The prisoners named many names and told of many atrocities committed.

The Rebels also learned that many gang leaders and their followers had
slipped out of the state before the Rebels sprung their ambushes and
closed the box, including Ray Brown and his large gang of punks. The
Rebels had trapped and were about to eliminate several thousand gang
members, but many of the top leaders had slipped out and gotten away.

Corrie glanced at Ben's face one morning and reached for her mic. She
knew Ben had lost his patience with the thugs remaining in the box.

"Finish it," Ben said.

Had there been any liberal media types around, they would have called it
carnage. Political middle-of-the-roaders and conservatives would have
called it justice. The murderers and rapists and child molesters and
assorted thugs and street slime caught in the box were dealt with
swiftly and with typical Rebel efficiency. Janet House-Lewiston was
shocked right down to her toes.

"Mass graves!" she wailed. "That isn't Christian."

"Neither were the crimes they committed," a Rebel told her.

180

###

Simon Border looked at the dispatch just handed him and frowned. The
SUSA had been cleared, for the most part, of criminals. It had taken the
Rebels approximately four months to do it. Simon had been certain it
would had take them at least a couple of years to accomplish that.

"Are we next?" one of Simon's generals asked.

Simon shook his head. "No. Ben Raines will keep his word as long as I
keep mine. Whatever else he may be, the man is honorable. He won't
attack us without provocation. And I don't intend to provoke him." Simon
smiled and added, "Yet."

"The man is a barbarian," one of Simon's church elders said. "He and his
Rebels are worse than the Vikings. Only the Lord God Almighty knows what
they do with women when they sweep through a village."

"They rape and pillage and burn," another of Simon's church elders said.
"They're savages."

"Amen, Brother Carl," another church leader said.

Simon knew better, but he let his people talk. This coming Sunday
morning, all over the territory Simon controlled, his ministers would be
denouncing Ben Raines and the Rebels from pulpits, verbally whipping the
congregation into a frenzy against Ben Raines, spreading lies and
half-truths all mingled with the word of God.

Just as Ben Raines had succeeded in setting up his SUSA, Simon had
succeeded in establishing his own form of government west of the
Mississippi. And it was all in accordance with the teachings found right
in the
181

181

Bible ... in how Simon and his elders interpreted the Bible, that is.

In Simon Border's country, there were no abortion clinics, for abortion
was not allowed for any reason. There were no offensive books; all
reading material first had to be approved by a blue-nosed, tight-lipped,
and narrow-minded censorship board. Nothing but G-rated movies were
allowed to be shown in the few theaters open and on the TV stations.
Music was heavily censored; only the classics were allowed, with a few
exceptions, and that included music played in one's home. Homosexuality
was punishable by death. Any man or woman who strayed into the fleshy
adventures of promiscuity had his or her head shaved, was stood up and
pointed out in church, and was shunned for an appropriate time. School
days began and ended with a lengthy prayer, and Bible study was a course
that every student took, in every grade. Divorce was frowned upon and
actual divorces were rare indeed. Church attendance was mandatory, every
Sunday and Sunday evening, and on Wednesday nights the services could
run for hours, with the preachers ranting and raving and sometimes
speaking in tongues (depending upon the church). Men worked, the women
stayed home and took care of the children, cooking the meals and
cleaning the house, subservient to the men at all times. (God said that
was the way it should be, said so right in the Bible-sort of.) Women
were not allowed to wear any type of revealing clothing and when
swimming, men were separated from the women. When a husband and wife
made love, only the missionary position was allowed (although just how
Simon enforced that was a mystery to all outside his territory).
Grunting and groaning and moaning and

182

shrieking out one's joy in the act was not allowed (people were urged to
keep an ear open for any violation of the rule by their neighbors).

"Fucking sedately, I suppose that would be called," Ben said, after
reading the rules set forth by Simon Border.

In Simon Border territory, newspapers reported only good things-unless
Mrs. Jones was caught fucking Mr. Smith. Such an abomination had to be
reported so all the good people would know. For shame, for shame!

The religious far right had finally succeeded in setting up their own
restrictive form of government.

"If your mommie is a commie, turn her in," Ben said with a smile, after
finishing his reading of just how Simon Border ran his government.

"What the hell is the missionary position?" Jersey asked, looking up
from the lengthy rules and regulations that residents of Simon Border's
territory had to follow.

"I will be only too glad to show you," Cooper said quickly.

Jersey cut her dark eyes to Cooper. "Forget it, Coop. I'll figure it out."

"Man on top, woman on the bottom," Ben said, before Cooper could get
himself in trouble.
Jersey looked at him. "That's it?"

"The singing of 'Onward Christian Soldiers' is optional, I suppose," Ben
said with a smile.

"Raines, you are disgraceful," Doctor Chase said, entering the old house
where Ben had set up his CP. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Oh, I am, Lamar. I am. What do you want?"

183

"Fresh vaccines will be here in a couple of hours. Have you decided when
we start the next push?"

"Might as well do it in the morning," Ben said, standing up and
stretching. "Let's see how the people outside the SUSA receive us."

Ben's battalion crossed over into Southern Illinois. They were not met
with open arms by the survivors, but then no one shot at them, either.
For the first twenty or so miles, anyway.

"The punks came through here and stripped our gardens of everything," a
local told Ben. "Took everything me and the wife had canned for the winter."

"We'll see that you get rations to last you through the winter," Ben
told him. "Our field rations might not be the tastiest things in the
world, but they will keep you alive."

The man was looking over that part of the convoy he could see. "You got
all kinds of folks in your army, General. We were told you were
operating some kind of racist place down south."

"Whoever told you that lied. Racism isn't allowed in the SUSA. You have
a trade before the Great War?"

"I did whatever was necessary to feed the bulldog, General. I'm a good
farmer. I can weld, lay brick, and I'm a good mechanic. Why do you ask?"

"We've got millions of acres of the most fertile land in the world just
waiting for a plow. Down in the SUSA, we have electricity, running
water, proper sewerage, newspapers, radio and TV, a valid currency,
shops and stores. And we don't have many rules and regulations.

184

We're a common sense society. You know what I mean by that?"

"Sure. Man puts up a 'No Trespassing' sign on his property, stay the
hell off of it. Man has a closed gate, that means he wants to keep it
closed. If it's locked, don't climb over it unless you want the shit
shot out you." He smiled. "That about the meat of it, General?"

Ben laughed. "I believe you hit the high points, yes. You interested in
relocating?"

"Damn right!"

"You know some others who might be interested?"
"Just about everybody I know."

"Get them together. How about a meeting tomorrow morning?"

"Suits me. Where?"

"Over where we'll be bivouacked. We won't be hard to find."

The man looked at the miles-long column. "Sure won't," he muttered.

"See you in the morning," Ben said. He smiled as the man walked away.
"I'll repopulate the SUSA while I'm helping the good folks who live
outside of our boundaries."

"You mean," Corrie said, "you'll move the cream of the crop down to the
SUSA and leave the rest."

"Why, Corrie." Ben feigned great indignation. "You would actually accuse
me of doing something underhanded like that?"

Ben smiled as his team roared with laughter.

185

"In the SUSA," Ben told the gathering of men and women, some one hundred
or more, "you control your own destiny to a very large degree. Much more
so than the old government, Republican or Democrat, would ever let you.
In the SUSA, the government is not your nanny, nor will it ever be. We
have very few rules and regulations. Because we have so few government
agencies, our taxes are very low, and the tax system is very simple. We
don't have police-not like you're accustomed to having. And we damn sure
don't have secret police, prowling around in your lives. We don't have
anything that even vaguely resembles the FBI, the Secret Service, the
ATF, Postal Inspectors, investigators from OSHA, HUD, IRS, or POOP,
CRAP, or FART ..."

Ben waited until the applause and laughter had died down.

' 'There is no bloated bureaucracy in the SUSA. Agents from the
government will not be sneaking and snooping

186

William W. Johnstone

around your property checking to see if you have some sort of assault
rifle with a bayonet lug-because you damn sure will have at least
one-and it will be fully automatic. Every adult living in the SUSA is
part of the home guard and is expected to help defend the SUSA if or
when the time comes. If that is something you do not wish to be a part
of, then you may leave this meeting now and I respect your decision."

Four men and four women got up and walked away.

Ben said, "In the SUSA, our laws are based on common sense. That's why
it is so difficult for some to understand life there. If you're
constantly sticking your lip into someone else's business, you won't
make it there. If you choose to ignore warning signs posted on someone's
property, don't try life in the SUSA, because somebody will bury you
there. If you get drunk and get behind the wheel of a vehicle and kill
some innocent person, the charge is automatic-it isn't vehicular
homicide, it's murder. We've had three drive-by shootings in the SUSA.
The people who did the shootings were hanged. The investigation, arrest,
trial, and execution took about ten days in each case. We're not
interested in niceties or legal technicalities in the SUSA. Burn a cross
on someone's yard in the SUSA and that property owner will step outside
and shoot you and everybody gathered there with you. And nothing will be
done to the person who pulls the trigger on the trespassers. My rights
end at your property line, your rights end at mine."

Three couples shook their heads, got up, and left the group.

Ben waited until they had left the meeting area and said, "Our laws are
few, but they are set in granite.

187

187

Don't come down there expecting to change them, because you'll fail. We
take care of the very old, the very young, and the infirm. We love our
pets and we take care of them. If you don't like animals, you better
stay out of the SUSA."

Two couples got up and left. Ben watched them go with a slight smile on
his lips.

He said, "If you're a whiner or a complainer, stay out of the SUSA. If
you want a free ride, go somewhere else. If your neighbor has an
unwanted pregnancy and chooses abortion, that's her business, and none
of yours or mine. We don't have strikes or work slow-downs in the SUSA.
Everyone is on an equal footing there, so we don't have such things as
affirmative action programs. You will not be promoted simply because of
your race or gender. Any position in the armed forces is open to
qualified people. As you have probably already noticed, women serve in
combat positions in the Rebel Army- and no bullshit about it is
tolerated. Our schools teach fact, not fiction. We stress education, not
who can run the fastest or throw a ball the hardest or farthest. In the
SUSA, we know the difference between a hero and an athlete. Games are
fun to play and watch. But they are just games. Not important. Anyone
who would fight over the outcome of a game or a referee's call is an
idiot and we don't want them in the SUSA."

Four men sitting together got up and walked away, their backs stiff with
indignation. "Jockstraps," Ben heard Jersey mutter. "Good riddance."

A number of women in the gathering heard Jersey's comment and smiled.
Several men grinned, looked sheepish, and nodded their heads in agreement.

"Don't misunderstand me," Ben said. "We have all

188

sorts of games in our schools in the SUSA. We just know and stress their
level of importance."

He looked over the faces of the crowd. He guessed about thirty people
had left the gathering; about seventy-five remained. Ben pointed to a
group of Rebels standing off to one side. "Those are political officers.
They can answer all your questions about the SUSA and the laws we live
under. Thank you for listening to me."

Doctor Lamar Chase fell into step with Ben. "When did you get here, Lamar?"

"This morning. Early. Ben . . . dammit, you're doing it again."

Ben stopped and faced him. "Doing what, Lamar?"

"Don'thand me that, Raines! You're going to repopu-late the SUSA with
the cream and leave the rest for somebody else to worry about The
slackers and whiners can't or won't live under our laws. Those with
ajockstrap mentality can't even understand our laws. And even if they
could get it through all that mush in their brains, somebody would shoot
them before the first week was out."

Ben chuckled at the expression on Lamar's face, but said nothing. He
knew there was more coming from his old friend.

"Ben, I understand what you're doing. But we can't heal the country this
way."

Ben moved them over to the shade of a huge old tree.' 'Lamar, for
forty-odd years the liberals had control of this nation. They fucked it
up seven ways to sundown. They fucked it up so bad it was beyond the
point of repair. If the world had not blown up in our faces, millions of
American people were on the verge of armed revolution. I will not be a
party to that occurring again.

189

189

The SUSA will not be inhabited by whiners and second, third and fourth
generation welfare families who lay up on their asses and breed like
field mice and expect the government to take care of them and their
kids. I know that sometimes people are in need of help, and we've never
hesitated a second in seeing that they got that help-"

Lamar held up a hand. "Ben, don't get wound up on me. I know that
everything you just said is true. But you're talking isolationism."

' 'That's right, Lamar. But only after we visit every state that is
humanly possible to visit and try our damnedest to prop these people up
and get them functioning again. And you will have to agree that from
what we've seen thus far, that's going to be damn near impossible."

"You know, of course, what they're waiting for."

"Sure I do. They're sitting around with their thumbs up their asses
waiting for the government to come in and take them by their pretty
little hands and make everything all better again. Just like the fucking
liberals conditioned them to expect for forty fucking years! The only
problem is that there is no government."

"Except for us," the doctor said softly.

"That's right, Lamar. Us. And like the old fellow said one time: Us'ins
is gonna look out for us'selves."

Ben turned away and walked off.
Ben watched as forty-eight families packed up their meager possessions
and headed south, accompanied by a team of Rebels to insure their safe
passage into the SUSA.

Ben split his battalion and sent two companies east

190

to Marion and Harrisburg, while he took two companies and went west to
Murphysboro and Carbondale.

Ben did not travel over to his birthplace, just a few miles south of
Marion. He did not want to see the burned-out ruins of the house where
he and his brothers and sisters had been raised, and where his mother
and father had died during the chemical part of the Great War. He had
buried his second brother and family in Springfield, and had buried his
sister in her backyard in Normal, Illinois. Ben had been forced to kill
his older brother in a shoot-out up in the Northwest, after his brother
joined a Nazi Party movement and tried to kill Ben.

In both Carbondale and Murphysboro, the survivors had come together and
were slowly rebuilding. Only a few families were interested in
relocating to the SUSA. The Rebels who had gone to Harrisburg reported
the same. And not all the people would allow the Rebel doctors to treat
and inoculate them.

"What the hell is the matter with these people?" Ben questioned Doctor
Chase.

"They don't trust us," the doctor replied. "But they seem to love the
rhetoric put out by Simon Border. I've seen a lot of copies of his
newspapers."

"Then let Simon Border come in and give them vaccines," Ben said. "Screw
'em."

The Rebels pulled out. Most of the people in that area seemed glad to
see them go. Ben ordered all battalions to split and begin working in a
Z-pattern, in order to hit as many towns as possible. Batt corns
reported meeting no resistance of any kind as they traveled.

Ben took his two companies and angled over to get a look at what
remained of East St. Louis. It was a ruin.

191

191

Scouts reported back from working their way close to St. Louis.

"This Issac Africa has troops all along the west side of the river." The
Scout smiled. "They do appear to be a mite jumpy. We deliberately let
them spot us."

"Let's get out of here," Ben said. "We'll head straight up 55 and
investigate the towns that are located no more than twenty or thirty
miles east and west of the interstate. Second section get on Interstate
57 and do the same. Continue working the Z-pattern. There is no way
humanly possible to hit all the towns, but we'll visit many of them this
way. Corrie, get on the horn to Buddy and have his special ops people
drop in and clear the airport in Springfield for traffic. We've got to
be resup-plied. Our Scouts are reporting no signs of any major
resistance are expected. But there might be a few creep-ies around.
Those bastards love airports."

"We're going to be in Wisconsin when winter comes," Jersey said, a
not-too-happy tone in her voice. "Does it snow much in Wisconsin?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Cooper fired back.

"Wonderful," Jersey muttered. Jersey's early years were spent on a
reservation in the Southwest. Winter was not her favorite time of year.

"What's the matter, my little cactus flower?" Cooper asked. "Do you miss
your rattlesnakes and gila monsters?"

"No, Cooper. I've got you."

Ben and his two companies began working west to Highway 67 and east to
Highway 51. The second section worked from the Indiana state line over
to Highway 51. Many of the people refused to receive the inoculations or
allow their children to receive them.

192

"Don't they realize they're putting their children's lives at risk?" Ben
asked Chase one evening.

The Rebels were bivouacked in a tiny town about thirty miles south of
Springfield, just off Interstate 55. The second section of Rebels were
bivouacked about twenty-five miles south of Urbana/-Champaign, just off
Interstate 57.

"I believe the further north we go, the cooler the reception is going to
be," Chase replied. "Both from the majority of the people and the weather."

"But we'll see more and more of the people working together to rebuild,"
Ben added. "And that's good. That's what I want. Keep them out of the SUSA."

Lamar laughed. "These are good people up here, Ben. Good, solid,
hard-working people."

"Democrats," Ben said sourly.

Lamar had a good laugh out of that.

"It was split pretty even in the last two elections before the Great
War, boss," Beth said.

Ben grunted. "The Democrats still carried those states."

"You're impossible, Raines!" Chase said, standing up. "Hell, I voted for
the Democratic ticket occasionally."

"So did I," Ben said. "Once."

Chuckling, Doctor Chase left the small house Ben was using for the night.

"This is a fool's errand," Ben said. "Many of the people won't even let
us inoculate them. Some run off when they see us. I ought to turn the
whole damn business around and head back to the SUSA. Bunker ourselves
in and let the rest of the country go right straight to hell. Ungrateful
bunch of semi-Socialists."

That got his entire team laughing at him.

193

193

Corrie turned to her radio and listened for a moment. "Buddy reporting
in, boss."

"Buddy?" Ben stood up and walked to the radio. "I told him to send some
special ops people in, not go himself." He keyed the mic. "Go, boy."

' 'The airport is secure, Eagle. There were a few creeps. We took care
of them. Those people left in what remains of the city are in pretty
rough shape."

"Any organization?"

"Not that I could see."

"Country people will survive and city people will struggle," Ben
muttered. He keyed the mic. "OK, boy. We'll see you tomorrow, late."

"That's ten-four, Eagle."

"We'll drive straight through to Springfield, Corrie. We've got to   be
resupplied. Bump the others and tell them to start cleaning up the
airport at Champaign. When they're resupplied, they're to pull out   and
check everything east of Highway 51 and north up to Interstate 80,   and
east to the Indiana line. But stay clear of Chicago. I think we're   going
to find some crap and crud among the ruins."

"The way we hammered that city, how could there be anything left?"
Jersey asked. She shook her head and answered her own question. "But
there always is. With the creepies feeding on them," she added with a
shudder.

Then Cooper asked what every Rebel had asked at one time or the other.
"What the hell is the matter with these people? Why don't they pick up a
gun, get organized, and fight?"

Ben smiled. "Because they're waiting for the government to come in and
do it for them."

194

Buddy met his father's columns on the outskirts of the ruined city, just
south of Lake Springfield. "I figure at least five thousand people in
the city, Father. And I'm probably short by five thousand."

