Trapped in the ashes



                                                  Ashes 10



                                            William W. Johnstone




Love, like Death,

Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's

crook

Beside the scepter.

Bulwer-Lytton

The logic of the heart is absurd. De

Lespinasse




The Rebels dug in deep and tight and waited.

They were facing impossible odds and all knew it. But

the alternative was unacceptable; all preferred

death to surrender.

They had fought hard and well over the past weeks,

locked inside the concrete-and-steel canyons of
New York City. And their bulldog tenacity and

stand-or-die tactics had cost the Night People

hundreds of dead and wounded.*

Now they were cut off from the outside, locked inside

New York Cityin the harsh dead of winter, with

thousands of the cannibalistic Night People under the city,

ready to pour out of the subways and tunnels, erupting

like an ugly festering boil. Khamsin, the Libyan

terrorist, was knocking on the door with a full

division of troops.

Sister Voleta, the mother of Buddy Raines, and her

Ninth Order had joined the fight against Ben Raines

and her son-such was her hate for Ben Raines.

The Rebels were surrounded. To a person, they had

adopted the French Foreign Legion's motto:

Stand or die.

Just a few hours before Ben would order tear gas

pumped into the bowels of the city, he made one more

check of his people. Taking a contingent of Rebels, with

* Valor in the Ashes

-Zebra Books

Cooper his driver,Jersey his bodyguard, and

Beth with the radio, Ben headed south to the tip of

ManhattanIsland, leaving the Russian,

Georgi Striganov, in command. The war had made

allies of old enemies.
"I thought they'd hit us today, Ben," Ike said,

shaking Ben's hand.

Ben, tall and rangy, looked at Ike, built

like a fireplug. The ex-Seal, although pushing

middle age, was still a very powerful man. "That means

Khamsin is not yet in position. As soon as I

complete this tour, we start pumping in the gas."

"We're ready, Ben."

"Ready, General," Danjou, the French

Canadian, said.

Ben nodded and climbed back into his Blazer. They

headed to the east side ofManhattanIsland

to meet with Cecil and Rebet, the Russian

colonel.

"We're not going to have much breathing room for the next

few days," Ben told him.

Both men nodded. They knew the hard bind they were

all in. All the Rebels and their allies knew

there was no turning back.

Ben shook hands with the men. "Good luck, gentlemen."

No one among them had any illusions from the start that

the assault onNew York City would be easy.

But none had thought that Khamsin would ever leave South

Carolinaand join forces with the Night P. The

Rebels had fought their way across the shattered nation
to the great city. They had takenStaten Island and

prepared to launch their assault on the Big

Apple.

They had thought they were facing perhaps a few thousand

Night P. They soon found they were up against thousands

and thousands of the black-robed, unbathed, and stinking

cannibals.

But the numbers of the known enemy had not rattled Ben

Raines so much as once more coming face-to-face with the

only woman he had ever truly loved.

Jerre Hunter.

He had not seen her in years.

Seeing her had shaken the man right down to his

boots. He had put her out of his mind-almost. Far

enough back in the dark reaches that she did not daily

haunt him.

Now he looked at her every day. And she was still as

beautiful as that day he had first met her, so many

years ago. She had been a sophomore in

college when the germ and nuclear bombs had hit

America. Ben had foundeaher wandering around in

Virginia, and they had traveled together for a few

weeks. And Ben, twenty years her senior, had

realized only after she had left him that he was in

love.

"Life is certainly full of bumps and
surprises," Ben muttered, looking out the

window of the Blazer at the cold vastness of New

YorkCity, with sudden death lurking under the

streets.

"Beg pardon, sir?" his driver, Cooper,

asked.

Ben smiled at the young man. "Just talking to myself,

Coop."

They were onThird Avenue , just passing 116th

Street, whenJersey yelled, "Stomp on it,

Coop! They're all around us!"

The sidewalks had suddenly filled with creepies.

"Order the attack, Beth," Ben instructed.

"All personnel into gas masks and start the

pumps. Floorboard it, Coop. Run over

them."

Slugs hit the armor plate and the bulletproof

glass of the Blazer. It was a very uncomfortable

sensation.

Cooper rammed the Blazer into a mob of

black-robed creepies, crushing half a dozen

under the big knobby tires. The sounds of screaming

filled the interior of the Blazer, and the breaking of

bones was felt more than heard by those inside.

"Turn west on One Twenty-fifth, Coop,"
Ben told him, consulting a map. "Then

north on St. Nicholas."

"And Merry Christmas to you, too, sir," Cooper

said with a grin.

Ben laughed aloud. One thing about his Rebels:

fighting while badly outnumbered, a sense of

humor would help keep them going.

They cleared the few blocks full of creepies,

and Ben rolled his window down. Already the smell of

tear gas was sharp as it drifted down from the north.

"Masks, people," he ordered, slipping hisgas

mask over his head and adjusting the straps and

earpieces. "Never wore one in my life that was

comfortable," he muttered, forgetting that these were

mike-equipped, thanks to Katzman and his

communications people.

"Me, neither, General!" Cooper and Beth and

Jerseyall said.

They roared into Rebel-controlled territory and up

to the block where Ben's CP was located just in time

to see a mob of choking, coughing Night People come

staggering out of a building, nearly blind from the strong

gas.

"The crud had hidey-holes right across the friggin'

street from my office!"" Ben said.

"Damn!"" He bailed out of the Blazer,
Thompson at the ready.

He knelt on the sidewalk and leveled die

SMG, holding the trigger back, fighting the rise

of the powerful old weapon.

Ben sent a dozen of the cannibals into that long

sleep before he had to let off; another second more and

he'd be shooting out windows on the third floor.

The street was filled with black-robed crud, as far

as one could look in any direction. Coughing and

staggering, they walked and ran into death from the guns of the

Rebels. The air was thick with tear gas and

gunsmoke and the stinking, almost overpowering odor of the

unwashed bodies of the Night P.

One jumped on Ben's back, knocking him

sprawling, making him lose his grip on the

Thompson. Ben kicked the creature in the balls,

doubling him over, a silent shriek cut off in his

throat as vomit filled his mouth. Ben clawed out his

.45 and shot the offensive subhuman in the face,

the slug striking the man between his eyes, knocking him

backward.

Ben grabbed up his SMG with his left hand and went

racing up the street, Coop,Jersey , and Beth

right behind him.

"We sure flushed them, all right," Ben
panted.

"Flushed them all over usea8cameJersey 's

voice through the tiny speakers in the mask.

Ben ran up the steps to his command post and dirough the

door, running up the steps to the second floor and

into his office. Jerre was crouched behind a window.

She had shattered the window with the butt of her M16

and was firing into the mob of creepies. Ben stepped

to a window down the line from her and knelt down to insert

a full drum into the belly of his Thompson.

He lined up a row of black-robes and pulled the

trigger, letting the old "Chicago Piano" roar

its Wagnerian death chant. The line of choking,

nearly blinded black-robes went down like fallen

dominoes.

Jerre was picking her shots carefully, using

select fire, and each time she pulled the trigger a

black-robe hit the concrete.

Nothing like one's life being put on the line to turn

a peaceful poet into a Valkyrie, Ben thought.

Then he turned his attention back to the bloody

street.

The fighting had subsided in this sector, the street

littered with the fallen bodies of creepies. "We

can't let up," Ben said, and Beth nodded

her head, telling him she was receiving the transmission.
"Order search and destroy to begin immediately. Hunt

them down and hit them while they're still half blind."

Beth relayed the orders to unit commanders, and the

Rebels left their secured positions to enter the

buildings.

"Patch me through to Ike," Ben said.

"On the line, General."

"Ike. What's it look like in your sector?"

"Got "em layin" in the streets like pins in a

bowlin'alley, Ben. But they've taken to the

buildings, just like we knew they would. S and D?"

"Ten-four, Ike. We can't let up now.

Eagle out." To

Beth: "Get me Cecil."

"General Jefferys on the line."

"Gee. Search and destroy. Hit them hard now.

Eagle out. Beth, radio all units to enter the

buildings in their sector and destroy the

creepies."

"Yes, sir. Engineers want to know if they are

to keep up the pumping?"

"Reduce it by half but keep pumping in the gas

until I give the orders to stop. We've got

to push it down as far underground as we can."

"Yes, sir."
"General?" Jerre's voice entered his ear. He

looked at her, irritated that she used his rank

instead of his name. Another of the ways she had of

annoying the hell out of him. "Have you considered the

possibility that you may have to destroy this city in

order to win?"

"I have. But to do it now would only mean our deaths.

In case you've forgotten, we're trapped in here."

"I assure you I have not forgotten,

General!"

she popped back at him.

Jersey, Cooper, Beth, and all the other

Rebels in range of the battery-powered mask

mikes could do nothing except try to ignore the

exchange.

"Fine," Ben told her shortly. "I was wondering

if you should be hospitalized to check out that memory

loss."

"My memory is just fine!"

They exchanged heated looks through the visors.

"Unfortunately," Ben said, "so is mine."

Jerre narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

The voice of Ben's son came through the speakers.

"If you two don't cease this childish

quarreling, your visors are going to fog over and

someone is going to have to be assigned to lead you around."
Very few people would have dared speak to Ben in that manner.

Buddy was one of the few.

"Thank you, Buddy," Jerre said sweetly. "Your

capacity for reason must have come from far back in the

Raines genes."

Ben's sigh was very audible. "What is your location,

Captain

Raines?"

Buddy laughed. "Standing behind you, Father."

Ben turned his head. His ruggedly handsome son was

standing in the doorway, leaning up against the jamb. The

boy could move like a damn ghost.

"I was under the impression that I assigned you

to Dan's team, boy."

"Oh, you did, Father. And I have completed my

assignment for the morning. Colonel Gray sent me

back here to remain with you. He felt I would be more

useful with you."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

Ben stood up. "Fine. Up, people. We're going

to clear a building."

"Precisely why Colonel Gray sent

me back here,"" Buddy muttered.

"I heard that, boy," Ben growled, heading for the
door. He paused at his son's side, looking

into Buddy's eyes. It was like looking into a mirror.

While Ben was tall and rangy, Buddy was a few

inches shorter and stocky. But in the face, their

resemblance was startling. "Let's go."

On the sidewalk, crouched behind a rusted and

long-abandoned pickup truck, Ben said, "Now the

fun begins, people. We flushed them up from their holes,

now we get to search the buildings."

The sound of gunfire was much more muted now, as the

Rebels found the Night People in the buildings and shot

them.

"Everybody hook several CS grenades on your

harness," Ben ordered. "Make sure you have your

asssigned fire-frags. We'll take that

building on the south corner of this block. Let's

do it."

They couldn't tell what type of business it had

been, but Ben guessed a clothing store. It had

been looted. Ben assigned several Rebels

to stay on the ground floor, and found the door leading

to the lower level. He held up a CS

grenade, signaling Jerre andJersey

to follow suit. They pulled the pins and tossed the

tear gas into the darkness.

Cursing and coughing drifted up as the gas teared
eyes and tore at lungs.

Shapes came lunging up, trying to escape the

choking gas. The black-robed figures ran into a

hail of gunfire. The coughing and cursing ceased.

Bodies lay in heaps on the stairwell. Ben

closed the door and pointed a finger at Buddy, men

pointed upward. The young man nodded and took the

point.

The door which opened onto the second level of the

building had been kicked open. Buddy took two

CS grenades from his battle harness and tossed them

in, one left and one right. He rolled in, staying

belly-down on the floor, another Rebel

following him, covering Buddy's blind side.

Footsteps echoed in the dusty and gas-filled

hall. A door slammed. "Heading for the next

level," Buddy said.

"Why?" Ben pondered his own question before ordering people

to follow the fleeing creepies. No man

voluntarily runs to his deadh unless he feels

he can take some of his enemies with him.

"Buddy?" Ben spoke. "Direct some

fire at the door leading up."

Buddy's Thompson spat lead in the hallway.

An explosion followed, knocking out windows and
bringing plaster and paneling down in the hall.

"Booby-trapped," Ben said. "Now go."

Buddy was back in a moment. "Hallway is

blocked, Father. The explosion tore down the

stairs. There's no way up."

"We can't leave them up there," Ben said. "Beth,

as soon as we're clear, order a tank up here and

destroy this building."

"Yes, sir."

Back on the sidewalk, a platoon leader

walked up to Ben. "This block is clear, sir."

"Except for this building," Ben told him. "And it

will

be shortly." He looked up as an Abrams

clanked up and wheeled around in the street, elevating

its 105mm cannon. The Rebels moved across the

street and Ben signaled for the tank commander to start

pounding the building at street level, destroying the

foundation and bringing the building down.

Ben and his group walked away from the booming of the

cannon.

"Sir," Beth said. "The friendlies living

underground are up and have grouped on Broadway and

One Sixty-third. About five hundred of them.

Men women, and kids."

"I guess the gas did penetrate throughout the
system. Are they finally going to join this fight?"

"Scouts report they said they would hold that area where

they surfaced."

Ben nodded. "Advise our artillery to mark that area

as friendly. What's the word on Khamsin?"

"Getting in position to start shelling us. Spotters

report they're working on boats,New Jersey

side."

"That will be a night attack. They'll eventually be

able to punch through the tunnels, unless we destroy

them, and I really don't want to do that. We may be

forced to use them."

"General Ike on the line," Beth told him.

"Go, Ike."

"We creamed the hell out of them, Ben. I'd

guess that in this area, we cut them down by a full

twenty-five to thirty percent."

"About that here," Ben acknowledged. The Abrams had

ceased firing. "Tell your people to get ready for shelling

from theNew Jersey side."

"Ten-four, Eagle. Shark out."

"General Jefferys on the horn, sir."

"Go, Hawk."

"I copied that transmission between you and Shark,"

Cecil said. "I figure about the same number of
dead crud here. We've hurt them, no doubt about

that."

After he had spoken with the mercenary, West, and with

several other unit commanders, Ben turned to Buddy.

"I can't help but wonder what happened to the

prisoners being held underground."

Buddy glanced up. "I try not to think about that,

Father."

West, the mercenary, when the battle for survival was

imminent, had said, "Now it's all up to God and

guns."

Ben was reminded of those words after a Scout had touched

his arm and said, "We found one of the creepy

hidey-holes, General." Ben noticed the man's

face was pale behind the visor of his gas mask.

"It's pretty grim, sir."

Ben followed the Scout to the basement of a building.

Behind where packing crates had been stacked, a

black hole yawned, chipped out of the concrete

wall. With a strong flashlight, the Scout led the

way. Down they went, into the bowels of the

city, following deep tunnels that had been widened

over the years. How many years was anyone's guess.

Ben would guess well over a hundred years.

"I think we've found a cult stronghold," he

said. "These people have been under the city for a long, long
time. Many many years before the great war. I think

we've flushed something much more hideous than we first

realized."

They entered a large, cavelike room, and Ben

pulled up short. Naked bodies of men and women

were piled in one corner. They had been shot and then

great hunks of meat cut from them-at least Ben hoped

it had taken place in that order. He had no way

of knowing.

He sighed heavily. "Well, perhaps God put them

out of

their misery. Now it's up to us, behind the guns."

"What do we do with them, sir?"

"If we leave them here the rats will get them,

General,"Jersey said.

"Thank you,Jersey . I really needed that."

"You're certainly welcome, sir."

"Get some body bags down here. Carry them out for a

proper burial." He glanced at the grotesque

sprawl of death. "At least there aren't any

kids among them."

"Is that a blessing?" Jerre asked. "Considering where

they might be."

"You're right, Jerre," Ben conceded.

She gave him a look of amazement. It seemed
to say: What? You're admitting I was actually right

about something? Will wonders never ceasel

"Let's get out of here," Ben said.

Back on ground level, Ben waved Buddy over

to him. "We can't keep pumping tear gas into the

ground indefinitely. So I want you to take your

team underground with all the explosives you can stagger

with. Those tunnels all connect. Follow them and

start sealing them off down to . . ." He spread a

map out on the sidewalk. "dis . . One Hundred

and Fifty-fifth Street. I'll have Ike and

Cecil send teams in from their sectors and they'll be

working north. It's not going to be pleasant, son.

And I won't make it an order. If you

refuse, I certainly won't blame you."

"Piece of cake, Father. No sweat."

"You be careful down there, boy."

Buddy smiled. "As careful as you are up here,

Father."

Ben grimaced. "Git out of here!"

Buddy ran to get his team together and outfitted.

"He acts like he's actually looking forward to going

down there," Jerre said, pointing to the sidewalk.

"He probably is," Ben told her. "One thing

for certain: it'll be a hell of a lot warmer down

there than up here."
Jerre shook her head at the pure cold nerve of the

Rebels. They faced battle like thinking Viking

Berserkers. They could make jokes when in the most

ungodly situations.

Like now, she silently added.

She glanced up at Ben, looking down at her through

eyes of love. He abruptly turned away.

"Let's go hunt some trouble."

It wasn't hard to find.

Even though the Rebels had cut into the numbers of

creepies, the Night Crawlers still outnumbered them

badly. Ben and his little team almost walked right into an

ambush. Ben had spotted dark movement across the

street and shouted his people down just as

automatic-weapons fire cut the cold,

gas-sharp air. He had grabbed Jerre by the seat of

her field pants and brought her down with him.

"Relax, kid," he told her, as the bullets

zinged and popped over their heads and slammed

into the body of the rusted old limo they lay behind.

"I'm not getting amorous."

The pounding of combat drowned out her reply; but Ben was

a fair lip-reader.

He laughed at her.

Beth radioed for help, and within a couple of
minutes a Duster rounded the corner and began

unleashing its deadly 40mm rounds through twin

cannons. The alleyway was turned into a tiny

corner of Hell.

Dan Gray came running up to admonish the

general, a very exasperated expression on his face.

"General Raines!" the Englishman, ex-Sas

member, commander of Gray's Scouts, and mother hen

to Ben said. "Will you please return to your CP where

you may be properly guarded?"

Ben got up and grinned at Dan. "Dan, if you

didn't have me to fuss over, what would you do?"

"Relax!" Dan popped back. He shook himself

like a big dog. "General, I have been going over

some blueprints found by some of my scouts. Are you

aware that there are more than sixty-two hundred

miles of sewer tunnels under this city?"

"Sixty-two

hundred

miles?"

"Yes, sir. And many of them large enough for a man

to walk in."

"More problems," Ben said glumly.

"Yes, sir. There is no way Buddy and the others

are going to be able to effectively seal off escape

routes. They'll be wasting their time and risking their
lives unnecessarily."

"We can't let up on the pressure against the

creepies, Dan. I think the only reason

Khamsin hasn't shelled us is because the Night People

have been forced above ground. But we can't go on pumping

tear gas underground indefinitely." Ben was thoughtful

for a moment. He turned to Beth. "Have the crews

stop pumping, Beth. Let's get out of these damn

masks for a time." To Dan: "Let's work out a

plan to pump tear gas in a couple of times a day,

at staggered intervals. Double the pump stations for more

effective coverage. As long as we can keep the

creepies guessing, they won't reenter the

tunnels. And move the pumps around to different

locations every day."

"Good idea, sir. I'll get on it immediately."

Dan wheeled about and took off at a run.

"You still want teams under the city, General?"

Beth asked.

"Yes. Make certain all teams have plans showing

which manhole covers have not been welded closed."

Ben took off his mask for a moment. The air was still

bitter, but not unbearable.

"Katzman, sir," Beth touched Ben's arm.

Ben took the handset. "G."
"My people have broken the Libyan's code, General.

We can relax some; there won't be any shelling from

Khamsin."

"That's good news. I never did like artillery coming in

on me." He grinned.

"Butthatdoesn'tmeanwecan'tshell them, does

it?"

Katzman laughed. "Damn sure doesn't,

General. You want me to give the orders?"

"Yes. Shell for a few minutes, then have the tanks

shift positions. We can make things damned

uncomfortable for the Hot Wind and his mini-farts."

"Done, sir." Katzman broke off.

"Get the boys and girls on scramble, Beth."

She took off her backpack and changed

frequencies. She would broadcast to Katzman,

who would bounce the signal out to all locations. Beth

handed the mike to Ben.

"All tank commanders on the west side with range

capabilities commence shelling when ready. Let's

make it unpleasant for the Hot Fart. All other

units continue search and destroy. Let's kill as

many crud as we can before the Libyan invades us.

Tunnel Rats move out as quickly as possible.

Good luck."

Ben checked his Thompson. "Let's go to work, people."
Buddy and his team entered a strange and eerie and almost

totally silent world under the city. They entered through the

hole found by Dan's Scouts. They passed the

spot where the prisoners had been found, dead, and

moved on into the dark unknown.

They found an elaborate system of lights throughout,

leading one Rebel to comment, "They bled off the city's

power. These people have been down here for no telling how many

years."

"The filth is unbelievable," Buddy said,

scratching at a flea bite. "I am certainly

glad Chase gave us booster shots. God alone

knows what kind of diseases are leaping all around us."

"Why didn't it kill the creepies?"

"Probably grew immune to it after two or three

generations."

The teams placed charges as they went, some

to be electronically detonated when they were once more

above ground, but most of them booby traps. The

charges were large enough to effectively seal off the

tunnels, but not large enough to do any structural

damage above ground.

They hoped.

They found communal living quarters, and the stench and

filth was appalling; the stink rising above the sharp
odor of tear gas.

And they found more bodies of naked and mutilated

innocents.

"What do we do with them, Buddy?"

Buddy shook his head. "We're too deep to carry

them out. Let's stack them close to the explosion

points. The debris will cover them. I think that is

about the best we can do."

The team moved fardier and deeper under the city, finding

a makeshift hospital where the creepies had

treated their wounded-and then eaten those that died.

"Nice people," Buddy said, disgust in his voice.

They moved on through the stinking dankness, seeing no

creepies and planting their charges at what they

felt would be stress points.

They followed a dozen or more tunnels leading away

from the main tunnel; they all led to a rabbit

hole up to the city, usually coming out in some deserted

building or basement. At each tunnel offshoot

they laid a charge.

Some of the offshoots led to gratings and ventilation

openings on subway tubes; others led into sewer

systems. It was very plain to Buddy and the others that the

Night People had been around a long, long time.

The team lost all track of time in the gloom,

broken only by the beams from their flashlights;
batteries had to be replaced often. Finally, with

only a few batteries left, Buddy started

looking for a way out. They pushed open a manhole

cover and were startled to find it was almost night, and they were

at172nd Street .

Buddy lifted his mike. "Tunnel Rat One

to Eagle."

"Eagle. Where the hell have you been, boy?"

"Exploring. Scramble, Eagle."

On the scramble frequency, Buddy asked, "Do

we have any supplies cached around One

Seventy-second Street?"

"Ten-four, Rat.Amsterdam and One

Seventy-third. It's an oudoor swimming pool.

Look around, you'll find something to eat. Have you

planted your charges?"

"Yes, sir. I believe they'll be effective in

closing off everything north of our location."

"Other teams report good progress, but they're

on the

far end of the island. We're going to start pumping in

gas now, so clear out."

"I'll bump you when we've settled in for the

night."

"Ten-four, Rat. Job well done."
Above ground, Buddy and his team could hear the booming

of 155's and 105's as they pounded Khamsin's

position inNew Jersey .

"When they hit us," Buddy said, jerking his thumb

towardNew Jersey , "the fun is really going

to begin."

"Spookies," a team member said softly.

"Downl"

The Rebels hit the sidewalk and belly-crawled

behind a line of abandoned cars, many of them parked

haphazardly on the sidewalk.

"I make it about twenty of them," Buddy whispered.

"Question is, do we give away our position or let

them pass?"

That question was answered for him as the creepies began

angling across the street, heading straight for the

Rebels' position.

"Spread out and let them get closer," Buddy

ordered.

The five-person team of Rebels lay on the

cold and still-patchy snow-covered sidewalk and

waited. Diane lifted her Ml6 after receiving a

minute nod from Buddy. She knew without being told

she was to take the first four or five spookies to her

left. Harold lifted his M14, set on full

rock and roll; he would neutralize those
creepies to his right.

"Now!" Buddy whispered, and pulled the trigger

back, holding it.

The near-empty street hammered with the sounds of

gunfire. The Night People, caught by surprise, for

no Rebels were supposed to be in this area, went

down like shattered bowling pins.

The Rebels were up and running toward the bloody

scene before the sounds of gunfire had died away.

They swiftly and brutally finished the wounded and took

their weapons and ammo belts, then were running toward

the cache of supplies, slipping away into the night

just as other creepies began popping out of their hiding

places,

surprised looks on their hood-shrouded

faces.

It was obvious that their kind had been ambushed; but where

were the hated Rebels?

The bloody street lay silent before them. The

Night People did not approach their dead comrades, not

being in any hurry to join them in that long sleep.

Those few moments of hesitation and indecision gave

Buddy and his team the time to reach their cache of

supplies and settle in quietly.

Pete dug in the food packages and began handing out
sealed packets of food.

"What is this stuff?" Judy asked, smelling the

contents.

"Be thankful that it's dark and we can't see it,"

Buddy said, spooning some into his mouth and grimacing.

"Now if Chase and his people could only come up with a

pill to momentarily kill the taste buds!"

The tanks spat out their lethal messages all through

the cold night, sending out a few rounds and then

shifting positions, confusing the gunners of the Hot

Wind, preventing them from getting any accurate

fix.

And through the night, Ben's Rebels dug in deeper

amid the buildings of the great city, cold in winter's

harsh grip. It gave them more time to fortify

their positions; snipers moved up several stories

and set up their silent, lethal positions, waiting.

And the Night People found many of their hidey-holes and

escape tunnels. But they only used them once.

The first to enter were splattered all over the tunnel

walls as the booby traps blew, not only killing

those creepies who triggered them, but blocking the

entrances and exits under tons of rubble. This was something

the crawlers did not expect and were not prepared for.

It sent many of them screaming and running for the surface

of the city. For generation after generation, the Night People had
had almost complete control of the underground; it was their

kingdom. Now, all that was changing. They were being forced

upward.

And their food supply was running short.

They turned to eating their own dead and any Rebel

dead they might find. But those were very few.

For the first time in anyone's memory, the Night People

began to sense that they might be defeated.

"Tell the tank crews to cease firing and to stand

down," Ben ordered.

All along theHudson River , the thunder ceased and the

cannon smoke faded.

The first gray fingers of dawn had been replaced with

bright sunlight, slowly spreading over the

great city, and bringing with it an unexpected but very

welcome warming. The snow began to melt, and the

Rebels could peel out of some of their layers of

clothing.