"And they're doing what, as if I couldn't guess?"

"Nothing. But in areas all around the city, out in the country, people
are wrapping up this season's harvest, getting the last produce from
their gardens, and are getting ready to kill and butcher hogs. They've
organized into groups."

Ben sighed. "OK, gang. Let's go see what we've got in the city."

It was depressing. . . even to Ben. Hundreds of people gathered around
the trucks and tanks and Hummers. They were people of all ages and
genders and races.

"Shit!" Ben muttered. "Corrie, get our people unassed and push these
crowds back so we can set up."

Tanks rumbled up and surrounded Ben's vehicle,

195

195

forcing the crowd back. Ben got out and hopped up on a tank. Cooper
tossed him a bullhorn.

"Back up," Ben told the crowds. "We'll take care of you all, but you've
got to give us room to set up. Now back up, please."

Slowly, grudgingly, the crowds began backing up. Rebels quickly formed a
line and began moving them further back. It took the better part of an
hour before order was established and the Rebels began setting up
medical tents.

"We're going to be here for a few days," Chase said to Ben. "At least."

"Get ready, boss," Beth said. "Here comes Janet House-Lewiston.''

"Wonderful," Ben muttered.

"With the reporters," Jersey added.

"I'm overjoyed," Ben said.

"Oh, these poor, poor people!" Janet cried, bursting onto the scene.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Jersey said sarcastically.

"Don't you dare be sick," Ben told her. "And that's an order. I need you
here."

"Planes coming in," Corrie called. "ETA ten minutes."

Ben looked at Chase and grinned. "Have fun, Lamar. I'll be out at the
airport."

The doctor gave him the finger.

"Everything is shaping up just fine down home, General," one of the
pilots told Ben. "Things are pretty much getting back to normal. We're
screening and processing about fifty families a day and settling them in."

196

"President Jefferys's 22 Batt?" Ben asked with a smile.
The pilot laughed and refilled his coffee cup from a thermos. "Now that
bunch, General, defies description. I really wouldn't want to mess
around much with those ol' boys and gals. They may be getting a little
long in the tooth, but they're still rough as hell. They wiped out the
last pocket of punks found in our area. And they didn't take any prisoners."

There were six of the big transport planes parked on the tarmac, each
plane capable of carrying tons of supplies. Deuce-and-a-halves were
lined up, receiving the boxes and crates.

Ben spotted his son, Buddy, and waved him over. "Why don't you round up
your special ops people and hitch a ride back with these guys?"

"Oh," Buddy said with a smile. "I think I'll stick around for a while,
Father."

"I could order you back," Ben told him.

"Then that would put me in a hard bind, Father."

"How so?"

"Because I'm acting under direct orders from die President, that's why."

The pilot had backed off, away from the father and son. He wanted no
part of this family squabble.

"Cecil order you to bird-dog me, boy?"

"Let's just say he asked that I stay close in case you needed my people."

"I see. How many people did you bring with you, boy?"

"Two companies."

Two companies of the most highly trained personnel in the Rebel army.
Buddy's special operations people received training equal to the Navy's
SEAL teams, the

197

197

Marine Corps Force Recon, the Army's Special Forces and Ranger, the Air
Force's Air Controllers and Commandos, the French Foreign Legion, and
the British SAS. For the most part, they were young, in the peak of
physical condition, and per person, had a higher kill average than any
other unit.

"Aren't you afraid of getting bored tagging along with us?" Ben asked.

"Oh, I think not," Buddy said with a smile. He took a map from his
pocket and spread it out on the fender of a truck. He put a blunt finger
on the area around Chicago. "Full of creepies, Father. From the ruins of
Chicago all the way up to the Wisconsin line.'' He moved his finger over
to Rockford. "And that is where Ray Brown and his gang have settled in
for the winter."

Ben looked at the map for a moment, then lifted his eyes. "Well, now.
This might prove to be interesting, after all."
Buddy smiled. "I thoughtyou might say that, Father."

"The people want to know how they're supposed to live through the
winter," Ben was informed.

Ben sighed and ran    his fingers through his graying hair. "There are
hundreds of vacant    homes in this area. Most with fireplaces. Have any of
these people given    any thought at all to using an axe or a crosscut saw
to lay in a supply    of firewood for the winter?"

"Apparently not," Buddy told him.

"I think they want us to do that for them," Jersey said.

"Well, we're not going to do it," Ben said. "As far as

198

I'm concerned, thus far this 'nation healing process' has been a dismal
failure."

It was late fall, and a fire was crackling in the fireplace of the home
Ben was using for a CP. Doctor Chase was sitting in an old overstuffed
chair in a corner of the room.

"The people who are going to do for    themselves have done it," Ben
continued. "Those who want somebody    else to do it for them have gathered
and are waiting for that to happen.    We're not going to do it for them .
. . and that's final. Corrie, issue    those orders to all batt corns."

"Right, boss." But she did not immediately turn to the radio.

Ben looked over at Lamar. "Go ahead, Lamar. Say it."

"Say what? What do you want me to say, Ben? Hell, I know what we're up
against. We can't go into every community in twenty or more states and
prop people up, knowing they're going to fall down as soon as we leave.
At the rate we're going it would take us years, it would exhaust our own
resources, and in the end, accomplish nothing. Right now, we've covered
only half of one state and I can clearly see the so-called 'healing
process' is not going to work. The plan looked very good on paper. It
just didn't work in the field." He fell silent and sipped his whiskey
and water.

"So far," Ben said.

"What do you mean, Father?" Buddy asked. "What are you thinking?"

"At first light, round up all the survivors that are milling around
waiting for us to do everything for them.

199

Round them up at gunpoint and bring them here. I don't know how else to
do this."

"What are you going to do, Ben?" Chase was sitting up straight, his
whiskey and water forgotten. "Shoot them?"
"No," Ben said with a smile. "But they might think that's what I'm going
to do."

"Seven-thousand-nine-hundred-forty-two men, women, and children," Beth
said, reading from a clipboard.

"How many children under the age of thirteen?" Ben asked.

"Seven-hundred-fifty-two.''

"They have been separated from their parents?"

"Right, boss. They're being served a hot breakfast as we speak."

"PA system working?"

"Affirmative."

"Tools and cleaning equipment rounded up?"

"Right, boss," Cooper said. "Rebels worked all night sifting through the
rubble. We've got hammers and boxes of nails and brooms and handsaws and
so forth. All stacked and ready to go."

Janet House-Lewiston stood with the three reporters, off to one side,
all of them looking at Ben. "What is that man going to do?" she whispered.

"Whatever it is," Cassie said. "You can bet he's going to be uncommonly
blunt about it."

Ben walked over to the raised platform and climbed up, walking over to
the microphone. He tapped the mic and the sound popped out of the huge
outdoor speakers. He looked down into the hundreds of faces,

200

William W. Johnstone

most of them registering undisguised fear. He said, "You people are the
laziest, most irresponsible and worthless pack of assholes I have ever
seen." His voice boomed out over the heads of the crowd.

The crowd gasped in shock and so did Janet. Nils, Cassie, and Frank smiled.

"I know from reading the questionnaires you filled out that most of you
men and women have at least a high school education, many of you have
some college and about twenty percent of you are college graduates. You
ought to be ashamed of yourselves." Ben's voice was thick with scorn.
"You're behaving like worthless rabble. Well, that is about to come to a
halt. Right now." He looked down at the clipboard. "Mr. Scott Turner.
Front and center. Right now! Move it, goddammit!"

A man with a very frightened look on his face pushed through the crowd
and stood in front of the platform.

Ben looked down at him. "You stand right there, mister. And don't you
move." Ben called out twenty more names, men and women. When that group
had gathered in front of the platform, Ben said, "Before the Great War
and during the first rebuilding process afterward, you men and women
were successful in your chosen fields. You cover the spectrum.
Businessmen and women, contractors, plumbers, electricians-you
twenty-one people cover the whole nine yards. You did well at your
chosen professions, but now you just want to give up and roll over.
Well, you're not going to do that. I'm not going to let you because the
nation needs you. You, Mr. Turner, are now the leader of this pack of
pricks and pussies. You and these other men and women I've chosen are
going to oversee the rebuilding and setting up of a very clean and
prosperous and

201

201

smooth-running community. Do you know why you're going to do that?"

The men and women looked up at him and shook their heads.

"Because if you don't, I'm going to come back and shoot every goddamn
one of you, that's why!"

"Oh, my God!" Janet hissed. "He can't mean that!"

"He means it," Nils whispered, hiding his smile.

"And while your bodies are cooling on the ground," Ben continued, "I'll
pick twenty or so others and see what they can do. And if they fuck up,
I'll shoot them!" he roared, the speakers rattling.

All the men and women in the huge crowd were scared, and made no attempt
to hide it.

"We're going to stick around here for a week or so," Ben said. "But we
won't be doing the work, you people will. We'll just supervise the
operation. This community is going to shine. It's going to be an
example. This litter and rubble is going to be picked up, hauled off,
and disposed of properly. Homes are going to be swept out and floors
mopped until they shine like a barracks before inspection-"

"Fuck you!" a man shouted from the crowd. He pushed his way through to
stand in front of the raised platform. "You can't make me do a goddamn
thing I don't want to do. You can take your goddamn orders and stick 'em
up your goddamn ass, you goddamn tin soldier son-of-a-bitch!"

Ben shot him.

Coldly, dispassionately, and without any visible sign of emotion, Ben
shot him between the eyes.

"Oh, my God!" Janet whispered in shock. "I can't believe I'm witnessing
this."

202

"I can," Frank Service said. "This nation's future is at stake. And Ben
Raines knows it."

Ben held the pistol at his side. "Anybody else?" He spoke calmly into
the microphone.

No one in the crowd uttered a sound or made a move.
"Get to work," Ben said. "Right now!"

203

"Just as busy as a bunch of little bees," Ben remarked, as he drove
around the suburbs of the city. "The place is beginning to look like
something again."

"I can't believe you shot that man, Ben," Lamar said. "I was there, I
saw it, but I can't believe it."

"You still don't get it, do you, Lamar?" Ben questioned.

"What is it I'm supposed to get, Raines?"

"Fear, Lamar. Pure and simple fear. That's what these people were
waiting on-fear. That's what the liberals conditioned a certain number
of Americans to live under. Fear. Fear of the government. If you don't
pay your taxes, we'll seize your property or put you in jail, or both.
If you don't toe the line, no matter how petty and ridiculous the law,
we'll punish you. We-the government-are your masters. You don't have
enough sense to run your own lives, so we'll do it for you. They made
rules and regulations and forms so complex, com-

204

plicated, and so filled with gobbledy gook, about half of the American
people caved in and became nothing more than puppets. The fucking
liberals cut the heart and the guts out of millions of people. They
based their government on fear. I just used that still-lingering fear to
get the people back to work. That man I shot may have been a good man, a
decent man. And I'm sure the Almighty will make me pay for what I did .
. . among other sins too numerous to mention. But I will put this nation
back together again.

"The SUSA will survive and prosper and grow powerful under Rebel rule.
Up here, these frightened little rabbits now cleaning up the streets and
homes will, eventually, get some steel in their backbones and start once
again legislating themselves into a maze of rules and regulations and
complexities, because that's the way the fucking liberal government of
the past conditioned them to live. And in their own way, they will
prosper. They'll bog themselves down building prisons and halfway houses
and public housing and basketball courts for worthless goddamn punks,
and tax themselves to the breaking point trying to be all things to all
people all the time. In a few years, they'll have bars on their windows
and twenty-nine locks on their doors, and car alarms and home security
systems and they'll piss and moan about the crime rate and will never
understand that it's all their fault. But . . . that's the way they want
to live, Lamar. So be it. I'll help them return to that."

Lamar stared at Ben for a full minute. Then he said, "Well, I'll just be
goddamned!"

205

205

The Rebels pulled out one week after Ben laid down his ultimatum to the
people. During that week, blocks and blocks of the suburbs had been
transformed into clean streets and neat homes. Water and electricity had
not yet been restored, but that wasn't far off.

Ben met one last time with Scott Turner and the group. The men and women
were neatly dressed and had a lot of their former pride back. "You're on
your own now," Ben told them. "It's doubtful I'll be back, but Rebel
patrols will be checking in until the Midwest is brought back from the
ashes. After that, what kind of government you install is up to you. But
I have a pretty good idea what it will be."

"You don't think much of us, do you, General?" a woman asked.

Ben shook his head. "I'll pass on that question, lady, since it's
doubtful our paths will ever cross again. Maybe you folks were knocked
down so hard, twice in a row, you forgot how to get up on your own. But
you're up now. And whether you stay up or go down for the count is now
entirely in your hands. You'd better form up some sort of home guard for
defense, and appoint people as peace officers. I'm not ordering you to
do that. It's just a suggestion. I'm not going to waste my breath
telling you about letting criminals get the upper hand or how to deal
with them. That's up to you people now. Goodbye and good luck." Ben
walked out of the newly cleaned up and repainted community building.
"Mount up!" he hollered. "We're outta here!"

And that was the way the Rebels began ramming some steel into the
backbone of a twice demoralized American

206

populace. From the Mississippi River east to the Atlantic Ocean, the
Rebels rolled into community after community and, using threats, fear,
coercion and intimidation, they started the long and tedious job of
propping up America . . . one more time.

Ben took his people west and crossed the Illinois River, heading for
Quincy, spending a week there. Then he turned to the northeast and
headed for Peoria. Over to Galesburg and up to Moline. By this time the
weather had turned bitterly cold. The Rebels began inspecting each house
they came to, looking for blankets and clothing. When they were found,
they were carefully laundered and given to the people. The Rebels
rounded up cattle and hogs and sheep. They repaired fences and chicken
coops. By the first of the new year, the people they were helping got
into the spirit of the thing and began struggling to stand on their own
two feet before the Rebels arrived. No one likes to be browbeaten and
threatened and belittled.

"By God, Ben, it's working," Nick Stafford, commander of 18 Batt radioed
from the East Coast.

"It was a desperation move on my part, Nick," Ben said. "I just didn't
know what else to do. If this had failed, I was going to turn us around
and head on back to the SUSA."

On the fifteenth of January, a major winter storm slammed into the
nation and Ben ordered everybody to shut it down and wait it out. Ben
and his 1 Batt were on the outskirts of Rockford, ready for a fight, but
Ray Brown and his gang had pulled out, leaving behind them a dead
city-gutted, looted, destroyed and utterly devoid of people.

207
207

"Simon Border has probably given them sanctuary," Ben said.

"I thought he was such a fine, upstanding Christian person," Beth
remarked, a smile playing at her lips.

"Simon Border is a prick," Ben said. "He's playing both ends against the
middle. He's shaken hands with the devil in an attempt to get rid of us."

"Ray Brown and all the other gang leaders just might decide to turn on
him," Cooper said.

"They might," Ben agreed. "But not for a while. I suspect that Simon has
justified what he's doing by telling his followers he's using
mercenaries against us. Any means to an end. Come the spring, we'll have
a real fight on our hands. And you can all get ready for it."

"But won't the people we've helped pitch in to help us when push comes
to shove?" Anna questioned.

"I doubt it," Ben said. "Oh, some of   them will, sure. But not the
majority. We're like the gunfighters   of the Old West, gang. It's all
right for us to come in and clean up   the town, but once the killing is
done, the outlaws buried or run out,   and the streets safe, the people
don't want us around. We give them a   guilty conscience."

Anna, now sixteen (or maybe seventeen, she wasn't sure), shook her head
and walked off, muttering about people in general and certain types of
people in particular.

The weather had brought the Rebel push to an abrupt halt, trapping Lamar
Chase with Ben's 1 Batt in Northern Illinois, just a few miles south of
the Wisconsin border. The old roads were impassable and were going to
remain that way until the storm broke and the weather warmed.

When Ben started studying aerial recon maps of the

208

ruins of Chicago, his team knew playtime was over and they were about to
get down to the serious business of war.

What was left of Chicago was under the control of gangs and creeps. For
several years, the gangs and the creeps had been ranging out of the
city, into the countryside, looting and pillaging and kidnapping victims
for slavery or whoredom ... or for dinner.

Ben alerted Ike's 2 Batt and Dan's 3 Batt to get ready to move against
the thugs and the creeps as soon as the weather warmed. The runways were
cleared at Rock-ford's airport and planes began coming in, bringing
supplies for a major push.

Ike's people began clearing the main runway at an old airport just south
of Gary, Indiana and the transports came roaring in. Dan began moving
his people across the line to a position south and west of the city and
began receiving supplies at an airport there.

In Chicago, the tfiugs and punks and creeps geared up for a fight.
Buddy pulled his 8 Batt in and positioned them west of the city on the
old East/West Tollway.

Lamar Chase began stockpiling medical supplies.

The winter storm abated, the sun broke through, and the temperature
warmed, melting the ice and snow. The highways were clear.

"Chicago is a festering boil," Ben said. "And we're going to lance it."

210 Two

Revolutions are not made; they come. A revolution is as natural a growth
as an oak. It comes out of the past. Its foundations are laid far back.

-Wendell Phillips

211

"There are people living all over what is left of the suburbs," Scouts
reported to Ben. "But they're living there of their own free will.
They've aligned themselves with the gangs and the creeps."

Ben looked up at the sky. Clear blue with not a cloud to be seen. The
temperature was in the low forties. "Order the planes and the gunships
in, Corrie."

Over the years, the Rebels had worked this out to perfection. Artillery
and planes and gunships would hammer the target for hours, sometimes
days, reducing everything to burning, smoking rubble. Then the ground
troops would move in, slowly searching every pile of rubble. And they
rarely took prisoners. The enemy had been warned many, many times;
surrender or die. Once the Rebels entered a free-fire zone, they would
shoot on sight.

It took the Rebels four weeks to clear the ruins of Chicago of most
creepies, gangs, and other assorted

212

William W. Johnstone

crud. After talking with what few prisoners they took, Rebel estimates
were that they had cleared perhaps ninety percent of the criminals who
had occupied the ruins of the once great city.

The ten percent remaining were hiding amid the rubble and the ruins.
They would probably continue their way of life, preying on the innocent,
but the backbone of the gangs was broken, with the heads chopped off.

The Rebels made plans to move on.

"Wisconsin," Beth read from a worn old tourist guide she had found
somewhere, "comprises just over fifty-six thousand square miles. Before
the Great War, it had a population of five million."

"Thank you, Beth," Cooper said. "I really needed that information."

"Talk to me, Beth," Jersey told her. "Cooper's level of comprehension
stops at Mickey Mouse."

Ben was sitting at a portable desk, going over a list of supplies they
would need before they shoved off. He paused, listening to his team talk.

"Did you ever get to see any of the Disney parks, Jersey?" Corrie asked.

"Only the ruins," she replied. "You?"

"Somebody took me to one when I was real litde," Corrie said. "But I can
just vaguely remember it. I can't even remember who took me."

"I remember just after the Great War," Jersey recalled, "gas got my
whole family. I wandered around for about a week, just looking at all
the dead bodies. Then I came up to the casino on the reservation. Huge
place. It was all deserted, except for the dead. I must have gone into
shock. For a long time after that, months,

213

213

things are just a blur. How in the hell I wound up two states away is
still a mystery to me."

Many of the younger Rebels had similar stories; only vague memories of
wandering, hiding from gangs, fighting for survival after the bombs and
the deadly gas covered the land.

"There is an airport here in Southern Wisconsin large enough to handle
our transports," Ben said, standing up. "Let's get moving."

Ben left Ike and Dan to sift through the ruins of Milwaukee and clear it
of gangs. He took his 1 Batt and moved west, into the southern part of
Wisconsin. Almost in the geographical center of the state, about twenty
miles north of the Illinois state line, Ben and his people began getting
the main runway in shape to receive die transport planes. About five
hundred people were living in and around the town that once boasted a
population of some fifteen thousand. Many of them did not receive the
Rebels with welcoming arms.

"We're not here to bodier you," Ben tried to assure them. "We're here to
bring you up to date on your shots, to see if we can be of any
assistance, and then we'll move on."

"We don't care for your form of government," the spokesperson told him.
"We want no part of it."

"We're not here to force our philosophy on you," Ben told him. "We're
here to offer medical treatment, help in fixing up your community,
setting up a communications link to the outside-things of that nature."

But die townspeople weren't buying that ... at least not at first. They
were suspicious and very wary of the

214

Rebels. In their minds, the Rebels were just too well-fed and healthy,
their equipment first-rate.
After a few more moments of decidedly one-sided conversation, Ben came
within a breath of telling the local to go get screwed. Then he got his
temper under some degree of control and stared at the man for a moment.

"Mister, let me tell you something. I really don't want to be roaming
all over America, trying to pull this country back together. That is
something you people should be doing. You people don't even like the
Rebel form of government. But yet, here we are, trying to help, and all
we're getting from you is guff. Mister, in our society, people help
people. Maybe you don't feel that way-if that's the case, I'm sorry for
you-but helping each other is the Rebel way."

The local stared at Ben for a few seconds. Shook his head. When he
spoke, his tone was softer. "It's nice of you folks to come all the way
up here to lend us a hand. I'll get the people together, General. It's
been a long time since any of us had a real doctor look at us."

Had the Rebels stayed longer, the people might have really warmed up to
them. But the Rebels didn't have the time. They did what they could to
help, then moved on, pushing further and further north.

The Rebels strung telephone wire, got water and sewerage systems
working. For the first time in a long time, they were more teacher than
soldier, friend rather than warrior. They hit no resistance as they
moved north. Ike reported that the dead city of Milwaukee had held few
gangs and no creeps.

"Hell, Ben," Ike radioed. "It's boring!"

215

215

"Where have the punks and the gangs gone?" Ben asked Mike Richards one
late afternoon.

The chief of Rebel intelligence shook his head. "I don't know, Ben. But
you can bet they didn't change their spots overnight."

"Is it possible they slipped across the river into Simon Border's
territory?"

"I think some of them did, yes. We talked about this earlier. My
personal opinion is that they've broken up into small groups and just
faded into the landscape. They've finally gotten it through their heads
they don't have a chance meeting us head-on. Every time they try that,
we crush them like bugs."

"All right, fine. I'll accept that. But what about the rabble-for want
of a better word, and there must be one-that we chased out of the SUSA?
What the hell happened to them? There were thousands of them."

"You want a personal opinion, Ben? One that has no proof behind it?"

"Might as well."

"I think the Rebels scared the living shit out of them. I think when
they saw that we would shoot to kill, they finally saw the light, so to
speak. I believe many of them have found a spot to roost and settled in."
After Mike had left, Ben sat for a long time, deep in thought. If what
Mike said was true, and Ben had no reason to doubt it, the Rebels were,
for the most part, through with their purge of the states east of the
Mississippi-with the exception of the far northeast part of the country.

It was a strange feeling.

Corrie broke into his thoughts. "Boss, there is someone here to see you."

216

William W. Johnstone

Ben looked up. "Who is it?"

"Some man by the name of Paul Altaian."

"Senator Paul Altaian?"

Corrie shrugged her shoulders. "I guess. Who is that?"

' 'A moderate Democrat, if you can believe it. I thought he was dead."

Corrie smiled. "He looks alive to me."

"Show him in, Corrie."

It was Paul Altaian. Older, grayer, but then, Ben thought, so were they all.

Ben shook hands with the man and waved him to a chair. Beth brought in
coffee and the senator from Michigan-or the ex-senator from what had
once been Michigan-accepted it gratefully.

"Real coffee," Altaian said. "It's been a long time."

"I thought you were dead, Senator. You haven't surfaced in years."

Paul took a sip of coffee and sighed contentedly. ' 'When I saw the
group that Homer was putting together a couple of years back, I decided
to stay out of sight. That was the biggest pack of nitwits ever to
assemble in one spot."

Ben smiled. "I will certainly agree with that without reservation."

Paul smiled and took another sip of coffee. "So now the Rebels are on
the move, claiming everything in sight?"

"Not a chance, Senator. No way."

Paul's eyes widened in surprise. "Then . . . ?" He let that trail off.

"The Rebels are going state to state, doing what needs to be done to
prop up the people, and doing it as best

217

217

we can with what we have. Simon Border has claimed nearly all the states
west of the Mississippi River. The Rebels control the SUSA. The rest of
the states are up for grabs. We don't want them, Senator."

The senator cocked his head to one side and gave Ben a very curious look.

"We don't want them, Senator," Ben repeated.

"Then what happens to those states and the people in them?"

"I don't know."

"You're very cavalier about it, General."

"They aren't my responsibility, Senator." Ben smiled. "You want them,
take them."

Paul laughed, being careful not to spill his coffee. "It isn't quite
that simple, General."

"Sure, it is, Senator. It's a whole new world out there now. It's real
easy. The biggest kid on the block rules the block. You get you a
following, arm them, and take over. You do it community by community,
county by county, state by state. The more territory you claim, the
larger your army will be. See how simple it is?"

"If you don't care what happens to the people in these other states,
then why are you here?"

Ben sighed. "Well ... to tell you the truth, because it's probably the
right thing to do, Senator. Right . . . because unless we get a lot of
people inoculated, a plague is likely to spread across the land. Right .
. . because without somebody coming in and helping the people rid
themselves of gangs, twenty states are likely to become a wasteland.
Right for a number of reasons, Senator. Why don't I want to lay claim to
these states? Because the SUSA is just the right size to govern. Because
the cry-babies of this nation need someplace of their own

218

to piss and moan about the rights of baby-rapers and murderers and
muggers and car thieves-" Ben held up a hand.' 'Remember, don't let a
good boy go bad, Senator, always take the keys out of your car."

Paul Altman burst out laughing. He wiped his eyes and said, "I always
did like your sense of humor, General. Albeit on the dark side."

"I'm sure you were in the minority among your fellow party members," Ben
said, very drily.

"Oh, come on, General! There were always many moderate Democrats and
quite a few conservative Democrats. But domestic terrorism became such a
threat in this country, we had to pass many restrictive laws."

"Horseshit! You'll never convince me of that. But let's save the
arguments for a later date. You didn't come out of hiding to debate
political dogma with me."

"Frankly, I couldn't believe you and your Rebels were in the area and
had yet to fire a shot. I thought there must be some mistake."

Ben had to smile at the gently-spoken sarcasm, offered with a straight
face. He stood up and refilled the senator's coffee mug. "There were no
criminals or creeps in the area, Senator," Ben said, returning to his chair.

"There are very few criminals or Night People left anywhere, General."

"We are thorough, Senator."

The two men sat and stared at one another for a moment. Suddenly, Ben
thought, Hell, why not? He's a good man . . . for a Democrat. Ben put
his elbows on the desk and smiled. "I have an idea, Senator. How would
you like to go back to work?"

"Doing what, General?"

219

"It's the wildest thing I have ever heard of," Homer Blanton said to
Cecil, after listening to Ben on the short wave. Then he smiled. "But it
might work. Paul Altaian is certainly a good, decent man." He shook his
head. "But those states are filled with gangs and outlaws."

"They won't be if Altaian agrees to Ben's plan," Cecil said.

"I wonder what Paul thinks about it?" Homer pondered.

Hundreds of miles north of Base Camp One, the senator said to Ben, "You
have just got to be kidding!"

"Why?" Ben asked. "Don't you think you're up to the job?"

"Don't be insulting, General. That isn't the point. The twenty-odd
states we're referring to are in chaos."

"They won't be for long, if you agree to my plan."

"You will actually agree to the concept of civilian police?"

220

"For you people, sure. Liberals have to be told what to do. You people
don't have the foggiest idea about how to live under a system where the
individual actually controls his or her own destiny. The Rebel form of
government wouldn't work up here. And I don't mean to be insulting or
demeaning when I say that. So what is your reply,
Mister-Almost-A-Candidate-For-President-of-the-Northern-United-States-of
-America?''

"How are we going to count the ballots?" Paul asked. ' 'How will we get
the ballots to the people and how will they return them to us?"

"Don't worry about it," Ben assured him. "You'll win."

Paul stared at Ben. "Why does that statement fill me with such uneasiness?"

"Just roll with the flow, Paul. Roll with the flow."

Rebel pilots began dumping campaign literature out over three states,
Illinois, Wisconsin, and Indiana, and in parts of several other states
which bordered the SUSA. The literature exhorted the virtues of Senator
Paul Alt-man and asked everyone to vote for him as the new president of
the Northern United States of America.

"Who else is running?" Paul asked Ben.

"No one," Ben told him. "That's why you'll win."

"But . . . but . . . but . . ."

Ben walked off, leaving the man stuttering.

Special teams of Rebels either drove in or jumped in to help with the
elections and to count the ballots.

By the time the election was held, Ben and his 1 Batt had advanced into
the north-central part of the state of Wisconsin. Ben's CP was at the
old Wausau airport.

221

221

"Find a judge of some sort," Ben told his Scouts. "We're going to need
one to swear in Paul."

"I thought a Supreme Court Justice was supposed to do that?" Ike questioned.

"They're all dead. Hell, anyjudge will do. If we can't find a judge,
I'll swear him in."

A judge was found, a former federal judge. Knowing how Ben Raines felt
about federal judges, the man was scared almost out of his wits and had
to be forcibly taken to meet Ben.

"Are you going to shoot me?" the man asked.

Ben blinked in surprise. "Shoot you? Hell, no, I'm not going to shoot
you. I want you to swear in the next president of the Northern United
States of America."

"I can't do that!"

"Well, you're going to. Beth, where is that oath of office?" Beth handed
him the oath of office she had found in an old civics book and typed up.
Ben gave it to the judge. "Hold on to this. Tomorrow, you're going to
have a new president."

"Is this election legal?" the judge questioned.

"Of course, it is. Why wouldn't it be? The people voted, didn't they?"

The judge only nodded his head. He wasn't about to argue witfi Ben, but
he did wonder about the constitutionality of the election. However, he
kept his mouth shut, remembering that for years before the Great War,
Ben Raines had been quite vocal about the government moving away from
the original intent of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

Naturally, Senator Paul Altaian won the election. He was the only one on
the ticket. And the number of

222
William W. Johnstone

people who took part in the election surprised everyone, including Ben.

Cecil and Homer flew up from Base Camp One to witness the swearing-in of
the new president of the NUSA.

The judge beat a very hasty retreat immediately afterward.

At a small reception after the swearing-in, Paul asked, "Where is the
capital going to be located?"

' 'Anywhere you want it to be,'' Ben told him, drinking champagne out of
a coffee cup.

"I feel sort of guilty about this," Paul said.

"Guilty about what?" Ben asked.

"Drinking champagne and eating all this nicely prepared food while
millions of people are hungry."

"Oh, don't start with that crap!" Ben said sharply. "Please spare me
that. The people you speak of have had several years to get organized,
plant crops and gardens, get factories and shops running again, and do
all the things necessary to get a workable society going. Instead, many
of them have sat on their asses waiting for somebody else to do it for
them. Well, Mr. President, you are the government now. Good luck."

"Does the NUSA want to borrow some money from the SUSA?" Cecil asked
innocently. "We can set up a line of credit for you right now."

"I've heard that your currency is very strong."

"The strongest in the world."

"Backed by ... ?"

"Gold," Ben told him.

"Gold? In the south?"

"Trillions of dollars of it," Cecil replied. "Also diamonds, other
precious gems, and tons of pure silver."

223

223

"Where in the world did you get it?" Paul asked.

"Oh, we stole it," Ben said matter-of-factly, as he poured another cup
of champagne. "From all over the world."

Paul almost choked on a finger sandwich.

"Want to borrow a hundred billion?" Homer said, clearly enjoying himself.

His wife gave him a somewhat dirty look. But not too dirty, since she
was finally beginning to understand just what made the world go round
and especially how the Rebel government worked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Paul said quickly.

"Fine," Cecil said. "Have you given any thought to a cabinet?"

"Well, ah, yes, actually."

"Good, good," Homer said.

Ben backed off a few yards and looked at Corrie. "Politics bores me,
Corrie. Get the troops together. We're outta here."

Ben and his 1 Batt were moving toward Michigan within the hour.

The Rebels backtracked down past the still-smoking ruins of Chicago,
turned east, and headed into Southern Michigan.

"Boss," Corrie said, "we've got four battalions that are bogged down in
West Virginia. They're meeting lots of resistance there."

"Tell them to pull out and bivouac in Western Maryland and stay the hell
away from the D.C. area. We'll make a sweep through Michigan and then
turn east for the next push. Tell Ike to come up and join me here

224

in Michigan. He is to take everything east of 127, but leave Detroit
alone until we can tackle it together. I'll take everything west of 127.
Tell all other battalions to hold what they've got."

Michigan was a mess. The Rebels hit stiff resistance the day they
entered the state. Ben sent Buddy and his 8 Batt over to work the
highway along Lake Michigan while Ben and half of his 1 Batt headed up
Highway 131; the other half of 1 Batt would work up Interstate 69 toward
Lansing.

They all encountered heavy fighting immediately upon entering the state.

"I guess we know now where the gangs went," Ike radioed to Ben on the
afternoon of the second day in the state.

"We damn sure do," Ben said. "I hate to think what we're going to find
in Detroit. Or what's left of it, that is."

"But why the hell did they come here?"

Before Ben could reply to that, he heard mortar rounds fluttering in.
"Gotta go, Ike. Incoming. See you."

Ben hit the floor just as a round hit the front of the house and blew
that part of the structure all to hell. Another round dropped into the
center of the roof and the whole damn thing came crashing in.

Ben was shaken but unhurt as he crawled to his boots and stumbled
through the debris to a window. Of late he'd been using a CAR, leaving
his Thompson in the wagon. He grabbed his CAR and headed for a window-
the door to the room he'd been using was completely blocked by the
caved-in roof. The magazine pouches on his battle harness were all full,
and he had several

225

225

grenades and two canteens of fresh water. He jumped through the window
just as several mortar rounds struck the old house and took it down. Ben
rolled to his boots and started running for a ditch. He jumped for the
ditch just as several mortar rounds exploded behind him and flipped him.
He felt the sting of shrapnel on his legs as he was being propelled
through the air. Luckily, the ditch was full of water so he had a
reasonably soft landing, but the wind was knocked out of him, he had
lost his helmet flying through the air, and he banged his head on something.

"Shit!" Ben said, then faded into blackness.

The gangs had counter-attacked, throwing everything they had, which was
considerable, at the Rebels. The Rebels were forced to withdraw. When
the counterattack came, Buddy and his 8 Batt were in Benton Harbor, and
they were shoved back some ten miles. Ben and his 1 Batt were just south
of Kalamazoo, and forced back just about ten miles. Ike and his 2 Batt
were on the outskirts of Jackson and they were forced all the way back
to the junction of Highways 12 and 127.

As night spread darkness over the land, Ben lay unconscious in the ditch.

Cooper had pulled Jersey from the wreckage of the house. She was
unconscious and bleeding from a head wound. Beth and Anna had gone back
to the rear on an errand for Ben and had been cut off. Corrie had
stepped outside for a breath of air just moments before the mortar
rounds came in and she had been standing on the sidewalk, talking to a
friend. Both of them had been knocked down and addled by the concussion.
They

226

had been picked up by friends and tossed into the bed of a truck to be
taken to the rear to a MASH unit. In the confusion, it would be almost
half an hour before someone realized that Ben was missing.

Ben came slowly to his senses. He opened his eyes to a world of darkness
and hurt. From long experience, when he opened his eyes, he lay still.
From the waist down, he was in water. He listened intently, but could
hear no voices. Slowly, he turned his aching head to the left. Nothing.
Then it all come back to him. The mortar rounds exploding. The sting of
shrapnel in his legs. Sailing a few feet in the air and impacting
against the ground and into the old drainage ditch. He lay still and
tried to think things through, sort matters out. His head hurt and that
made thinking difficult.

First things first, Ben, he concluded. Get out of this damn wet ditch.
Moving as silently as a snake, Ben crawled out of the ditch and onto dry
ground. Just that made him feel better. Then he heard voices. Faint, but
very real. He could only catch a few words.

"Didn't kill as many of them as . . ."

"Taught 'em a lesson, though, by . . ."
"Get all their equipment and leave the bodies where . . ."

Then the voices faded away.

Ben felt around for his helmet but could not locate it. He got his
bearings and crawled over to a shed and slipped inside, closing the door
behind him. The shed was windowless and still snug. It had been well
built. He pulled his trousers down and, using his flashlight, he
doctored the puncture wounds on his legs, picking

227

227

out one piece of shrapnel with his fingers. There was a knot on his
forehead where he'd hit whatever the hell it was he'd landed on.

He pulled up his pants and stood. No dizziness, but his legs hurt
somewhat. He took a couple of painkillers from his small aid kit and sat
down on an overturned old wheelbarrow. Obviously, the gangs had
counterattacked in such force the Rebels had been forced to withdraw.
But they wouldn't stay withdrawn for long. And when they did advance,
they would first use artillery and air support. So that meant that Ben
had best get the hell gone from this area, before the incoming started.

Ben smiled in the darkness. He'd pull out, all right, but it wouldn't be
in the direction that was expected.

He'd do some head-hunting.