"Spotters stay alert," Ben told Beth. "And

give me initial reports of damage

to Khamsin's positions."

"Spotters report several enemy tanks burning

and several hundred dead along the waterfront."

Beth relayed the reports as they came in.

"Khamsin can spare them," Ben said grimly. "We
can't."

"You want spotter planes up, sir?"

"No. We want to keep them as our ace in the

hole for as long as possible. When they start across the

river, we'll bring in the Puffs. But only then."

"General Ike on the horn, sir."

"Go, Shark."

"We sustained no hits during the night, Eagle.

Hawk reports the same. West has not been in

contact as yet."

"West here," the mercenary's voice crackled.

"All quiet in midtown. Too quiet for me.

Something's in the works, I'm thinking."

"I'm thinking the same thing. Khamsin's

too good a soldier to try to cross the river in

daylight. So he's probably leaving any strikes

to the creepies. Our underground sensors have reported

a lot of big booms down there. The creepies have

found their tunnels and holes have been

booby-trapped. It's probably put mem in a

state of panic. I'm hoping we'll have a few

hours' respite before they can rally their people for any

type of strike. This night is

probably going to be a real lulu, though.

Advise your people."

"Hawk, here, Eagle."
"Go, Cec."

"Everything is too quiet. But I think I know

why. I think the creepies are scared, now. For the

first time. We've invaded their underground world and they

don't know what to do. We've cut off their rabbit

holes and destroyed a lot of tunnels. They're

not geared to fighting above ground. But that doesn't mean

they won't pull themselves together damn quick."

"You're probably right. We'll use this time to dig

in deeper. Hang tough, brother."

"You, too, Ben."

Ben turned to Beth. "Have you been in contact with

Buddy?"

"Yes, sir. He and his team are back in the

tunnels. Went back in at dawn. They know when

we're going to start pumping in gas and to get out at

noon."

Ben walked outside to squat down on the

sidewalk. His personal escort and several of

Dan's Scouts went with him. This time, Dan was

making sure the general did not slip off by himself.

Jerre was with the group, but she hung back, staying

away from Ben. She felt his eyes on her and

turned her head, meeting the steady gaze.

"What are you thinking, General?"
Ben's jaws clenched, but that was the only sign of his

temper. He had told her a hundred times since

she walked back into his life to call him Ben.

But she would do that only when they were alone-something that

Ben tried to avoid whenever possible.

"I'm thinking about destroying this city," Ben said

flatly.

All eyes turned toward him.

They stared at each other. Neither Ben nor Jerre

would blink. "I thought you were opposed to that?" she finally

said.

"I am. It would be only as a last resort, and

only when

Khamsin and his men get on the island."

"How would we get off?"

"I don't know."

She blinked. "Do keep me informed."

Ben stood up. "You'll know no earlier than when the

rest of the troops are informed." He walked away.

"One for the general,"Jersey muttered, and hurried

to join him.

"The soap operas must have been fun," Beth said,

picking up and slinging her backpack radio. "I just

remember them. But they couldn't have been any more fun

than this."

"I never cared for them," Jerre said tightly.
"How much time do we have?" Judy asked, her voice

metallic through the built-in gas-mask speaker.

"What happened to your watch?" Buddy asked. "You

had it last night."

"I don't know. When I woke up this morning, I

couldn't find it. But I'd swear I didn't take

it off my wrist."

Buddy held up the patrol. The last time he'd

checked they were at164th Street , and that had not been

long ago. "Those small footprints we saw this

morning. The ones we dismissed as not being human but

nature-made. Do you think . . . ?"

"They'd have to be very small kids, Buddy," Pete

said. "And where would they come from?"

"Runaways from the breeding farms, probably,"

Diane answered.

"How would they survive?" Harold asked. "The

canned foods here in the city have lost any

nutritional value. And there are no cats or

dogs in this city."

"Trapping rats," Buddy replied. "Stealing from the

gardens of those around theCentral Park area."

"Eating

rats!"

Diane was horrified.
"Very high in protein, so I'm told," Buddy

said.

"Gross!" Judy said.

"Let's plant our charges and get the hell out of

here,"

Buddy said, after thinking for a moment. "I want to go

back and more closely inspect those tracks we found

this morning."

"And then?" Pete asked.

"We notify the general."

They stayed in the tunnels, working their way back

north beneath the city, in this strange, silent,

extremely odious world that was once the kingdom of the

Night P. They surfaced just as the pumps once more

began pouring in the gas, seeing daylight at 169th

Street, coming out through a hole in the lower part of a

building.

They made their way cautiously up to 173rd, and

entered into the area where they had slept the night before.

The tracks were still there, and looking around, they found more.

At first glance, they did not look like tracks, rather more

like smudges on the concrete and floors.

Buddy got down on his hands and knees and slowly and

carefully inspected the trails, finally finding what

he'd been seeking: tiny pieces of cloth and

thread.
He stood up. "Many of them have no shoes," he

announced. "They're wrapping their feet in rags

against the cold."

"Dear God!" Diane muttered.

"Yes. Assuming that they have several layers on their

feet, this one," he pointed to a small track,

"would be no more than three or four years old."

He held out his hand to Pete. "Give me your

radio." He changed frequencies and lifted the

handset. "Tunnel Rat to Eagle on scramble."

"Give me a second to round him up,

Rat. He's out on the street. I'll patch you

through."

"Go, Rat," Ben said.

Buddy brought him up to date. He could hear Ben's

sigh very clearly. "You're going to need some help

searching that area for the kids."

"Send the hippie, Father."

" 'Thermopolis?"

"Yes."

"May I ask why?"

"Because I think the children might come to someone

like him before they'd come to us. Ask him if he'd

dress as he did when he first joined us."

"Ten-four, boy. They'll be on their way in a
few minutes."

Emil Hite, the con artist who had become almost

a fixture in Ben's life over the years, had

leftLouisiana with his flock of followers to aid

Ben in hisNew York fight. Along the way, they

had run into a commune of hippies, headed by a man

called Thermopolis. The hippies had agreed that

it was better to join Ben and the Rebels than spend the

rest of their lives running from the cannibalistic

Night P. Slowly, and reluctantly,

Thermopolis had found himself liking Ben

Raines, personally, if not entirely what he

stood for.

"Of course, we'll go," Thermopolis told

Ben. "And Buddy is right: the kids will probably

come to us much quicker if we're not dressed in uniforms.

I'll take a few of my own people with me to aid in the

search."

"Take as many as you need."

Dan walked to Ben's side. "If there are children

running wild in this city, General, that casts a very

different light on the matter."

"Doesn't it, though?"

The city was strangely silent as the small convoy

made its way to Buddy's location. "They'll hit

us hard tonight," the Rebel driver said. "We've
got just about four and a half hours of daylight left.

We've got to be back in position by nightfall.

General's orders, people."

Thermopolis muttered under his breath and grimaced.

His wife, Rosebud, caught the look and laughed

at him. Her husband managed a very thin smile.

Sort of like a razor blade's edge.

"They lead off in that direction," Buddy told him,

pointing. "We have not tried to follow them."

Thermopolis hesitated for a moment, then

laid his M16 aside. Rosebud, Santo,

Wenceslaus, and the others in his group did the same.

"We'll carry sidearms only," he told them.

"We won't appear so menacing to the children. Let's

go."

They moved out cautiously, leaving the swimming-pool

area and following the hard-to-spot footprints of the

kids in the fast-disappearing spots of snow.

Thermopolis led the group, moving swiftly but

warily. The footprints appeared again in an alley

opening up on Audubon. Thermopolis waved the

group down at the mouth of the alley and with them crouched

behind him, studied the seemingly empty buildings across

the street.

"The footprints lead straight into that building,"
Rosebud pointed out.

"Yes. But crossing that street is going to be

dangerous. We might be watched by creepies right this

minute."

Rosebud gave him a look guaranteed to curl his

toenails, which it came very close to doing.

Thermopolis knew it very well. "And those children over

there are cold and hungry and frightened. Either you lead us

over there, or I will."

"Now, Rosebud."

"Get out of the damn way!"

Thermopolis stood up. "Shall we go find the children,

dear?"

"That's the general idea . . . dear."

Muttering under his breath, Thermopolis darted across the

street, the others close behind him, and entered a

building, noticing that the front door had been used

recently. The imprint of a very small and very dirty

hand was on the lock stile.

"My heart goes out to these children," Swallow said,

looking at her husband.

"My heart is thumping so hard I can hear it!"

Santo told her.

"Be quiet," Thermopolis told them. "We have

nothing to fear from small children." I hope, he

silently added. He moved toward a closed door
and slowly pushed it open and stepped inside, noticing

the cold ashes of a dead fire in one corner of the

barren room.

Thermopolis paused as his eyes picked up on the

skeleton of a rat. It had been picked clean.

After being cooked he hoped. He pointed it out to the

others.

Rosebud shook her head in disgust and sorrow.

"We'll take the children to raise as our own,

of course."

"Oh, of course," Thermopolis said dryly.

"That's what I had in mind, too."

His wife's eyes spoke silent volumes,

directed at him.

Overheard, on the second level, a small

scurrying sound was heard.

"Too big for rats," Wenceslaus said, looking

at his old lady.

"You hope," Zelotes told him.

Thermopolis led the way up the old stairs. Now

the footprints were very clear in the dust. He pushed

open the first door he came to.

A small girl, no more than six or seven, sat

on the floor, looking at him. She also had a very

large pistol pointing at him, the hammer cocked
back. She held the pistol in both hands.

"Hello, dear." Thermopolis smiled at her.

"I'll blow your fuckin" head off!" she told

him.

Buddy heard the approaching vehicles pull up and

stop and was only mildly surprised to see his father

stroll nonchalantly up to his position.

"You just will not stay in a secure zone, will you, Father?"

"Of course not. The troops would be

disappointed if I did. Thermopolis?"

"The last I saw of them they were entering that alley."

Buddy pointed.

Ben squatted down and rolled a cigarette while

his son looked on, a very disapproving look in his

eyes. "I read a very good pamphlet about smoking,

Father. Written by a man called Koop. Whoever

he is, or was. You should cease the use of those

things."

"Right." Ben licked the tube closed and fired up.

"Humor me. You can't teach an old dog new

tricks."

"That, too, is a misnomer. I once read a

report on dog training. It stated that. .."

"Boy . . . to was Ben warned.

Buddy shut up and watched his father smoke his

cigarette.
Ben scratched at the uncomfortable body armor under

his shirt and waited.

The girl had lowered the hammer, but kept the muzzle

pointed dead at Thermopolis.

"My name is Thermopolis."

"That's a stupid name," the child told him.

Rosebud had counted a dozen kids in the room,

none of them older than seven or eight, and

all of them dressed in rags. None of them wore

shoes; only dirty strips of cloth wrapped around

their feet.

"Well, I suppose so ... if you're not used

to hearing it," Thermopolis conceded. "What's your

name?"

"Kate. Are you with the army that is fighting the

human-eaters?"

"Yes."

"Is the god, Ben Raines, really here in the

city?"

Thermopolis started to tell the child that Ben Raines was

not a god. He bit back the words.

"Did you send all that pukey-smelling stuff into the

air?"

"I helped, yes." He slowly squatted down

on the dirty floor, facing the child. "You can put the
gun away. I won't harm you."

"You say. But you might lie."

"That's true. But there comes a time when you have to trust

somebody. I tell you what. . dis8And it hurt him

to say it, but he knew that just the name carried a lot of

weight. "dis . . I'll take you to meet Ben

Raines."

"You lie!"

"No, child," Thermopolis said gently. "I speak

the truth."

Santo's walkie-talkie crackled. He

lifted the radio and spoke briefly, then looked

at Thermopolis. "General Raines is coming over

here."

The kids stirred uneasily.

"Just take it easy," Thermopolis told them.

"Pretty soon you'll all have clean clothes and

hot food and shoes for your feet. And you'll be

safe."

"We'll believe that when Ben Raines says it,"

Kate told him.

Boots sounded on the ground-level floor, then

slowly climbed the steps. The kids drew back,

huddling together in fear.

Ben stood in the doorway, tall, his face

hawklike, his
eyes unreadable. He watched as Kate laid the

big pistol on the floor. Ben held out his hand.

"Come, children. Let's go where it's safe and warm and

get you something to eat." He smiled and his whole

face changed. The kids went to him, crowding around.

"You children ride with Thermopolis and Rosebud.

I'll meet with you later on today and you can

tell me your stories."

"You won't be far away, will you?" Kate asked.

"No. I won't be far away," Ben assured

her.

After the children had gone, Thermopolis paused in the

room; only he and Ben remained. "Is it always that

way with you and kids?"

"Usually."

"Why? You're armed to the teeth and half the time you

look like you could bite the heads off nails."

"Perhaps it's because I represent something they have never

known but always wanted. Or knew some of it and yearn

for more."

"Safety?"

"That's part of it."

"And so you and your people will take them to raise, and they'll

grow up with the Rebel dogma burned into their brains

and be good little soldiers?"
"Most of them, yes. Is that so wrong?"

Thermopolis sighed. "I don't know. I

suppose not. What is it with you, Ben Raines?

What is this compulsion with law and order and rules and

regulations?"

"I didn't ask for this job, Thermopolis. I

think destiny forced it on me."

"Disgusting!" Chase came out of the examining room,

ripping off his rubber gloves and dropping them into a

waste can. He walked up to Ben, leaning against a

wall. "Those children have all been sexually molested.

Most of them by the men under the command of this Monte

person."

Ben waited, knowing the doctor was not yet through.

Chase ranted and waved his arms and cussed and kicked

the waste can before he wound down.

Ben began rolling a cigarette.

"No smoking in my damn hospital, Raines!"

Ben tossed the makings into the waste can. "Venereal

diseases?"

"Some of them. But they're the treatable kind."

"AIDS?"

"We're testing them. But I don't think so. If

this . . . catastrophe did any good at all, it

seems to be the halt of AIDS. I've seen very

few cases of it over the past ten years."
"Why?"

"Why did it stop? Hell, I don't know! I

don't even know why it began. The kids are in a

surprisingly good mental state, however-considering

what they've been through. And what they're going to have to go

through before, or if, we get out of this mess."

"We'll get out." Once again the plan he had

discussed with no one entered Ben's head. He did not

want to even think about it, much less put it

into play, but it might be the only way out for them.

Ben became conscious of Chase talking to him.

"... the hell is wrong with you, Ben? You have Jerre

on the brain again?"

Ben smiled. "No. For once, no. Can I see

the kids?"

"Some of them. Sure. In case you wondered, and

I'm sure you did, why, in a city with several

million pairs of shoes for the taking, the kids

chose to wrap their feet in rags, they seldom got

out of that two- or three-block area. They said the

Night People never seemed to come in there."

"I wonder why?"

"I don't know, and neither did the kids. They did

say it was a place where they had to be very careful with

fire."
"Now that is interesting," Ben said softly. "That is

very interesting."

Ben met with the kids, joked with them, and managed

to coax some smiles from them. By the time he left the

hospital, he had gained some valuable knowledge about

certain areas of the city. He checked the sky.

Dark in about

two hours. He told Beth to get his commanders up

to his CP'-RIGHT now. At his CP, the meeting with

his commanders was closed, the doors shut and the men and

Tina alone. And that was not something that General Ben

Raines did very often.

"We've got to hold the Libyan in New

Jersey, people. I want everything that can toss shells

the distance on the waterfront, doing so. Dan, of us

all, you have the finest tastes in art, music, so form

..."

"Thank you, General." The Englishman smiled.

"It's good to know that my talents in the finer things are

appreciated."

Ike groaned and stuck the needle to his friend.

"Big bore is what you are."

Dan ignored him.

"West, you run a close second to Dan." He

smiled at the mercenary. "As surprising as that might

seem to some people." He cut his eyes to Thermopolis,
and the big rough-looking hippie smiled.

"Colonel West, you will take everything from Central

Park west to the river. Dan, you'll take it from the

park east to the waterfront. Both of you all the way

down to Battery Park. I'll take it from

a Hundred Twenty-fifth Street north. Our

main objective is to kill creepies. Our

secondary mission to gather up everything that might be

remotely construed as art-paintings, sculpture,

whatever comand master tapes or discs of music.

Strip the libraries of books. Gather it all and

bring it up here for storage."

"Does that include rock-and-roll and hillbilly

music, General?" Dan asked, a twinkle in his

eyes, knowing he was stepping on Ike's toes. And,

out of the corner of his eye, he watched Thermopolis

stir and frown. Dan hid his smile.

"That includes everything, Dan," Ben said with a

straight face, picking up on the Englishman's

joke. "Whether you like it or not, it's still somebody's

idea of expression."

Ike stuck his tongue out at Dan, and the room

exploded in laughter. And again, Thermopolis

marveled at the

seemingly undefeatable morale of the Rebels.
Facing thousands of the enemy, and they could still joke. And

Ben Raines . . . damn the man! He was a

study in contradiction. He could talk of killing with

one breath and in the other speak of saving and preserving

art and literature. Even rock-and-roll

music, and Thermopolis knew the man hated that

type of expression.

Talk about a walking contradiction, Kris

-

you should see this man.

"What's the drill, Ben?" Cecil asked.

"What are you up to this time?"

Ben cut his eyes to the black general. He

hesitated, then shook his head. This decision would be

his alone to make. And if he chose to carry it out,

history-if indeed it was ever to be written-would either

applaud him or condemn him. But it would be on his

shoulders, and his shoulders alone.

"Get started at dawn tomorrow," Ben told them.

"I'm going to make an early run downtown.

I've been delaying it, but it's time. Get back

to your positions and prepare to get hit hard tonight.

That's it, people."

"What is the bastard doing?" a commander questioned

Khamsin, as the shells exploded around them in New

Jersey.
"Keeping us out of the city," Khamsin told the man.

"Damn the savages in the city!" another commander

spoke his mind. "Let's shell the city and have done

with it."

Khamsin shook his head. "We do that, and those

abominations would strike a deal with Raines and turn

on us." He cut his eyes to the woman, Sister

Voleta. "Tell me one weakness of Ben

Raines. Anything we could use against him."

"He has none," the woman replied. "He has

ice in his veins."

"He has one," Ashley spoke. "And I would not

know of that had it not been for Big Louie's obsession

with the man."

Khamsin looked at the man. "Speak."

"A woman. Jerre Hunter."

"She is in the city with him?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"And if we took the woman . . . ?" Khamsin

questioned.

"I really don't know, General. I don't know

what he would do. I know what he wouldn't do: he would

not jeopardize a mission to save her life. But he

would track the man who harmed her through Hell. And that

man would spend days begging to die."
Monte shuddered. He was beginning to wish he had never

heard of Ben Raines. Wished he had stayed the

hell up in Canada, far, far away from Ben

Raines. The bastard just wasn't human.

Or so it seemed to Monte.

Khamsin was looking at him. "Monte. You will

take some people into the city, cross over this night in

boats, and seize this woman. And that is not a

request."

"Right," Monte managed to say.

"Leave now, and make ready."

A shell crashed close to the Libyan's CP.

Khamsin clenched his fists and silently rained

curses down on Ben's head. He had the man

trapped, and because of an unholy alliance with

cannibals could not move.

But maybe if the woman could be taken .. . his

Maybe.

Ben sat behind his desk, his boots propped up,

deep in thought. If he were in the Libyan's shoes,

what would he do?

Find a weak spot and strike, of course.

And what was Ben's weak spot? He couldn't think of

any.

Then he thought of one.

He yelled for Beth. She stuck her head in the
doorway. "Sir?"

"Get Jerre in here right now, Beth."

"Yes, sir."

"You want me to do what?" Jerre asked, her eyes

cold.

"From now on, you're my personal aide. You do not

leave my side for any reason. Is that clear?"

"I don't want to be your personal aide, and I

am not going to be your personal aide!" she fired

back at him.

"Miss Hunter," Ben said, leaning back in his

chair, "I have reached the point in my life where I

don't give a good goddamn what you want." That

was a lie, but Ben hoped he could pull it off and

convince her it was truth. He watched her eyes

turn even more icy. "I am giving you a direct

order and you will, by God, obey it. Is that understood,

Miss Hunter?"

She straightened up and glared at him. "Yes,

sir, General Raines!"

"Thank you. That will be all. Have someone go to your

quarters and bring your gear over here. You ..."

"I am perfectly capable of packing my own gear,

General."

"Do not interrupt me when I am speaking, Miss
Hunter!" Ben yelled at her. "I said: Have

someone pack your gear and bring it over here. You will

sleep in

that

room!" He pointed to the anteroom. "Dismissed!"

She whirled around and marched from the office, pausing at

the door. "Does the general wish the office door

closed?"

"No, the general does not."

"I'll get your gear," Jersey told her.

"Cooper will get you a cot. Welcome

aboard-again."

"Thanks." Jerre watched Jersey and Cooper

leave the room, calmed down a bit and looked at

Beth. "Question is: Why is he doing it?"

Beth shrugged. "I don't question the general. He's

got his reasons."

Ben rose from his desk and closed the door to his

office. Jerre glared at the door and mouthed a very

ugly word.

"He was a strange and mysterious man when I first

met him," Jerre said. "Now he's changed to just

plain damn weird!"

"Don't bet on that," Beth told her. "There's

a reason for everything he does. Whether or not you'll

ever know the reason is up for grabs."
Jerre sat down in a chair, close to Beth.

"When this is over, Beth, what do you intend

to do?"

The question surprised her. She was thoughtful for a moment.

"Probably go back to Illinois, to Lev.

I've spoken with the general about it." She rose,

poured them coffee, and returned to her chair.

"Do you love him?"

"I'm comfortable with him. I like him, and he loves

me."

"Is that enough?"

"It is for me. There is an old proverb that

reads: A man should always marry a woman he

loves, and a woman should always marry a man she

likes. If you think about it,

it makes a lot of sense."

"Is that a Jewish proverb?"

The dark-haired beauty laughed. "No, I think

it's Arabic!"

The Night People did not launched a full-scale

attack that night. They chose instead to limit themselves

to a hit-and-run operation, citywide, and that tied up

the Rebels and kept them to high alert until

dawn, with neither side taking many casualties.

At dawn, the creepies withdrew and the Rebels
rested. Ben and the others began their search for

treasure.

And that was not as easy as it sounded, for none knew what

awaited them inside the buildings of the city, or what

might be booby-trapped. It was slow going.

Jerre accompanied Ben, but neither of them spoke

unless it was absolutely necessary, and that did not make

for a very pleasant atmosphere for the other Rebels.

It soon became apparent that the Rebels had

exacted a much heavier toll on the Night People than

any of them imagined. And it also brought to bear just how

desperate the Night People had become: for they had

turned to eating their own.

By midmorning, very few of the Rebels had encountered

any creepies, and the germ of worry in Ben's mind

had changed into a full-grown blister. He radioed

his commanders.

"What's up, people? I'm open for suggestions."

"The only thing I can figure out, Ben," Ike

said, "is that they're trying to bug out. If they can

get clear of Manhattan, Khamsin will pound us

to pieces widi his artillery."

"They can't get out," Ben said flatly. "We've

got all avenues of escape blocked. So to my

mind, that means they've shifted locations, en

masse, and Khamsin will start hammering us one location
at a time. If that's the case, it will have to be

done on a systematic basis. Either south to north

or north to south; it wouldn't work any other way.

He can't work from the middle to split us up; we're

already split up and he knows it."

Ben studied a map of Manhattan. "Have all

personnel in the south end of the island move up half

a dozen blocks. All troops in the north move

down a half dozen blocks. Move it, right now!"

Khamsin started his barrage at noon, throwing

everything he had at the island. And Ben had pegged it

right on the money.

The north and south ends of the island began to resemble

Berlin at the close of the Second World War as

heavy artillery knocked huge holes into buildings

and started dozens of small fires.

But the Rebels sustained no serious injuries from the

shelling. It's extremely difficult to hit something

that isn't there.

"Message from the Night People, sir," an aide

spoke to Khamsin. "They said Raines shifted his

troops around. Our shelling is destroying the city but

killing no Rebels."

Khamsin lost his temper and began pounding his fists

on a table, screaming and cursing Ben Raines. "The
man is a

devil!"

he raged. "What manner of beast is this person?

How can he read my mind?"

"Sir," a field commander said. "If I may be

permitted to speak my mind?"

"Speak!"

"Would it not be in our best interest to unite with

General Raines against the common enemy?"

"Never!" Khamsin screamed. He ordered the

field commander shot, then as he calmed, rescinded the

death sentence. He ordered the shelling stopped and

gave the suggestion some thought. "Perhaps," he mused

aloud, "that would be in our best interest. The Night

People are surely a scourge upon the earth."

"And," it was offered, "it would be a much easier way

to get on the island. Once there, we could easily

crush the Flesh-Eaters and then kill Ben

Raines. Without Ben

Raines, his army would fall apart." "Has Monte

left yet?"

"Of course not. He says he is going this night."

"Cowardly fool! Tell him to stand down until I

compose a message to Ben Raines and it is

delivered. Now

leave me alone. I want this message
to be perfectly

correct."

"Send teams in to assess the damage," Ben

ordered. "And continue the searching for art and

literature and music."

West had driven up to Ben's temporary position

during the shelling. "Brilliant move, General.

You have my compliments and my respect."

"Thank you, West. But it was just a guess on my

part, that's all."

"Accurate guessing has won more battles than

brilliant mental maneuvering." He smiled.

"But I think you are more than aware of that."

"How'd the treasure-hunting go this morning?" "Very

well, I would say. I found a trove of

priceless art. Renoir, Monet, Pissarro,

Kiprensky, a few by Bower. I found a great deal

of sculpture, most of them small bronzes from the

Italian Renaissance period. Quite lovely."

He glanced at Ben. "Did you get a chance

to visit your old publishing house?"

"How did you know I was going to do that?" "Just a

guess. I would, if I had been a popular

writer." Dan walked up. "Dan, while you and the

rest of the people are out and about gathering up this and that,
I would like for you to gather up something else, as well."

"Certainly, General. And what would diat be?"

Ben smiled. "Blow the bank vaults and gather up

all the gold in this city."

Jerre sat back in Ben's temporary CP, just

off Mitchell Square, and looked at the man.

She still could not figure

out why he had been so adamant about her becoming his

personal aide. Surely he knew by now that she

did not love him.

Or did she?