Ben checked first his CAR then his sidearm. Neither weapon had been
damaged. He slipped out of the darkened shed and squatted for a few
minutes outside, letting his eyes adjust to the night.

There was no point in attempting to search the ruined house for any of
his team. If they were wounded or dead, they were buried under several
tons of debris. He put them out of his mind and started moving toward
the north.

He saw the motionless body of a Rebel on the ground, half hidden by
brush. He walked over to the body and pulled off the Rebel's battle
harness, taking the full magazines and the four grenades.

"All right, you sons-of-bitches," Ben muttered. "Now it's my turn to play."

228

Ben slipped past the darkened old houses, staying in the shadows as he
worked his way north. He saw several small groups of punks and gang
members, but did not attempt to engage them in any fire-fight. He wanted
a larger group, all bunched up in some house. Then he would announce his
presence.

He stepped to one side and flattened against the side of a home when he
saw half a dozen shadowy figures moving toward him, all carrying weapons.

"I heard one of them bastards talkin'," the voice came to him. "On an
open frequency. Ben Raines is missin'."

"I don't believe it!"
"Me neither," another said.

"It's true. They think he's dead. Killed when we attacked."

"We couldn't be that lucky."

The group stopped about forty feet away from Ben,

229

229

standing in the raggedy yard of along abandoned house. Four more walked
up to join the original six.

Ben smiled and slipped a fire-frag grenade from his battle harness. The
fire-frag was perhaps the deadliest grenade ever invented; indeed, it
was a mini-claymore. Ben pulled the pin and chunked the pineapple,
tossing it underhanded with a high arc before the drop. It came down
right in the center of the dozen punks and exploded about three feet off
the ground.

Ben was moving two seconds after the blast, leaving behind him men whose
flesh was peppered with shrapnel, about half of them dying from the wounds.

Punks and thugs and assorted human crap and slime came running toward
the sounds of screaming, running from all directions. Ben changed
directions and joined in with a group of punks, jogging along with them
for a few seconds; just long enough to take another grenade from his
harness, pull the pin, and pop the spoon. He tossed it over the heads of
the running group, then ducked in between two houses.

The group ran right over the grenade and when it exploded, it took out
half of them, shredding flesh, breaking bones, and blinding and maiming.

Ben jumped up on what had once been a screened-in back porch and slipped
through the long-looted old home. He squatted down and smiled as he
listened to the sounds of confusion.

"It's mortars!" someone yelled.

"Run!" another yelled.

But before they could run, Ben raised up and emptied a thirty-round
magazine into the knot of punks.

Ben ejected the empty and slipped in a full magazine before jumping out
a side window and vanishing into

230

the darkness. He did not realize it, but he was smiling. He was having
more fun than he'd had in a long time.

Both Corrie and Jersey were in bed and challenged by Doctor Chase to
just try to set one foot on the floor. Both of the women were suffering
from concussions. Jersey's head wound had required half a dozen stitches
and she was going to be out of action for about a week. Corrie's
shoulder had been dislocated when she hit the sidewalk, and she also
suffered cuts on her face and arm that had to be stitched.

Ben's second in command took over and ordered Anna, Beth, and Cooper not
to even think about going back to look for Ben.

"Communications is reporting that someone is raising hell up in the area
we just left," a runner told Doctor Chase and those standing close to
him. "But we don't have any special ops people there."

Cooper smiled and winked at Jersey. "Oh, yes, we do."

"Oh?" Chase questioned.

"Yes, sir." Jersey smiled as she spoke from her bed. "And his name is
General Ben Raines."

Ben had stumbled upon two more dead Rebels that the punks had not found
and stripped them of their weapons and gear. Ben knew one of them
personally, and he paused for a moment, saddened. He shook away the
grief and quickly took the men's ammo and grenades before slipping away
into the night.

Ben figured he had about seven more hours of dark-

231

231

ness before dawn would force him to hunt a hidey-hole. He intended to
make the most of the cover of night.

Ben slipped through the darkness, looking for groups of punks to attack.
Quite by accident, he stumbled on what appeared to be someone's
communications center. Peeking in through a crack in the boarded-up
window, he could see that for punks, it was quite elaborate. He smiled
as he took a grenade from his harness. It sure as hell wasn't going to
be elaborate for very much longer.

Ben slipped around the house until he found an open window. He popped
the spoon and blew the radio operator and his equipment into blood and junk.

"What the goddamn hell is goin' on here?" a man yelled, stepping out of
a house to stand on the porch.

"We think it's Rebel mortars, Fred!" the answering voice sprang out of
the darkness.

Fred LaBelle, Ben thought, one of the major gang leaders. 'Bye, Fred.
Ben lifted his CAR and put a burst into Fred's chest. The impacting .223
rounds knocked the punk leader off the porch and sent him dead and
cooling to the ground.

Ben got the hell gone from that area, slipping from house to house. He
found a five-gallon container filled with gas sitting by the side of an
old pick-up truck and grabbed it, moving on until he came to a house
that had portable lanterns burning inside. He peeped in through a
window. A number of punks lay sprawled in sleep on the floor in many of
the rooms.

Ben took a fire-frag, wired it to the gas can and took off the cap. He
pulled the pin and then hurled the full five-gallon container through a
window just as hard as he could.

232

Then he took off running.

The fumes from the gas must have been just right, for the explosion
nearly knocked Ben off his boots. Recovering from the concussion, he
glanced back. The center of the house was in ruins, the side that he
could see blown completely away, and the wood frame structure was in flames.

Ben ran past a back porch that was rapidly filling with men and women
and gave the crowd a full magazine of .223 rounds as he loped past.

"Team one!" Ben yelled. "Take the south side. Team two! Attack from the
north. Teams three and four, scatter and hit them hard!"

Then Ben ran into the darkness, just as far away as he could get from
the burning house.

The punks bought the false commands. A man yelled, "The bastards are
counter-attacking!" His voice was filled with panic. "Get everybody up
and to their posts. Hurry! The Rebels are all around us."

An army of one, Ben thought with a grin.

He tossed a grenade through the window of a house that had lamps burning
in it and kept on running, cutting to his left. He ran right into a man
who was carrying what appeared to be an old Russian RPG-16 and
struggling with a pouch filled with six-pound rockets. Both of them went
down to the ground from the impact. Ben slammed the butt of his CAR
against the man's head and heard the skullbone pop under the smashing
blow. Grunting with the effort, Ben slung his CAR, grabbed up the RPG
and the heavy pouch and moved away from the scene as quickly as he
could, considering the heavy load he was toting.

I'm sure as hell not getting any younger, Ben thought, as

233

233

he paused for a moment to catch his wind and rest the straining muscles
in his legs.

But I'm doin 'pretty good for a man my age, he amended.

Ben moved on until he found himself in what he guessed was the punks'
version of a motor pool. He squatted down and rested for a moment, a
slow grin creasing his lips as an idea began forming in his mind.

He stashed the RPG and the pouch of rockets and began moving from
vehicle to vehicle, removing the gas caps from as many vehicles as he
could safely reach. In the back of half a dozen pick-up trucks, he found
many full five-gallon gas cans and began pouring the gas all around the
cars and trucks and motorcycles. Then he moved back to his stash and
moved away about five hundred yards. He fitted a rocket into the RPG and
smiled.
"Have fun, boys and girls," Ben muttered, then fired the RPG.

The entire motor pool went up in a whooshing roar, the heat concussion
reaching Ben in a blast of hot air. Ben moved further back as the cars
and trucks and motorcycles began exploding, sending hot steel flying in
all directions.

Ben hummed a few bars of the old song "In the Heat Of The Night," and
then moved further back into the night as a dozen or more figures came
screaming out of the inferno; moving balls of fire staggering about in
the parking lot.

Several thousand yards away from the burning motor pool, in the shelter
of an empty house, Ben counted the rockets left in the carry pouch. Six
6.6-pound rockets left. He knew the weapon was accurate up to about nine

234

William W. Johnstone

hundred yards . . . providing no wind was blowing with any intensity.

Resting, Ben ate a thoroughly disgusting emergency ration bar and drank
some water. The ration bar tasted like sheep shit smelled. Ben knew it
was packed with nutrients and vitamins and other stuff essential for the
human body to survive-but he didn't have to like the damned thing.

He rinsed his mouth out with water from one of his two canteens and felt
better. Just as he was standing up, an old Michigan National Guard APC
came rolling up the street. The words painted across the front of the
armored personnel carrier brought a smile to Ben's lips: Big Tommy.

That would be Tommy Monroe, more than likely. Ben hoped the gang leader
was inside.

He fitted a rocket into the slot, lined it up, and let it bang. The APC
went up like a Roman candle; obviously the APC was an older model, for
many of the newer models would not have exploded in that manner.

Ben grabbed up his gear and took off.

He was looking for a hidey-hole, for he had been working full-tilt for
hours, the adrenalin pumping hard, and he was getting tired.

He began making his way more cautiously now, working his way toward the
northeastern edge of town. He damn sure did not want to be in this
immediate area when the Rebels opened up with artillery at dawn. He
stayed in the alleys and back streets, occasionally looking back toward
the punk motor pool, which was still blazing, lighting up the sky.

Ben walked for what he guessed was about four miles before stopping. He
had put most of the city suburbs

235

235

behind him before he found a half-burned-out house that looked as though
it was dangerously close to falling in. That would make a perfect
hidey-hole. Punks being what they were, they would not think of looking
for him in a ruined home when so many perfectly good homes were available.

He took a leak in a ditch and then walked into the weed-grown yard. Ben
circled around to the back and slipped inside, working his way under
some fallen timbers in what had once been a cathedral-ceilinged dining
room. He made himself as comfortable as possible, and drifted off to
sleep in a matter of minutes.

He awakened stiff from the hard floor just as daylight was beginning to
sift through the holes in what remained of the roof. Ben rinsed his
mouth out with water and wished he could brush his teeth. He ate another
of those awful emergency ration bars and daydreamed about a breakfast of
bacon and eggs, hash browns and toast, and a tall cold glass of milk.

Ben was screwing the cap back on his canteen when the first rumble of
artillery reached his ears. He crawled out from under the fallen timbers
and stood up, stretching until his joints popped and his muscles were
straining.

He had just worked the kinks out of his muscles when the muzzle of a
rifle was jammed against his back.

"Well, well," the voice said. "Anodier Reb soldier. But you're a little
old for the field, ain't you, Pops?"

"Yeah, I am," Ben said. "And I'm hungry, too. You got any food with you?"

"Don't try to be a comedian, Pops. I ain't got shit with me except this
rifle. Turn around."

Ben thought of spinning around and slapping the

236

William W.Johnstone

rifle from the punk's hand, but rejected that almost immediately. His
muscles were still stiff from the cool night on the floor. He slowly
turned around to face the punk.

His captor was about twenty-five years old, Ben guessed, and he'd been
wounded in the side. The left side of his shirt was bloody and his face
was pale from shock and pain and loss of blood.

"I've got a first-aid kit," Ben said. "Let me took at that side of yours."

"Huh? You gotta be shittin' me, man. Where's your rifle?"

Behind the wall and under the timbers with the RPG and the rockets.
"Lost it during the battle."

"Yeah? Gimme one of them canteens. I'm real thirsty. Do it slow, Pops."

Ben slowly pulled one canteen free and handed it to the wounded man.
Keeping his eyes on Ben, the younger man drank deeply, draining the canteen.

"Good," he said, handing the empty canteen to Ben. "You got any food?"

"No. That's what I asked you."
"Oh, yeah. You did. Gimme that pistol, Pops. Do it slow, now."

Ben slowly pulled his 9mm from leather, reversed it, and handed it to
the punk, butt first.

"You givin' up awful easy, Pops."

"What else is there to do? You've got the gun pointed at me."

"For a fact. The Rebs is gonna attack, ain't they?"

"Yes. That thunder is artillery. Next will come the planes and gun
ships. Ground troops will follow."

237

237

The punk squinted his eyes and stared at Ben. Ben suspected he needed
glasses. "What rank are you?"

"Sergeant."

"Yeah? What am I gonna do with you, Sergeant?"

"You go your way, I'll go mine. Unless we both want to stay here until
we fall over from exhaustion. You're not going to go far with that
wound. It needs attention."

"For afact." He lowered the rifle and laid Ben's pistol on the floor. "I
give up," he said, his voice sounding very tired. "I quit. I don't wanna
fight no more. I hurt." He pushed both rifle and pistol toward Ben.

Ben holstered his pistol and then checked the M-16. It was dirty. "You
have a name?" he asked the wounded young man.

"Jerry. What's yours?"

"Ben Raines."

Jerry's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as sudden recognition
filled them. "Oh, shit!" he whispered.

"Relax. You're out of the war. I'll see that you live."

"You might not live long enough to see to that, man. Not if Ray Brown
learns where you are."

"Ray Brown is here?"

"Sure. He's runnin' this entire operation. His headquarters is about
two, three miles from here. He hates you."

"The feeling is mutual, I assure you. You been with Ray long?"

"Naw. 'Bout two months or so. I come down from the upper peninsula just
before winter. Me and my sister. She died and I linked up with Ray's
bunch. Bunch of crazy fuckers, you ask me. I was pullin' out, gettin'

238
William W. Johnstone

away from them, when I seen this house and decided to rest for a spell.
I am so tired."

"Then go to sleep. I'm going to go look around."

"Man-I mean, General, sir, don't do that. Ray's got people out lookin'
for you. He wants you real bad."

"Not nearly as bad as I want him, I assure you. You want me to take a
look at that wound?"

"Naw. I'll be all right. I'm goin' to rest for a time. I don't recall
ever bein' this tired."

"How long have you had that wound?"

"'Bout a week, I think. One of Ray's men shot me. He said it was an
accident, but I don't believe that. He meant to shoot me. I didn't fit
in with that crowd."

Jerry was asleep on the floor when Ben retrieved his RPG and pouch of
rockets and his rifle. Ben knew from the way the wound smelled that
Jerry was not going to make it. Gangrene had set in.

He stood for a moment, looking down at the young man. Jerry's face was
shiny with fever-sweat.

Ben shook his head and walked out of the house. He was going to find Ray
Brown.

239

Ben walked for several miles, heading in a northeasterly direction,
paralleling old Highway 43. There was no way that the punks could head
south, for the Rebels had that area blanketed. Ben had a hunch that Ray
and his punk army would try for Detroit and a last-ditch stand and then
over into Canada.

If Ben had anything at all to say about it, Ray's days would end right
here in what used to be called Michigan.

But as fate would have it, Ben had nothing at all to say about the
future of Ray Brown, at least not this time. Before Ben could get into a
good defensive position along the old road, the Rebels smashed into the
looted city of Kalamazoo and put the punks to rout, scattering them in
all directions. Several hundred surrendered and the rest let the wind
take them. Ben had aced several fleeing punks with his CAR and set two
APCs blazing with rockets from his RPG before a team of Rebel Scouts
found him on high ground in a stand of timber.

240

"Shit!" Ben said, as the Scouts quickly threw up a defensive circle
around him and radioed in.

Ben was hustled back to a MASH unit and doctors went to work, checking
him out.
"I'm fine!" Ben said.

"Shut up," Chase told him. "And sit still until we clean out these cuts."

"I can't have any fun anymore," Ben bitched.

"Raines," Chase said, disgust in his voice, "you are a middle-aged man.
Commanding general of thousands of troops. You are not Rambo."

"Right," Ben said.

"General," a Scout said. "We found that house you told us about. There
was a guy in there matching this Jerry person's description. He was
dead, just like you said he might be. We buried him."

Ben nodded his head.

"Hold still, damnit!" Chase thundered. "Before I stick this swab in your
ear!"

"Ray Brown?" Ben asked, ignoring the doctor.

"No sign of him. But some captured punks told us they were ordered to
head for Detroit... or what's left of it."

"Have Buddy drop some of his people outside the city. Check it out. Have
the pilots start gearing up for an air assault on the city."

"Yes, sir."

"I would order you placed under observation for twenty-four hours,
Raines," Chase said, "but you'd just bitch and shout and give orders to
anyone who had the misfortune to come close and in general make life
miserable for all my people. So get the hell out of this facility. Once
again, you lucked out."

241

"Skill, Lamar," Ben said with a smile. "Skill." "Horseshit," Lamar
countered.

The bridge was blown and the tunnel blocked leading from Michigan to
Canada. If the punks were stupid enough to go into the ruins of Detroit,
there would be no escape for them and nothing for them to do but die.
After some thought, Ben just couldn't buy the gang leaders ordering
their people into the rubble of the once-great city. Even a punk would
have enough sense to know that would be like signing his own death warrant.

Ben ordered fixed-wing aircraft up for high-altitude aerial recon, and
it didn't take them long to get a fix on the punks.

"They're heading north," Ben was told. "Into the timber."

"Shift 7 and 8 Batts over here to beef up Buddy's 8 Batt and go after
them. Ike, you, me, and Dan will concentrate on the ruins of Detroit."

"It's full of creeps," Ike reminded him.

"Yeah," Ben replied, disgust evident in his voice.
Ben's team was back together, although Corrie's left shoulder was still
a little sensitive. The battalions had gathered in Eastern Michigan for
the assault against Detroit. Ben had been in contact widi President Paul
\ltman of the NUSA and assured him that Michigan would be cleared of
punks, thugs, and creeps by early fall.

"And then what am I supposed to do with it?" Paul asked.

242

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Ben told him. "How's your cabinet
coming?"

"Slowly, very slowly. General, I'm thinking of making Indianapolis,
Indiana the new capitol."

"Whatever. Say hello to Dan for me."

Paul waited patiendy until Ben had stopped chuckling before asking,
"Could I borrow a team of your engineers to start work?"

"Sure. Give Cecil a bump. We'll be glad to help. The sooner we can find
a place for all the liberals to gather, the better off the rest of us
will be."

"Thank you," Altman said, very very drily.

Ben looked through long lenses at the smoking ruins of what had once
been Ann Arbor. At first glance, there didn't appear to be much left and
absolutely no sign of life.

Ike McGowan stood to Ben's left, Dan Gray to his right.

"Three battalions won't be enough, Ben," Ike said, lowering his binoculars.

"I know it, Ike. But we'll just have to make it enough. We'll split our
battalions into six batde groups. Each group will have twice the normal
number of tanks. The last of them should be arriving midday tomorrow.
We'll start the push at 0600 the next day."

"The punks have been cornered," Corrie said, after listening to her
headset. "The old Michigan Militia has surfaced and blocked off any
further escape to the north. Buddy is coming up fast from the south."

Ben glanced at her, surprise in his eyes.' 'I thought die

243

243

federal government destroyed them before the Great War?"

"They tried," Corrie said. "But Beth has just learned that a lot of the
militias went hard underground after the liberal government grab.
They've kept their areas as clean as possible since the balloon went up.
Mike has just learned that the Montana Militia is waging a guerrilla
action against Simon Border's people. And the Wyoming Militia has
surfaced and is doing the same in their states. Constitutionalists all
over the Northwest, that were forced hard underground years back, are
surfacing to align with us and fight Simon Border. And all these groups
have people of all races in their ranks. Mike's spooks have confirmed that."

"Well, I'll just be damned!" Ben said.

Corrie said, "The Michigan Militia, or at least an offshoot of it,
whatever they are, have spread out along Highway 10, east to Saginaw
Bay. They're holding, but badly need ammo and medical supplies." Corrie
had been a small child when the civilian militias, concerned about the
federal government's interference in the lives of citizens, sprang up
all across America. Some of the militias were blatantly racist groups,
some were filled with kooks and nuts, but many were just law-abiding
citizens very much afraid of the direction the government was taking.

"See that they get anything they need," Ben told her. "Arrange for air
drops."

"Including the western states under Border's control?" Corrie questioned.

Ben smiled. "Let's see if we can't supply them a bit more covertly."

"Right, boss."

244

Ike and Dan exchanged glances and smiles at that, like all the batt
coms, they knew that the Rebels would someday have to fight Simon
Border's army.

"Have all battalions reported in?" Ben asked.

"Affirmative, boss. They are holding and resupplying for the next push
north and east."

Ben nodded his head. "All right, people. Let's gear up to take this city."

Thousands of miles away, Bruno Bottger carefully read the latest reports
on Ben Raines and the Rebels. Bottger hated Ben Raines, but he had to
grudgingly admire the man. Raines was going to put America back together
again. There was no doubt in his mind about that. There was also no
doubt in his mind that once Raines turned his attentions west of the
Mississippi River, toward Simon Border and his followers, it would be
the beginning of the end for Simon Border.

Bruno wondered again if Ben would someday turn his attentions toward Africa.

"The militias have surfaced, sir," an aide told Simon Border. "Obviously
the government did not succeed in destroying them all before the Great War."

"And you think these groups have kept their heads down all these years?"
Simon questioned.

"Yes, sir. That is exacdy what our intelligence thinks.''

"Then they were much better organized than we originally thought."

"Yes, sir."

"Ben Raines?"
245

245

The aide knew what Simon meant. "Steadily advancing against the gangs
and the Night People. They've already cleared half a dozen states."

"Our people in Michigan?"

"Most of them have been ferreted out and either shot or hanged. Those
left are keeping out of sight."

"Did the Rebels execute them?"

"No, sir. The militia did."

Simon felt like cursing. But of course, being a very devout Christian,
he didn't. He dismissed the aide, waited until the door had closed
behind the young man, then he cussed, long and low.

Mosdy he cussed Ben Raines.

Additional tanks had been brought in from other battalions to beef up
those battalions standing ready to launch the final assault against the
ruins of Detroit.

Ben had decided against air strikes, for air recon had showed the creeps
and the punks were underground, in basements and storage areas and
bunkers. Air strikes would be a waste of explosives. The Rebels were
going to have to go in and take the ruins by land search and destroy.
And to a person, they all knew it was going to be down and dirty work.

On a gray morning that was threatening rain, Ben glanced over at Corrie,
standing patiently, waiting for orders. "How's the shoulder?"

"Oh, it's fine now. Not tender at all."

Ben nodded. He no longer had to give orders for everyone to be buttoned
up in body armor; those were standing orders and any Rebel, regardless
of rank, found without body armor could expect a chewing out.

246

To complicate matters further, the Rebels knew the creeps would have
underground storage areas, or holding pens, for their human food supply,
fattening them up to eat later. The Night People, or creeps, as they had
been nicknamed, were held in complete contempt by the Rebels. They were
they most disgusting people the Rebels had ever encountered.

And the Rebels never took any Night People prisoner. At first they did,
and tried to rehabilitate them. Not one creep had ever been successfully
rehabilitated.

Doctor Chase walked up, a grim expression on his face.

"Get into body armor!" Ben snapped at him. "You're not three hundred
yards from the front, Lamar."

A Rebel quickly found body armor and helmet for the doctor. Lamar
struggled into the protective gear and looked at the weapon in Ben's
hands. An old M-14 (7.62x51), .308 caliber.

"Loaded for bear this trip, eh, Ben?"

Ben smiled and patted the old Thunder Lizard. "I drag it out from time
to time."

"We're set to receive wounded," Chase said quietly. "I have six MASH
units set up in a semi-circle on the outskirts of the city."

Ben nodded his head.

"Don't bring me any creepie wounded, Ben. Man, woman, or child."

"I understand, Lamar." And he did, but like most Rebels, he did not have
to like that knowledge.

The Rebels had found out the hard and bloody way that the children of
Night People were even more savage than the adults. But most Rebels
could not bring themselves to shoot a child, unless that child was shooting

247

247

at them. They usually just ran them off, knowing full well that someday,
they would, more than likely, have to fight them again.

"Everybody in position, Corrie?" Ben asked.

"Set to go, boss."

Ben motioned to a Rebel. "Escort the doctor back to his HQ, please."

Lamar offered no objections to that. "See you, Ben."

"See you, Lamar."

When the doctor was gone, Ben said to Corrie, "Let's do it."

Corrie spoke into her headset and the tanks surged forward, the Rebels
right behind them.

The final battle for Detroit had begun.

248

The Rebels had to slog through several miles of suburbs before they even
reached the small cities that surrounded Detroit. Ben and his split
battalion were going straight in, first on Highway 14, then switching
over to Interstate 96, or what was left of it.

They hit stiff fighting just west of the ruins of Plymouth and the
advance was slowed to a crawl.

Some of the thugs and punks who had gathered in Michigan had fled to the
city, and they were fighting a last-ditch stand in the suburbs. Most of
the creepies had retreated to the city proper.

"They'll be dug in deep by the time we get there," Ben said to his
battalion and company-level commanders. "Hard underground. They'll have
all sorts of nasty surprises waiting for us. Everything we touch is
going to be booby-trapped and blow up in our faces." Ben smiled a
warrior's smile as he turned to Corrie. "Get on the horn. I want every
combat engineer we can spare

249

249

up here. Have Cecil start loading the transports with all the explosives
he can get his hands on and crank up the munitions factories. I can play
just as dirty as the creeps can."

"Dirtier," Ike said with a smile.

The Rebels continued to beat back the hundreds of punks that had
gathered in the suburbs. With dozens of MBTs spearheading, their 155 and
120 main guns spitting out HE rounds, literally disintegrating the
ruined buildings the punks had taken refuge in, the criminal element was
slowly driven back toward the city.

But the thugs and punks apparently had no stomach for aligning
themselves with the creeps. On the fifth day of the Rebel advance, the
gangs of criminals began surrendering in droves, walking or staggering
out of the buildings with their hands held high in the air.

POW camps were set up on the outskirts of the city and the prisoners
trucked to the camps. Ben went to see some of the punks captured in his
sector.

They were a sorry-looking, sullen, unwashed and unshaven pack of rabble.
They were also stark naked, for the Rebels had ordered them stripped,
their stinking clothing burned, and they were being lined up for very
close haircuts and then the de-lousing program.

Somehow, Janet House-Lewiston had managed to wrangle a ride to the
battle zone; after one look at the lines of naked men and women, she
quickly fled to the safety of Doctor Chase's main MASH unit. That action
was prompted when one of the prisoners shook his dick at her and made
some rather lurid and really quite inventive suggestions concerning what
a lovely time they could have together. What really set her boots to flying

250

was when another prisoner said she had a mouth perfectly shaped for
sucking cocks.

Janet was vocalizing her outrage to an extremely bored Doctor Chase when
Ben walked in and caught the last of her venting her spleen.

"Now, now," Ben said, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to stick
the needle to a liberal. "You're forgetting that these men and women
probably came from broken homes and were all traumatized by some
horrible act they witnessed as children. They're only venting their rage
toward an uncaring society, mainly populated with what used to be called
Republicans."

The look she gave him was indescribable in its disgust. Chase turned his
head to hide his smile.
"And to further add to the predicament of these poor little lost lambs-"
Ben wouldn't let up "-I'm sure that someone in their neighborhood had a
fancier bicycle than they did, or a more expensive pair of tennis shoes,
maybe the kind that have batteries in them, that light up at each step.
Those were really neat..."

Chase had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his chuckle.

". . . And I'm sure that the teachers picked on them, as did the police.
For no reason at all, certainly. They probably got spanked, too. Oh, my
word, what terrible traumas that must have caused ..."

Janet stared at Ben through narrowed eyes.

". . . And to make matters worse," Ben continued, "they probably didn't
have a new car all their own to drive around in when they were young.
And since the liberal left of the Democratic Party never could get
wealth redistribution passed in Congress-other than through huge
increases in personal income tax by the

251

251

IRS, that is-the punks just went out and stole themselves a car. And
when they got caught, why, some judge--probably some old meanie who
belonged to the Republican Party-actually had the gall to sentence a few
of them to prison for stealing. Not many, mind you, but a few."

Janet stared at Ben. If looks could kill . . .

Doctor Chase was quiedy edging away.

"Now, let's see, what else?" Ben began. "Oh, yes. We must not punish
those poor, poor unfortunate people. For they-"

Janet held up a hand. "General Raines?"

"Yes, Ms. Janet House-Lewiston?"

"Fuck you!" She wheeled around and stalked off.

Lamar Chase burst out laughing at the expression on Ben's face. "Oh,
boy! She got you diat time, Raines." He pointed at Ben. "You look like
you just bit into a green persimmon, Raines."

Ben smiled. "I love liberals. I think they're all full of shit, but I
love to be around them . . . for very brief periods of time," he added.

"What the hell do you mean, General Raines, what do I want done with the
prisoners you've taken?" President Altaian asked over the horn.

"It's your nation," Ben replied. "We're just here doing a bit of
clean-up for you." Ben's eyes twinkled and he smiled. "You want us to
shoot them?"

"No!" Altman shouted. "Hell, no. Just . . . wait a minute. Let me think."

After a moment, Ben keyed the mic. "I have another suggestion."
252

"I hope it's better than the first one."

"We can't stay here and guard the prisoners. That's out. What we can do
is transport them to the edge of the NUSA and run them over into Simon
Border's territory. Let him take care of them."

"Won't they just return and continue a life of crime?"

"Sure. Then we shoot them."

Hundreds of miles south of Ben's location, President Altman looked at
Cecil. "Is he kidding?"

"I assure you he is not."

Altman sighed. "I suppose I have no choice but to turn them loose in
Border's territory. What does Ben plan on doing with Detroit when he's
finished with those damn cannibals?"

"Destroy what is left of it. As much as possible."

"He's not leaving me with much," Altman said wistfully.

"Better than what you had before the Great War," Cecil said drily, and
that got him a very startled look from President Altman.

Ben walked the long line of prisoners. There was no hooting or
cat-calling or derisive remarks from the ranks of captives. They knew to
a person that Ben Raines would not hesitate to shoot them. And most of
the prisoners knew, too, whether they would admit it or not, that if Ben
Raines, or someone like him, had been in power, laying down the law
before the Great War, more than likely none of them would have turned to
a life of crime.

The prisoners had all been photographed, and blood had been drawn for
DNA testing.

253

253

Ben's speech to them was short and not very sweet. "We're going to
transport you all to Simon Border's WUSA eastern boundaries and shove
you across. Let him deal with you. But I give you this warning-if you
ever come east of the Mississippi River again, you're dead men." Ben
looked at a Rebel sergeant. "Get them out of here."

Ten minutes later, Ben was busy pouring over maps of Detroit, the
prisoners forgotten.

The Rebels threw a noose around the ruins of Detroit. They stretched out
east to west along Highway 102, north to south along Highway 39 to the
river. The creep-ies were in a box, with absolutely no place left to run.

The Rebels began retaking the city, block by block, and as they went the
combat engineers began leveling the city with explosives. When the
creeps went underground to their tunnels and bunkers and basements, the
combat engineers sealed them in their stinking lairs forever by bringing
tons of rubble down on them, blocking entrances and exits.

It would have taken years to blow every building left standing in the
city, but the Rebels knew what signs to look for to determine where the
Night People lived . . . usually by the foul odor of their unwashed
bodies. A few creeps did try to escape; they were shot by Rebel snipers
positioned on the roofs of buildings purposely left standing for diat use.

By die first day of September, Detroit was declared a dead city-if the
many square miles of rubble could be called a city.

And as was their custom, the Rebels took everything

254

that could be used, cleaned it up, loaded it on trucks and shipped it
back to Base Camp One. Commodes, sinks, bathtubs, cooper tubing, vehicle
parts, bricks . . . anything that might later be put to use.

Buddy, Rebet, and Danjou had linked up with the militia and Northern
Michigan was declared clean and free of criminals and creeps.

The battle for Michigan was over and another state could be added to the
growing list of President Altman's NUSA.

Simon Border's aides and advisors came to see him, and from the
expressions on their faces, he knew what it was all about. Simon waited
behind his desk.

"You had better start thinking about some sort of peace agreement with
Ben Raines," his senior advisor told him. "Some sort of written
co-existence plan. It is our unanimous opinion that there is no force on
the face of the earth that can stop Raines and his Rebels."

Simon sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I remember when Ben Raines
and the Rebels first surfaced," he said, almost in a whisper.
"Immediately after the Great War. No one took them seriously. They were
considered to be just another right-wing nut group. What a mistake that
was. Draw up the plan," he said very softly. "I'll sign the damn thing."

Not all the people who were part of Issac Africa's inner circle were
extremists or kooks. Many of them were rational, educated, reasonable
men and women,

255

255

and they could all clearly read the writing on the wall. The message
they read was decidedly grim.

"You'd better start talking peace with Ben Raines, President Altaian,
and Simon Border," they urged Issac. "And do it very quickly. We're in a
box with no way out. We are completely surrounded with little brushfire
wars all over the state. We cannot last."

Issac's generals immediately disagreed, of course, but for once, Issac
waved them silent. He had given it much thought. He supposed he might be
able to take his people say, oh, up to Maine and make his dream work. He
shuddered at just the thought. But Maine! Good God, who wanted to spend
the rest of their life in Maine?

"All right," Issac said softly. "So far, this year has been a disaster.
We plant one field, the damn guerrillas burn two more. It's obvious we
can't continue like we have. Perhaps we were fools to even think we
could make this work."

"Are we just going to give up?" General Mobuto-momba asked, defiance in
his eyes and tone.

"We can't win," Issac said, resignation behind his words. "In a year's
time, Raines will have control of very port and every major highway east
of the Mississippi River. Even if we could manage to produce a crop or
enough manufactured goods to sell, he wouldn't let us through."

"We could kill the son-of-a-bitch!" General Cugumba suggested.

Issac smiled. "That's something that a lot of people have tried over the
years. No one has ever succeeded- obviously. And should we try that,
Raines' Rebels would invade this state and when they were through, none
of us would be alive, or any of our followers. The Rebels

256

would annihilate us down to the last person. Put killing Ben Raines out
of your mind."

Colonel Zandar, and Generals Cugumba and Mobuto-mamba, exchanged glances
and nods, then rose as one. Zandar said, "We're pulling our people out.
We will never surrender to Ben Raines."

"Ben Raines is not asking for our surrender," Issac corrected.' 'Just
that we not have a closed, racist society. And before any of you start
spouting a lot of words that are false, let me stop it before it begins.
The SUSA is neither closed nor racist, and you all know that. Now, I
don't like Ben Raines. As a matter of fact, I hate the bastard! But I
won't accuse him of being something he isn't"

"We're leaving, Issac," Cugumba insisted.

"Then leave," Issac replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "But if
you're leaving to wage war against the Rebels, you're going to lose."

"We have thirty thousand men under arms," General Mobutomamba boasted.

Issac smiled. "And no planes, and not much in the way of supplies,
except what you can carry with you. You will have no supply lines. For
every tank you have, Ben Raines has thirty. For every Howitzer you have,
Ben Raines has fifty. For every bullet you have, Ben Raines has a
million. You can't beat him. I urge you all to reconsider. Just think
rationally for a moment. That's something I hadn't done for a long time
until quite recently and I assure you, it's refreshing. Think about
this-if we sign a pact with the SUSA, we'll have markets for our goods,
we'll have the strongest ally in the world beside us, and we can stand
down at least half our army and live like normal people." He shook his
head. "I

257
257

listened to that idiot Rita Rivers and her nitwit cohorts for too long.
They poisoned my mind. I have more years behind me than I have in front
of me. I'd like to live them in relative peace."

"We're taking our people out and fight Ben Raines," Zandar said.

Issac lifted a hand in farewell.' 'Take those idiot twins, Yahoo and
Yazoo, witfi you. And don't come back here begging for assistance or
sanctuary," he warned. "Once you leave, you're on your own."

"We could just take over this state, you know," Colonel Zandar said with
a smile.

"Try it," Issac's voice turned very cold and menacing.

Cugumba put a restraining hand on Zandar's arm. "Stop that kind of
talk." He looked into Issac's eyes. "When we return, we shall come back
as victors, Issac."

Issac shook his head. "Not when, General. If. "

258

"Cecil just touched base," Corrie told Ben. "Both Simon Border and Issac
Africa want to talk peace with us."

Ben looked up and smiled.

"That's the good news," Corrie said. "Now comes the bad."

Ben's smile faded.

"Three of Issac's commanding officers have broken with him and left the
state to fight us. Cugumba, Mobu-tomamba, and Zandar. They have
officially declared war against the Rebels. They have approximately
thirty thousand men and women under arms."

"Are they moving toward the SUSA?"

She shook her head. "They are moving toward us. Intelligence says they
plan to engage us in Ohio."

"Why? Why would they declare war against us? We haven't bothered them."

Corrie spread her hands in a "who knows?" gesture.

259

259

"Very well. Get me one of those break-away commanders on the horn.
Before I launch any attacks, I want to hear the declaration of war from
them.''

It took only a moment to connect with the breakaway troops. "Colonel
Zandar, boss," Corrie said, handing Ben the mic. "But I think, despite
his rank, he runs the whole show."
"This is Ben Raines, Colonel Zandar. Why have you declared war against us?"

"Because you are the enemy," Zandar responded without hesitation.

Ben had to think about that for a moment. He keyed the mic. "Why am I
your enemy?"

"Because you refused to recognize our state."

"I recognized your state, Colonel. Ijust said I wouldn't trade with you
as long as your philosophy was based on racial hatred."