That was a question she had asked herself many times over the

years. And she always came up with the same answer:

Yes, she did. Sort of. In a way. But she

respected him more than loved him. She guessed she

did, anyway. Sometimes she was sure that she hated

him. But those feelings had always passed as quickly as

they'd come.

Was Ben trying to work his way into her heart?

No. She knew him better than that. Even over the

long years, he had never once told her that he

loved her. But she knew he did. He'd never

even told her that he liked her.

And maybe he didn't. It was certainly possible

to love someone and not like diem.

Ben turned and looked at her, just as quickly averting
his eyes.

She shook her head. Strange man, Ben

Raines.

Ben walked out into Mitchell Square just as a

runner approached him. "We're picking up

signal flashers from New Jersey, General.

General Ike read them. Khamsin wants to meet

with you."

Ben did not change expression. "Does he now?

That's interesting. I wonder why he didn't

radio. It would have been much easier." He smiled

at the runner. "Unless, of course, he's got a

double-cross planned against the creepies."

"You trust him, General?"

"Hell, no!"

After the runner had left, Ben bumped Ike on

scramble. "What do you make of it, Ike?"

"No good, that's for sure."

"You got your man standing by on ship?"

"Ten-four."

"Tell him I'll meet with him. But he's got

to come to me."

"I will relay the message."

In less than five minutes, Ike was

back on the horn.
"Khamsin says you'll have to come to him, Ben."

"Tell him to shove it up his ass."

Ike laughed. "With pleasure!"

Ike was back with the message in less time than before.

"He says that's all right with him. Where do you want

to meet?"

"Tell him I'll get back with him at dawn

tomorrow. Then you get up here. Let's meet."

"He's too eager, people," Ben told the gathering.

"I got a hunch he wants to talk peace while

his army moves all over us. Or, perhaps he

realizes that the Night People have to be destroyed before they

can gain a firmer hold. Then when that's done he'll

turn on us."

"I'd opt for the latter," Cecil said.

The others agreed.

"So," Ben said with a smile, "I think I'll just

tell the Hot Wind to come on over. We can sure

use his help in this war."

Nearly all of them were looking at Ben as if they were

sure he had lost his mind. All except General

Striganov. He was sitting with a faint smile on

his face.

"Are you serious, Dad?" Tina asked.

"Why, of course. War, like politics, makes for

strange bedfellows."
Then he started laughing while the rest of his people looked

at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"I want Doctor Nate Lindgren and his PSE

machine set up very close to us," Ben instructed.

"Have the microphone well-concealed and have him draw

up a list of questions he wants me to ask Khamsin.

Of course, Khamsin will be lying when he says he

wants to be our ally-that goes without saying-but I

want to be as close to one hundred percent certain

as I can get."

Ben had still not explained his plan to any of his

commanders, and they were all, with the exception of General

Striganov, more than a bit irritated over

Ben's sudden trust of the Libyan.

Pulling Ben off to one side, Ike said, "What the

hell is going on, Ben? You know as well as me that

damned terrorist is about as trustworthy as a

cottonmouth."

"Relax, Ike," Ben assured him. "Just take

it easy. I know what I'm doing."

But Ike didn't relax, and wasn't all that

convinced that Ben hadn't gone round the bend. He

walked away, shaking his head and muttering.

Ben's daughter came to him. "Dad. You can't

make any deals with Khamsin. That man and his people have
raped and tortured and murdered halfway around the

world. He's pure filth."

"All that is true," Ben conceded.

"And you're still going to meet with him and talk about joining

forces?"

"I am."

Tina whirled around and stalked away, her back

stiff with anger.

"Ben," Cecil said, "if you let that Libyan

get his army on this island, we're finished. This

isn't like you at all."

But Ben would only pat his friend on the shoulder and

smile. "Trust me, Cec. I know what I'm

doing."

The commanders, with the exception of General Striganov,

went to see Doctor Chase.

"He's suffering from strain," Ike told the

doctor. "That's got to be the reason for all this.

The way he laughed back yonder chilled me."

"Take two aspirin, have some chicken soup and call

me in the morning," the crusty old doctor told

Ike. "Ben knows what he's doing, people."

"Well, maybe you'd care to tell us

exactly what he

is

doing?" Dan asked.
"I don't know," the doctor admitted. "I

don't concern myself with matters outside this

hospital. Relax, people. You know how secretive

Ben can be. Now get out of here. I have work to do."

They got, but they were not happy. All they could do now

was wait, with all of them wondering if General Ben

Raines had slipped an oar.

"The meeting is set for just after dark tonight," the

signalman told Ben. "Khamsin will cross over

by boat and meet you in Lafayette Plaza."

Ben thanked him and turned to Georgi Striganov.

"Have your people secure some rooms there, Georgi. You

know the drill."

"Consider it done," the Russian told him. He

didn't know exactly what Ben had in mind, only

that he trusted the general to do something completely off the

wall and totally unexpected. Georgi knew that

first-hand. During the years they had battled each

other, Ben Raines had boxed him around every time they'd

met on the field of battle.

The Russian knew that whatever the Libyan

terrorist was desirous of from Ben Raines,

it would not be what he was expecting.

Tina and Buddy stayed close to their father, in the

hopes he would reveal his plan to them. But he did
not.

The Night People launched attacks during the night.

But the Rebels were dug in so deeply, their

positions so well-fortified, all the creepies

managed to accomplish was the death of more of their people.

Even though the Night People still outnumbered the

Rebels, diey could not put them to rout.

With low curses, the night crawlers melted away

with a few bloody attacks.

"Coming across," a Rebel with night glasses informed

Ben. "They'll be ashore in a couple of

minutes."

"I'll be in the building," Ben told him.

"Please escort the Hot Wind to me."

"Yes, sir."

Ben checked the mike. "Can you hear me, Nate?"

"Loud and clear, General," the doctor manning the

PSE equipment called from the room above them.

Ben sat down at the table and waited. The Libyan

terrorist came into the room all smiles and good

cheer. He held out his hand as Ben stood up.

"My dear General Raines! At last we

meet. I am honored, sir."

Ben forced a smile on his face and shook the man's

hand, sizing him up. He was stocky and powerful, and

Ben guessed his age in the mid-forty range.
Twenty years back, Ben recalled, this man had

been one of the most feared terrorists in all the world.

Hundreds of men, women, and children had died because of the

bombs he had masterminded and planted around the world.

Marines had been brutally massacred in Lebanon

because of this man. American hostages had been

tortured and starved and killed at this man's orders.

Ben resisted an impulse to tear the bastard's arm

out of the socket and beat him to death with it.

"How good to see you, General Khamsin. Please,

sit

down. I have tea."

"Good, good!" The Libyan smiled, but the humor

did not reach his dark eyes.

The tea poured and sugared, the men stared at each other

across the table. Ben's personal bodyguards stood

behind him, facing the Hot Wind's bodyguards. There

was no love lost in the exchange of glances between the

two heavily armed groups.

Ben watched as the Libyan's eyes flicked toward

Jerre. Ben had guessed accurately:

Jerre was to have been a target. Probably still was.

Thanks, probably, to Ashley. That turncoat

son of a bitch was becoming as hard to kill as Sam

Hartline had been.
Khamsin opened the dance. "I made a regrettable

decision in agreeing to align my forces with the Night

People, General Raines. I did not realize how

dangerous they were."

That lie probably sent the graph out of control on

Nate's PSE equipment.

"They must be stopped," Ben said.

"Yes. For the good of the entire world."

"And once that is done, we can make peace with each

other and coexist?"

"But of course, General Raines! I am so weary

of fighting. I am, after all, nothing more than a

farmer. It is my desire to till the rich soil of

South Carolina and live in peace."

"I can certainly relate to that," Ben said, trying

hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I,

too, want nothing more than a section of land to farm."

Tina almost choked on that.

Ben Raines wanted to farm about as much as a raccoon

could fly a 747.

She didn't know what her dad was up to,

but she certainly knew both men were lying through their

teeth.

"It is agreed then, that we must join forces to defeat

the Night People?" Khamsin said.

"Yes. All we need to work out is where your people will land
and what sections of the city you will occupy."

Khamsin waved his hand. "Minor details, my

dear general. We can work that out in five minutes."

It was agreed that Khamsin's men would cross over the

next night, by boat, landing at the docks between

72nd and 86th streets. At dawn, they would

strike at the Night People, with Khamsin's army

controlling the middle of

the

city.

And cutting my people in two, Ben noted. But he

agreed with a smile and a handshake. Ben made a

note to wash his hands with the strongest soap he could find

once this odious meeting was concluded.

"So we are in agreement, General Raines?"

"Oh, yes, General Khamsin. Complete

agreement." Ben lifted his teacup in a toast.

Khamsin smiled and clinked cups.

"To a great victory, General Raines!"

"I'm counting on it, General Khamsin.

You don't know how much."

Ben forced himself to be cordial with the Libyan for a

few minutes more. By that time, Ben noticed the

Libyan had begun to sweat just a bit and his voice

held a forced note, indicating that he, too, was
wearying of the sham.

Both men rose as one, shook hands, and the Libyan

slipped back into the night. Ben sat for a time,

drumming his fingers on the tabletop. When Doctor

Lindgren came into the room, Ben stood up and

waved him into another room and closed the door.

"Now what the hell!" Tina muttered, looking at

Dan.

But the Englishman was just as baffled as she was. "I

don't know. This is not like the General. Not at all.

He's usually very open with all of us. Something is

definitely up."

"There wasn't a truthful note in any of that

man's statements," Nate said. "Or yours either,"

he added with a smile.

"Well, you knew I'd be lying."

"And I don't know what's going on, either."

"Neither does anybody else. Deliberately so.

Trust me and keep all of this under your hat.

Thanks a lot, Nate."

Ben turned and walked out of the room, motioning his people

to follow him.

"You ready to tell me what's up, Dad?" Tina

asked.

"Nope," Ben said with a smile.

Tina ground her teeth together in frustration.
Ben grinned, even with his back to her knowing what she was

doing. "Careful, kid. It took me a couple of

years back in the Tri-States to get your teeth

fixed up. With you kicking and squalling and howling with every

trip to the dentist."

She screwed up her face and stuck out her tongue

at his back.

"And stop making ugly faces and sticking your tongue

out at me," Ben said, without turning around. "What

if your face froze like that?"

She could not help but laugh. It was the same thing

he'd told her as a little girl.

The rest of the Rebels with Ben had to laugh, and to the

newer members, it further heightened Ben's already

overblown mystique. The man had to have powers beyond a

mortal person's comprehension. How else could he

know what was going on behind him without even turning around?

Of course, those who had been adults before the Great

War, and had some experience with kids, knew

perfectly well how Ben did it. But they let the

younger ones have their fantasies; it helped keep

discipline problems to a minimum.

"Heads up tonight, people," Ben said, just before turning in.

"The creepy crawlies might decide to come out in

force."
"Damn the man!" Dan said, as Ben closed the

door behind him. "What in the world is going on?"

"I guess he'll let us in on it in the morning,"

Tina said. "I can't believe he's actually going

to link up with that terrorist."

"I guess we'll know in the morning."

But Ben was as silent on the subject the following

morning as he had been the night before. He had

breakfast with Georgi, Tina, Buddy, and Dan,

and never brought the subject up. He excused himself

from the table and walked back to his office, Jerre and

Jersey, Beth and Cooper going with him.

"General," Tina looked at the Russian.

"What's going on?"

"Your father has not taken me into his confidence,

Captain. But I can assure you that he is doing

what he thinks is best for all concerned ... on the

side of freedom, that is."

"You and my father were once bitter enemies,

General Striganov. Now you are allies, fighting

together. You don't think he believes Khamsin is

ready to bury the hatchet, do you?"

"Only in Ben's back, girl."

"Then . . . ?" She spread her hands in a

gesture of helplessness.

"You're far too young to remember the days of
Qaddafi, Khomeini, Abu Nidal, and people of that

ilk. Khamsin is one of them. Nothing will appease

him except blood and more blood. And even if,

God forbid, he is ever victorious, he still will not

be satisfied until he has conquered what is

left of this shattered world."

Dan and Buddy were listening, sitting quietly.

"I have an idea what your father is going to do. He and

I think a great deal alike in many subjects. I

say this with all the respect in the world for Ben

Raines. I think he is the greatest soldier who

ever lived."

Ben took a contingent of Rebels and disappeared that

morning, heading back to the area where the children had been

found. He prowled the area, noticing the small

cracks in the sidewalks and the street-cracks that

had blackened burn marks. He found a board and

wrapped a rag around one end of it, lit the

rag and held it high over one crack. Fire

seemed to materialize about five feet over the

crack in the street. It flared briefly, then was

gone. Ben smiled and extinguished the burning rag.

"What is that, General?" Jersey asked.

"Methane. It's often found in marshes and mines.

It's caused by the decomposition of vegetable
matter-among other things."

"You think it's all over the underground tunnels?"

"Probably. At least there'll be enough pockets

to aid in what I might plan to do."

"Which is?" he was asked.

Ben chose not to reply.

"How come the creepies haven't blown themselves up?"

Jersey asked.

"For one thing, many of them don't cook the . . .

meat they eat. And since the temperature remains

fairly constant in the tunnels, heating by fire is

probably rare. And, I suspect, they've found

the heavier concentrations and avoid them."

"Just what do you plan on doing with this methane,

General?" Jerre asked.

Ben looked at her and smiled. "I might decide

to have a pig roast, Jerre."

"Of course," she said sarcastically. "I

should have guessed that." She turned away, muttering

about smart-assed generals.

Ben chuckled and waved the group back to the

vehicles. He always felt better after he got

one over on Jerre. It was such a rare experience.

He ordered the short convoy to Katzman's

communications center and met in private with

Katzman, sending out coded and scrambled
messages.

The messages sent, with only Katzman and Ben

knowing the contents-and the people on the other end- Ben ordered

the convoy down to publisher's row.

"Ben,

goddamn

it!" Cecil's voice roared out of the speaker. "That

area has never been cleared. It hasn't even been

checked!"

"So I'll check it out," Ben radioed back.

"Relax, Cec. I've got a platoon with

me." And Ben knew several companies would soon be

on the way. He was counting on it.

Ike monitored the conversation and ordered tanks into the

area for backup.

Dan monitored and ordered another platoon into the

area.

West sent a platoon of his people in to cover Ben.

Georgi ordered Rebet to take a detail into the

area.

And Buddy and Tina led their people into the area.

"Looks like a damn convention," Ben said with a grin.

Khamsin sat in his CP across the river,

monitoring the transmissions, and wondering what in the

name of Allah was going on.
He shook his head at the strange goings-on and

asked, "How are the boat and ferry preparations coming

along?"

"Very well, sir," he was told. "We'll have enough

to transport five thousand in the first wave."

Khamsin nodded. Almost half his people landing during the

first push. Good. The terrorist leaned back in his

chair and smiled. He must remember to say some

additional prayers for success.

After all, he was a very religious man.

Ben waited until his people had cleared the first few

floors of the building that had housed the offices of his

old publishing company, then began the climb up to the

eighth floor.

"A trip down memory lane, Ben?"' Jerre

asked, climbing up behind him.

"You might say that. I seem to recall that

the bombs came before my royalty check did. I

might find it lying about."

"Sure, Ben. Sure. And you'll just take it right

down to Chase Manhattan and cash it."

He laughed. "I certainly intend to visit that

bank later on."

Rebet met Ben on the eighth floor and held up

a hand. "My people are still clearing this floor, General.

If you would wait just a few moments more."
"Certainly, Colonel. I'd hate to enter my

editor's office and find a creepy propped up

behind the desk, reading one of my manuscripts."

"Right, sir," Rebet said, straight-faced.

Ben thought for a moment about his editor, and wondered what

had happened to him. "Are there any bodies in there,

Colonel?"

"No, sir."

When the offices had been cleared, Ben stood in the

doorway for a moment, looking in. The place was

surprisingly neat, although a thick layer of dust

lay over everything. He stepped inside, Jerre right

behind him. "The rest of you stay out here," he ordered.

"Did you personally know these people, Ben?" she asked.

"Many of them." He stopped by an open office

door. "This is much more difficult than I

thought."

Jerre stepped in and picked up a manuscript,

blowing the dust from it. She read die first paragraph

and looked up at Ben. was 'It was a dark and

stormy night?"

"Snoopy must have sent that one in." Ben smiled.

They moved on to the next office, and Ben prowled

through the stacks of manuscripts. "I knew this

guy," he said, holding up a manuscript. He
dropped the unopened mailer to the floor. "Shit!"

He lifted his walkie-talkie. "Colonel

Rebet, send some people in here to box up all these

manuscripts."

"Yes, sir."

"I may get around to reading them someday," he told

Jerre.

"I'll help you, if you like."

"I might take you up on that."

He prowled the offices, but without much enthusiasm;

he felt as if he was looking at a piece of

himself.

"Were you ever with another publishing company, Ben?"

"No. I signed with this one right after I hung up

my mercenary boots and settled down."

"I never knew you were a mercenary."

"Soldier of fortune, really. I always fought on the

side of democracy."

"Where?"

"Africa. South America. Actually, I was in

the employ of the Company most of the time."

"The CIA?"

"Yes. They often had people on both sides."

"That's stupid! Why?"

"One side has to win."

"Covering all bets, huh?"
"That was the way of the world, Jerre. Looking back,

I guess it was a pretty rotten world."

"And you intend to change it?"

"A small part of it. If I can." He looked

at her and something invisible moved between them. But something

was always moving between them. Problem was, Ben never

knew the quality of it.

Or he did and refused to admit it.

She averted her eyes and walked away from him,

moving down the hall, looking into the offices, each

one with rat-chewed stacks of manuscripts piled

all over the place. "How did they ever get

anything done?"

"Beats me. I think they were just about ready to stop

accepting manuscripts over the transom."

"Do what?"

"Stop accepting unsolicited manuscripts. A

majority of companies already had. Moot point

now," he muttered, thinking,

Just about everything has stopped, except for us on one

side, and God alone knows how many on the opposing

side.

And nothing in between.

"What are you thinking, Ben? Something very profound?"

He looked at her. He never knew when she was
kidding when she made remarks like that. But this time her

face was serious.

"I guess so, Jerre. But profound is to the ears

as beauty is to the eyes."

"And since you didn't speak your thoughts, we'll

never know, will we?"

"Something like that. Let's get out of here. This place

is depressing me."

"I have all your books, Ben. I've picked them

upover the years."

"Have you read them?"

"No. I don't like individual violence."

Ben was still laughing and shaking his head as he left the

offices. He gently closed the door behind him, and

let a lot of memories fade away.

His, and those of untold numbers of others.

He stood on the sidewalk in front of the

building, looking around him, and making a lot of

Rebels very nervous by his conspicuousness.

He looked down the street and smiled. "Let's go

have some fun, gang." Then he set out walking.

"General!" Rebet called. "Where are you going?"

"To that bank. I have to make a withdrawal." Ben

caught the flash of sunlight off a rifle barrel

sticking out of a window and grabbed Jerre, both of them

hitting the sidewalk, rolling under a truck. Ben
yelled for his people to take cover.

Lead began spraying die sidewalks, bouncing and

whining off as the Rebels took cover. Suddenly

black-robed creepies were all around them, with their

hands filled with automatic weapons.

Ben squirmed around as he sensed more than heard

movement behind him. He gave several night

crawlers a bellyful of lead at a distance of not more

than six feet, holding the trigger back on the

Thompson and sending black-robes spinning and

squalling into death.

The concrete front of the building was splattered with the

blood of night crawlers.

Ben pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed

it through the shattered window of the building. The explosion

blew out the rest of the windows and sent one creepy

tumbling out onto the sidewalk, wounded but not down.

Ben finished him with a short burst and then used up the

drum spraying the dark interior of the ground floor

of the building.

Before he could reload, a creepy had hurled himself

from the adjacent building and was on top of Ben,

hatred and fury turning his ugly face into a mask

of hideousness.

Ben slugged him on the jaw, rocking his head back.
Ben hit him again, this time in the mouth, and felt teeth

break under his gloved knuckles. He clawed his

.45 out of leather and thumbed the hammer back,

shooting the flesh-eater in the belly, the big

hollow-nosed slug ripping out the creature's

back, severing the backbone. The night crawler

fell to one side, as limp as a deflated inner

tube.

Ben holstered the .45 and picked up his Thompson,

fitting a full drum into the belly and jacking in a

round. On one knee, he turned and blew several

black-robes into that dark and endless sleep, the

.45-caliber slugs stopping them in their tracks and

spinning them around, dancing and jerking as death

touched them with a cold hand.

The tanks had begun lashing at the buildings with

cannon, .50-caliber and 7.62 machine-gun

fire. Flames were already shooting out of a floor of

one building, and another building was sending up

billows of smoke.

Below ihe fire and smoke, the street battle

raged on, unchecked.

Night People were still pouring out of buildings like soldier

ants on a rampage, and the Rebels were knocking

them down almost as fast as they were charging.

Several managed to charge through the first line of
Rebels and come within several feet of Jerre. She

lifted her M16 and shot one creeper in the face

just as Beth was knocked down by another. Ben stuck the

muzzle of his Thompson to the side of the creep's

head and blew the head apart. Lifting the muzzle,

he stopped the short advance of black-robes. The

slugs lifted one completely off his feet and sent

him crashing to the bricks of the street.

"The woman!" Ben heard one black-hood yell.

"Get the woman!"

Ben grabbed Jerre around the waist, lifted her off

her boots, and hauled her into the grenade-shattered

building behind them, yelling for his personal

team to join them.

"Jersey and Cooper, get the back. Beth, stay

up front with us. Heads up. They want Jerre."

Jerre looked at him, and this time there was real fear in

her eyes.

Over the roar and crash and hammer of battle, she

said, "You knew. That's why you ordered me to become

your aide, isn't it?"

"I felt Khamsin might try to grab you. The

creepies

must have had the same thought."

"You might have told me."
Ben triggered off a short burst before replying. He

leaned close to Jerre and whispered, "There are lots

of things I'm not telling people. You see, kid-we have

an informant among us."

A hundred or more creepies came in a suicide

run toward the building they had seen Ben carry

Jerre into. The Rebel line bent, but it did not

break as night crawlers hurled themselves against the line

of men and women, screaming their rage and hate and

frustration as they died in bloody, stinking heaps on

the bricks of the street and the concrete of the

sidewalks.

And for once, Jerre got close to Ben and

stayed there without being told and without bitching about it.

As some unknown signal passed through the Night People,

they began fading back into the buildings and

alleyways, leaving their dead and wounded behind.

Ben stepped out of the building, Jerre close to him.

"Get the wounded to the hospital, on the double.

Sentries double; watch out for a second attack.

Beth, call for trucks to haul these stinking

carcasses off. And tell the engineers to send some people

up here with jackhammers and diamond-bit drills

and C-four."

"What are we going to do with all that, General?"

Colonel Rebet asked.
"Rob a bank," Ben told him.

"Why did you suddenly decide to confide in me,

Ben?" Jerre asked, as they walked toward the bank

building. "Because I've decided it isn't you."

"Thanks just a whole bunch, Ben. Your confidence in

me is overwhelming."

"Nearly everyone is suspect, Jerre. But you

haven't been out of my sight in over forty-eight

hours, and the leaks continue."

"To Khamsin?"

"No. To the creepies. Somebody is telling them

where our caches of supplies are hidden and

where our small-manned machine-gun emplacements

are located. And now the crawlers were tipped that you were

with me and we were coming up here."

"And now?"

"We start at the top and work down. That's being done

this minute at Chase's main hospital by Doctor

Lindgren and his people. Once we've eliminated the

top people, I can breathe a little easier."

"Surely you don't suspect your close friends?

You've been together for years."

"I suspect everybody until they're cleared,

Jerre. That goes with the territory. We've all

been through this type of thing before. They wouldn't expect
anything less from me." He looked up. "Here we

are."

"You're really going to rob this bank, aren't you?"

"Gold, Jerre. Someday, we'll go back to a

limited use of paper money-of some type. We have

to have something to back that money. So we'll use the

gold standard."

Ben waved a team of Rebels in to clear the bank,

and he and Jerre crouched inside the rusting hulk of a

pickup truck.

"Beth tells me she's going back to Illinois

when New York City is secure,"

Jerre said.

Ben smiled. "Yes. She told me. Back

to Lev and his cows. That's what we're striving for,

Jerre. More and more people back to the land. We've gone

back to opening frontiers, pushing out in all

directions. Good, solid, steady people from which to build

a base."

"And then you'll be president-again."

"Oh, no. Not me, Jerre. It'll be years before

the nation reaches the point of electing a leader. If

it ever does.

Sometimes I have many doubts about that. We destroy one

outlaw band, two more pop up to take its place."

"And why is that, Ben?"
"We're well into the second decade of no

public schooling, no laws to guide the footsteps

of humankind. Absolutely nothing for the young to cling

to, no role models for the young. In a decade and a

half this world has reverted back to the caves. It's

going to take many, many years to restore order."

They were silent for a time. The lower floors of the

building were cleared, and they waited for the engineers to show

up.

"Remember when we first met, Ben?" Jerre asked

softly.

"Vividly."

"I can't believe all those years have gone by."

"Swiftly roll the ages, kid."

"Even back then, Ben, you talked of law and order

and rules. The smoke from the ashes of war hadn't

even settled, and you were talking about order."

"Without it, Jerre, you have anarchy."

"You'll never change, Ben."

"One thing won't." He looked at her. "But

God, I wish it could."

"I wish it could, too, Ben." She touched his arm.

"And I mean that."

"I know you do." He stood up. "Here come the

engineers. Let's go rob a bank, kid."
"Piece of cake," the engineer said. "We won't

have to blow it. We'll torch these sections." He

pointed them out. "And then wrench it open. Take about

an hour."

Ben left Colonel Rebet in charge, and with

Jerre, headed back to his CP.

"I see now why you were so close-mouthed about

Khamsin," Ike told him. "You're thinking that

whoever it is tipping off the creepies might do the

same for the Hot Wind, right?"

"Yes. And I don't have a clue who it

is."

"Nate is working on Katzman's people right now. How

far down the line are you going?"

"I'll stop it once we have the high-level and

mid-level personnel checked out. I feel sure

it's one of the newer people. He or she will tip their hand

eventually. So far there've been no really

important leaks-except for today's leak concerning

Jerre."

"If there was a way to do it, I'd like to see her get

gone from this island."

"I've gone over and over that, Ike. I don't

see any way of getting her out of here. She's just

going to have to stick close and stay alert."

Ben checked his watch. A few more hours and it would be
dark. A few more hours and Khamsin would start his

ferrying of troops across the Hudson River. Ike

noted the grim smile on Ben's face, but said

nothing about it. He cut his eyes to Cecil. The

black man arched one eyebrow and minutely shrugged

his thick shoulders.

Ben still wasn't talking about what he planned to do that

night.

Ben lifted his eyes, looking first at Ike, then

at Cecil. He surprised them both

by saying, "You boys find you a good vantage point

for this evening. It's going to be quite a show."

At dusk, Ben left General Striganov in

charge and waved at Buddy and Tina and Dan to join

him. "Buddy, go ask Thermopolis if he'd like

to join us."

His son was back in a few minutes, Thermopolis

walking beside him.

"Let's go, people," Ben said.

"Going to personally greet this Khamsin person,

General?" Thermopolis asked.

"Oh, yes!" Ben said brightly. "I'm going

to give him a very warm greeting-one befitting a man

of his international reputation, you might say."

Tina and Buddy exchanged glances but said nothing.
Heavily guarded, the group drove down to 96th

Street

and parked along the waterfront. Another group of

Rebels met them there, having arrived several hours

earlier, to secure the spot.

With the darkness, the slight warming trend of the past few

days had vanished and the night had turned bitterly

cold. They were all bundled up against the freezing

winds.

"Khamsin is loading up now, sir,"

Beth told Ben.

Ben nodded and then surprised everybody when he

turned to Beth and said, "Get me Base Three,

please, Beth. On scramble."

The old Fort Dix airfield down in New

Jersey.

"Go, sir."

Ben took the handset. "Warming them up, Chipper?"

Whatever Chipper said caused Ben first to smile and

then to laugh.

"Taxi them out, Chipper. My people say Khamsin

is right on schedule. You have fifteen minutes

to lift off. Good luck."

"Spotter planes, Father?" Buddy inquired.

"Something like that, son. I hope somebody remembered

to bring the coffee. It's cold as a well-digger's
ass out here."

The coffee was poured into the cups, and the group

squatted down beside their vehicles, to block the

cold hard wind blowing off the river.

All of them had questions they would have liked to ask Ben.

All kept away from the subject, knowing that Ben was

not going to shed any light on the matter. Not yet.

All felt this was to be an "eyes only"

explanation.

"What time is it?" Cooper asked, for the tenth time in

ten minutes.

"One minute later than the last time you asked,"

Ben told him. "Relax. The show is going to begin

in about four minutes."

Thermopolis looked at Ben. "You brought me down

here for a purpose, General. Would you like to tell me

what it is?"

"Not really. You'll be able to see for yourself very

hortly."

"You sure it's going to be worth the wait?"

Thermop-olis asked.

"It will be for me. I can't speak for you or any of the

others."

Beth said, "Spotters report ferries and boats

shoving off, General."
Ben glanced at his watch. "Right on schedule. The

planes should be over the zone in one minute."

"To spot, of course," Thermopolis said, his tone

gin-martini dry.

"Among other things." Ben smiled with his reply,

conscious of all eyes on him.

"I don't think I'm going to like this very much,"

Thermopolis said.

"It's a long walk back to our

sector," Ben said. "And you know what lots of

folks say about the Big Apple: It's a

dangerous city."

"If that's supposed to be funny, it isn't."

"I have a strange sense of humor."

Buddy lifted his night glasses. He could just

make out the dark shapes of the boats as they made their

way slowly out into the river. Far in the distance, the

sounds of old prop-job planes came faintly

to them.

"Those aren't spotter planes," Tina pointed out.

"Too heavy. Those sound like . . ." She whirled and

faced her father.

"... Puffs," Buddy finished it for his sister.

"I have such astute children," Ben said. "Makes me very

proud."

"Puffs," Thermopolis said. "I remember reading
about them. They were used in the Vietnam War, weren't

they?"

"Oh, yes," Ben said. "And used quite

effectively, I might add."

"AC47'S," Buddy took it up. "The

planes are painted all black-awesome-looking.

They are fairly bristling with 7.62- and

.50-caliber machine guns and

20-millimeter Vulcan and 40-millimeter

Bofors cannon. All weapons taken into count, the

Puffs are capable of pouring out some eight thousand

rounds a minute. One Puff can

effectively destroy every living thing in an area the

size of a football field."

"Very good, Buddy," Ben complimented him. He

looked at Thermopolis. "You like rock and roll,

don't you, Thermopolis?"

"Yes. I do."

"Well, get ready for some rock and roll that is

music to my ears. Feel free to hum along if you

like."

"Just think, General: I was actually beginning to like

you."

"There are no gentleman's wars, Thermopolis.

As far as I'm concerned, there never has been one.
There is a winner and a loser in war. And taking

into consideration what is at stake here, I, for one,

don't intend to be a loser. Do you?"

"Putting it that way, no."

All along the shoreline, at spots stretching from

72nd Street up to 86th, great spotlights

clicked on-the same lights that were once used for the

grand openings of movies and Broadway

shows.

The boats and ferries were caught in the strong beams.

Ben started whistling an old tune from back in the

1950's: "Shake, Rattle, and Roll!"

The cold night was shattered as the Puffs unleashed

their fury against the boats and ferries and the army of the

Hot Wind.

Thermopolis stood with undisguised awe on his

face as the Puffs made their slow circles above the

water, the big planes trembling as their payloads

were uncorked, the deadly rain destroying everything that was

in their path.

A single Puff circled the docks where

Khamsin's men were waiting to be loaded on the

boats. The flying tank turned the docks wet and

slippery with the blood of the army of the Hot Wind.

The Puff lumbered on, all guns thundering and

spitting out the deadly hail, destroying anything that
came within range.

There were survivors from the deadly birds, but most were

so equipment-laden they sank like bricks in the cold

dark waters of the Hudson. Those who did manage

to cling to some debris and make the Manhattan

shoreline soon discovered that Ben Raines and his

Rebels were not in the least bit interested in

showing any hospitality toward an avowed enemy.

The men of the army of the Hot Wind were shot as soon as

they touched shore.

Khamsin was learning a hard lesson about engaging in

warfare with Ben Raines: the man was as ruthless as a

grizzly bear protecting cubs. As a friend, Ben

Raines was

generous; as an enemy, he had no equal on the

battlefield.

Khamsin, the Hot Wind, lost approximately

half his army in less than ten minutes.

The boats and ferries sank beneath the surface of the

river with a hiss and bubble. The Puffs winged their way

back to their base, thousands of pounds lighter as their

ammunition was exhausted. Only an occasional shot

was fired from the Manhattan shoreline as the last of the

Hot Wind's army sank into a watery grave.

"Jesus Christ!" Thermopolis said.
Ben cut his eyes to the man. "We just shortened the

odds against us, Thermopolis. By just about half. Now

we really do have a chance of coming out of this alive."

Thermopolis slowly shook his head. "I'm not

condemning you, Ben Raines. You did what you felt

you had to do. It's just that... I had never seen anything

like that before."

Ben took the handset from Beth. "Eagle to Big

Bird."

"Go, Eagle."

"Good job, Chipper. I'll have to put a bonus in

your pay envelope."

Chipper laughed over the miles. "I'll settle

for just wrapping up this job and seeing my wife and

kids again, General. Big Bird out."

"All right, people," Ben said. "Let's go zap some

night crawlers. It's going to take Khamsin

several days to recover from this night."

Not only did the pounding from the Puffs stop Khamsin

dead in his tracks, it had an enormous effect on

the Night People, further weakening their morale. There were

only a few very scattered firefights the night of the

Puffs, as it came to be called. The magic

dragons" brief but deadly appearance stunned

everyone who had never before seen the awesomeness of the

machines.
The morning after the night of the Puffs, Ben drove

down to the killing area. The shoreline was littered with

bodies, as the river gave up its dead, belching the

bodies ashore in swollen death. Rebels were

busy picking up the bodies and loading them on the

barges, where they promptly froze in

grotesque postures of death in the bitter winter

winds.

Another front had moved in during the night,

steadying the temperature for several hours and dropping

a load of snow over the city. Then, at the dawning,

the temperature sank like a rock and everything froze

as the mercury stayed in the low teens. Adding the

velocity of the winds, the chill factor was well below

zero.

"What about activity over there?" Ben asked,

pointing to the New Jersey shore.

"Very little," Ike told him. "It appears that last

night knocked the socks off the Hot Fart."

"He'll find another pair. Bet on that. He

won't try another mass moving of troops. So from

now on, we've got to be on the alert for

infiltrators. He'll be sending in men in small

boats, at night. Ike, let's start hammering

at him again. Three or four rounds, then shift the
location of the tanks. Let's keep it up around the

clock. It's do-or-die time for us. We've

knocked him down, now let's kick him a few

times."

"We'll start throwing stuff at them within the hour,

Ben? That was a hell of a show last night."

"Just as long as we can keep him down and guessing,

we've got a chance."

"The man has no honor." Khamsin spoke the

words quietly. "None. He is void of

morals. The god he worships must be from Hell."

None of the field commanders replied. Like Khamsin,

they were all still somewhat in a state of shock from the

previous night of the Puffs.

"We will have three days of mourning," Khamsin

announced. "For three days we will pray for guidance

and for the souls of our brothers. Although," he was quick to

add, "we all know they are now with Allah."

Everyone agreed that was surely true. With Allah.

Right.

The jarring crash of half a dozen incoming 155's

sent the men diving to the floor. Khamsin was up on

his boots before the dust had settled, cursing

wildly. He shook his fist in the direction of

Manhattan.

A runner from Khamsin's communications center darted
into the room. "Messages, sir."

"What are they? Read them to me!"

"The Judges from the underground want to know why you

didn't tell them of last night's invasion. They

would have initiated a diversion."

Khamsin cursed louder. "Tell them . . . tell

them that I did not wish to run the risk of Ben

Raines intercepting the messages. My

apologies," he added bitterly. "Is that all?"

"No, sir. The units close to the waterfront

are asking permission to return the cannon fire."

"No," Khamsin said wearily. "We can't run the

risk of harming any of our . . . allies." He

spat out the last word. "Tell them to pull back.

We're all pulling back; out of range of the

artillery. God

damn

Ben Raines!"

"Khamsin is pulling his people back, General."

Beth relayed the information to him. "The first units are

already well out of range of our heaviest pieces."

"Tell the gunners to pour it on. Napalm and

Willie Peter. Let's cause them all the

grief we can while we can."

"Yes, sir."
The tank commanders along the Hudson began lobbing in

the most dreaded of artillery: napalm and white

phosphorus. The big 155 SP, capable of

sending a shell screaming for twelve miles,

elevated their nineteen-feet-ten-inch

tubes and began sending out a round a minute. Within

ten minutes, the area from North Bergen down to the

New Jersey Turnpike bridge over Newark

Bay was a smoking, burning hell as the

long-vacant, dust-filled, and neglected

buildings burst into flames.

Ben stood on a cloverleaf of the Henry Hudson

Parkway and watched through binoculars as New

Jersey burned. He was smiling grimly-a smile

that only another soldier could understand.

"General?" Beth said quietly.

Ben turned. She was holding out the handset to him.

"Who is it?"

"Khamsin, sir."

Ben took the handset. "What do you want,

Khamsin?"

"I will overlook your boorishness, General, and be

brief. You are a dead man. Walking around dead.

I am going to destroy you. Whatever it takes,

including my own life, you will never leave that miserable

island of concrete and steel alive."
"There is that old saying about talk being cheap,

Khamsin."

The Libyan cursed him.

Ben broke the radio connection. "He's

losing his cool, gang. But he's still a very dangerous

man-maybe even more so now. I cost him a lot of

face, and with those types of people, that's very important."

"And now?" Jerre asked.

"Nothing has changed. We keep Khamsin on the

New Jersey side of the river and concentrate on

wiping out the Night P. We've got a few days;

it'll take him that long to recover from the mauling we

handed him and to make some plans. Let's get down

to some serious ass-kicking, people!"

But the creepies had vanished. There was not one shot

fired from either side all that day.

"Khamsin's been in contact with them," Ben told his

commanders that afternoon. "They're cooking up something and there

is no point in us sitting around worrying about it.

Let's take this time and strip New York City.

We'll take it block by block and

treasure-hunt. We're going to take everything of

value, and then I just might blow this goddamn

place into oblivion. I don't know; I

haven't decided yet."
"Shore would take a lot of powder," Ike

drawled.

"Not as much as you might think," Ben told him.

"Since I discovered a pocket of

methane gas over near where the kids were found,

I've had some engineers working wherever they felt was

clear of crawlers. The city is sitting on top of

many, many pockets of methane. I may use it.

I don't know.

"For the next few days, we're going to strip New

York City. Start working your sectors. Blow every

bank, inspect every museum and gallery. Go into the

major TV and radio networks and recording

studios and take it all."

After the men and women had left his CP, Ben sat

alone, behind his desk, deep in thought. He looked

up as Jerre entered the room.

"Am I interrupting, Ben?"

"No. Glad to have the company."

"You looked deep in thought."

"I was thinking about all the history I would destroy

if I left this city in rubble. History that

future generations can ill afford to lose. Central

Park, City Hall, Fraunces Tavern, UN

headquarters, and a lot of other places I can't

recall off the top of my head."
"Will there be future generations capable of understanding

history, Ben?"

"Oh, yes, Jerre. Don't ever lose

hope of that. That's what we're fighting for. Our own

survival, to be sure. But much more than that, we've

got to be planning for generations that will be along a

century after we're dry bones in the grave."

"And that really matters to you, doesn't it, Ben?"

"Yes, Jerre, it does."

"Strange comment from a man who was once a mercenary,

don't you think?"

"Maybe." He smiled at her. "But I told

you, I was more a soldier of fortune than a

mercenary."

"You think Khamsin and the creepies will be making more

moves to kidnap me?"

"Yes. More than ever. Although it may not seem that

way to you, for the first time, we've got them on the

defensive. The Night People are fighting scared.

Morale must be terribly low in the Hot Wind's

army. Unfortunately, we're not in a position to do

much about it. We're still stuck on this island."

"But you could break out if you wanted to, couldn't you,

Ben?" She asked the question softly.

"Oh, yeah, kid. That we could do."
She waited for him to elaborate. When he did not,

she said, "What's the matter, Ben? You don't

think I'm the informant, do you?"

"Oh, no, Jerre. Colonel Gray found him this

morning."

"Oh?"

"Yes. A man who'd been with us for several years.

Shows you how long the Night People have been monitoring

us."

"Where is the man?"

"I shot him about two hours ago."

"Come on." Ben shook Jerre's foot. "We're

getting an early start today."

She opened one eye and gave him a bleak look.

"Jesus, Ben! What time is it?"

"Two-thirty. We're going to take a little trip

this morning and see if we can't catch some creepies

with their drawers down."

She swung out of the cot. "What a disgusting thought,

especially at this time of the morning. Where are we

going, Ben?"

"You'll see. Shake a leg." He began rousting

out the others.

After advising them all that if they weren't down on

street level, in full combat gear, in fifteen

minutes, he would reassign them all to the death
barges, Ben walked down the steps and out onto the

bitterly cold and dark street.

Dan was waiting for him. "Good morning, sir!" he

said brightly, and poured Ben a cup of steaming coffee.

He handed him a sandwich.

"Do I dare ask what is in between these two pieces

of bread, Dan?"

"I would not, sir. Just envision several thick

pieces of bacon and try to convince your taste buds

of the accuracy of that."

"I was afraid of that." He took a bite, and then

his face brightened with a big smile. "I'll be

damned, Dan! Peanut butter and jelly!"

"We found a huge underground warehouse fairly

packed with all sorts of goodies: cheeses, powdered

milk, powdered eggs, potato flakes-all sorts

of things. Some of it was ruined, naturally, but quite a

lot of it was still in excellent shape."

"Our luck is changing, Dan. I can feel it."

"I think so as well, General. If our

intelligence was correct, we'll deal the Night

People a terribly crippling blow this morning."

"I'm counting on it, Dan."

Cooper, Beth, Jersey, and Jerre came wandering

out of the building, yawning and stretching and pulling at the
uncomfortable body armor under their shirts.

"Grab you some coffee and a sandwich," Ben

told them. "I'll drive."

"Oh, God!" Jersey said. "We'll never get

there alive. Where the hell are we going anyway,

sir?"

"You'll see. Get in," he said, as the Blazer

was pulled around to the curb. Chuckling, Ben got behind

the wheel. He frowned as three APC'S pulled out

of a side street and took the point.

"You really didn't think we'd let you take the

point, did you, now, General?" Dan admonished

him through the window.

"I could always hope. Come on, let's get this show

on the road. Who is taking point?"

"Buddy. See you at the train station, General."

"Right." Ben blinked his lights a couple of times

and the APC'S pulled out.

"Wow!" Beth said. "These are peanut butter and

jelly sandwiches." She took a big bite and

rolled her eyes in satisfaction.

Ben pulled out andwitha free hand, pointed to the sandwich

in Jerre's hand. "Eat, kid, and be happy. How

long's it been since you had peanut butter and

jelly?"

"Long time, Be ... General."
"You two can relax around us, for Christ

sake!" Jersey managed to speak around a stuffed

mouth. "So why don't you knock off the

formalities. Makes me edgy."

"Maybe you're just horny?" Cooper suggested.

"Put a zipper on it, Cooper! And eat!"

"We have about seven or eight miles to go," Ben

told them. "The others were briefed just before I ordered

that early turn-in."

"I wondered about that," Jerre said, glancing at

him. "You think there might be other informants among

us?"

"I'm sure of it. Probably in all critical

areas. Two more were ferreted out around ten o'clock.

They're either still being questioned or they're dead."

"And our destination on this miserable morning?" Jerre

asked, munching on her sandwich and sipping on the

welcome coffee.

"Grand Central Station, gang. Actually, it was a

terminal, not a station. You follow me in, and stay with

me. We have very good intelligence that the place is

swarming with creepies. The place is about fifty

acres, that's above and below ground. The underground yard

stretches from Forty-fourth to Fifty-ninth Streets.

I have people already in position at Fifty-ninth, ready
to go in. They've found rabbit holes the

creepies have tunneled through. Buddy is hitting the

main concourse first, clearing it. The terminal runs

five stories below ground, and has a maze of old

steam pipes. Going to be a lot of creepies

among those pipes. This isn't going to be either

pleasant or easy. But it has to be done.

We've broken a leg from under the Night People already.

Let's break the other leg this morning."

Ben followed the tanks and APC'S as they turned

south off 125th Street onto Park Avenue and

headed south. Their unusual but tasty breakfast

finished, the passengers in the Blazer tried to relax

as best they could in their uncomfortable battle

harnesses, loaded full with clip pouches and

grenades.

"How do you know the creepies won't be alerted and

waiting for us?" Jerre asked.

"I don't. But we've never launched a night

attack directly at them, so it's something they

won't be expecting from us."

They crossed 116th Street. They had not seen one

living thing since leaving the CP. The city seemed

deserted under the layer of snow still blanketing the

streets. The temperature was hovering right around ten

above, andwiththe winds blowing, the chill factor
was well below zero. The chains on the rear tires of the

vehicles dug through the snow and clanked against the

brick and concrete of the old streets as the convoy

pushed south toward the terminal.

They passed 96th Street, still some fifty blocks

away from their objective.

"You ever ride the trains out of this place,

General?" Cooper asked.

"A few times. I remember the main concourse.

Huge place. The terminal used to be called-by

some-the town square of Manhattan. You could buy a

newspaper from London, have a photo taken, get

your shoes shined, eat some oysters, or play tennis

for about sixty-five or seventy dollars an

hour."

"Lots of people used the trains?" Jersey asked.

was "Bout a quarter of a million people a day, so I

was told. It's an old place. I'd guess

maybe ninety years old."

They rolled past 85th Street. It seemed to the

Rebels that they were visitors on a distant

planet-a cold, barren, lifeless planet. But

they all knew only too well that death waited

around every corner, every turn, in every building, and until

recently, under the very streets they now
drove, the headlights searching the darkness.

"Tunnel Rat to Eagle," the speaker squawked.

Ben lifted the mike. "Go, Rat."

"Swinging over onto Lexington at

Sixty-fourth."

"Pull over and wait for us, Rat."

"Ten-four, Eagle."

"Eagle to Scout Team Three."

"Three."

"Are you in position?"

"Ten-four, sir. Waiting for the commuters."

Ben grinned. "They're in position at

Fifty-ninth and have the holes plugged." Lifting the

mike, he said, "Hang tough and good luck."

"Same to you, sir."

The lead vehicles pulled over behind Buddy's

short column. "Bloomingdale's is just a few

blocks down," Ben said. "You ladies want to go

shopping? Maybe buy some nighties?"

"If they model them, can we watch, General?"

Cooper said with a grin.

"Cooper," Jersey said, giving him an elbow in the

ribs. "I swear to GodI think your brains are

between your legs."

Laughing, Ben got out of the Blazer and into the

bitterly cold night. He walked up to his
son. "Ready, boy?"

"Yes, sir. Dan and Tina are in position on the

west side of the complex, ready to go in." He

grinned, his teeth flashing in the night. "General,

Ike and Cecil are going to be highly irritated

about being left out of his operation, you know?"

"Can't be helped. I couldn't risk the informants

picking up on any transmissions and leaking it."

He gripped the young man's thick, muscular arm.

"Let's go kick some ass, Buddy."

"Good luck, Father."

"Same to you, son."

Back in the Blazer, Ben pulled out behind the lead

vehicles and they rolled past Bloomingdale's

department store. Jerre was looking wistfully at the

huge store.

"You reckon they really have some pretty nighties

left in there?" she asked.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Ben told her. "But in this

weather, do you really want to trade your longhandles

for a silk gown?"

"It's gonna be spring sometime, General. I

hope."

"I feel like I've been cold for a damn

month!" Beth said.
"I got news for you," Ben said with a laugh. "You

have!"

They rolled past Citibank and Citicorp, past

the House of Seagrams and the YWCA. "The

Waldorf-Astoria," Ben pointed out.

"I bet they got beds with mirrors on the ceilings

in there." Cooper grinned at Jerre.

"Cooper," she told him, "just think of your M16

as your pecker. And use it accordingly."

The column stopped at 44th Street. "Jack

'em in," Ben said, bailing out of the Blazer.

"Let's go!"

The sounds of hard gunfire split the night as

Buddy and his team hit the main concourse, catching the

Night People at rest, huddled together against the bitter

cold. The booming and thudding of grenades ripped the

gloom of the city blocks around the famous and

majestic old terminal.

The APC'S and trucks spewed out Rebels. The

tanks spun around in the snowy street, men and women

manning machine guns, ready to chop down any

crawlers who might try to escape the attack above

ground.

The stench of the filthy hit them all hard as

Ben led his team into the main concourse.

"Good God!" Jerre said, wrinkling her nose at
the almost overpowering odor.

Ben lifted his Thompson and gave a black-robed

bunch a short burst of .45-caliber Rebel

retribution. The rattle of gunfire was echoing and

reverberating in the 125-foot-high main concourse,

bouncing back from its vaulted ceilings. Bullets

were whining as they ricocheted off the marble floor and

splattered and flattened against the walls.

"Pick your shots!" Ben yelled over the din.

"Watch for ricochets!"

The move by Ben and his Rebels had caught the

Night People completely by surprise. This location was

deep in controlled territory, and they thought they were

safe. A group of Dan's hand-picked Scouts

had silently neutral-

ized the guards moments before the attack came, leaving

them sprawled in the cold and snow, knocked down and

dead by silenced .22-caliber auto-loading

pistols.

When several hundred heavily armed Rebels came

storming into the huge terminal, the attack had further

demoralized the already low-spirited crawlers.

Sleepy, cold, and hungry, the Night

People could do little for the first few moments except die.

And they died in stinking heaps on the cold floor of the
terminal, their blood staining the filth-encrusted marble.

The main concourse was cleared in only a few

minutes, and teams of Rebels began dragging the

dead outside, to pile them on the street, awaiting

transport to the death barges in the harbor. The

floor could not be watered down, removing the blood,

for the water would freeze seconds after hitting the

floor.

"Gas masks!" Ben ordered. "Tear-gas

cannisters into the lower level!"

The cannisters went bouncing and hissing and spewing their

fumes into the levels below the main concourse.

Those who ran in panic from the blinding tear gas

only ran into more tear gas being tossed down from 59th

Street, and from the street entrances of their

thought-to-be-safe hidey holes. Half blinded

by the harsh gas, the Night People ran right into the guns

of the Rebels and died in bloody stacks amid the

steam pipes of the old terminal.

There was no point in trying to surrender, and the

creepies knew it, and did not attempt it. They

died cursing Ben Raine and his Rebels.

The battle was short, savage, and

bloody. Ben did not order pursuit of the

crawlers below the second level. "Blow it," he

ordered. "Bring it down on them or block them
off."

The Rebels made their way back out onto the

streets around the old terminal and waited while the

demolition teams did their work. It did not take

long for them to plant their massive charges of

C-4 and C-5. At their signal, Ben

ordered his people well away from the terminal and told

the explosives experts to drop the hammer.

The concrete beneath their boots trembled when the

radio-detonated explosives blew. One

section of the building, that part bordering 45th and

Lexington, collapsed, sending up clouds of dust

and raining down bricks and steel and mortar.

Trucks arrived to cart off the frozen dead. "No

point in leaving them here," Ben observed. "Their friends

would eat them."

Ike and Cecil and West roared and clanked up.

Ike bailed out and began cussing and jumping up and

down, yelling at Ben for being a damn fool and why

in hell didn't he let them in on the raid. Then

the stocky ex-Navy SEAL lost his footing on the

ice and snow and did a frantic,

arm-waving ballet before he thumped down on his butt

in the middle of the street.

Ben and Dan were laughing so hard both men were clutching
their sides at Ike's antics.

"Baryshnikov should be here to see those moves,

Fats," Dan stuck the needle to Ike. "He'd

be envious."

"Who the hell is that?" Ike yelled, trying to get

to his feet and only succeeding in falling down once

again.

Even Cecil had lost his irritation and could no

longer keep a straight face.

"Who is Baryshnikov?" Dan yelled at Ike,

spinning around and around on the ice in the street.

"Only a redneck would ask that question, you . . . you

cretin!"

"Redneck!" Ike squalled. "You prissy

limey! Just for that, you'll never get to listen to my

George Jones records."