"Whites are our enemy."

"Only if you make them your enemy, Colonel. People of all races live and
work together in the SUSA without a problem."

"Uncle Toms and Oreos."

"Oreos?" Cooper questioned.

"Black on the outside, white on the inside," Ben told him, then once
more keyed the mic. "Colonel Zandar, don't tangle with us. It's a fight
you cannot win."

"We shall be victorious, Raines. You're a dead man."

"And you're a fool," Ben replied, then tossed the mic to Corrie. He
looked at Beth. "Fuck him."

"No thanks," Beth said, straight-faced.

Ben burst out laughing.

260

0700 hours.

"Thirty thousand troops make for a very long convoy," Ben said to his
squadron leaders. He pointed to a map.' 'As of one hour ago, the enemy
was here, moving toward us on Interstate 70, in Indiana. You boys and
girls see how much grief you can cause this column."

Two hours later, the souped-up P-51E's hit the miles-long column of
Cugumba, Mobutomamba, and Zandar with rockets, cannon, bombs, and
machine-gun fire. They came in out of the sun at 500 mph, right on die
deck, leaving behind them dozens of blown-up, burning, and destroyed
vehicles, and hundreds of dead and wounded soldiers.

Then die planes circled around and hit the column again, catching the
soldiers as they were coming out of ditches and timber, heading back to
the burning convoy to offer assistance to the wounded.

When the planes headed back to Ohio, they left behind diem a convoy in
ruins, and a thoroughly pissed-off Colonel Zandar.

Generals Cugumba and Mobutomamba were at the rear of the miles-long
column, and did not arrive at the front of the convoy until some
forty-five minutes after the attack.
"This was a warning to us," Mobutomamba said, after looking around and
assessing the damage and the deadis, which were bodi considerable.

Cugumba nodded his head. "I agree."

"So?" Zandar asked belligerendy.

Mobutomamba and Cugamba exchanged glances.

Zandar picked up on die looks immediately. When

261

261

he spoke, his tone was contemptuous. "I know you've been talking behind
my back. And I know what you've been saying. You want to quit. You want
to go back to New Africa and break up your armies and grovel at the feet
of Issac and Kenyata. Well, go on. Leave. Some of your men will return
with you. But most will follow me. Our dream of a New Africa will never
have a chance as long as Ben Raines is still alive. I am going to kill
Ben Raines."

The two older men shook their heads. Cugamba said, "You will not kill
Ben Raines. You probably will never get close to Ben Raines. And we have
not been speaking ill of you, Zandar. You are a brave man. But you are
also an angry man; you are a rebel with no cause. Issac saw that Ben
Raines is not our enemy. Then Mobuto-mamba saw it, and finally I
realized it." He waved a hand at the smoking wreckage. "Ben Raines has
planes enough to have finished this. Yet he did not. He's giving us a
chance, Zandar. And I for one, as is Mobutomamba, will take his warning
and return to a life of peace and productivity. We shall open our
borders and live in harmony with men of all colors."

"Cowards," Zandar spat the word. "Both of you." Cugumba cut his eyes to
Zandar and smiled grimly. He had been a soldier before the Great War. A
full bird colonel in the United States Army; an infantry officer. "Watch
your mouth, young man," he warned. "I am no self-appointed officer. I
earned my rank the hard way. I was first an enlisted man, then went to
OCS and climbed upward on my merits. Don't you ever call me a coward. I
am going back to the state of Missouri, not New Africa-Missouri. And I
am going to ask Issac to forgive my rashness. As for you, Zandar, I hope
you will

262

find your peace in the grave. For when you attack Ben Raines, that will
be your future."

The two older men spun around and walked off.

"About half of Zandar's people have turned around and headed back west,"
Corrie called to Ben. "Eyes in the Sky estimates some fifteen thousand
troops have broken up into small units and are heading our way."

"They'll be picking up black punk gangs as they move toward us," Ben
said. "Incorporating them into the ranks ..." He paused. "Or using them
for cannon fodder."

"Probably the latter," Ike said.
Ben looked at his son, Buddy, commander of 8 Batt, the special
operations battalion. "Get your teams together, son. Dan Gray is already
forming his people up. Then check with operations and work out where
you'll be. Start harassing Mr. Zandar and his people."

The ruggedly handsome and muscular Buddy pulled out a double-edged
dagger, held it up, and smiled.

"Yes," his father said. "Fear is an excellent motivator."

Zandar had split his thousands of people up into company-sized groups
and sent them in all directions, with orders to regroup once they
reached the Ohio line. It was a bad mistake on Zandar's part. While the
Rebels were a mighty fighting force en masse, they had first begun as
down and dirty guerrilla fighters, fighting unbelievable odds . . . and
winning. The Rebels had perfected guerrilla fighting down to an art that few

263

263

people could ever attain. The Rebels were at their best operating in
small, highly lethal groups.

"Forget it, Raines," Doctor Chase told Ben as he stood in the doorway to
Ben's office, located in a home some twenty-five miles south of Toledo.
He had caught Ben pacing the office like a caged animal.

Ben slowly turned to face his old friend. "Do you now have the ability
to get into my mind, Lamar?"

"No." The doctor poured a cup of coffee and sat down. "I just know you
too well. You want to be out there with Buddy and Dan and all the other
special ops people, slithering around on the ground with your face
painted and a cammo rag around your head, cutting throats." He pointed a
finger at Ben. "If you try it, Ben, I'll order you into the hospital,
and I mean it."

Ben smiled and sat down. He knew Chase meant it. In any army, anywhere,
the doctors had the last word, and it made no difference if one was a
general or a private. If Chase ordered him into the hospital, Ben would
have to go. "Yes, I'd like to be out there, Lamar. But I'm not going.
That isn't to say I couldn't do a good job. But this time I'll leave it
to younger fellows."

"Even that old fire-breathing warhorse Dan Gray is staying back
overseeing the operation," Chase said. "And he's a few years younger
than you."

Ben chuckled. "I'll admit something, Lamar-I really don't mind being
middle-aged. I thought I would hate it, but I don't. I think because I
really haven't slowed down that much. I'm a step slower. But I've
learned to compensate for that."

"We were a couple of firebrands when we first met those long years ago,
weren't we, Ben?"

264
"A couple of revolutionaries with a wild dream and two dozen or so
followers."

Both men chuckled for a moment, recalling memories that went back over a
span of a dozen years.

Anna stuck her pretty head into the office. ' 'Reports coming in from
the field, General Ben. Buddy's people really raised some hell last
night. They killed about a dozen of Zandar's personal troops, cut off
dieir heads, and stuck them up on poles."

"Jesus, Ben!" Chase said.

Ben shook his head. "You know I didn't order that done, Lamar." He
looked up as Corrie joined Anna in the doorway. "Are you in contact with
Buddy?"

"Negative. His last transmission said he would be out of pocket for
about forty-eight hours."

"He planned that well," Ben remarked sarcastically. "That devious-" He
bit that off.

"I wonder where he got it from?" Lamar questioned drily, getting to his
feet and moving to the door. He paused and looked at Ben. "I meant what
I said, Ben."

Ben smiled. "You can't prevent me from inspecting my own troops, Lamar.
No matter where they might be. That is any commander's right."

"Raines," the doctor said, knowing Ben had him on that point. "You're a
prick!"

At the time, Ben really had no intention of visiting Buddy, or any of
the other special ops troops. He just wanted to stick the needle to
Lamar. But the more he thought about traveling over to Indiana, the
better the idea sounded.

Zandar had approximately four divisions of twenty-

265

265

five hundred troops per division. Eyes in the Sky reported that about
two thousand of Cugumba and Mobutomamba's troops had stayed with Zandar.
Twelve thousand troops spread out north to south over about three
hundred miles, along Highway 31.

"Let's end it," Ben muttered. "Zandar is not going to quit." He called
for Corrie. "Pull in Ike, West, and Georgi. Get the tanks rolling. Put
all fixed-wing and chopper gunships on alert. Order Dan and Buddy to
cease immediately all guerrilla action, form up their battalions, and
start gradually falling back. Prepare to throw up a defensive line along
Interstates 69 and 65. Buddy's 8 Batt at the top, Georgi's 5 Batt to the
extreme south end. The placement will be Buddy, Dan, us, Rebet, Danjou,
Ike, West, and Georgi. I'm tired of dicking around with this guy,
Corrie. Let's go bump heads."

Zandar had ordered the guards tripled at night-and still the
infiltrators were slipping through and doing their deadly work. But it
was not demoralizing his people. Zandar personally saw to that. Then the
throat-cutting abruptly stopped.

Zandar was filled with hate, but he was far from being a stupid man.
Actually, his IQ was very high. He just never did much with that
intelligence . . . except hate white people.

But the ceasing of the infiltrators puzzled him. Why go to all that
trouble, and then suddenly pull back?

His forward teams had reported that the Rebels were pulling back. They
had withdrawn to Highway 15 and were still falling back toward the east.

Why?

266

Was Raines giving up?

Despite his shining arrogance, Zandar considered that highly unlikely.

An aide broke into his thoughts. "Sir? Ben Raines has made contact with
us. He wishes to speak to you."

Zandar stared at the aide for a moment, then stood up and walked to the
communications room.

"Hey, Zandar! Are you there, asshole?" The voice of Ben Raines sprang
out of the speaker.

Zandar froze in shock. Nobody spoke to him in such a manner.

"Hey, prick-face." Ben's voice was taunting. "Pick up the damn mic and
speak. Oh, you have to press that little button on the side to talk, in
case you haven't figured it out yet. And as stupid as you are, you
probably haven't."

Zandar snatched up the mic and shouted, "This is Colonel Zandar!"

"Colonel?" Ben'svoicewasfilledwithsarcasm. "Colonel? Hell, boy, you
wouldn't make a pimple on a real colonel's ass. You're nothing but a
goddamn sleazy street punk."

"What do you want, Raines'?" Zandar shouted.

"Your black ass, boy."

Hundreds of miles away, Issac was listening to the transmission. "He's
deliberately taunting you, Zandar. And you haven't got enough sense to
understand that. You're a damn fool if you fall for this trick."

"You honky son-of-a-bitch!" Zandar shouted.

"I have about a hundred acres of cotton down south that needs pickin'. I
figure that's about all you're good for. I'll feed you lots of greens
and fatback and corn-bread."

267
267

"Fuck you, Raines!" Zandar was livid with rage.

Cugumba and Mobutomamba were also listening to the transmission. They
exchanged glances and both shook their heads. Ben Raines was playing
Zandar like a puppet on a string.

"I'll kill you, Raines!" Zandar screamed out his rage.

"How?" Ben responded. "You gonna hit me with a chitlin', boy?"

Zandar finally got it. He had almost fallen for Ben's taunting. He took
several deep breaths and calmed himself. He keyed the mic. "Very good,
Raines. Excellent. You had me going there for a time. But I won't fall
for your race-baiting. You are not a racist, Raines. I know that for a
fact. I hate your guts, but you are not a racist. Now what do you want?"

"Very well, Zandar, or whatever the hell your name is. We can do this
easy, or hard. It's up to you. Lay down your arms and disband your army.
Make a life for yourself and your followers. Live a long time. This is
the only warning I'm going to give you. Butt heads with me, and you're a
dead man. You understand all that?"

"Raines, go right straight to hell. I'm going to destroy you.

"Then you really are a fool, Zandar. Better men than you have tried
that. I'm still around."

"I will meet you in combat and defeat you, Raines."

"OK, sucker. Come on."

Ben broke the transmission.

"Arrogant son-of-a-bitch!" Zandar said.

Ben handed the mic to Corrie and winked at Jersey.

"Kick-ass time!" Jersey said.

268

Zandar was soldier enough to see that if he pulled his troops together
en masse and smashed through any part of the Rebel line, Ben's troops
would just fall in behind him and he'd be no better off than before.
Ruefully, Zandar realized he had to meet Ben Raines on his terms.

Both armies were now facing each other in company-sized groups, or smaller.

Ben had placed his heavy artillery well back from the several miles of
No Man's Land that separated the two armies, and the Rebel tanks were
close in and carefully placed and camouflaged.

The Rebels waited for Zandar to make the first move.

But Zandar had turned suddenly cautious. Ben Raines had called his hand
and was waiting for him to either bet his cards or fold.

It was purely unintentional, but Zandar and Ben were facing each other
at the junction of Interstate 69 and Highway 18, just east of Marion,
Indiana.

269

269

"That's Zandar facing us," Corrie said to Ben. "Scouts just confirmed it."

Ben nodded his head then checked his watch. "Wonder what he's waiting
on? It's well past dawn."

Zandar was pacing the ground. His people were in place, waiting for his
orders. The time was now. He could not wait Ben out; he didn't have the
supplies for that. Many of his people were living off the land as it was
and supplies were critical. The realization came to him in a rush: Ben
Raines knew all that. The Rebels were well-fed, well supplied, and
waiting like a fat cat for a mouse to come out of its hole.

"The son of a bitch!" Zandar cursed.

Another hot rush of realization flooded Zandar. If he ordered his troops
forward, it would be suicide. The Rebels would chop them to bloody
pieces. Zandar looked up into the blue of the Indiana sky. No planes, no
helicopter gunships. Oh, hell, no. Raines was holding them back until
Zandar ordered his people across the three miles of empty, then they
would swoop down like huge mechanical carrion birds, spitting out death.

Zandar was many things. But he was no fool. There was no way for him to
win. Just ... no ... way ... at ... all.

Zandar sat down on a camp stool and put his face in his hands. He just
could not give the orders to sacrifice his troops. The punks and thugs
he'd gathered along the way had vanished like smoke in a breeze when the
Rebels started their murderous nighttime guerrilla tactics. Those bloody
death-grinning heads up on poles had really done it for the punks. They
had disappeared in a rush after one look at that hideous sight. Just
recalling it left Zandar with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

270

Zandar finally admitted something else, too:   from the moment he first
saw those bloody heads stuck up on poles, he   had known the war was lost,
had realized then he was not going to defeat   the Rebels. All his talk
had been just that: so much hot air from the   mouth.

"When do we attack, sir?" An aide broke into his thoughts.

Zandar looked up at the young man. He shook his head. "We don't," he
whispered.

"Sir?"

"Order all troops to stand down. I'm not going to turn this ground red
with our blood. It's pointless. Get me Ben Raines on the horn."

"Zandar on the blower, boss," Corrie said, handing Ben the mic.

"Colonel," Ben said.
"General Raines. If we lay down our arms, will you let us surrender in
dignity?"

"Of course, I will. I'll do more than that. We'll help you get settled
in somewhere and help you out with food for the coming winter."

"You would help us with all that?"

"Sure. Why not? We're no longer enemies, are we?"

Zandar felt his eyes burn with a mist. He keyed the mic. "No, General
Raines. No. We are no longer enemies."

"Good. Have you had breakfast?"

"Why ... ah, no, I haven't."

"I'll send a Hummer over for you. We'll talk about getting you folks
settled in over a hot meal."

"I'll be waiting." After Ben had signed off, Zandar stood for a moment.
Finally, he shook his head. "I just

271

don't understand that man. I wonder if anybody really knows what Ben
Raines is all about?"

In the span of twenty-four hours, the state of Missouri was reborn and
became a part of the SUSA, Zandar and his troops began making plans to
resettle all over the Midwest (with many of them expressing a desire to
relocate in the SUSA), and a major battle was avoided without having to
fire a shot.

Indiana was declared clean and another state was added to President
Altaian's NUSA.

"Ben Raines can do more in three months than the entire federal
government could do in three decades," Paul Altaian remarked.

The western third of Ohio had been purged of the criminal element (for
the most part) but the eastern two-thirds was quite another matter. The
punks and thugs and assorted human crud, including the Night People,
were running out of places to hide, as the advancing Rebels were slowly
pushing them back into the northeast corridor.

"It's been relatively easy so far," West, the mercenary and commander of
4 Batt, remarked at a meeting of batt corns. "But now comes the hard part."

"What about West Virginia?" Jim Peters, commander of 14 Batt asked.
"It's a damn battleground."

"I don't want to get bogged down in that state," Ben said. "That's the
last thing I want. Old blood feuds erupting, race wars popping up all
over the place, old union members against old non-union factions
shooting at each other. It's madness. I know there are thousands of
good, decent people living there-existing is proba-

272
bly a better word. But we'll just avoid that state for the time being."

"How about this winter, Ben?" Ike asked.

' 'We'll keep going as long as we can. But our meteorologists are
predicting a bad winter here in the north. Shifting over to a more
pleasant subject, Cecil tells me he's received documents from Simon
Border detailing a non-aggression pact and an agreement of cooperation
and trade between our two nations. North America just might be headed
toward the road to peace after all."

"You always did predict we would break up into nations within a nation,"
Jim Peters said. "Even before the Great War, that was the way you said
we'd eventually go."

Ben smiled at that. Those books he'd written before the Great War had
gotten him into trouble with the federal government. The FBI had put him
on their subversives list and launched an investigation on him that had
still been on-going when the Great War toppled every government on the
face of the earth. That investigation had the FBI snooping and prowling
into every aspect of his life, from the cradle on. One friend who had
been interviewed several times by the Feds told Ben the Bureau had a
dossier on him that was about six inches thick. Such was the paranoia of
the liberals in power at the time. At one point in the investigation,
the Bureau strongly suspected that Ben was the leader of a huge
underground army of guerrillas, whose goal was to undermine and finally
overthrow the government.

When Ben learned of that, he was amused for days.

With the nation awash in every type of crime imaginable, the government
had spent several million dollars investigating a writer of popular fiction.

273

Ben had once pointed out the absurdity of that to the FBI agents who
visited him. The Bureau had not been amused.

The Rebels began their march toward the Northeast, but now it was much
slower going. The thugs and punks knew they were being pushed up into a
box from which there was little chance of escape, and they were fighting
like cornered wildcats.

Cecil had the ring of missiles around the SUSA fully operational and the
home guard was once more built up and ready to defend the SUSA should
the rabble try again to overrun their borders-something no one believed
would ever again occur. He released the battalions that had been
stationed in the SUSA and Batts 16, 17, and 21 joined the Rebels in the
field.

Just as Ben's 1 Batt and four other battalions were getting into
position to strike against the ruins of Cleveland, Akron, and Canton,
winter reared up several weeks early and laid a blanket of ice and snow
over the land.

"Dig in and stay warm," Ben told his troops. "It'll warm up before long.
This storm is a freak of nature. It's far too early for it to last."

But Ben also knew the punks would take the opportunity to split. The
gangs they were dealing with now were the more intelligent ones:
smarter, tougher, larger, better-equipped. They had lasted for years,
and for most of the gangs, that was not based on luck, but on brains.
Ben knew that most criminals, had they applied their intelligence to
legal and legitimate endeavors, would be highly successful men and women.

"From now on," Ben said to his team one freezing

274

cold day in late October, "it's going to be down and dirty. Scouts are
reporting the three cities are virtual ghost towns. Except, of course,
for you all know who."

Mass groans greeted that.

"That's right," Ben said. "Our old friends, the creepies. We can always
count on them to be very predictable."

Cincinnati, Dayton, Columbus, Springfield-all had been deserted cities
when the Rebels pushed through- except for bands of creepies.

"Ben," Ike stood up. "What's this aboutyou and your 1 Batt heading down
south and pushing east through Wheeling?"

"That's my plan. Why?"

"Well, Ben, in case you haven't looked at a map lately, Wheeling is in
West Virginia. And Wheeling, according to Scouts, is a batdeground.''
Ike was one of only a few officers who could talk to Ben in such a manner.

Ben laughed at the expression on Ike's face. "I'm going to Pittsburgh,
Ike. And I'm going to come up from the south. Dan is going straight in
from Weirdton, and Buddy is coming in from the north. If the bands of
malcontents in Wheeling want a fight, we'll give them one. Right now,
let's start clearing out the creeps in Cleveland."

Corrie stuck her head into the room. "We got a problem, boss. Emil Hite
is missing."

"Missing? He's supposed to be inspecting playgrounds. What'd he do, get
tangled up in a swing?"

"He probably wishes he had. Seems as though Emil found a bunch of his
old followers, among others. They decided that we might need some help
up here-"

"Oh, shit!" Ike muttered.

"The last anyone heard from him, he and his ... ah

275

. . . well, followers had crossed the border into West Virginia. By the
way, the group is about two hundred strong and call themselves the
Rainbow Warriors."

Dan Gray groaned at that.

Ben sighed. "OK, Corrie. See if you can find out how well armed the, ah,
Rainbow Warriors are."
"They're very well armed, boss. They tried to steal some tanks, but no
one could figure out how to drive them. But they did leave in APCs and
Hummers and deuce-and-a-halves, and they took plenty of supplies."

Ben smiled. "There are any number of punks and thugs and assorted trash
who made the mistake of not taking Emil and his people seriously. We
helped bury a lot of them. Emil and two hundred followers could put up a
hell of a fight. I sort of feel sorry for anyone who tangles with them.
Corrie, try to get a frequency fix on Emil. All right, let's revamp our
schedule. Here's what I'm going to do ..."

"Where in the name of all that's holy are we?" Emil asked.

Emil and a dozen of his Rainbow Warriors were standing in the middle of
the cracked old highway, looking at maps. Not that the maps would do
them much good, for all the highway markers were long gone.

"Lost," one of his followers said mournfully.

"Well, I know that!" Emil said. "But does anyone know approximately
where we might be?"

"West Virginia," another of his people said.

Emil looked heavenward and shook his head.

Emil and his Rainbow Warriors were deep in West Virginia. How they had
managed to get that far without

276

someone taking a shot at them would forever remain a mystery. But all
that was about to change-abruptly.

The men and women of the Rainbow Warriors had started out with good
intentions: to assist Ben Raines in clearing the country of hoodlums and
criminals. Getting hopelessly lost in West Virginia was definitely not
part of the plan.

"I think someone should climb a tall tree and take a look around," a man
suggested.

Emil turned slowly to stare at the man. "Climb a tree? What a brilliant
idea, Rolf. Superb. Why don't you do that? I mean, take your choice of
trees. We're surrounded by millions of them. Might I suggest diat one."
Emil pointed toward a high mountain. "It will only take you a week to
get up there. Now shut up with this tree business. What happened to all
the damn road signs?"

Emil, a former con man who had linked up with Ben some years back,
always meant well. Even when he was running a scam, professing to be a
holy man in perfect harmony widi the Great God Blomm . . .

"I'm cold," a woman said.

"Go sit in the truck, dear," Emil told her.

Emil then drew himself up to his full height, which was only a few
inches above five feet, and looked all around him. Never one to conform
to Rebel dress codes, for this foray into the unknown Emil had chosen
low quarter shoes, a nice dress suit with matching tie, and a snap-brim
1940s-style Bogart hat. He wore a trench coat over the suit. But while
Emil looked just about as ridiculous as a person could look-considering
the time and place-he was far from being stupid. He had survived on his
wits for years, getting out of more jams than Dick Tracy.

277

"Mount up," Emil told his people. "This damn highway has to lead somewhere."

It did. It led to a small town located in a long and wide valley between
two mountain ranges. The decent people of the small town had long
departed for safer ground, leaving the town in the hands of one Lukey
DeFray and his small army of thugs.

Lukey had long been the Bull of the Woods around those parts. Six feet,
six inches tall, two hundred and sixty-five pounds of mean. What Lukey
wanted, Lukey got-one way or the other. Lukey was the stereotypical
bully; if he had anything even resembling a conscience, no one had ever
seen it exhibited. Lukey had gathered together some three hundred of the
most worthless men and women to ever walk the face of the earth. They
were the absolute bottom of the dregs of humanity

"Army vehicles a-comin' in from the south, Lukey." The voice sprang out
of the speaker of the CB radio.

"Looks lak Ben Raines and his soldier boys and girls has arrived," Lukey
said, standing up. "I been lookin' forward to this moment. I'm a-gonna
whup that son-of-a-bitch until his toenails curl up. I been hearin' for
years how tough the Rebels is. Now, by God, we'll just see how tough
they is." Lukey picked up the mic. "Is they any women in that bunch,
Ashford?"

"Some."

"Good. I need me some strange pussy. Maybelle's 'bout all wallered out.
Time to give that some rest." He picked up his M-16. "Let's go give
Raines' Rebels a proper greetin,' boys."

278

"Pilots reported what appeared to be a military convoy heading north on
this highway," Corrie told Ben, pointing to the map spread out on the
hood of a pickup truck. "Right there."

"We're still a good two or three days from there," Ben said.

Ben's batt corns had put up quite an argument about his heading off by
himself in search of Emil, but the boss was the boss, and Ben prevailed.

"All sorts of gangs operating all over this state," Cooper reminded Ben.

They had crossed the Ohio River and were just inside what used to known
as West Virginia. For a very brief period of time, the capitol of the
United States had been located in the state. It had been looted and
destroyed by gangs. Most of the good, decent people had either fled the
state, bunkered themselves deep in the mountains in heavily armed
communities, or turned small towns
279

into forts against the many roaming gangs of human predators.

As Ben had predicted, the sudden and unexpected cold snap had abated and
the weather had turned warmer, melting the snow and ice. The air was
still crisp, holding the promise of full winter, but for now, it was not
uncomfortable.

Jersey looked around her at the unfamiliar country. "Emil is a pain in
the ass," she said.

Ben chuckled. "Yeah, you're right, Little Bit. But he's our pain in the
ass. Let's go find the litde bastard and his intrepid band of followers."

"Pain in die ass," Jersey muttered.

"Just hold it right here," Emil said, lowering his binoculars. "I don't
like the looks of this."

"What's wrong with it? It's a lovely litde town," a woman said.

"Not really," Emil contradicted. "The streets are full of trash. Store
windows have been smashed out. And there is a body on the sidewalk in
front of that old drug store."

"This is the best highway we've been on in two days," a year-long friend
of Emil's said. "And it goes right through that town. Either that or we
backtrack for fifty miles.''

"I have no intention of backtracking through diat dismal area," Emil
said, looking back in the direction they'd just come.

Actually it wasn't dismal at all, but it was almost winter, die trees
were stark in the cold sunlight, and die area

280

was all but devoid of human life . . . decent human life, that is.

Emil could be a clown when he wished to be, and that was most of the
time. But he was also a pretty savvy soldier, with a nose for smelling
out trouble. And his nose was sending him some alarming signals about
the peaceful-looking little town.

"APCs button up and edge on down to that town," Emil ordered. "I want
every gun ready to go."

The APCs that Emil had taken from an unguarded depot down in the SUSA
were actually Bradley Fighting Vehicles. They carried a squad of five
and a crew of three: driver, gunner, and commander, the driver and
commander positioned in the turret. Its weapons were a 25mm chain gun
that was awesome when put into action, a coaxial machine gun and an M-60
machine gun. It could also fire TOW missiles with deadly accuracy up to
about three thousand yards.

Lukey DeFray was about to come head to head with modern, Rebel re-worked
and re-armored machinery of war.

'' Let that armored thing come on in," Lukey ordered. "Everybody stay
down and don't fire at it. We want them folks to think we're nice and
friendly. What do the boys up on the bluffs say?"

The boys on the bluffs were using CB radios to communicate and Emil and
his people were listening to every word being said.

"They's about two hundred or so of them folks. 'Bout half of 'em women.
But they don't think they's soldiers, they all dressed sort of funny."

"How funny?" Lukey asked.

"Sorta like hippies. 'Ceptin' that little bandy rooster

281

that 'pears to be runnin' the show. He's all duded up in a suit and tie."

"Well, he ain't no hippie then. I never knowed no hippie to wear no
Sunday clothes."

"For a fact."

"Well, we'll sucker them in and then kill all the men and fuck all the
women."

"Sounds good to me."

"Cretins," Emil muttered. "Worthless trash." He grabbed up a mic.
"They're unfriendly," he radioed to the Bradley. "Be ready for anything."

"That's a big fat ten-four," the commander of the Bradley said. The
commander had been a Rebel for years, until getting wounded and forced
out of the field. Then he went back to being a hippie, enjoying the
laid-back life-style. But he definitely was not a member of the
peace-and-love bunch. "You hear all that, Corn-pone?" he asked his gunner.

Cornpone, another Rebel who'd gotten a bit long in the tooth for the
field and went back to a hippie lifestyle, shifted a wad of bubble gum
and said, "Shore did. That's plumb discouragin,' too." Cornpone had been
born and reared in rural Alabama. "Makes me sad when people ain't
friendly." He reached over and flipped a switch, activating the
all-weather speaker he had installed outside the Bradley. He hit another
switch which turned on a tape recorder. The sounds of Bobby Blue Bland
singing "Share Your Love With Me" filled the street.

"Gawddamn nigger music," Lukey bitched. "I hate nigger music."

Lukey had never served in the military, and did not know a Bradley
Fighting Vehicle from a banana. He'd

282

never been more than a hundred miles in any direction from the area in
which he had been whelped. Lukey had been twenty years old when the
Great War struck the globe a decade back-and he was not going to see
another birthday.

The Bradley stopped in the middle of the street, Main Street. The fifty
thousand-pound fighting vehicle squatted on the cracked old street like
some prehistoric beast. Inside, the six firing-ports were opened.
"Hey, you inside that there machine!" Lukey hollered. "Why don't y'all
get out and show yourselves. If you don't, we liable to think you don't
like us and have to pull y'all out of there and whup your asses."

"The man is an idiot," Cornpone remarked.

"And hush up that gawddamn squallin' coon music, too," Lukey added.

"Now he's beginnin' to get on the wrong side of me," Cornpone said. He
reached over and turned up the volume. The voice of Ray Charles singing
"What'd I Say" blared over the street.

Lukey lifted his M-16 and gave the speaker a full burst of 5.56 rounds,
blowing it apart and stilling the music.

"Fire!" Emil shouted into the mic.

The turret swiveled and the 25mm chain gun began yammering. The rounds
blew out the front window of the store, tore the door off its hinges,
and demolished the interior of the store, sending dust and wood and
plaster flying in all directions, decapitating three of Lukey's
followers and blowing great smoking holes in the chests and belly of
several others.

"Gawddamn!" Lukey bellered, from his suddenly attained position on the
dirty floor. "Git the fuck outta here, boys!"

283

Up on the bluffs, Emil jumped into his HumVee and shouted, "Charge!
Forward into the fray, Rainbow Warriors!"

The driver floorboarded the pedal, the 8600-pound vehicle, powered by a
V-8 6.2-liter engine surged forward, and Emil wound up in the back seat
in a sprawl of arms and legs.

"Lukey!" the spotter on the bluffs shouted into his CB mic. "They's
a-comin',"

There was no reply, for the CB base station had been blown into a
thousand parts, and Lukey was in the alley behind the store, pickin' 'em
up and puttin' 'em down just as hard as he could.

The Bradley leaped forward, made a hard left at the intersection and
came to a halt at the mouth of the alley. The turret swiveled and the
chain gun began belching out 25mm high explosive rounds. The alley
turned into a slaughterhouse.

A dozen more of Lukey's followers were blown into oblivion. With a
squall of pure terror, Lukey leaped through an open door, rolled on the
floor of what used to be a dress shop and came to his feet, looking
wild-eyed all around him, just as six more Bradleys rolled up outside.
Six more chain guns began firing in all directions and thirty M-16's
began firing from the ports of the vehicles.

"Oh, Lordy!" Lukey hollered, curling up in a ball on the littered floor.

That was the last thing he ever said, as the second floor of the old
building, built in the early 1920s, collapsed, burying the gang leader
under a dozen tons of brick and wood.

284

Emil Hite and his Rainbow Warriors had taken the town. What was left of it.

"Victory is ours!" The speaker, located about a foot from Ben's head,
screamed out the words. Ben spilled a cup of coffee all over himself and
Jersey fell off her camp stool.

"It's Emil," Corrie said, struggling to keep a straight face.

"No kidding?" Ben replied.

"We have fought in the hedgerows and in the alleys and the streets,"
Emil's voice rang out. "We shall never surrender!"

"I'll personally strangle that crazy son-of-a-bitch! "Jersey said,
getting to her feet.

"The forces of darkness and evil have been conquered!" Emil continued
his harangue. "Good has prevailed. Though outnumbered at least a hundred
to one, the Rainbow Warriors were victorious, fighting valiantly.
Although wounded-" Emil had a bump on his forehead from impacting
against the floorboards of the back seat"-I led my people in battle.
West Virginia is ours!" A short pause. "Well, a small part of it,
anyway," he wound down.

"Corrie," Ben said, mopping himself with a towel given him by Anna. "See
if you can find out the location of that little bastard. And tell him to
stay put!" Ben went off to change into dry BDUs.

Two days later, Ben and his 1 Batt rolled into Central West Virginia and
hooked up with Emil Hite and his Rainbow Warriors.

285

Ben just couldn't stay mad at Emil. Somehow, despite himself, Emil
always managed to come out on top. Ben stared at him for a moment, then
shook his head. "Emil," he said, drawing upon all his patience, "do you
realize that we are in the middle of a state that is crawling with gangs
and malcontents, people who have been feuding with each other for a damn
century, and God only knows what else?"

'' Never fear, my general,'' Emil said, tugging at his hat brim. "The
Rainbow Warriors will lead you to safety."

"Oh, shit!" Jersey muttered.

"I'm sure you will," Ben said, just as sarcastically as he could, which
was considerable.

The sarcasm bounced right off the little con artist. Nothing could hurt
Emil's feelings.

"What do you have in mind, Emil?" Ben asked. "About leading us to
safety, that is," he was quick to add.

"Well ... to tell you the truth ..." Emil hedged. "I mean, we've been so
busy here, I really haven't had the time to give that much thought."
"I see. Then I'll tell you-mount up. We're getting the hell out of this
country before hard winter sets in and we're trapped in here. And yes,
Emil, you're going with us. I can't very well send you back."

Emil snapped to attention. "You will not be sorry, my general."

Ben just stared at the man for moment before turning away, softly
muttering under his breath.

Ben put Emil and his people in the center of the column, thus insuring
their safety and more importan-

286

tly, effectively nullifying any chance of Emil screwing up.

The long column angled and snaked around on worn and cracked old state
roads for a day before coming to a major U.S. highway. The column headed
north, with what used to be the Monongahela National Forest to their east.

They passed through several small towns that were deserted, after having
been looted.

"There is life in Elkins," Corrie said, after receiving a report from
recon. "And they are not hostile."

"That has a nice sound to it," Ben said.

A town of nearly ten thousand before the Great War, there were now about
seven hundred people living in and around the town. And they welcomed
the Rebels.

' 'We get the news on shortwave out of your Base Camp One, General," the
spokesman said. "Is Paul Altman really the new president?"

"That he is," Ben assured the man. "And I believe he's going to be a
good one. I personally saw to it that the election was on the up and
up." Ben said it with a straight face; Jersey rolled her dark eyes, Beth
almost choked on a fresh-baked muffin, Anna left the room before she
could burst out laughing, and Corrie and Cooper exchanged glances and
then ducked their heads to hide their grins.

"We've got a pretty good communications system here, General," the
appointed leader of the townspeople said. "We monitor a lot of chatter.
And I feel I have to warn you that from here on east and north, it's a
damn battleground."

"We know. We'll deal with them. For the moment, let's talk about this
state."

287

The local's expression changed. "From what we've been able to pick up
from your open frequencies, you don't plan on cleaning out this state
any time soon, General."

"I changed my mind about that, Mr. Thomas. But we're going to have to
have some help in doing so."
Those locals gathered around applauded and cheered. "That's the best
news we've heard in months," Thomas said. He sighed and shook his head.
"There are a lot of good people left in this state, General. West
Virginia had some bad press for years before the Great War, and
unfortunately, some of it was deserved. Now some of those same factions
are shooting at each other. But we don't know the solution. Do you?"

Ben cut his eyes to Jersey and she smiled. "Oh, yes," Ben told the man.
"We sure do."

288

Ben ordered Buddy and his 8 Batt to come south and cut into West
Virginia at the first standing bridge around Huntington. Dan was to come
into the state at Parkers-burg, and Rebet to enter the state at Wheeling
. . . after cleaning out that city.

Ben set up his CP at Elkins.

Ben had learned that West Virginia had an active militia before the
Great War, but had been forced hard underground by the government,
before and during the gun-grab that disarmed most Americans. The great
gun-grab, brought on by hysterical liberals and members of the
left-leaning press, didn't do a thing to curb crime, but it did turn a
lot of law-abiding American citizens into criminals, because the
citizens, instead of turning in their guns, carefully sealed their
weapons and buried them.

Those that survived the Great War promptly dug up their weapons and used
them to defend themselves

289

289

against the hundreds of thousands of thugs and punks that immediately
began roaming the land.

Ben started pulling the West Virginia militia back together. He sent out
political teams to explain the Tri-States philosophy to all who were
interested in learning about it-and most were.

"Get me President Altaian on the horn, Corrie. And get ready to listen
to him squall."

Ben explained what he was doing to Altaian and there was a long moment
of silence from the newly elected President of the NUSA. Finally,
Altaian exclaimed, "You've done what?"