"Who?"

Dan asked.

"George Jones, you heathen! Everybody in the

world's heard of George Jones. Somebody help

me up, god damn it!"

"Who is George Jones?" Dan asked

Ben.

"He sang country songs."

"From what country?" Dan asked, a confused look

on his face.
"From America!" Ike squalled, getting to his

boots, a clump of snow in one gloved hand. He

balled it and tossed it at Dan, hitting the

Englishman on the forehead.

And in the middle of sprawled death, standing in the

freezing cold, America and England carried on the

Revolution . . . with snowballs.

A blizzard was raging when Ben awakened that morning.

He looked at his watch. Ten o'clock. And it was

cold, the wind howling through the patched-up windows of his

office.

He dressed quickly and stepped into the anteroom. The

rest of his crew was just getting up and dressing. "When

you get some coffee and food in you, Beth, advise

the field commanders to hand out extra rations and keep the

troops in as much as possible. I want guards

changed every hour, and advise the medics to be on the

lookout for frostbite."

"Yes, sir. You want some coffee?"

"It would be much appreciated." Over coffee, Ben

said, "Have the vehicles pulled inside and

heaters placed nearby. Make sure all extra

batteries are fully charged."

He counted heads among the crowd, making sure that

Jerre was present. She caught him looking at her
and as the song goes, for a moment there . . .

But she cut her eyes away and the moment was lost.

After Beth was finished with her transmissions, Ben

took the radio on scramble. "It would be like

Khamsin to try something on a day like this, people, so double

your spotters and change frequently to keep your

eyes fresh. And while we've got the creepies

on the run, the fight is far from over. So stay

alert and do your best to stay warm. This storm looks

like it's going to be a badoneanda long one."

Ben walked back into his office and shoveled some more

coal into the small stove, vented through a window and

temporarily patched. Since the CP changed

frequently, the accommodations were basic at best.

Buddy walked in and warmed his hands at the stove, then

turned to face his father. "I have a bad feeling about this

day, Father."

"So do I, son. What's got your hackles

up?"

"It would be a dandy day for a hit-and-run attack."

"Against whom?"

"Y. This office. Jerre."

"Why not against yourself? Or Tina? Have you given that

any thought?"

"Kidnapping a son or daughter is one thing,

Father. Kidnapping the woman a man loves is quite
another matter."

Ben thought about that for a moment. "It's that obvious and that

well-known?"

"Yes."

"Get some additional people in here, then. And I don't

mean surround the place with a battalion." Again,

Ben was silent in thought. "It would be a suicide

run, Buddy. The lower level of this place has

been checked out and is secure. A street level

attack would be stopped before they reached the sidewalk.

If my intelligence is correct, they want her

alive, not dead. So it's going to have to come from the roof,

and I will not station people up there in this weather."

"I'll move some people in quietly, Father. We'll

be stationed on the stairwells."

"All right, son. Quiet is the word."

Buddy nodded and left. Ben sat down in an old

rat-chewed chair he pulled close to the stove.

He looked up as Beth entered the office.

"General, this storm is really screwing up

radio transmissions. The units are virtually

cut off from one another."

"I was afraid of that. Heads up, Beth. I have a

bad feeling about this day."

She walked to the window and looked out. Visibility
was down to near zero, and she said as much.

"They'll be coming this day. And Khamsin will, too,

I'm thinking. Do we have contact with the units in our

immediate sector?"

"Yes, sir."

"Advise them to go on full alert. I imagine that

Ike and Cec and West have done the same. And

Beth, don't sell yourself short about being on a list

of people the creepies would like to get their hands on. There

are a lot of things happening that, of the people in this section,

only you and I are privy to."

"That has crossed my mind, General."

"Stay on top of it, Beth. When you ladies go

to the John, go together. Don't go anywhere in this

building alone."

"Yes, sir." She fixed a level gaze at

him. "And what about you, sir?"

"I'm an old wolf, Beth. There have been

bounties on my head for the past decade and a half.

You can't poison me and I'm hard

to trap. I'm paranoid by nature." He said the

last with a smile.

"Yes, sir." She left the room.

Ben walked to a window on the alley side and

peeked through the dark drapes. The building across the

narrow alley had been cleared, checked, and
rechecked, but Ben knew only too well the

creepies could have moved in minutes after his people had

made their final check.

The Night People were fighting with desperation riding on their

shoulders, knowing their very survival was at stake. They

would stop at nothing now. If they lost fifty

percent or ninety percent of their people to win, it would

make no difference to them: they could always rebuild their

perverted and hideous kingdom, for their way of life was

a learned thing.

Like so many of the problems that had descended upon the

United States when it was whole, from drugs

to crime, lack of discipline and permissiveness, and

everything related to them, it was a learned thing. And it

could not be treated by a pat on the head and a promise

from the malcontent that he or she would do better.

Ben had always felt that the way to have a crime-free

society was to have no criminals. And for many years in

the Tri-States, they had no crime.

One reason was they had no elaborate criminal

justice system in the Tri-States that catered to the

criminal instead of seeing to the needs of the victim.

Ben turned away from the window and picked up his

Thompson, making sure the drum in its belly was

leaded up full.
He slung it, opened his office door, and stepped

out into the anteroom. He could feel the tension among

his personal crew. They all were feeling that this day was

going to be a bad one.

"Lighten up, gang," Ben said, his voice calming

them. "Whatever comes our way, we'll handle it.

We always have, we always will. History might show us

to be no more than aggressive savages, trying

to shove our way of life down a lot of unwilling

throats. It might show us to be the only force standing

between total collapse and anarchy. I don't know

how future historians will treat us. And to be very

honest, I don't know, really, whether I give a

damn. Brute force and a driving will to survive and

to build a better way of life forged this nation

several hundred years ago. Generations later, the

powers that be forgot that in their quest to nitpick us into a

bunch of whining pansies." He smiled at the

group.

"Anybody got a deck of cards? I don't

think there's a one of you can beat me at gin rummy."

The day dragged on, each tick of the clock seeming

to be as slow as a funeral dirge. They all heard

Buddy and his people get into place inside the building.

Ben pretended not to notice it.

Jerre studied his face for a moment, trying to read it.
She gave up when Ben said, "Deal."

The winds howled and threw millions of bits of

frozen ice against the old windows. Ben had guessed

the

temperature at just a few degrees below freezing,

perfect for snow and sleet. And the snow and sleet would

alternate with the varying thermometer reading. Come the

night, Ben suspected the mercury would drop like a

brick and the temperature would be unbearable,

especially if these hard winds continued, and they

probably would.

The game continued.

Just the faintest of foulness drifted to Ben's

nostrils. Or was his mind playing tricks? He

couldn't be sure. No, there it was again. It was no

illusion. The Night People were very near.

Ben studied his cards, arranged them in his hand, and,

with a smile, laid them down on the table.

"Gin!"

"Damn, Ben!" Jerre said. "Do you have to win all

the time?"

"Name of the game, kid." He met her gaze. "You

know what a sore loser I am."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to read what he

meant, but since she had misread his eyes for years,
she finally gave up.

Ben stood up, slinging his Thompson. It drew no

attention from the others. They all picked up their

weapons whenever they moved around, even within the CP,

and especially on this day.

"I'm going to the head, gang," Ben said

matter-of-factly. "Play a round without me."

Jerre was already shuffling the cards as he opened the

door and stepped out into the office.

Ben slipped his Thompson off safety and closed

the door behind him. There was that terrible odor again. And

it was much stronger than when he had smelled it in the

anteroom of his office. He let his eyes sweep

the floor for wet footprints. He could see nothing

in this hall. But it was a big building, and even though

most of it had been sealed off, that meant nothing. The

creepies could have been working on it for days, or

nights, opening new entrances.

Ben stepped back to the closed door and pushed it

open.

The cardplayers looked up. When Ben spoke, his

voice was just audible over the howling of the winds.

"Jack 'em in, people. Assume defensive

positions. The crud are in the building." He

started to close the door.

"What about you, Ben?" Jerre asked.
"I'm going head-hunting, kid. Watch your ass."

He closed the door and quietly made his way up

the hall. Halfway up the hall, he lifted his

handy-talkie. "Rat?"

"Here, Eagle."

"They're in the building. Very close to me. I can

smell them."

"Orders?"

"Come down to my hallway. Quietly now,

Buddy. And be very careful."

"On my way."

Ben squatted in the dark hallway, the only light

coming from the windows at the street and alley end. He

turned when the fire door at the far end opened,

relaxing as Buddy stepped into the hallway. Buddy

signaled that he would take one end of the hall, his father

the other.

Ben nodded and held up one thumb. He stood and

began moving up the hallway, toward the street

side of the building, his boots soft on the floor.

He paused at each doorway, kneeling down and

sniffing at the base of the door.

On the third door, he hit pay dirt-a pile

of shit would be more like it-as the foulness assailed his

nostrils. Reaching up, he clicked the
handy-talkie's talk button twice, and Buddy

looked in his direction. Ben pointed to the closed

door, and Buddy moved swiftly but quietly

to his father's side.

Ben took a fire-frag grenade from his battle

harness and pulled the pin, holding the spoon down. The

fire-frag is a mini-claymore, perhaps the most

lethal grenade ever manufactured, filled with

ball bearings that spew in all directions when the

charge blows.

The screaming winds picked up in tempo, and Ben

thought for a few seconds of the men and women assigned

to guarding the still-open bridges connecting the island.

They must be miserable. He shook those thoughts away and

cut his eyes to Buddy, nodding his head at the closed

door and smiling. He released the spoon.

His son returned the smile and stepped

back. He kicked the door open, and Ben tossed

in the fire-frag, both of them moving to one side just

as the mini-claymore lashed out its lethal load and

splattered blood and bone and various parts of

anatomy all over the stinking room.

Ben dropped to one knee and Buddy remained standing as

they moved into position and began spraying the room with

.45-caliber slugs, their identical Thompsons

chugging and spitting out death.
"Maintain positions!" Ben yelled up the hall.

Then, as Buddy flashed a beam of light from his

flashlight into the room, Ben methodically shot each

creepie sprawled on the bloody floor.

Insurance against a crawler faking it.

The door behind them and to their right suddenly burst open.

But at the slight sound of the knob turning, Buddy and

Ben had hit the floor and were hammering lead at the

opening doorway, knowing that no Rebels were supposed

to be in any of these rooms.

A wild scream of anguish was cut off in the

man's throat as the Thompson rose with the muzzle

blast and the slugs struck the night creep from his chest

to his face. He was flung backward into the room

just as Buddy rolled in a grenade.

One creepie was flung out into the hall by the

heavy blast of the beefed-up grenade, and a section

of the wall collapsed, further confusing the dimness with a

cloud of dust and plaster. The explosion had

prevented them from hearing the gunfire from Ben's

office.

"Damn, boy!" Ben said. "Where'd you get that hand

bomb?"

"Ordnance just came up with them." Buddy grinned at

his father. "Great, aren't they?"
"Wonderful," Ben said, coughing from the dust and the

debris. "I'll elaborate more when or if my

hearing

ever returns."

They listened as gunfire drummed from the stairwells

and the rooftop of the building.

"They're holding their own," Ben said. "Let's

secure this floor and then grab a cup of coffee."

He dropped the drum and inserted a thirty-round

clip into the ponderous old antique. It lightened

the weight of the old Chicago Piano considerably.

Door by door, room by darkened room, father and son

cleared the floor, finding no more hostiles.

The floor cleared, the men returned to Ben's

office. Ben rapped on the door. "Secure in

there?"

"Secure, sir!" Jersey's voice called.

"Come on in."

Buddy pushed open the hall door, stepping in

front of his father and entering first. The door to Ben's

office was hanging on one hinge, the door

bullet-pocked. Wind and snow were blowing into the

office from shattered windows on the alley side.

A half a dozen dead night creepies lay

sprawled on the floor.

"They crawled right up the side of the building,
Ben," Jerre told him. "Using ropes and

hooks. I guess they thought the noise of the storm

would cover any sound they might make."

Ben nodded, and it was at that point he made up his

mind on several issues that he had been

vacillating back and forth on. "Buddy, take a

team and clear the floor just above this one. And I mean

clear it. Get me some offices about the size of this

one and start setting up communications and heating.

Son?" Ben looked at him. "Blow the buildings

on either side of this one, and in the rear, if possible.

Bring them down. As soon as we get our signals

back with the other units, I'll instruct them to do the

same around the CP'S."

"Yes, Father."

"Let's start packing up our gear, gang," Ben

told the others. "Cooper, help me with the bodies

of this crud."

The two men, one at the head and one at the foot,

began picking up the bodies of the dead creepies and

uncere-

moniously tossing them out the shattered windows to the

alley floor. They would soon lie in

grotesquely twisted and frozen heaps.

Ben summed up his feelings, and the feelings of all the
other Rebels. "If their friends want to dine on these

creeps, they'll have to use a chain saw to fillet

them!"

The storm raged on the remainder of that day and well

into the night. About three hours after dark had slowly

shoved light around the corners of the world, the snow and

sleet stopped and the mercury tumbled. But the wind

kept up its battering and howling.

With the cessation of snow and sleet, radio

communications improved and Ben was able to speak with all

units scattered around the Big Apple.

"Did you get hit today, Ike?" Ben asked.

"Ten-fifty, Ben. We ain't seen nothin" down

here. Been tryin' to contact you all day."

Ben got all commanders on the horn and

quickly explained what had happened and what he had

done about the buildings bordering his CP.

"We'll start doing that this night, Ben," Cecil

told him. "Are we going to raze the city?"

"I don't know, Cec. It really bothers me

to think about doing it. I just haven't fully made up

my mind about that."

"It may come to it, General," West reminded him.

"Yeah. I know. How about the survivors around the

Central Park area, West?"

"Gene Savie and his group?"
"Yes."

"Most of them are New York born and reared. It

makes them nervous to think about the city being destroyed.

The

Underground People don't like them or trust them. I think

Savie and his people are a bunch of candy-asses. For the

most part, this sector has remained fairly

quiet."

"If the weather abates in the morning, we'll all

resume our treasure-hunting," Ben ordered.

"At first light, we'll rotate the teams guarding

the bridges. They've got to be exhausted.

Maintain a sharp lookout for infiltration from the Hot

Wind and his Farts. The Night People are

fighting for their very existence now, and they've started

desperation moves. So heads up, people. Eagle out."

Ben leaned back in the chair in his new office and

tried to put himself in the role of the Night P. What

would he do?

The creepies knew mat the Rebels were scattered

all over the city, from 220th Street in the north

all the way down to Battery Park. Some of the

outposts and observation teams were no more than five or

six people strong.

Would the creeps try to overrun the smaller units
by sheer numbers?

Only as a last act of desperation, Ben

concluded-a kamikaze move when all else had

failed, the Night People dying screaming out their rage and

hate for the Rebels.

Trying to overrun the smaller units would prove

too costly for the Night People, even at this stage of the

war. For the creepies certainly had observed how

carefully the smaller units had bunkered themselves

in, and how deadly their field of fire was.

The Night People had small arms, a few heavy

machine guns and rocket launchers, and a few

mortars. Not even Khamsin could match Ben's

Rebels in terms of firepower, and no

known force on the face of the earth could even come near the

Rebels when it came to morale.

Ben smiled when he recalled the words of that old

Texas Ranger who had said, "It's hard to stop a

man when he knows he's right and just keeps on coming."

Ben concluded that the Night People would keep on with their

harassing actions against the Rebels-not risking too

many lives in doing so.

Of course the deal they had struck earlier about the

use of booby traps was down the tube. From now on

the war would be as dirty and nasty and unconventional as

the human mind could conceive.
Long-range and very secret patrols had reported

back that Brooklyn was, for the most part, clear of

Night P. They had committed everything

to Manhattan. Cecil and Rebet would have to keep

the bridges in their area open. Ben had plans for the

old shipyard-very important plans. Plans that

only he and a very few others knew anything about.

Whatever else happened, those east bridges had

to be kept intact.

Ben rose from his chair and looked in on his crew.

They were getting ready for bed. Ben walked to his

cot, sat down, and pulled off his boots, stretching

out on the cot. It had been a busy day,

and he suspected the following days were going to be just as

busy, or more so. He closed his eyes and let

sleep take him, very much aware that Jerre was in the

next room.

She might as well have been in another galaxy.

Ben and his people resumed their treasure-hunting early the

next morning. The winds continued to blow, and it was

bitterly cold, but Ben and his people had arctic gear

to wear and could stand the harshness much better than the

Night P.

Several times that bitter morning, all within the span

of an hour, Ben and his teams came upon Night People,
huddled in stinking masses on the floors of

buildings. Always before, they could seek the warmth and

security of their deep tunnels to shield them from the

winter-now they had nothing.

Ben and his Rebels shot them where they lay and moved

on. This was total extermination of the subhuman

cannibals. Everyone knew diat Ben Raines and

his people took very few prisoners; if you were foolish enough

to fight him, you accepted that it was a fight to the death.

All over the island, teams of Rebels were stripping

the

city of anything of value. They were blowing bank

vaults and removing any gold they might

find. They discarded the coins and paper money; they were

useless.

"Might make good toilet paper," one Rebel

suggested with a grin, holding up a thick wad of

fifty- and one-hundred-dollar bills.

Other Rebels began stuffing their pockets with paper

bills. It would also be good for starting fires.

Ben had contacted Thermopolis and his people, and the

hippie leader had agreed to go with Ben and his teams.

"You know folk and rock and blues and all that," Ben

told him. "If you want it preserved, come on,

we need the help."

They went first to the Rockefeller Center area and
began sizing up the magnitude of their undertaking.

"Some of you ladies mightwant to visitover there."

Ben pointed to Saks Fifth Avenue. He grinned

at Jerre. "Might be some real expensive

nighties left."

"I just want to get out of this damn cold!" she

told him.

"Okay," Ben agreed. "Buddy, you and

Thermopolis take the RCA Building. I

don't even know if that's where diey used to record

or not. Dan, you and I will take the Museum of

Modern Art. There are supposed to be about

a hundred thousand pieces of work in there."

"If I could find and preserve the work of Cezanne

and Van Gogh," the Englishman said, "I would

consider my life meaningful."

"I do hope the day proves meaningful," Ben told

him, keeping a straight face. "And please let us

not get so wrapped up in exploring that we forget that

behind every door there might be a half a dozen

creepies, waiting to blow us away."

That brought them all back to earth in a hurry. They

stared at the tall buildings around them.

Cooper pointed to a statue at the edge of

Rockefeller Plaza. "Is that someone
important, General?"

"It's a tribute to Prometheus. From Greek

mythology, I think. He stole fire from die

Heavens to benefit mankind. Promethean means

to be creative, courageously original,

or life-bringing."

Thermopolis was looking at Ben. Every day, he

thought, brings out a new facet of the man. I'd like

to walk around inside his head for a few hours. Then

Thermopolis thought about that for a moment and changed his

mind. Might be like walking around the fringes of

Hell.

"Creepiest" Jerre shouted, as she was hitting the

cold concrete and squirming behind cover.

Lead began howling and ricocheting off the snow-covered

sidewalk as the Rebels dived for whatever cover

they could find.

"Whereaway?" Ben yelled, crouched down inside a

doorway.

"That one right there!" Jerre shouted over the din of

gunfire.

"RCA Building," Ben muttered.

"We're closer!" Buddy shouted. "We'll take

it!"

"Have at it!" Ben returned the shout.

"Don't destroy the murals!" Dan yelled.
"They're priceless."

"Right," Buddy muttered, then he and his team were off

and running. They tossed a grenade to blow off the

doors-or part of them-on the lower level and went in

with weapons set on full auto.

But the lobby was deserted. Buddy and his team knelt

down behind whatever cover they could find, and all of them

stared at the immense murals covering the walls,

murals done by Jose Maria Sert, which depicted

man's progress.

"Are we gonna have to tote those things off,

too?" Buddy was asked.

"I suppose. We'll worry about that later.

Did you see which floor the fire was coming from?"

"Third floor," Diane called from across the wide

expanse of lobby.

"Take the point," Buddy told her.

They moved toward the door leading to the stairs.

"Concussion grenade in first," Buddy ordered.

"Toss

one, Pete. Diane, you hold the door open."

Diane jerked the door open and the grenade was hurled

in. If anyone was in there, the force of the concussion would

addle anyone within the range-force of the stun grenade

without destroying anything else, such as stairs or
support braces.

But the cold concrete space was empty. With

Diane leading the way, the team took the steps two

at a time until the now-familiar odor began

to touch them. They slowed and became more cautious in their

advance.

At a wave from Diane, the team stopped and

flattened against the concrete walls of the dark

stairway. Muted voices came to them. Diane

slipped forward and looked through the small

wire-reinforced glass of the metal door.

She smiled and handed her weapon to Pete, then took

two fire-frags from her battle harness and pulled

the pins just as Buddy stepped forward and put his hand on

the doorknob, slowly turning it. He nodded at

her and jerked open the door.

Diane rolled the grenades in and Buddy slammed

the door, all of them hitting the cold stoop and

stairwell.

The mini-claymores blew, the concussion of the powerful

grenades bringing down a shower of dust and

shaken-loose plaster and wild cries of pain from

inside the darkened hallway.

Buddy went in first, followed by Pete, Diane,

Harold, and Judy. Three to the left, two to the

right, their weapons set on full auto. They
cleared the hall of all living and unholy things.

Buddy saw a door open and quickly close. He

ran toward the door and blew it off its hinges with a

burst from his Thompson, then sprayed the interior with a

long burst, hearing the screams from the stinking and dusty

room.

Jumping to his left, he dropped the empty clip

and fitted in a one-hundred-round drum. It takes

a strong man to handle a Thompson for any length of

time with a hundred-round drum in its belly,

for the weight is approximately twenty pounds.

That's more than the old

Browning Automatic Rifle.

"Coming from your left, Buddy!" Diane yelled the

warning.

Buddy dropped to the floor, leveling the powerful

old SMG, and held the trigger back, working the

muzzle from left to right, fighting to keep the weapon from

shooting at the ceiling.

The .45-caliber slugs knocked creepies

spinning and sprawling and howling in pain as the big

hollow-noses tore into flesh and shattered bones.

The dirty, rat-droppings-littered floor became

slick with blood from the dead and dying.

Judy tossed a fire-frag into a crowded room,
the force of the explosion knocking one crawler out a

window. He went spinning and screaming to the

snow-covered plaza below. His howling ended when he

impacted with unyielding concrete.

The firing ceased and the Rebels slowly rose to their

boots.

"Let's clear the rest of the building," Buddy said,

his voice quiet in the now calm but

gunsmoke-filled air of the hallway.

He lifted his walkie-talkie and

advised the Rebels at ground level that the third

floor was clear.

Thermopolis and his people walked toward the

seventy-story-high building.

"Have fun climbing up to the observation deck," Ben

called after him. "It's on the sixty-fifth

floor."

"He needs the exercise!" Rosebud called over

her shoulder.

Thermopolis looked at his wife and bit back the

comment forming on his tongue.

They disappeared into the lobby of the building.

Ben and Dan turned toward the Museum of Modern

Art, not knowing what to expect, but both of them were

expecting the worst. Inside, they paused for a

moment, looking around. It was bad, but not as bad as it
could have been.

Some of the paintings had been slashed with knives;

nearly all had been jerked down from the walls and

thrown to the floor. A lot of them were ripped beyond

repair.

"Mindless wanton destruction," Dan muttered,

squatting down and looking at what was left of a

watercolor. "No rhyme or reason for it." He

reached out to touch the faded colors, then

froze his fingers an inch from the painting.

Ben had turned, watching the Englishman. "What's

the matter, Dan?"

"Don't move, General." He raised his

voice. "All Rebels, freeze where you are!

It's booby-trapped, General. Beth, get

Buddy and his people on the horn. Advise them to back

out slowly, retracing their initial steps."

"Let's go, people," Ben said. "Slow and easy."

Across the plaza, a huge explosion ripped the

air, as a section of the fifth floor of the RCA

Building was torn apart.

Ben and his people, safely outside the museum, waited

behind cover in the plaza until Buddy and his group

had exited the RCA Building and made their way

across the snow-and-ice-covered plaza.
"Tapper and Robin," Thermopolis said, the

emotional pain very evident in his eyes. "Two of

your Rebels that I didn't know by name. At least

two, maybe more. They must have touched something that was

wired to blow."

"I am sorry," Ben said.

"I believe that," the hippie said. "I was under no

illusions that we would all return home en

masse."

"What now, Father?" Buddy asked.

Ben sighed heavily, his breath frosty in the icy

air. "We don't have the time to clear the area floor

by floor. Besides, we'd be sure to lose more people."

He looked at Dan. "Is it worth it, Dan?"

The Englishman shook his head. "Regrettably,

no. Future generations will have to be content to gaze upon

pictures of the great works." He looked back at

the museum. "Goddamn people who would do this.

Goddamn them all to the pits of Hell!"

Ben and his Rebels, and Thermopolis and his

hippie-Rebels, walked slowly away from a

thousand or more years of history. They didn't like

what they were doing, but all knew they had no other

alternative. As for those lost in the explosion, there

was nothing anyone could do. The blast

had been so powerful that the living would have had to scrape
up the dead with spoons.

"Before they reach the pits of Hell," Rosebud

startled Thermopolis by saying, "they're going to have some

Hell on Earth-from usl" She savagely jacked

a round into her AR15.

"Now, dear," Thermopolis said.

"Shut. .. up!" she told him.

"Right," Thermopolis agreed.

The Russian, Striganov, listened as Ben

briefed him on what had taken place that morning.

"For what it's worth, Ben," Striganov said,

"I would have done the same. Perhaps it's time for us

to start looking more to the future, rather than to the past.

We know the mistakes that were made. Perhaps that's all

we can salvage."

"You may be right, Georgi. Any movement up here

while we were gone?"

"Very little. My people found half a dozen or so hiding

places of the odious bastards. They were destroyed where

they lay."

"Intercept any communications from Khamsin?"

"Not a word. It's my guess that he is still trying

to come up with some sort of plan of attack. And

he's having some difficulty in doing so."

"You think the man is insane, Georgi?"
The Russian pondered on that for a moment. "No .

. . no more so than any fanatic. But I think if

he knew he could kill you in the process, he would

cheerfully die accomplishing it."

"Yes. And that is just one of the many differences between us.

Let's have some lunch and start checking out more places.

The creepies could not have booby-trapped every building

in the city."

"Have you made up your mind whether or not you plan

to destroy the city, Ben?"

"Yes," Ben acknowledged, and would say nothing else

on the subject.

The loss of two of his regular Rebels and the loss

of the husband and wife from Thermopolis's group

bothered him, turning him testy. His personal team

knew the signs and left him alone.

Right after lunch, Ben waved his people into cars and

closed-bed trucks. "Where are we going,

General?" Cooper asked.

"Head-hunting," Ben told him. "Just drive.

Head south. I'll tell you when to stop."

It was very slow going, even with the four-wheel-drive

vehicles and chains on the tires. The snow,

covered with a layer of ice, was treacherous.

" 'What was all that stuff I saw being loaded

into the back of that deuce and a half, Ben?" Jerre
asked. "It looks like space equipment."

"Flamethrowers. If you like, I'll give you a

short course on the nomenclature of

flamethrowers, Jerre."

"Thank you, Ben. That's something I have always wanted

to learn about."

Ben chuckled, some of his bad mood leaving

him. "I knew it was, kid. Veer a few

blocks over to the east. I had an idea about an

hour ago. There used to be a lot of places on this

island that needed bringing down. I think today would be just a

dandy day to do it."

Beth had been listening to chatter through her headphones.

"Dan and his people are right behind us, sir."

"Yes. He knows where we're heading. Get me

West on the horn, Beth." He picked up the

mike at her signal. "Colonel, have you or any

of your people inspected any of those old condemned

buildings northeast of the park?"

"Negative, General. Damnit!" The word

exploded out of his mouth and through the speaker. "You're

right, of course. The last place we would think

to look for them would be among the rubble of condemned

buildings. You need some help?"

"Ten-fifty, West. Hold what you've got.
When we start burning them out, they're going to have one

direction to go: south toward you."

"Ten-four, General."

"Dan?"

"Go, sir."

"Split your people. I want the area we spoke about

blocked off on three sides: north,

east, and west. You and your team go in with me."

"Ten-four, General."

"Cut east for a couple of blocks, Cooper."

"To those blocks of abandoned buildings, sir?"

"Yes."

"It don't look like anybody has lived there for a

hundred years, sir."

"It hasn't been that long, Cooper. And for a while,

back in the eighties, Harlem underwent quite a

revitalization period. They just never quite got to these

places. I think that's where the night crawlers are

hiding. At least, a good many of them."

"Underall that crap!" Jerre spoke. "In the

basements of places they thought we'd never look."

"Right, kid. And I almost didn't think of it. If

I'm right, we'll further shorten the odds against us this

afternoon and night. And we will be working in this area until

we've destroyed them all. I've ordered hot

food to be sent to us. It's going to be a long,
cold, and very bloody next twenty-four hours."

Dan's teams worked like well-oiled machinery; they were

moving into position from the moment the trucks stopped.

Ben turned around at the sounds of trucks laboring

over the ice and snow. He smiled as Cecil

stepped out of a pickup and moved toward him.

The men shook hands.

"You know, Ben, when I was up here back in ...

eighty-seven, I think it was, just over there," he

pointed, "I saw some of the most beautiful renovation

work I'd ever witnessed. They were going to raze this

area, I believe."

"Well, let's pick up where they left off, old

buddy," Ben told the black man.

"Right on!" Then Ben and Cecil did some fancy

handshaking while the younger Rebels looked at them and

wondered what in the hell was going on between the

two generals.

"That's kind of a hip way of shaking hands," Jerre

explained to a couple of Rebels, both of them about

nineteen. They would have been very young children when the Great

War ravished the earth.

"What's hip?" the girl asked Jerre.

And at that moment, Jerre felt her age-every bit of

it. "With it," she tried again.
The two young Rebels stared at her.

Jerre shook her head and took one more shot. "Being

different," she said, standing out in the bitter cold.

"Why would anybody want to be any different than

what we are now?" the young man said, just as

Thermopolis came walking up.

Ben had heard the comment, and he caught Thermopolis

looking at him, a slight smile on the hippie's

lips. Ben returned the smile and said, "You think

you can change him, go ahead."

"I wouldn't even try, General," Thermopolis

replied. "It's not that you're such a tough act

to follow, but because you've had him longer."

"Yes," Ben agreed. "There is that to consider.

Where's your wife?"

"Back in quarters." Damn! Thermopolis

mentally fumed. He's got me talking military

now. Shit! Just being around the man is infectious.

"You understand that we're down here for the duration?"

"Perfectly."

"Fine. You work with my team, then. We can work and

argue at the same time."

Killing people is work? "Fine, General." He

walked over to stand by the two generals.

"You two have met, I think," Ben said, pointing between

Cecil and Thermopolis.
"Good to see you." Cecil shook the outstretched hand.

"Sorry about those booby traps. I know what it's

like to lose friends and loved ones."

Thermopolis had learned just recently that Cecil's

wife,

Lila, had been killed during the fighting in the old

Tri-States.

And still they fight on, he thought. But he knew why

they did it. And was glad they did.

They?

he thought. Crap, I've got my butt right in the

middle of it, as well.

"Did I hear you say something about arguing, Ben?"

Cecil asked.

"Thermopolis and I have been looking forward to a good

debate for weeks."

"I hope you realize what you're gettinginto,"

Cecil told Thermopolis. "I've been arguing

with him for fifteen years and don't recall ever

winning an argument."

Beth stepped forward. "The Scouts are all in

position, General. The demolition teams have

planted their explosives and are waiting word."

The demolition teams had lifted manhole covers

and lowered in huge charges. They had stuffed charges
into drain holes and planted hundreds of pounds of

high explosives into the lower levels of basements.

They had worked very fast; it helped to beat the cold.

Ben hoped that the massive explosions would seal off

many of the hidey-holes of the Night People,

forcing them up into this area, or driving them south toward

West and his people.

"Brace yourselves, people," Ben warned. "It's going

to be a mighty bang. Beth, tell them to hit it."

Beth relayed the orders, and the street under their

boots trembled as the charges blew. Huge clouds

of dust shot up into the cold air as Ben was adjusting

the shoulder straps of a flamethrower. At least

thirty other Rebels were doing the same, including

Cecil.

"Burn it!" Ben ordered. "If it'll ignite,

fire it. Drive the bastards above ground."

Ben and his personal team were moving forward before the dust

had settled, Cooper carrying extra twin tanks

of fuel for the flamethrower.

Ben stepped into a building that had been long-abandoned

even before the Great War. A smile touched his

lips as the now-familiar stink of the creepies reached

him. He could very clearly see the tracks of their

shoes in the snow that had blown in through the shattered

windows and empty doorframe.
The steps led straight to a black hole leading down

into the lower level. Old wooden steps that widened

Ben's smile.

"You enjoy killing, General?"

Thermopolis asked, noticing the smile.

"Not particularly. But when I'm dealing with

sub-humans such as these night crawlers, it

doesn't bother me all that much, either." He met

Thermopolis's steady gaze. Still looking at the

man, he said, "Jersey, you and the others spray that

lower level. Let's see how the creepies like

ricochets."

His team stepped forward, and the empty shell of a

building rattled with gunfire and the wicked whining of

lead bouncing off concrete and brick. Screams of

anguish rose from the stinking cold darkness of the

basement as the flattened lead tore into flesh.

Ben stepped forward and triggered the nozzle of the old

flamethrower, the thickened gas whooshing out, setting the

wooden stairs blazing, igniting the dust of the

basement, and creating an inferno in the lower level

of the building.

"Toss some grenades down there, gang," Ben

ordered, as the smoke began billowing up. He

looked at Thermopolis. "You sure you have the
stomach for this?"

Thermopolis's smile was as lean as the

temperature. "You just do your thing, General. I'll

be right beside you."

Twice in the next hour Thermopolis saved

Ben's life by shooting creepies who popped out of the

burning smoking underground and pointed guns at Ben.

Ben grinned at the hippie. "Sure you wouldn't like

to join the Rebels on a regular basis?"

"Thank you, but no. After this is over, I shall have enough

excitement stored in my memory banks to last me

several lifetimes."

"You're all right, Therm," Ben said with a laugh.

"Probably voted the straight democratic

ticket back when such things were around, but you're all

right."

"Goddamnedest compliment I ever heard in my

life," the hippie muttered.

Several black-robes came running out of a burning

building, their underground escape routes blocked by the

explosions that had started this campaign.

Ben seared them with a long burst from the nozzle of the

flamethrower, sending them dancing and howling into death.

Ben slipped into fresh fuel tanks and glanced at

Thermopolis. "Want to try this, Therm?"

The sweet smell of charred human flesh floated
on the cold air and settled into the clothing of the

Rebels.

"No, thank you. Pyromania has never

been an overwhelming compulsion of mine."

Ben laughed at the friendly but caustic remark and

moved on.

Ill

"Colonel West reporting heavy fighting in his

sector, sir," Beth said. "He says his men are

stacking up the creepies like stovewood."

"Good. We've been effective in blocking off

most of their escape routes. We could conceivably

break the backs of the creepies this day and night."

"And then all we have to deal with is Khamsin,"

Thermopolis reminded them all.

"No sweat, Therm," Ben told him. "Trust

me."

"That's the problem," the hippie said dryly. "I'm

beginning to do just that."

The cracking of burning wood, the thick,

sweet-scented smoke, and the occasional collapsing

of a building became familiar sounds in the waning

daylight as Ben kept up the pressure.

"Set charges!" he yelled to the men and women handling

the explosives. "Bring the buildings down on their
heads. You others, use tear-gas grenades to flush

them out." He turned to Buddy. "Son, you

remember that fenced-in area we passed on

the way up here?"

"The one with all the fifty-five-gallon drums

stacked up?"

"That's it. Take some Rebs and some trucks and

get down there. Cut the tops off of them and bring them

back up here. We'll fill them with loose-packed

dirt and saturate that with gasoline. We can use

them for heating purposes and to give us light this

night. Go, boy!"

Buddy was off and running.

"Beth, bump HQ and tell them to get a

truckload of flares up here. When that's done,

tell General Striganov and Ike to go to full

alert-everybody up and ready this night."

"Yes, sir."

Thermopolis was curious about that. "Why those last

orders, Ben Raines?"

"If you were in the creepies" shoes, wouldn't you

call a close ally and ask him to take the

pressure off?"

"Ahh! Yes. I certainly would."

Ben smiled and walked away, whistling an old

tune
from the fifties: "Let the Good Times Roll!"

"Doesn't anything ever bother that man?"

Zipper asked

Thermopolis.

"Yes." His reply was slow as he cut his eyes

to Jerre.

"And she's standing right over there."

The demolition teams began bringing the buildings

down, the shattering crashes sending huge clouds of

dust swirling upward, joining the dark smoke from the

burning building.

Buddy and his teams worked swiftly with the barrels,

filling them with dirt and saturating the dirt with

gasoline. The barrels were placed half a dozen

to a short block, more to a longer block, and

into buildings the Rebels would occupy that cold winter

night. Portable coal-burning stoves were brought

down with the hot food, the Rebels taking shifts

eating and sipping scalding hot coffee. The food

and the coffee chased away the weariness brought on from the

frantic work of that afternoon.

All of the Rebels longed for a hot bath, but all

knew that was impossible. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe. For

now, they would tolerate their grimy hands and faces

and the stale smell from their bodies.
South of Ben's area, the elusive, seldom-seen

but friendly Underground People had taken up

positions in Central Park. Gene Savie's people

were scattered along a dozen-block area, and

Colonel West and his mercenaries had sealed off

86th Street, west to east, over to the Carl

Schurz Park. The Rebels had placed many of the

creepies in a box, and Ben was determined to put the

lid on the box, nail it shut, and bury it.

Then he would deal with Khamsin.

The still-burning buildings cast weird dancing shapes

and shadows flickering across the snowy street as

demolition crews worked in the night, planting more

charges and bringing down more of the old long-abandoned

buildings. As the Night People tried to make their

escape above ground, their underground tunnels

blocked and collapsed, the Rebels shot them as they

ran.

Those creepies who actually made it out of the ruins

had but one direction to run-south-and when they did, they

ran smack into Savie's survivors, the

mysterious Underground People, and Colonel West and his

mercenaries. The few night crawlers who made it

into the park in the curve of the East River were hammered

to the cold earth by lead from hidden machine-gun

emplacements.
Ben sat in the relative warmth of a ruined

building, sipping on a mug of coffee, smiling,

savoring the sweet aroma of hot coffee and the equally

sweet taste of victory. He knew there would

continue to be battles between his forces and the Night People,

probably right up to the moment he would lead his forces

out of New York City- and he would lead them out-b

the back and both legs of the cannibalistic

creepies had been broken.

Thermopolis sat a few feet from Ben, watching the

man munch on a biscuit and sip his coffee. "I

don't suppose," Thermopolis said, "now that you

feel the Night People have been routed, you'd care

to tell us how you plan on dealing with the Libyan?"

Ben met his eyes. "He'll have to come to us."

"Why? Why can't he just sit over there in New

Jersey and starve us out?"

"For one thing, he doesn't have the food to outlast us.

I'm betting I'm right on that. Neither does he have

the patience. Those people aren't accustomed to harsh winters,

and this winter is a long way from being over. He knows

we have him outgunned with long-range artillery. He

has two very shaky allies in Monte and Ashley.

He's going to have to make his move very quickly, or those

two will cut and run. Sister Voleta-and keep in
mind that she is a nut-and her followers,

all trash and scum, will soon weary of the waiting;

I've dealt with them before. Therefore, to keep his army

intact, Khamsin will have to come to us."

Especially after I put the needle to him,

Ben thought.

"You want him to come to us, don't you?"

"Yes. Now that his forces have been cut in half."

Thermopolis sipped his coffee-real coffee, now that

a large warehouse had been discovered in the city-and

studied Ben Raines. Jersey and Beth and Jerre

were all huddled together. He didn't think they were

asleep, but they weren't far from the arms of

Morpheus. Cooper and Buddy and a few other

Rebels were watching and listening to the exchange.

"You could get us off this island right now, couldn't you,

Ben Raines?"

Ben smiled at the man. "Now why would you think a

thing like that, Therm?"

"Because you're sneaky and calculating and would never let

yourself be put in a box without an escape hole,

that's why."

But Ben would only smile and offer no comment.

"If you have a plan," Thermopolis pressed, "and

something were to happen to you, how would the rest of us know what

to do?"
"Assuming I have a plan, there will be others I will have

taken into my confidence. Relax, Therm, we're

going to win this fight."

"And the next one and the next one and more after that, right,

Ben Raines?"

"Sure. Many years of fighting face us. You and your

bunch better stick with us, Therm."

"Why?"

"Simple. You're marked now. All up and down and

across the nation, the word has gone out among the filth and

crud and warlords and what-have-you: the hippie has

traded his peace symbol for a gun. . . ."

"But we've always carried guns."

"But you never before linked up with me, Therm. You were

pretty much left alone because you people would fight if

pressed into it. Now look at you. Combat boots,

body armor, battle dress, and you're commanding your

own detachment, a part of a larger army. Ben

Raines's Rebels. And whether you like it or not,

you'll leave here knowing a hell of a lot more about

survival than you did coming in. And you'll put it

to use."

"So?"

"Other small groups of people who think like you-and I'm

not saying your way of thinking is wrong, because
it isn't-will join your group, your commune, whatever you

call it. Your ranks will swell and you'll have a

settlement, a town, with schools and medical

facilities and so forth. And others of a different ilk

will try to take it from you. And what will you do?" Ben

shrugged. "Fight. . . it's human nature."

He smiled at the hippie. "Welcome aboard,

Therm."

Thermopolis did not return the smile. "All that

you just said need not necessarily be true."

"Ah, but it is, my friend. You're not going to allow

what you have built and what you will build to be taken from

you. For all your beads and long hair and noble words,

you and I are not that much different."

"The hell you say!"

"Don't you have rules widiin your commune?"

"Of course," Thermopolis said indignantly, but

with a sinking feeling that he was going to lose this debate.

Bastard was tricky.

"Why do you have rules if you're such a free spirit?"

Thermopolis pointed a finger at Ben. "We have

rules, not inflexible laws like you and your group."

"Bullshit, Therm. What do you do when one of your

group turns bad and rapes or kills or

steals?"

"That has never happened since we've been together."
The son of a bitch is about to trap me again,

Thermopolis thought.

"Why hasn't it happened, Therm? If your

society is so free and open and so forth? You just let

in anybody who comes wandering up, right?"

"No, Ben Raines, we don't do that."

"Ah! You don't. So you must have a certain code,

or set of laws-

rules,

since we're playing semantics here-that you go by,

right?"

"Yes, Ben Raines," Thermopolis said

wearily. "We do." Bastard!

"You have schools, Therm?"

"Of course, we have schools!"

"We have schools. You have medical facilities?"

"Of course, we do!"

"So do we. Is there a system of government within your

organization? Someone to whom people come to make the final

decisions."

"In some cases, yes."

"And that person is ... ?"

"Me, Ben Raines!"

"And there are basic . . .

rules
that anyone joining must agree to abide by, right?"

"Yes," Thermopolis sighed.

"Do you have a system worked out as far as who does what

if you are attacked?"

"Yes, Ben."

"So you have an army. I'm sure you call it a

home defense force, or something like that. Maybe it

isn't even named. But you have, nevertheless, people who give

orders and people who take them, right? If you didn't,

the force would be unworkable, right?"

"Yes, Ben."

A crashing explosion and the following sounds of a

building coming down halted the exchange momentarily.

"Are you and your group stagnant, Therm?" Ben

picked it up.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you content with the status quo? Do you experiment with

food crops, seeking ways to grow more and better

food, say, without the use of chemicals that

ultimately poison the earth?"

"Yes, goddammit!"

"So do we. Do you believe now, or before the war, that

animals of the forest should be hunted for sport?"

"No, Ben Raines. I never thought of that

as sport."

"Neither did I. Are you or were you opposed to the
trapping of animals?"

"I used to destroy traps whenever I found them. I

think trapping is cruel."

"Well, now, isn't that quite the coincidence? So do

I.

Damn, Therm, if we keep going this way,

agreeing on everything, we're likely to discover that

we're soul-mates, or something like that."

"Good God, spare me that!" Thermopolis's comment

was Mojave-dry.

"Oh, we'll always have something to argue about, Therm.

But there isn't fifteen cents' worth of real

difference between us."

Thermopolis looked at him, clearly disgusted with

himself. "Music!"

Ben laughed. "I don't care what kind of music

you listen to, Thermopolis. Just as long as you

don't try to force me to listen to it."

"I give up," Thermopolis said, waving his hand.

"You may be a bastard, but you probably can't help

it."

Ben jerked his .45 out of leather, jacked the hammer

back, pointed the muzzle at

Thermopolis, and pulled the trigger.

Thermopolis felt the heat of the big slug as it
passed within an inch of his right ear. The events had

taken place so swiftly he had not had time to exit

the backless chair in which he'd been sitting.

He heard a choked-off scream behind him and looked

around. A black-robed creepie was draped over the

windowsill, blood leaking out of his bullet-torn

throat. The creep bubbled and gurgled and then was

jerked out of the window by a couple of Rebels. He was

finished with a single shot to the head.

"Sorry about that, Therm," Ben said, easing the

hammer down on the .45. "But I didn't have time

to warn you."

"Perfectly all right, Ben Raines." He rubbed

his right ear. "I thought I'd said something to irritate

you."

Ben smiled and shook his head. "Let's get a

few hours' sleep while we can. I have a gut

feeling that Khamsin is going to pull something this

night."

"Let them come, let them come," Ike whispered

into his headset mike, as his eyes pierced the

darkness through night glasses.

The tanks had lowered their cannon to the

minimum elevation. Rebels knelt and lay behind

.50-caliber machine guns. Mortar crews were

constantly changing angle,
matching the slow movement of the dozens of light boats

being paddled and oared across the Hudson from the slips

at Hoboken to the docks along Eleventh Avenue,

Manhattan side.

"Flares!" Ike ordered.

A dozen flares were fired into the air, their

brilliance lighting up the night sky and trapping the

Hot Wind's men in a blaze of artificial

light.

"Fire!" Ike yelled.

From 14th Street all the way down to Clarkson the

shoreline trembled and thundered with gunfire.

"Flares!" Georgi Striganov ordered, from his

position on the river's edge at 155th Street,

miles north of Ike's position.

And Thermopolis lay in his sleeping bag and looked

at Ben. The general was sitting up, rolling a

cigarette and chuckling softly.

"Is all this a joke to you, General?"

The others, including Buddy, lay awake in their

sleeping bags, listening.

"Oh, no, Therm. War is never a

joke. But victory is very sweet. I would

imagine the Hot Wind tried to put a thousand men

on the island this night. He lost them all. That
knocks the odds down to just about even."

"And now what, Ben Raines?"

"Well, Thermopolis, in the morning, we put it

to a vote among all the Rebels and the Russians

and the Canadians and the hippies and Emil's group

and the Underground People and Gene Savie's bunch."

"Put what to a vote?"

"You're going to be amazed, Therm." Ben ground out

his cigarette and slipped back into his sleeping

bag, closing his eyes.

At dawn, the shoreline was littered with the washed-up

bodies of the men of the Hot Wind. They lay frozen

and stiffening in the cold air.

"Beth," Ben said, "get me all commanders on the

horn."

"On scramble, sir?"

Ben paused. "No. Let Khamsin hear this. As

a matter of fact, broadcast some bullshit for a

few minutes to make sure they've got us."

Beth opened the frequency and proceeded to say a

large and very profane number of highly

uncomplimentary things about the Hot Wind,

his mother and father, and any brothers and sisters he might

have had, and even insinuated some unhealthy relationship

between Khamsin and a goat, back when Khamsin was a

boy in Libya. Then, with a satisfied smile on
her lips, she contacted all commanders and handed the

mike to Ben.

"You amaze me, Beth!" Ben said. "I didn't

even think you knew words like that!"

"Our countries may no longer exist, General, but

I'm still a Jew and that lousy no-good bastard across the

river is still an Arab terrorist." Then she spoke

in very fast Hebrew.

"What did you just say?" Thermopolis asked her.

"I prayed that a camel would chew off his

testicles!"

"My word!" Dan said, pausing in sipping his morning

tea.

Ben sat down in a battered old chair, threw

back his head and laughed.

He wiped his eyes and picked up the mike.

Khamsin had been notified and was listening, shaking,

livid with rage. He muttered dark threats about

what he would do to a certain Jew bitch if he ever

got his hands on her.

"This is General Ben Raines," Ben

began. "From all reports received over the past

twelve hours, it's apparent that we have broken the

backs of the Night P. That does not mean that we have

wiped them out. We'll be fighting them for some time
to come. But they are no longer the main threat.

"Our main concern now is that silly bastard across the

river in New Jersey. The Hot Fart."

Khamsin began jumping up and down, screaming

curses upon Ben's head.

"We could roll right over into New Jersey and kick

his ass, but the man has no honor and none of us could

trust him if he said we would be allowed safe

passage across the bridge."

"No honor!" Khamsin squalled. "Kick my

ass!" He picked up a chair and hurled it across

the room.

Sister Voleta was listening in another section of the

battered city. She had called for a meeting with

Monte and Ashley. Both men had crossed back

into New Jersey to join Khamsin and his people. Sister

Voleta listened and shook her head.

"Typical Ben Raines," she said. "Don't

fall for it, gentlemen. I know the man. Buddy

Raines is my son."

Both knew that, but still found it hard

to believe. Sister Voleta was a pure basket

case, but as is often the case, a highly

intelligent one.

"Ben is playing with Khamsin. And if Khamsin

buys it, Ben will destroy him. Bet on it. You just
listen, and you'll see what I mean."

"So, to all forces fighting under my command, here it is;

put it to a vote. That's the Rebel way. If the

Hot Wind wants this city so badly, all right,

we'll just invite him over and he can damn well

try to take it. Personally, I don't think that

ignorant headien has the balls to do it. So

we'll see. Vote on it, people. Let me have your

reply by noon. Eagle out."

Khamsin was screaming his rage, pacing the office,

waving his arms, yelling curses.

"If he takes Ben up on his offer," Sister

Voleta said, "we don't go. With our people, we can

lie back and wait until Ben kicks

Khamsin's butt-and he will. Believe it. But Ben

will lose some people doing it. Then, as Raines tries

to leave, we ambush him."

"I like it!" Monte smiled.

"So do I," Ashley said.

Sister Voleta smiled.

"Heathen!" Khamsin screamed, slamming both hands

down on a tabletop. "How dare that filthy rabid

dog call me a heathen!"

Ben looked out over the ruined and still-burning sector

of the city. Bodies of night crawlers lay like
huge roaches, sprawled on the dirty, sooty

snow. "Collect all weapons and ammo," Ben

ordered. "We're going to need them."

"The bodies, General?"

Ben hesitated. The death barges were full of

frozen creepies, and his people were getting tired of

hauling away dead crud. "Throw them on what's

left of the still-burning buildings. Burn them."

The cold winter air stank of death, the smell was

trapped in their clothing and seemed a permanent stink

in their nostrils.

"Have you received a report from West on last night's

fighting, Beth?"

"Hundreds of dead creepies, sir. Tina's

working it up right now. Buddy and Thermopolis are

working up a guesstimate of the dead up here."

"Our losses, Beth?"

"Five dead, fifteen wounded, one seriously.

Most of the wounded were transported to the hospital."

"Give the orders to wrap it up here,

Beth. Let's head back to the CP for a warm bath

and a change of clothes."

A smile creased the woman's grimy face.

"No one's going to gripe about that order, General."

They bathed in warm water and then rinsed off under a

cold shower-quickly. The smell of smoke and dirt and
death was tossed out into the streets and into the alleys and

quickly froze.

Jersey tapped on Ben's door just as he was

finishing shaving. "Come."

"Report from the Underground People, sir. They say the

Judges left the city early this morning. Before

dawn. I don't know how they'd know that. But they were

pretty positive about it."

Ben slapped on some expensive after-shave he'd

found in a department store. Jersey stood staring at

the bullet scars that pocked Ben's hide. Ben

slipped into a thermal

undershirt and then into a field shirt, hooking his body

armor over that.

"If it's true, and I have no reason to doubt

it-those Underground People are a strange and mysterious

bunch comx means the creepies are just about finished.

We'll have little potboilers with those left in the city,

but for the most part, it's over with them. Any

word yet on the voting?"