"I made the West Virginia militia the new state police," Ben repeated.

"Jesus Christ!" Altaian shouted. "That bunch of wacko gun nuts!"

"Even if that statement were true-which it certainly isn't, now or in
the past, not for the most part-can you think of a better group to
enforce the law? That is, considering the time and place?"

Altaian was silent for a moment, conscious of Cecil looking at him, a
faint smile on his lips. Altaian slowly sighed, shook his head (which
was graying rapidly since the "election") and pressed the talk button.
"No, I suppose not, Ben. Tell me, which side is West Virginia going to
come under?"

"The NUSA, I assume. We're explaining the Rebel philosophy to the people
at town meetings. But that's just in effect while we are here trying to
help. After we leave, die laws they choose to enforce will be up to the
people. You do plan to let the people have the final say, don't you?"

290

"Of course, I do," Airman said. "That's what a democracy is, Ben."

"Paul, don't try to disarm the people this go-around," Ben warned.
"That's a warning offered in a friendly way."

"I will abide by the majority will of the people on that issue, Ben."

"Then you're asking for trouble, Paul. For you know perfectly well the
NUSA will be filled with hanky-stomping liberals. Eagle out."

Ben looked at the several dozen spokespeople, representing communities
from all over the state, gathered around him in the large room. He shook
his head. "Paul still clings to the belief that fifty-one percent of the
people can rule the remaining forty-nine percent."

"He will never disarm us, General," Thomas said. "That won't happen,
ever again."

"It won't come right away. But it will come eventually."

The men and women exchanged glances. "Then we'll align with the SUSA,
General," Thomas said.

"Your decision," Ben said."Welcome abroad."

Paul Altman came into Cecil's office just before official closing hours
and sat down. Cecil fixed them both drinks of bourbon and water and they
sipped in silence for a moment.

"I am quite upset about West Virginia." Paul broke the silence.

"The old ways won't work, Paul. You've got to understand that. Maybe
fifty years from now, when the nation has healed and the scar tissue is
no longer sensitive.

291

Maybe then, after all the roaming gangs of criminals have been dealt
with, the factories are once more running full-tilt, the airports are
busy, the highways are filled with cars and trucks carrying people and
produce and goods, when people are working and able to enjoy the small
pleasures of life and home and family and cook-outs-maybe then whomever
is in power can question the need of civilians to own M-16's and Uzi's
and M-60's and so forth, but not now, Paul. My God, not now! Not when
the nation is still reeling and staggering about from a world war
followed by a civil war and total collapse. If you can't see that, then
I fear you're in for a long rough haul over very rocky roads."

"I've hated guns all my life," Paul said softly. "I've never even fired
a gun. There was no draft when I was of draft age, so I didn't serve in
the military. I don't even like to kill roaches. I want a society that
is free of guns, Cecil."

"Good luck," Cecil said, very drily.

The spokesman from Elkins had been elected governor of the state of West
Virginia. It had happened so fast-and just as Paul Airman had thought
(and still did) -Thomas wasn't quite sure it was all legal. But Ben
Raines had assured him it was.

"But I was the only candidate on the ballots you had printed up," Thomas
had protested to Ben.

Ben smiled. "If you don't want the job, tell me now."

"I didn't say that. Oh, what the hell! It's strange times we live in,
right?"

"That's right, Governor. Now let's get you settled in. My people have
just finished mopping up around

292

Clarksburg. You have any objections to that being the state capital?"

Governor Thomas smiled, and then laughed. "No, General Raines. No
objections at all."

"Fine. Now, I have a surprise for you."

"Another one?"

Ben led him outside and they made the relatively short drive to
Clarksburg, stopping and getting out at an office building that had been
cleaned out and renovated. Governor Thomas hadn't even been aware it was
being done-the Rebels moved so damn fast and got so much done in such a
short time! The governor was stunned to see about fifty men, most in
their forties, standing in line, at attention, dressed in the uniform of
the old West Virginia State Police.

"I've had people scouring the state, and this is all that is left of the
state police. Two-thirds of them will go on patrol immediately, the rest
will fan out and hand-pick candidates for training. The militia has
agreed to work with them and when the ranks are filled, they'll step
down at your orders."

"How ..." Governor Thomas shook his head. "How in the hell do you get
things accomplished so quickly, General?"

"We don't fuck around, Gov. We don't have fourteen committees and
thirty-nine sub-committees and five hundred-and-fourteen staffers
running all over the goddamn place, and all the rest of that bullshit
from past governments. And if you want this state to move forward, I
suggest you adopt the same tactics."

"It is constitutional?"

"It works," Ben said. "Even my sworn enemies will agree with that"

293
Rebel law was simple; so simple that many people either could not or
would not comprehend it.

Jersey brought it all down to a list that anyone could understand. She
sat down behind a typewriter and wrote:

IF YOU BEAT YOUR WIFE OR GIRLFRIEND OR ABUSE YOUR CHILDREN, YOU WON'T
MAKE IT IN ANY STATE THAT SUBSCRIBES TO THE TRI-STATES PHILOSOPHY.

IF YOU ARE CRUEL TO ANIMALS, STAYTHE HELL OUT OF ANY AREA UNDER REBEL
CONTROL.

IF YOU ARE A SMART-ASS, A BULLY, ENJOY INSULTING PEOPLE OR BROWBEATING
EMPLOYEES, PRACTICE RACISM, POACH GAME, CHEAT OTHERS IN BUSINESS, SELL
DRUGS, RESENT AUTHORITY, DELIBERATELY MISREPRESENT THE TRUTH IN ORDER TO
SELL A PRODUCT, DRINK AND DRIVE, FAIL TO RESPECT THE PROPERTY AND THE
RIGHTS OF OTHERS, EXPECT SOMETHING FOR NOTHING, DON'T KNOW THE
DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CONVERSATION AND MALICIOUS GOSSIP ... DON'T EVEN
THINK ABOUT LIVING UNDER THE REBEL PHILOSOPHY.

Ben looked at the list and nodded his head. "That pretty well sums it
all up, Jersey. If we've forgotten anything, I think everybody will
still get the message."

Governor Thomas had slipped away from his office and driven down to
Elkins. He tapped the short list of rules. "There are going to be some
unhappy people in this state," he said, sitting in Ben's CP.

Ben finished cleaning and reassembling his old

294

Thompson. He snapped in a magazine and smiled at the governor. "They
won't be for long."

"What do you mean?"

"Want to take a ride?"

"Better judgement says no, but curiosity overwhelms it. Sure, why not?
I'm caught up on paperwork for a change."

"Come on."

They drove a few miles out of town and Cooper turned onto a county road.
Thomas immediately tensed. "Do you know where you're going, Ben?"

"Sure do."

"I wonder. This is Wilcott territory."

"This is a public road and anybody has the right to drive on it."

"The Wilcotts don't see it that way. They never have."

"They will very shortly. Those that are left, that is."

"They're throwbacks, Ben. Back to the bad old days. They've been in
their glory since the government collapsed. Ben, the Wilcotts are-"
"I know exactly who they are. My people found where the chief of police
and the sheriff hid their records when the country started blowing up
around them. That whole family is nothing but trash. And they love what
they are. They don't want to change. They're bullies, thieves, poachers,
murderers, rapists-you name it, they've done it, and they're proud of
it. The Wilcotts are exactly what you don't need in this state."

"You can't just kill them."

"You want to bet?" Ben said, and that shocked the governor into silence.

"Roadblock up ahead," Cooper pointed out. "Right where the Scouts said
it was."

295

295

Ben lifted his handy-talkie, set to the frequency of the MBT that was
traveling right behind them. "Blow it," he ordered.

The main battle tank swung around the big wagon and lowered the muzzle
of its main gun. Five seconds later, the roadblock was reduced to
smoking, burning junk.

"Push it out of the way," Ben radioed, and moments later the short
convoy rolled on.

The governor twisted in his seat and looked behind him. "That's Reverend
Neely behind us."

"Yeah. I invited him along. There will probably be some need for his
services in a very short time."

"You're going to have church services at the Wil-cotts?"

"Sort of."

Governor Thomas got it then. "Oh, hell, Ben! You're talking about a
funeral!"

"Could be. Damn sure will be if the Wilcott clan doesn't want to listen
to reason. There are two state police cars behind the preacher."

"Ben-"

"It's got to be this way, Gov. The people have to know that you're the
boss. And they have to understand Rebel law. Most already do. But people
like the Wilcotts will never obey any type of law. Believe me when I say
we had people like the Wilcotts all over the SUSA. The Wilcott types
were even more of a pain in the ass than ultra-liberals."

"I have to ask, even though I'm not sure I want to know the answer-what
happened to those people?"

Ben smiled. "Liberals or Wilcott types?"

The governor sighed patiently.
296

"Some of the bully-boys saw the light and turned into good, productive,
law-abiding citizens. Others packed up and pulled out. Still others were
buried."

"And Wilcott and his clan?"

"I suspect some them will be buried here, Gov. It isn't that they can't
change to conform with the few laws the Rebels have on the books. The
Wilcott types won't change. We'll soon see."

Cooper turned off the county road onto a gravel road, following the MBT.
Patches of snow remained in the shadowy, cool spots on both sides of the
road.

The column stopped in front of a large, two-story house that immediately
brought to mind Tobacco Road-for those old enough to remember the motion
picture or to have read the book.

There were smaller houses located on each side of the big house, each of
them in just about the same condition as the bigger house, the yards
equally filled with all sorts of trash: rusting hulks of cars and
trucks, old worn-out tires stacked about, motorcycles in various stages
of repair and disrepair, machine parts scattered all over the place.

A large man stepped out onto the front porch, just as Ben was unassing
from the wagon. Ben recognized him as Wade Wilcott, the Big Daddy of the
Wilcott clan.

"That's Wade Wilcott," Thomas whispered. "The He-Coon of the family."

"Yeah," Ben replied, raising his voice so all could hear. His voice
carried in the cold, late winter air. "Ugly son-of-a-bitch, isn't he?"

"Harry Thomas!" Wade yelled to the governor from the porch. "You'll pay
for tearin' up my roadblock."

297

"You can't block a public road, Wade," the governor called.

"I'll do anything I damn well choose to do, you little white-collar
piss-ant!" Wade shouted. He cut his eyes to Ben. "You'd be the head
honcho of the army, right?"

"That's right, Wilcott. And I have a few things to say to you. So haul
your fat ass off that porch and get over here."

Wade Wilcott blinked at that. Been a long, long time since anyone dared
to speak to him in such a manner. "You got a lot of brass on your ass,
solider boy, to speak to me lak 'at. I run this part of the county. Me
and my kin do."

"Yeah?" Ben questioned. "Your brother's name was J.C. Wilcott, right?"

"Was?" Wade asked, stepping forward to the yard. "Did you say was?"

"Yeah. He's dead."
"Dead? My brother's dead? You a damn lie!"

"Your brother and some of his kin made the mistake of ambushing a Rebel
patrol early this morning, over at a place called Cutter's Ridge."
Governor Thomas cut his eyes at Ben. First he'd heard of that. "When I'm
finished here you can claim what's left of the bodies. If you're still
alive, that is," Ben added, very matter-of-factly.

Wade's eyes bugged out. "Why wouldn't I be alive?"

"Oh, well, I suspect I might have to kill you in a minute or two," Ben
told him. "Because you're not going to like what I have to say."

"Kill me? Kill me! Hey, he threatened me!" Wade hollered to the state
troopers standing off to one side.

298

"I want that man arrested for threatenin' my life. Yall heard him do it.
Now, go on and do your duty."

The faces of the troopers remained impassive. They did not move.

"The way I see it, Wilcott," Ben said, "you have but three choices. You
can either change your ways and start obeying the law, you can pack up
and move out, or you can die, right here, and right now, your entire
miserable, worthless, slovenly, good-for-nothing family with you. Now
what's it going to be, Wilcott?"

Wade Wilcott let out a roar of rage and charged Ben, big booted feet
slapping the muddy ground.

299

Ben side-stepped at the last possible split-second and slammed the butt
of his Thompson into the man's belly. The air whooshed out of him and he
sprawled on the ground, sliding for a few feet in the cold mud.

One of his sons jerked a rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at Ben.
Jersey shot him in the face, the 5.56 round punching a hole in the
center of the man's forehead and knocking him backward. He stopped at
the outside wall of the house and slid down, dead with his eyes wide open.

"I guess you want to do this the hard way, Wilcott," Ben said. "Suits me."

Wilcott slowly rose to his knees, his face a mask of mud. He wiped the
mud from his eyes and looked back toward the house. "That there was my
youngest boy. He was a good boy, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"No, he wasn't," Ben contradicted. "He was a thief, a bully, an
extortionist, a rapist, and a murderer. The

300

state police have warrants for his arrest. I just saved the public the
expense of a trial and a hanging."

Wade Wilcott, still on his knees, glared up at Ben. He was having
trouble catching his breath after being stroked by the butt of the Thompson.
"They don't hang folks no more in this state, soldier boy," he panted.

"Oh, they do now," Ben corrected. "This state is now part of the SUSA.
We give you a choice. We'll either shoot you or hang you."

Wade cussed Ben, loud and long-but made no attempt to get up off the
cold, muddy ground.

"Get your crap packed up, Wilcott. My people will escort you and your
family and what is left of your kin to the border of your choice. Leave
and don't ever come back here."

Wade came up off the ground like an enraged bull. But Ben had been
expecting that. He hit him in the mouth with the butt of the Thompson
and Wade went down like a rock, landing on his stomach, all his front
teeth gone and his lips pulped and bleeding. Wade groaned once, managed
to turn over, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He was out cold.

Ben motioned to a group of Rebels. "Throw him in the back of the first
pick-up you find that will run." He turned to the others of the clan,
all looking at their unconscious father (or uncle or cousin or
whatever), their eyes wide in shock. "Get your shit packed up," Ben told
them, his voice hard. "And do it quickly. In half an hour, these
stinking hovels will be reduced to rubble."

The Wilcott clan stood and stared at Ben.

301

Ben lifted his Thompson and blew half a clip into the late winter air.
"Move, goddammit!"he shouted.

They moved.

"Shame about the kids," Governor Thomas muttered, as the hurried packing
was getting under way.

"You want them?" Ben asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You want the kids, take them. I'd hate to see another generation of
white trash being raised."

"You can't do that!"

"We've been doing it for years, Harry. Under eight years old is best.
But I warn you, it doesn't always work out. And with these kids, I'd be
careful. Our scientists in the SUSA-and we have the best in the
world-have recently proven that the bad seed theory is no longer a
theory. It's a fact."

"I never doubted it, Ben. I've believed in that all my adult life."

"You goddamn rotten son-of-a-bitch!" Wade yelled at Ben, as he sat up in
the bed of the pick-up truck. His mouth was swelling and dripping blood
and his words were badly slurred.

But Ben got the general drift.
"You have no one to blame but yourself, Wilcott," Ben told him. "Now
just shut up."

Two newspapers had reopened since the Rebels came to town: the local
paper in Elkins, and another in the new capitol. The two reporters had
been a few minutes late arriving on the scene-they had laid back several
miles in following the governor-but they got the general idea of what
was going on.

Ben had met the reporter from the local paper and

302

had found him to be fair in his writing. He did not know the second
reporter.

Governor Thomas caught the direction Ben's eyes had taken. "He's all
right," he assured Ben. "He doesn't agree with everything we're doing,
but he's fair."

"This ain't constitutional!" Wilcott bellered. "Yall ain't got no right
to do this!"

' 'You and your kin have thumbed your thumbs at the law around here for
years," one of the state troopers surprised Ben by saying. "You've
terrorized travelers and assaulted people on a whim. You've shot at
hunters on public lands and shot at cars traveling on highways. You've
burned down the houses of people who dared to speak out against you and
your kin. You've assaulted police officers and threatened to kill judges
who dared to put your kin in jail. The list of laws you have broken is
as long as my arm. It's over now, Wade. If General Raines had not moved
against you and your kind, I was going to kill you myself."

Wade Wilcott wiped the blood away from his mouth with his sleeve. He
opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and remained
silent. He sat in the bed of the old pick-up truck and glared hate at
the state troopers.

The family members loaded their suitcases and cardboard boxes and trunks
into the beds of trucks and climbed on.

"I got me kin over in the hills and hollers of Missouri," Wade shouted
at Ben. "I'll take my people to Missouri and set up there."

Ben smiling, thinking of Zandar and Cugumba and Mobutomamba and Issac
Africa. "Oh, I think that's a splendid idea, Wilcott. Yes, indeed. We'll
even give you

303

303

ample supplies to reach that destination. Have fun in Missouri, Wilcott."

"You're an asshole, Raines!" Wade screamed at Ben. "When I get to
Missouri, I'll gather up my people and we'll take over that damn state."

"Good luck," Ben called. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "You're
damn sure going to need it. 'Bye, now.'' Ben waved as the trucks began
rattling out onto the road.
Wade Wilcott gave Ben the finger.

Ben gave him two in return and the line of state troopers could not
contain their laughter at his gesture.

"Drag that dead man off the porch and bury him. Then burn these houses
to the ground," Ben ordered.

"How do you know Wade won't get a few miles out and then turn around?"
Governor Thomas asked.

"Because he knows I won't hesitate to shoot him if I ever see him
again," Ben replied. "You can forget about Wade Wilcott. He won't last
long in Missouri. You've seen the last of the Wilcott clan."

"Thank God for that," one of the senior troopers said.

As the first warm breezes of early spring blew in, the Rebels began
making plans to pull out of West Virginia. They all knew their toughest
job lay ahead of them, in the northeast.

Cecil   had approved and signed a non-aggression and cooperation pact with
Simon   Border . . . but even as he signed it, he knew itwasn't worth the
paper   it was written on. He knew that someday, the Rebels would have to
fight   the army of Simon Border and the WUSA.

304

President Paul Altman and his staff and cabinet left the SUSA and moved
into the new capital of the NUSA, located in Indiana.

The once most powerful nation in all the world was now split into three
nations. . . with the entire northeast section of the country up for grabs.

Hundreds of miles to the south, Mexico, Central America, and South
America had exploded into violent civil war. No one really knew what was
happening in China, but much of Europe was settling down and digging out
of the ashes of war and unrest and beginning to rebuild.

Parts of Africa were ablaze in civil war, as was India and Pakistan.

On an unusually warm day in early March, Ben shook hands with Governor
Harry Thomas and climbed into the wagon. He looked back at Jersey.

"I'm not going to say it," Jersey grinned.

"Aw, come on, Jersey!" Ben urged.

She laughed and shouted, "Kick-ass time!"

And the convoy pulled out, to write another page in the rebuilding of
America.