"I haven't heard, area-wide, sir. But up

here, including the hippies and Emil Hite's

bunch, it was unanimous that we stay and finish it with

Khamsin."

Ben turned to face her. "Not one negative
vote?"

"No, sir."

"I figured Thermopolis would cast a negative

vote just to be ornery. He got hot the other night

when I told him that back in the days when this country

was more or less whole, if a person didn't

vote, they had no right to bitch about what was happening

within and without their government. Of course, I didn't

believe that then and don't now, but I enjoyed getting

his goat."

Tina stepped into the office. "Voting is in,

Dad. The only people who voted against inviting

Khamsin in and kicking ass were Gene Savie's

people."

Ben nodded his head. "I expected that. Hell with the

Savies. Jersey, have Beth call for a meeting with the

commanders, up here." He looked at his watch. "As

quickly as possible."

For the first time, Ben met with a

representative of the Underground P. The man was very

pale and wore dark glasses against the reflected

glare of wan sunlight off the snow. But he looked

to be in excellent physical shape.

"Paul," he said, introducing himself and shaking

Ben's hand. "Are you going to destroy the city,

General?" Paul came right to the point.
"I don't know, Paul," Ben lied. "If I

did, how much of a hardship would that be for you and your people?"

"Very little. There are many cities. You realize, of

course, that you have not destroyed the Night People?

There are several thousand still in the city, and that many more in

other boroughs."

"Yes, I believe that. Leaderless and confused.

They'll still present something of a problem. You're

sure the Judges have left the city?"

"Oh, yes. They went up into Canada.

Montreal, I would think."

Striganov, Rebet, and Danjou stirred at that

news.

"To start a new colony of creepies?" Ike

asked.

"No," Paul said. "To join the one already there.

It's worldwide, ladies and gentlemen. The perversion

began more than a hundred years ago. It

skyrocketed after the Great War. I would guess there

are several million of them around the globe.

Believe me when I say that Hawaii is now

anything but a paradise."

"I think you said the same thing, Dad," Tina

reminded her father.

"Yes," Ben remembered. "Well, right now
let's talk about defeating Khamsin."

"Why did you throw down such a challenge, General

Raines?" Paul asked.

"Khamsin has long-range artillery. We have more,

but his is ample. Now that he no longer has

to worry about harming any allies in this city, he could

do us some damage if this thing settled into a battle

of cannons. I'd rather have him over here for several

reasons. One, by now, we're all familiar with this

city-we're dug in deep and tight. Two,

Khamsin does not know the city. Three, Khamsin

is not a street-fighter; every time we've got him in

a city, we've kicked his butt. He's a

terrorist and not a very good field tactician. Not

when it comes to moving around big armies.

"Now then, I've got people working right now planting

charges on all the bridges connecting this island. I

have other teams working at making certain there

won't be a boat or a ship or a barge or a

ferry left that'll float when we decide to pull

out. And when we do pull out, it's going to be a

wild, mad run for it."

"Are you going to tell Savie and his people about this

plan?" Paul asked. "I see they have no

representative present."

"No, Paul, I don't intend to inform them of
anything. I don't trust them."

"That is a wise decision," Paul said.

"West, what is your opinion of Savie and his

group? You've been working fairly close with them for a

few days."

West sighed. "I just don't know, Ben. You

remember that Savie told you that originally there were

thousands of people like him. I don't believe that. There

is no sign that the park has ever sustained more gardens

than it has now. I think he told you a

bald-faced lie about that. Also, they never seem

to mix it up with the Night P. Not directly. They

burn up a lot of ammo, but account for damn few

bodies. They're either the worst shots in the history

of warfare, or they're deliberately missing."

Ben looked at Paul, the man's eyes unreadable

behind the dark glasses. "Your opinion,

Paul?"

"Like Mr. West, I don't know. I've never

fully trusted any of them. But I do not think they

are in any direct cahoots with the Night P. Not

anymore. I ... well, I think they're just very

self-contained and selfish people. Very snobbish people. As

to them not being able to hit anything with weapons ... I

think they have never had to become proficient with
weapons, and now-for some reason-they have become very

frightened people. I also think that they, long ago, made a

deal with the Night P. Perhaps that agreement fell through

some months ago. I've given that some thought over the

past weeks. That's what I lean toward."

"You mean, sort of a live-and-let-live

policy?" Ike asked.

"Yes. Precisely. Then the Night People-this is

conjecture, please understand-became greedy, or

regretted their agreement, and began turning on

Savie and his people. But as I said, over the past few

months, my people seldom ventured above ground."

"If they collaborated with the cannibals, then that

makes them just as bad as the creepies," Tina said,

her expression that of someone who had just tasted something very

unpalatable.

Several others muttered about what ought to be

done to those so-called survivors around Central

Park.

Ben held up his hand for silence. "We have no

proof, people. Let's don't condemn them without some

proof."

Thermopolis stood up. "Ben Raines, it isn't

reasonable that a small group of people could survive in

rtiis city for almost fifteen years-not only

survive, but live well- surrounded by thirty or
forty thousand of these cannibals."

"Just relax, people. I've had my own suspicions

of Savie and his people since long before I first met with

them. But we're not going to do anything just yet. I

might decide to use them as grist for the mill. So

to speak," he added dryly.

They all knew better than to push for any further

details. But they all knew that Ben Raines could

be a very vindictive man if pushed. None wanted

to be in the shoes of Savie's group if they had

collaborated with the Night P.

"We're going to let Khamsin bubble in his own stew

for a few days," Ben said. "And while he's doing a

slow burn," Ben smiled, "and he will be doing a

slow burn, we'll take that time to formulate

plans, resupply, rest, and go over

equipment." He stood up. "Now let's get

down to the bolts of this operation. We got the nuts

waiting for us across the river."

"Emil," Sister Sarah said to the little con artist,

"what did our friend Thermopolis say after returning

from the meeting with the Great General Raines?"

Emil glanced at the woman. Since he had been

in New York City, he had almost forgotten about his

scam and his fictitious god Blomm. Time to be
thinking about that. For if Ben Raines said they would be

home by spring, they would be home by spring. Time

to crank up the old scam machine, he reckoned.

"We shall be home by spring, Sister. Just in time for the

planting of our gardens."

"I will be glad, Brother Emil. This place is

so dreary. And I do miss your sermons and dances of

praise to the Great Blomm."

God!

Emil thought. still

hope she don't ask me to dance today. All this snow

and ice and I'd bust my ass for sure.

"And I miss doing them, Sister. But I have been in

touch with Blomm in private-it's the best I can do

with all the action around us. He has not forgotten us.

Now run along, my little chickie. I must

pray."

Thermopolis and Rosebud had been standing close enough

to hear the exchange. After Sister Sarah had gone

her way, Thermopolis smiled and said, "How long

have you been running this scam, Emil?"

Emil looked around frantically and put a finger

to his lips. "Shush that talk!" he whispered

hoarsely. "You'll

call down the wrath of Blomm upon your head."

"Blomm's butt!" Rosebud said.
Emil cast his eyes Heavenward and clasped his hands

together. "Forgive them, O Great One. They know not of

whom they speak."

"It doesn't take you long to get back into your

act," Thermopolis told him. "I ask again:

How long have you had this scam running, Emil?"

"Oh, piss on it!" Emil muttered. He

walked to the couple. "Years."

"Oh, I'm not condemning you, Emil. Whatever works

for you." Thermopolis smiled at him. "I ran

into an old friend of yours earlier this summer."

"Oh?"

"Francis Freneau."

"Crap!" Emil said. "Long Dong himself."

"I didn't tell him that so-called

"Heavenly explosion" that sent him galloping out of

Louisiana was a rocket fired from Big Louie's

camp out in Kansas."

"Thank you. How in the hell did you know that,

Thermy?"

"Friends of ours have a small commune out there. We

talk back and forth by shortwave equipment."

"How is that jerk, anyway?"

"Doing well. He has him a small group of

followers up in the hills and hollows of
Kentucky. He's gone into snake-handling."

"Good! I hope one bites him on the d . . ."

He lookedat Rosebud and clamped off the last

bit. "dis . . elbow," he finished it.

She laughed at the expression on his face.

"Snake-handling!" Emil shuddered. "I knew he

was crazy. I didn't think he was ignorant!"

"He's defanged the ones he handles."

"I should hope. What's he have to say about me?"

"Glowing praises. And that's the truth. He says

as long as you leave him alone, he'll leave you

alone." Thermopolis laughed. "He told us that

after that rocket blew-and he still isn't convinced that it

wasn't the god Blomm-he

couldn't get it up for a month."

"Serves him right. With what he's got to offer, he

needs a rest."

Rosebud shook her head and laughed. "Hasn't

anybody ever told you that it isn't the size of the

boat, but rather the motion of the ocean, Emil? And," she

added, "a certain emotion called love has a lot

to do with it, too."

"Love, baloney. I been in love lots of

times." He sighed and his shoulders slumped. "No .

. . that's a lie. I don't think I ever have. I

been too busy chasin' women to fall in love. In
heat, yeah! Love, no."

"You're going to look up one of these days, Emil,

and there she'll stand. The girl of your dreams."

"Tell you good folks the truth, I kind of like things

the way they are now." Sister Susie walked by and

smiled at him. Emil grinned as he eyeballed

her posterior. "See what I mean? Ta-ta,

folks. I think Sister Susie needs some

counseling." Emil went tripping off behind Sister

Susie.

"He's incorrigible!" Rosebud said.

"True. But it's like Ben says: His followers know

it's a con, and Emil doesn't hurt

anybody."

"How is the, ah, situation between Ben Raines and

Jerre?"

"No better. It never will be any better, and Ben

knows that, I think. I think right now the both of them

are having a good time snarling at each other."

The tension was, as the saying goes, thick enough to cut

with a knife.

Ben sat in his CP, alone with Jerre, who had

been given the job of figuring out how long their

existing supplies would last, and it wasn't a job

she was particularly thrilled with. She made that clear
by muttering under her breath from time to time.

Ben looked up from a city map. Jersey and Beth

and Cooper were in another office, the door closed.

The silent but stinging vibrations-mostly bad-that had

been

bouncing around between Ben and Jerre had gotten too much

for them to take.

"Jerre, if you don't like that job, give it to someone

else to do. But please stop with the mumbling."

Silence from the outer office.

"That's better. Thank you." Ben returned to the

studying of the maps. The George Washington

Bridge could not be used. So that meant that

Khamsin-if he crossed over onto the

island-would have to go all the way up to the Tappan

Zee Bridge, or come all the way down to Staten

Island and cross over into Brooklyn, then use one

of the three bridges at the lower end of

Manhattan.

And Ben didn't want that. He wanted Khamsin

to come in from the north.

But how to get him to do that?

Mutter, mumble from the other room.

With a sigh, Ben pushed back from the desk and walked

to the open door. "Why don't you just give me a

ball-park figure as to supplies, Jerre?"
She looked up for a few seconds, then read from a

legal pad. "About twenty-five thousand rounds of

ammo for each Rebel. Several hundred grenades

per Rebel. Enough food to last for approximately

a year. Approximately twenty thousand

AKBLEDG'S taken from the dead creepies, and half

a million rounds of ammo." She plopped the pad

onto a desk. "You want more?"

"No, that will do. That pretty well matches up with the

first report."

She glared at him. "You mean . . . you already had

these figures?"

"Of course. I always have someone do a

second report. That cuts down on the chance for

error."

Another round of low muttering while Ben stood and

smiled at her.

Dan entered the offices and almost took a step back

as the vibrations from the man and woman struck him.

"We found what you requested, General. Some of them

are a bit rat-chewed, but most are in good shape."

"Very good, Dan." He looked at his watch.

Plenty of time. "Let's start getting them up and

flying. That should really set the Hot Wind to puffing and

blowing."
From Castle Clinton in Battery Park, all the

way up to the Bronx County line, flags began

going up. American flags, Canadian flags,

and Russian flags. Dan had sent people over to the

UN building and found enough flags for the duration. The

entire waterfront began to resemble a

Tri-Country flag day celebration as the

multicolored banners fluttered in the cold wind.

On the New Jersey side, this was pointed out to an

already highly irritated Khamsin. It did nothing

to improve his dark mood.

Ben had asked Thermopolis to write a song, and

he had swiftly composed a little ditty that,

if the countries still existed, would have done

absolutely nothing to improve relations between

America and the Arab world, since the song was about

several past Arab leaders and compared them to what

normally falls behind certain disagreeable pack

animals of the desert.

Then Ben set up broadcasting equipment and

Thermopolis, strumming a guitar, began serenading

Khamsin and the troops of the Hot Wind.

Since Khamsin's idols were such wonderfully noble

and deeply religious people as the Ayatollah

Khomeini, Muammar al-Qaddafi, and other

terrorists, and since Thermopolis used words that were
somewhat less than complimentary in describing those people,

Khamsin almost had a stroke when Thermopolis's

voice blasted out of the speakers.

Khamsin immediately ordered all radios to be turned

down and ordered all troops into prayer, beseeching

Allah to strike Ben Raines dead on the spot.

Please?

Allah must have been taking a nap that day, for Ben

Raines remained very much alive and well in

Manhattan and was thoroughly enjoying sticking the

needle to Khamsin.

Even Jerre's mood improved as she

listened to Ther-mopolis sing his songs, many times

making them upas he went along. Emil wrote a

little ditty about Khamsin, and he and Thermopolis

joined voices and words. Then everybody started

writing songs about Khamsin, and the airwaves were

filled with song. Not a whole lot of talent, but

everybody seemed to have a good time. On the

Manhattan side of the Hudson, that is.

Ben ordered that the songs be taped so they could be

played around the clock.

"Get Khamsin on the horn, Beth," he

requested.

But the Hot Wind was so angry he refused to speak
with Ben.

"Just as well," Ben said. "Beth, how about you and some

of the others getting together and serenading

the

Hot Wind and his troops with some happy Jewish

songs. That ought to really set his cork to popping."

Upon hearing Beth and other Jewish Rebels singing

songs in that hated language, drifting across the

cold waters through massive speakers set up along

the waterfront, Khamsin ordered his people to pull

back, out of range of the concert speakers.

Khamsin went to sleep that night with the

unholy melodies still rambling around in his brain.

He ground his teeth together and cursed Ben Raines in

his fitful and restless slumber.

But not all the Rebels took part in the serenading of

Khamsin and his army. Many worked through the day and night

reinforcing positions, mining bridges, and laying

electronically detonated charges all around the

city, smiling and humming as they worked.

Ben went to sleep that night smiling. And not even the

ever-present image of Jerre before his eyes could

erase the smile on his lips.

He awakened abruptly as the sharp stink of Night

People filled his nostrils. In the darkness, Ben rose

and quickly dressed, buckling his body armor in
place. He

picked up his Thompson, clicked it off safety,

and slipped into the anteroom. The smell faded as

he left his office. He looked around at the

sleeping forms. Ben touched Buddy on the shoulder and the

young man came awake instantly.

Ben knelt down and whispered, "Slip into my

office and take a good whiff."

Buddy was back in a few seconds. He sat on

the edge of his cot and pulled on his boots.

"Creepies in the building for sure," he

whispered. "I think they've managed to work their way

into the closed-up rooms next to your office."

"Probably scaled the building." Ben woke the

others and alerted them with soft whispered words. "Heads

up, gang. We got creepies in the building."

Before everyone could dress, one entire wall of

Ben's office blew out in front of a massive,

almost deafening explosion. Had Ben not awakened, he

would have certainly been killed.

The explosion knocked everyone sprawling as small

items became lethal objects, hurled in front

of the blast.

Ben was knocked through the closed hall door and found

himself sprawled on his back in the dark hallway.
He had lost his grip on his Thompson.

As dark shapes moved toward him, their body odor

leading the way, Ben shook his head to clear the

cobwebs, and clawed out his locked and loaded .45.

He emptied the weapon into the knot of creepies,

then jerked a grenade from his battle harness, pulled

the pin, and hurled the grenade toward the far end of the

hall.

He scrambled on his hands and knees back into his

debris-filled office and found his Thompson just as

the grenade blew. Screaming bounced around

the dark and deadly hallway as automatic-weapons

fire cut through the bloody gloom.

Ben found Beth, frantically trying to contact

somebody by walkie-talkie. "Big radio took

a chunk of something, General. It's out."

Ben listened for a moment; it seemed that gunfire was

all around them, from the street level up. "It's a

full-scale attack, Beth. The creepies are

throwing everything they've

got at us. And it's considerable. Tell the people to stand

and hold."

"Yes, sir."

"Anybody hurt?" Ben asked, looking around him,

trying to see through the murk.

"A few cuts and bruises, is all," Cooper
said.

Before Ben could reply, another hard explosion

shattered the night and the roof fell in on top of those

in Ben's CP.

Ben was driven to his knees when a chunk of

debris hit him on the back. It knocked him off

balance more than hurt him, and it pissed him off that the

creepies could still manage to penetrate Rebel

security. And his Thompson was buried somewhere under

all the rubble. He grabbed up an

MH-ANDAN ammo pouch-the ammo hopefully for the old

Thunder Lizard-and swung the muzzle around j ust as

a horde of black-robes came running through the

ruined wall of his office.

"The woman!" one shouted. "Get the bastard's

woman."

Ben leveled the M14 and held the trigger back,

filling his shattered office with .308 slugs and

knocking creepies in all directions.

"Jerre!" he shouted, over the rattle of weapons.

No reply.

"She's over there, Father," came Buddy's calm

voice. "Buried under all this crap. She seems

to be all right. Just knocked out."

"Grenades," Ben ordered, pulling an HE
grenade from his battle harness and jerking the pin just as

Buddy and Cooper were doing the same. Jersey and

Beth were covering what was left of the doorway leading

to the hall, and there wasn't a hell of a lot left

of the hall.

The grenades blew, and the screaming that followed told

the Rebels they had landed right on the mark. Buddy

sprayed the darkness with .45 slugs and ended

the screaming.

"It's happening all over the city,

General," Beth told him, as her

walkie-talkie ceased its transmission.

"Scattered, but very intense."

Flames were spreading from two rooms over as Ben

found his Thompson and slung it. He crawled over

to Jerre, who was sitting up with the aid of Jersey.

"Get her out of here," Ben told some Rebels who

materialized in the shattered doorway. "Take her

to Doctor Chase. And don't leave her side for

any reason. That is a direct order."

"Yes, sir!" One slung Jerre over his shoulder

and they were gone.

"Grab whatever you can salvage," Ben said. "Then

let's get the hell out of here."

Working as quickly as they could in all the rubble, the

Rebels grabbed up whatever they could find and left
the building just as the flames were spreading all around

them. They hit the street and ran right into a

firefight.

They darted away from the burning building, and Ben

spread his thin line of Rebels out behind vehicles.

Lying on the frozen snow, the Rebels went to work.

"Here they come, gang!" Ben yelled, as he

shouldered the butt of the M14 and let it rock and

roll.

"Stand firm!" Thermopolis yelled, bringing his

M16 to his shoulder. He grimaced, knowing he was

beginning to sound like Ben Raines.

"Oh, Blomm!" Emil yelled. "Hear our

pleas and strike these heathen dead!"

A wall of a long-abandoned building chose that time

to give it up, collapsing on a dozen or more

creepies, burying them under tons of brick and

stone.

Rosebud looked at Thermopolis, questions in her

eyes. He lowered the Ml 6 and shrugged a "who the

hell knows" gesture.

Then none of them had time to think about Blomm or

anything else except survival as the creepies

swarmed all over their position.

Rosebud smacked a creepie in the face with the
butt of her Mini-14, and her husband shot him in

the chest as he was falling backward.

Brother Sonny clubbed one on the noggin, and

Sister Susie buried a camp axe into his

skull. "Filthy Godless bastard!" she said.

Emil was rolling around on the dirty floor with a

night crawler, both of them screaming like deranged

banshees. Emil finally rolled on top of the stinking

crud, a brick in his hand, and clubbed him

into unconsciousness. He grabbed up his Ml6 and

crawled back to his position just in time to have another

creepie hurl himself through the broken window and land right

on top of Emil, sending them both rolling around on

the floor.

"Ye Gods!" Emil squalled. He jammed his

fingers into the creature's eyes and then drove the

stiffened fingers of his other hand into the man's throat.

The night crawler fell to one side, choking and

gasping for breath. Emil grabbed up his M16 and

ended the gagging sounds.

"One more time," he muttered darkly, returning

to his position, wary of anything that might be lurking

out in the darkness, waiting to leap at him.

Emil turned to look into the eyes of a dark-haired

French Canadian girl who had been cut off from

her unit.
ZING!

With lead flying all around them, the screaming of the dying

filling the cold night, death all around them, Emil

fell in love.

"This building is cleared, General!" Dan called

from across the snowy, body-littered street. "Lay

down a covering fire for the general's party!" Dan

yelled to his Scouts. "Come on,

General!"

While the Scouts laid down covering fire, Ben

and his people zigzagged and slipped and slid and almost fell

down crossing the icy street. They made it intact

to the dark and somewhat warmer ground floor of the old

building.

"You got a radio that works, Dan?" Ben panted.

"Here, sir," Dan's operator called.

Staying low, Ben made his way over to the Rebel and

took the mike. "This is Eagle. All units

give me a report."

"Northernmost unit under heavy attack but holding,

sir," the strange female voice, slightly

accented, came out of the speaker.

"Who is this?" Ben asked.

"Michelle Jarnot, General. Part of Major

Danjou's unit. I got cut off."
"It's love, love, love!" Ben heard someone

shout.

He looked at Beth. "Someone is yelling that

they're in love."

All heads turned to look at him.

"Did you say love, sir?" Dan asked.

Ben listened as someone began singing "Love Me

Tender." Fans of Elvis had no

cause for alarm.

"Yes. Love. Michelle, do you have any wounded

or dead up there?"

Whoever it was up there smitten with Cupid's arrows

began singing "We've Only Just Begun."

Ben flipped the toggle switch from earphones

to speaker. His

"Not in this unit, General. But there is going to be

someone with a fat lip if they don't keep their hands

off of me!"

All heads turned toward the radio.

"Somebody kindly keep their eyes to the front,"

Ben said. "We do have creepies out there, people."

A man's voice came out of the speaker. "This is

Thermopolis, Ben Raines. Creepies are

withdrawing. Our situation has stabilized. Which is more

than I can say for Emil," he added.

"What's wrong with him?"
"He's in love!"

"Ten-four, Thermopolis," Ben said with a chuckle.

"The situation here has also calmed. Good luck with

Emil."

"Thank you, General."

Ben checked his watch. About three hours until

dawn. He looked at Dan's

radioman. "Check with all units. I want a

status report from each."

"Yes, sir."

Ben made his way back to the front of the building.

"I believe it's over. But stay alert. Fires

at the rear of the building only. Take shifts

warming up."

The last dark hours of morning passed slowly, with

only an occasional shot blasting the darkness. From their

position in the storefront, the Rebels could see the

bodies of Night People sprawled in death on the

bloody, trampled snow.

Dan counted heads. "Where is Miss Hunter?"

"In the hospital. I don't think she's badly

hurt. When the roof caved in on us she got a

bump on the head that knocked her out." Ben

explained what had taken place in his office.

"Last-ditch desperation attack on their part,"
Dan said. "I don't think they've got the people to do

it again."

"Nor do I. I think from now on it'll be minor

skirmishes. But," he added, "we've said that before."

"Quite right."

As the first fingers of gray dawn began tearing away

the night, the Rebels began moving stiffly

out of their positions, some of them jogging in place

to warm up cold-tightened muscles and get the heart

rate up and the blood surging.

"Well, I guess I look for a new CP,"

Ben said. He turned to Beth, who had scrounged

around and found another radio. "Advise Doctor

Chase to get ready to move, Beth. Tell him

to move everything down to the old NYC Medical

Center on the East River." He turned to Dan.

"Make damn sure the Brooklyn Bridge, the

Williamsburg Bridge, and the Manhattan

Bridge appear to be disabled, from ground and air.

Khamsin has got to come at us from the north. Once

he's committed his people, we throw up a line at

Eighty-sixth Street. And that's where we hold

him, Dan."

"Yes, sir. Your CP?"

"I don't know."

"I would suggest somewhere around the old UN
Headquarters, General. I can guarantee that area

is free of creepies."

"All right, Dan. Find me a place. With

windows," he added, smiling.

"Yes, sir. I already have one picked out, cleared,

and set up for you."

Ben's new CP was in an office building one

block over from the UN Plaza. It was on the

second floor, facing Second Avenue, with a good

broad view. Ben inspected the windows and found they

had been replaced with bulletproof glass.

Obviously, Dan had had this place in mind for some

time.

On the morning of the second day in his new CP,

Ben looked up as Jerre appeared in the doorway.

"Did Chase release you or did you run away?"

"He released me. I'm all right. I don't

even have a headache." She looked around. "Nice

place."

Ben pointed to her right. "Your office is right there.

You'll be helping me mark locations of our units as

we begin to shift them."

"All right, Ben."

"Chase get moved?"

"He's almost finished. He approves of the new
choice. Is it about to hit the fan, Ben?"

"A few more days. I'd say five days at the

most. Intell states there is a lot of activity

over Khamsin's way." He leaned back in his

chair and smiled. "Khamsin is moving his people north,

so it looks like he's taking the bait without

us having to taunt him any further."

She moved to a huge wall map and studied it. "So

he'll cross over here." She placed her finger on

the Tappan Zee Bridge.

"Yes. That's the only logical choice. He'd

have to go miles out of his way to cross over any farther

north. When he reaches the southern end of Bronx

County, he'll have his choice of two bridges

to use entering Manhattan. I don't care which one

he uses. Certain units will be

fighting a holding action as he comes over. Just hard

enough to make him think he's facing our full force.

When he's got his people over, probably after a

couple of days, those two bridges up north will be

blown, electronically, so none of our people will be

trapped."

"How about this railroad bridge?" She pointed it

out.

"That will go up with the others."

"All these other bridges linking Manhattan,
all the way down to the footbridge?"

"They'll be blown. At least one section of them will

be knocked out, thus making them unusable for any

type of vehicular traffic."

"These three bridges at the south end of

Manhattan? What about them?"

"That's our way out of here, Jerre. They'll be

rendered useless as we bug out-when the time comes."

"Then . . . you're going to trap Khamsin in

Manhattan?"

"That is my plan, yes."

"And . . . ?"

"And, what?"

"They'll eventually get off the island, Ben."

"No, they won't. At least, not very many of them."

She sat down in a chair facing his desk. "The

tunnels under the river-rivers?"

"Blown. Destroyed. Blocked."

"Of course, all your top people know of this plan?"

"As of late yesterday, yes."

"And now you're telling me. You trust me that much,

Ben? I didn't think you trusted me at all."

Ben shrugged. "What reason do I have not to trust you?

Besides, within two or three days, every Rebel in this

command will know about the plans. You know how fast camp
talk spreads."

"You're that sure that the creepie informants have been

. . . well, taken care of?"

"Yes. Dan is very good at that sort of thing." He

stood up. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, thank you. It's hard to believe that we've

been

alone for five minutes and we're not arguing. It's

almost like old times, back in Virginia. You

remember, Ben?"

"I remember." He sat back behind his desk and

sipped his coffee, looking at her beauty.

She met his gaze. "And what about New York

City, Ben?"

"What about it?"

"When we bug out, I mean?"

He met her gaze, locked with it. Neither one of them

blinked.

"You're going to trap Khamsin and his troops in

Manhattan and then destroy the city, aren't you,

Ben?"

"Yes," he said softly.

The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land;

you may almost hear the beating of his wings.

John Bright

Ben's spotter planes tracked the movements of
Khamsin and his army as they made their way north,

proceeding up the Garden State Parkway, staying

well out of the range of the Rebels" guns.

And Ben didn't know yet whedier Khamsin

had any intention of taking him up on his offer to butt

heads in the city.

He suspected that Khamsin himself wasn't sure just

yet. That was why he was moving so slowly, trying

to make up his mind.

But that was all right with Ben and his people; the relative

lull in the action-with only an occasional firefight

with the creepies-was giving them all some much-needed

time to rest and for Ben to reposition his units and to have his

people lay more booby traps and more barricades and to dig

in deeper.

Weapons were taken down and carefully cleaned and

oiled. Cases of Chase's MRE'S were handed out and

stored, for when this battle began, hot meals were going

to be the exception rather than the rule. Every member of

Ben's Rebels would be placed on the line,

except for the doctors, their staff, and a few

communications people.

And Ben had placed spotters on the top floors

of half a dozen skyscrapers along his

northernmost area of control, from the Hudson to the
East River.

They would be his eyes above the streets, silently

watching and reporting to the Rebels the movements of

Khamsin and his troops.

And the first day they were up, the spotters reported some

very interesting news to Ben.

"A lot of movement over in New Jersey,

General. Looks like the Hot Fart left several

battalions behind."

"Keep an eye on them," Ben ordered. "I

don't think those are Khamsin's people. I'll get

back to you."

Ben leaned back in his chair and cut his eyes

to Ike, telling him of the spotter's news.

"What'd you make of it, Ike?"

"Those aren't Khamsin's people. I agree with that."

Ben looked at the other commanders; they all nodded their

heads in agreement.

"Okay, then it has to be Monte and Ashley's

troops and Sister Voleta's people," Ben said. "But

why did they stay behind?"

"Because," Buddy said, "remember that my mother knows you

well, Father. And she probably guessed that you were

deliberately taunting Khamsin, to draw him over

into Manhatttan. My thinking on this matter would be

that she has convinced Monte and Ashley to join her,
and not to accompany Khamsin."

"So what's she got in mind, son?"

"Killing you would be uppermost on her mind.

But as to how she plans to do that. . . ?" He

shrugged. "Bear in mind at all times that my mother is

brilliantly insane and quite cruel."

"Why did you stay with her so long, Buddy?" West

asked the handsome young man.

"I had no other place to go. And I never knew that

Ben Raines was really my father until the Old

One-my grandfather, I think-confirmed it just weeks before

I left my mother's camp."

"Whatever your mother is up to, Buddy-and she is your

mother, don't forget that, crazy or not-I won't

assign you to fighting her or her people."

"You may not have a choice in the matter, Father," the

young man reminded him. "She may be plotting some

sort

of ambush."

"She would have no way of knowing how we plan to bug out

of here, son."

But Buddy shook his head. "I don't know, Father.

Her hatred for you is so strong I sometimes think she

can see through the miles. I've seen the woman do some

things that bordered on the supernatural. She was a
practicing witch, you know?"

"A witch?" Tina looked at her brother.

"Yes. Before the Great War. She belonged

to some sort of satanic cult. She was some sort of

high priestess." Buddy looked at the expression

on his father's face and burst out laughing.

Ben shook his head. "She told me she loved my

horror stories. Had all my books. She even

had the bloodiest scenes committed to memory. I

should have guessed that she might be a little strange.

Over the months a lot of that. . . brief encounter

has come back to me."

"Hell, Ben," Cecil said, "maybe she does

possess some supernatural abilities. None of

us can afford to discount anything anymore."

What the hell do I do?

Ben thought.

Walk around carrying a silver bullet or a

sharpened stake to drive through her black heart?

He sighed. "All we can do is keep an eye on

those left in New Jersey and direct most of our

attention to Khamsin. But advise the spotters

closest to New Jersey to keep an eye out for any

movement from Sister Voleta. You suppose that

motorcycle bunch came up north with her,

Buddy?"
"I'm sure they did. She's probably five

or six hundred, strong. Just her group."

"Maybe fifteen hundred then, max, counting the men

with Monte and Ashley. No more than that, "cause

we've creamed the hell out of that crew," Ben mused

aloud. "Enough to cause us some grief in an

ambush, though."

Ben once again cut his eyes to Ike. The

ex-Seal was in charge of planting the explosives

around the city. "How are the explosives holding out,

Ike?"

"We'll have enough to do the job we talked about, Ben.

Especially if those methane pockets run deep,

as I think they do. We've tapped into every gasoline

storage tank in the city. We'll open the taps and

flood the tunnels with raw gas just seconds before

we bug out. Then we'll blow the big boys.

I've planted chemicals in what I think are

strategic locations-most of it highly concentrated and

short-lived blister gas. Effective disabling time

something around fifteen to twenty minutes."

"We're going to be cutting it close, gang,"

Ben said. "Real close. Uncomfortably so. If

we stick to the original plan. And if the wind is

wrong, we're really going to be in trouble."
"Do we have a choice?" West asked.

"Not really. But we have got to clear the

Narrows before we hit the button, and those ships are

going to have to be hauling ass, people. We're going to have

to leave the tanks and the big SP artillery. But

that's no big deal; we've got tanks and long

toms running out the ying-yang. We can run the

jeeps and light trucks right on the ferries. The

rub comes in if Sister Voleta and her people set up

any kind of ambush once we're back on land.

We're going to be short on heavy artillery."

"Our mechanics have checked the engines on those

ships, Ben," Striganov said. "They've got them

purring and we certainly have the fuel for a long sea

cruise."

"There is something else," Tina said. "Dad, have you

considered returning to pick up our vehicles once

the danger time has elapsed?"

"Yes. And I still haven'tdiscountedit. We very

well may have to return, mount up, and head up

into New York State, then cut over. We have

electronic air sensors we can plant before bugging

out. We can monitor them for readings." Ben met the

eyes of each person in the room. "Anything else,

gang?"

They shook their heads.
"Tell your forward teams to move out this afternoon

and get into position at One Hundred Eighty-first

Street. I want Khamsin stopped cold right there

for at least two days. Three days would be better,

but tell your people not

to hang in so long they risk being overrun and

captured. Then bug out and fall back, fighting

all the way. Suck him in here. When he's got

all his troops on the island-and we'll know from

spotter planes-blow the bridges behind him. I'll

meet with the forward teams before they pull out. That's it,

people. Let's go."

Khamsin crossed into Rockland County, New

York, pulled his long columns onto the New

York State Thruway, turned east, and then

stopped.

The pilots of Ben's spotter planes reported

that the Libyan terrorist's army seemed to be

setting up a bivouac area about fifteen miles from

the Tappan Zee Bridge.

"Come on, you bastard!" Ben muttered, staring at the

huge wall map in his office.

Even Ben's Rebels were getting edgy. They were

all well rested and ready for a fight. So let us

get it on! was the generally shared opinion.
But Khamsin wasn't quite ready to attempt

taking a bite out of the Big Apple.

"The pig is pulling something," Khamsin told

several of his most trusted senior officers. "He

has some sneaky and totally dishonorable plan up his

sleeve. I do not trust that man at all."

"So we wait?" he was asked.

"For another day or so. I must pray for guidance."

Restless, Ben began a day-long tour of his

troops, starting at the westernmost position on the

parkway up the Hudson River. Colonel West

and his mercenaries would defend from the parkway over

to Amsterdam. Rebet and Danjou would take

Amsterdam to the edge of Central Park. Cecil

and the Underground People would have Central Park. Ike would

take the edge of Central Park over to Third.

Striganov would hold Third to York, and Buddy

and Dan would take York to the East River. Ben

and his people would stand in reserve, ready to plug any

suddenly

appearing hole in the line of defense.

It was the dead of winter in the Big Apple, but the

day had started out surprisingly pleasant, with most

of the snow and ice melting; the temperature during the

night had not dropped below freezing.

"I'm sure that Khamsin has been
praying," Ben told West. "And he'll

probably take this warm spell as some sort of

sign from Allah. I expect him to cross over the

bridge today and hit us tomorrow."

"I have been thinking along those same lines. Soeven

if he should cross over into Manhattan tomorrow, we still

have a couple more days of this damn waiting."

"Yes. The meteorologists say this warm spell

is just a prelude for a major winter storm, coming in

right on its heels. If they're right, and they usually

are, just about the time we blow the bridges, there'll

bea blizzard hitting us."

"And we're accustomed to them and Khamsin is not."

Ben smiled. "That thought has crossed my mind.

I've moved a lot of Abramses up to within

shelling distance of Khamsin-when he crosses over,

that is. We're going to sit back here and not make a

move. The forward tanks will be well behind our front

teams. The commanders have worked out the areas where the shell

trajectory will clear the lower buildings. After

we're all back here on the main lines, artillery

can shell and let them fall wherever. Khamsin has

never fought in a city like this. When the tops of

buildings start coming down on their heads it's going

to be a real morale-buster."
"And for us as well," West pointed out.

"Yes. Taking everything into consideration, it's going

to be a miserable little war for both sides."

Ben drove over to Rebet and Danjou's sector.

The two field commanders were standing together, smiling as they

watched Emil Hite trail Michelle Jarnot

around the area. From the look on Michelle's face,

it appeared that she wished the damn war would hurry up

and start-anything would be better than this.

"I will shower the ground before your pretty little feet with

rose petals!" Emil wailed.

"I hate roses! They make me sneeze! Go

away, Emil. Please!"

Michelle ducked into a building, with Emil right behind

her, singing "Some Enchanted Evening." He sounded like

Bloody Mary with a cold.

South Pacific

would never again be the same.

"How long has that been going on?" Ben asked the

two men.

"Ever since Michelle got cut off from her unit

the other night," Danjou replied.

"I certainly have to compliment his taste in women," the

Russian said, trying to keep a straight face as

Emil changed songs and the sounds of "On the

Street Where You Live" came drifting out to them.
"He is loving well if not too wisely."

Ben knew that feeling from personal experience. In a

way, he could empatfrize with Emil.

"Jesus Christ, Emil!" Michelle yelled.

"Will you please cool it? You're driving me

bananas."

"I love you, Michelle!" Emil shouted for all

the world to hear. Or at least a couple of blocks.

Then he burst into a ragged rendition of "Stand

By Me."

Ben chatted with the field commanders for a few moments,

until Emil's singing got the best of him. He

moved on over into Central Park and found Cecil.

"I hear Emil has been shot with one of

Cupid's little arrows," Cecil said with a smile.

"Yeah. And I think it shot him right in the head.

Now that you've had a chance to meet the Savies and their

group, Cec, how do you rate them?"

"I don't trust them," the man said flatly. "Quite

frankly, they make the short hairs on my neck

stand up."

"You think they have any idea at all about what's

going down?"

He shook his head. "No. They came

around, asking questions. But my people just ignored them. I
haven't seen them since late yesterday."

"Don't count on them, Cec. I don't think they

know, yet, what side they want to be on.

Except for the winning side.

You seen the Underground People?"

"No. But they're around."

"Bet on that. They'll stand."

Ben drove over to Ike's sector. "I won't

add the activating agent to the gas until just before we

pull out, Ben," Ike told him. "That's just in

case one of the areas where they're planted takes a

hit."

"Good. Let's take as many potential

backfires out of this plan as possible."

"I'm thinking if this warm weather holds, Khamsin

and his boys will come across tomorrow."

"Everyone I've spoken with agrees with that

assessment, friend. Hang tough, Ike."

Ben moved east a few blocks, reaching Georgi

Striga-nov's sector. The Russian had dug

his people in deep, and his very capable troops were ready and

waiting for a fight.

"Savie and a few of his bunch came around early this

morning," the Russian said. "I don't

trust him, Ben."

"No one else does either. But I think out of pure
desperation they'll be forced to join us. If they don't

fight, and fight well, their butts are going to be

left in New York when we bug out."

"That wouldn't bother me at all," the Russian

bluntly stated.

Ben moved over to the easternmost sector, near a

small park on the East River. As usual,

Dan had dug his people in deep and camouflaged them

well. A master of ambush, Khamsin's men were

going to be in for a very brief and very deadly encounter when

they bumped into Dan and Buddy.

"Not long now, General," the Englishman said.

"Tomorrow, I'd wager."

"Ten o'clock," Buddy said.

"Noon," Dan countered.

Ben left them in a friendly argument and went back

to his own sector. Spirits were high among his people, and

they were more than ready to mix it up and get this fight

over with.

There was no sign of any Rebels in this area, as in

all the sectors Ben had just inspected. His

Rebels were staying

low and quiet. He walked into the building

where he knew Thermopolis and his people were housed and

waved the man over to him.
"You have any stroke with Emil, Thermopolis?"

Ben asked.

"Well, he will listen to me on occasion."

"He's making a fool out of himself over in

Danjou's sector. Go get him for me, please,

and haul his ass back here. Tell him I said

to stay put."

Rosebud laughed and stood up. "Come on," she

said to her husband. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Oh, rejection!" Emil wailed on the drive

back from the western edge of the park. "Death, where is

thy sting? I would rather die than live without her!"

"I have a suggestion, Emil," Rosebud said.

"You have a plan?" He perked up immediately and stopped

moaning about dying.

"No. I said I have a suggestion. Ignore her."

"But I love her!"

"So ignore her and see what she does. Women

hate to be ignored. After a few days of being

ignored, if she starts to wonder what the matter is

and looks you up, then you'll know if she really cares

about you." Rosebud was aware of her husband's

incredulous look as he stared at her. She

ignored him.

"But in a few days we mightall be

dead!"
Emil moaned.

"Well, then it won't make any difference one

way or the other, will it?"

Emil thought about that. "You're right. I shall ignore

her. As a matter of fact, I shall make it a

point to ignore her."

She glanced suspiciously at him. "What do you

mean by that, Emil?"

But Emil would only smile mysteriously.

After dropping Emil off, once more back in the

bosom of his block, Thermopolis and Rosebud

went to Ben's CP and reported that their mission had

been accomplished.

"Emil gave in that easily?" Ben shook his head.

"I may make you his permanent keeper. How'd you

do it?"

"It was all Rosebud. But I figure in about

twenty-four hours we're all going to be so busy

just staying alive that Emil won't have that much spare

time to be thinking about Michelle."

"You're right about that," Ben acknowledged. "Spotters

just confirmed that Khamsin has crossed over

the Tappan Zee Bridge. They're on their

way."

"I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be,
Ben Raines. You think we'll be home in time for

spring planting?"

"I guarantee it, Thermopolis." He smiled

at the man and wife. "Either that, or none of us will ever

have to worry about planting anything again."

"You're such a spirit-lifting person to converse with, Ben

Raines."

Ben's forward teams watched as Khamsin sent people

across the bridges, inspecting for mines. They found

nothing, since Ike's people had planted the massive

charges below the waterline. ,

"They're comin" across!" a team leader said.

"Let's boogie out of here and let them come."

The Rebels headed south, letting the Hot Wind and

his troops have the northernmost tip of Manhattan.

But Ben Raines had made Khamsin a very wary

man. He was not about to be suckered another time. His

troops advanced very slowly, carefully inspecting

each foot of ground before they moved an inch.

Staying several blocks ahead of Khamsin's

troops, a team leader radioed back to Ben,

"They keep this up, and we'll be here for ten

years waitin' for them."

"They'll pick up steam, Scout. It's a

natural human reaction as they find no danger.

Head on south and let them come."
"Yes, sir."

The forward teams got into position and waited. It was

late in the afternoon before Khamsin's troops reached

Dyckman Street, and it was there the Rebels

struck the first blow, hitting a hard one-two combination

of automatic-weapons fire and rocket

launchers.

The Libyan responded with cannon fire from

tanks that were stretched out from Henry Hudson

Parkway over to Tenth. The Rebels fell back

two blocks, fighting as they withdrew. Khamsin

studied the stituation for a few moments and then ordered his

people to hold what they had taken and not to follow, fearing

a trap.

The Rebels had been placed much like a series of

upside down

T's,

with the bottom line growing stronger every several blocks.

Khamsin faced no more than twenty-five widely

scattered Rebels at Dyckman. As the

Rebels fell back, they joined

twenty-five more at Ellwood; twenty-five more

waited at Fairview. So by the time Khamsin and his

men advanced down to 181st Street they would be facing

several companies of Rebels. By the time they reached
171st Street, Khamsin would be committed and Ben

would start blowing the bridges, from the northernmost tip

of the island all the way down to and including the High

Bridge.

By that time, Khamsin would realize what Ben was up

to. He would also know that he had been boxed in and that

this was a fight to the death.

Khamsin crossed Dyckman and advanced only

two more blocks that day. He had no desire

to face Ben Raines's Rebels in the darkness of

deadly night. Khamsin was fully aware of how

vicious the Rebels were, how coldly and

impersonally they killed. He ordered his troops

to seek shelter and keep their heads down.

They would be safe this night. Ben had ordered no

booby-trapping this far north. He wanted the Hot

Wind and his mini-farts to get deeper

into Manhattan and be totally committed before they

truly discovered the horrors of guerrilla warfare.

The slowly retreating Rebels knew which buildings

to avoid as they withdrew. Khamsin and his

men, of course, did not. If Khamsin thought his

fanatic mentors were experts at terrorism, he

was only a few days away from

looking into the cold eyes of the Grand Master.

Ben Raines.
"Khamsin has ordered his people in for the night,

General," Beth relayed. "They've bivouacked

at Thayer and Arden, with some of them stretched out from the

Hudson to the Harlem rivers."

"He's playing it cautious. I'm sure

memories of Atlanta are fresh in his mind."

"Orders, sir?" Beth asked.

"Tell our northernmost teams to step down one

alert and get some rest. Tell them I compliment them

on a job very well done."

Ben returned to his desk and began studying maps

of the city. Khamsin still had several miles to travel

before Ben and his troops would cut loose with the full

fury of Rebel-style warfare, and Ben knew the

Libyan would take those miles very slowly and very

cautiously. But Ben also knew the man's confidence

would grow with each block. But Khamsin could not be

allowed to take those blocks easily. He would have

to pay for them in terrorist blood, but not too much

blood.

Ben and his people were walking a tightrope in luring

Khamsin into Manhattan; one misstep and the

Rebels would fall. And there was no safety net

below them. Only death waited for them in the

impersonal and seemingly barren city streets.
Ben suddenly realized he was hungry and that he had

skipped lunch; he had been too busy monitoring

radio reports coming in from the forward teams. He

picked up his Thompson and went down to the

makeshift kitchen that had been installed in the floor

just below him and fixed a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

"Want some company?" The voice came from behind him.

Ben did not have to look up or turn around from his

sandwich-making; he knew who it was. "Sure. You

want something to eat, Jerre?"

"A sandwich would be nice, thank you." She sat

down at the table. "This waiting is getting to me."

"They'll be on us before you realize it." He placed

a sandwich and a cup of coffee before her. "Then we

won't have time to think about anything except staying

alive." Ben sat down across the table from her.

"How about all the subway bridges south of us,

Ben?"

"They're already crippled; sections have been knocked

out so they can't be used as footbridges."

"I'm not criticizing, Ben."

"I know. It's part of your job to follow up, make

damn sure I haven't missed anything. And I

appreciate the good work that you've done." He

smiled at her. "Have you seen Emil?"

That got a laugh out of her. "I feel sorry for
him. I think he's really in love with that girl."

"He probably is. He's screwed around all his

life, chasing every skirt he could find without getting

emotionally involved. Now that the real thing has reared

up and slapped him in the face, or shot him in the

butt, whatever, he doesn't know what to do."

"You speak from experience, Ben?"

"Yes." Damned if Ben was going to pursue this

subject. "How's your sandwich?"

"Very good."

"How are your quarters?"

"Nice. Almost like home."

"And where has home been in the last few years?"

"Up in the northwest. Then out on the Plains.

I've never stayed long in one spot. Pretty much

just been moving around."

"Looking for what?"

"I don't know, Ben. And that is an honest

answer."

"I believe you. If you'll recall, that's what

I started out to do, years back."

"I remember. You were going to write a journal about

what happened and how the survivors responded to the

Great War. How far did you get in doing that?"

He shook his head. "I really didn't even get
started. The Tri-States were born; I was busy

running that. . . not that I wanted to," he added.

"I just got stuck with the job. Then

the war came."

"Then you were president."

"Again, against my will. And for the past few years seems

like all we've been doing is fighting one war after

another."

"No special woman in your life, Ben?"

He met her blues. "Yes, Jerre. There will

always be a special woman in my life."

"Whether I like it or not?"

"Whether you like it or not."

"And there is nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"How do you stop loving someone?" He finally spoke

the words to her. He had spoken them silently for

years.

She dropped her gaze and finished her sandwich.

Neither of them spoke during the rest of the

meal. She rose and dropped the paper plate into the

trash. "Guess I'll be getting back to work,

Ben. Thank you for the sandwich."

"You're certainly welcome." He waited until

he was certain she had made it back to her office and

then picked up his Thompson and went outside to stand

for a time. The weather was still abnormally warm for the middle
of winter.

The stench of death still clung faintly, sickly

sweet over the city. Ben knew some of his people had

taken this time to tow the barges full of dead

creepies out to sea and dump them. It was not a job

that anyone relished, but one that had to be done to keep

down disease.

No one had reported any contact with what was left

of the shattered army of Night People this day. Ben

suspected they had given up and pulled back

into what hidey-holes they had left and were waiting for

death to take them.

Gene Savie and his survivors entered his head.

Ben just could not make up his mind about that bunch.

He agreed with the leader of

the

Underground People, Paul, that it was highly unlikely

that Savie and his group could have survived in

the city without making some sort of deal with the Night

P.

But the Judges were gone, and the back had been broken

of those creepies remaining in the city. Knowing that,

why, then, would they be so seemingly unwilling to help

in the fight against Khamsin? Itjustdidn'tmake

any sense to Ben.
He shrugged it off and went back inside his CP.

He'd turn in early this night. There was that old

guerrilla fighter's adage: eat when you can, drink

when you can, and sleep when you can. For you never knew when

you might get the chance to do any of the three again.

Ben was up several hours before dawn, drinking coffee

and once more going over maps of the city. The question

paramount in his mind:

Have I missed anything?

He could not think of a thing.

Now it was in the hands of God and the guns in the hands of

Rebels.

Beth walked in, yawning. "I saw your light,

General. Anything I can get you?"

"How about a miracle?" Ben grinned at her.

"Traid I'm fresh out of those, General. But"-she

returned the grin-"we found a food warehouse

late yesterday. Lots of it in good shape.

How about some cinnamon toast for breakfast?"

"Cinnamon toast. I haven't had that in years."

"Then you better come on. Thermopolis is down in

the kitchen and he's already eaten half a loaf of

bread and a pound of butter."

After having to practically arm-wrestle Thermopolis

for the cinnamon can, Ben ate the rest of the fresh-baked

bread, covered liberally with butter and sugar and
cinnamon.

Jerre entered the kitchen and said, "Doctor Chase

would disapprove of all that sugar."

"You want some?" Ben asked, his mouth full.

"Naturally." She sat down and took what was

left on Ben's plate and grinned at him as she

chomped away.

"I'm not fixin' any more of this damn bread!"

Jersey bitched.

"I've had plenty," Thermopolis said.

"Yeah. Me, too," Ben echoed, then looked at

Thermopolis. "Where is your wife?"

"I left her sleeping. I got up when I heard

Emil pacing the floor and muttering to himself about tiny

arrows piercing his heart."

"He certainly has been smitten, that's for

sure." Ben looked up as Beth entered the

room.

"Khamsin's started his offensive, General. And

he's hitting hard."

"Let's go to work, gang. If our people can keep on

sucking them in, at dawn tomorrow, we blow the

bridges." He stood up and sighed. "And God have

mercy on our souls if I've made a

mistake."
"We voted to stay, General," Jersey reminded

him.

"We're all in this together."

Ben nodded, smiled, and stepped outside into the

abnormally warm morning. He looked up at the

sky. "Hold on for just one more morning," he

muttered. "Then You can send the damnedest blizzard

this city has ever known."

Khamsin was a bit more adventurous that day, moving a

little faster and taking a few more chances. The Rebels

held on for what they hoped was a respectable length

of time, then pulled back, drawing the Libyan ever

deeper into the city.

"All his troops across?" Ben asked a spotter

pilot.

"Ten-four, General. They're in."

Ben's smile was tight. "It won't be

long now. Any more movement over in New

Jersey?"

"Those that didn't accompany Khamsin are staying

put, General."

"Ten-four. Do a couple of flybys a day and

keep me posted." Ben turned to Cooper. "Pull

the Blazer around. We're going to take a ride."

In the Blazer, Cooper asked, "Where to,

General?"
"North."

Beth radioed the instructions to the lead vehicles as

Ben was studying a city map. She didn't have

to tell them where they were going; they all knew. Right

up to the front lines.

"We'll let him advance down to Hillside today,"

Ben said. "He's going to slow up and be very goosy

clearing the area around the Cloisters, suspecting

ambushes. Come the night, he'll probably

spread his troops out just north of One Hundred

Ninety-third Street. Tomorrow morning, we'll

give him One Hundred Ninety-second and One

Hundred Ninety-first. As soon as he passes

One Hundred Ninety-first, we'll blow the

bridges. That will stop him cold for a few hours

while he assesses the situation." He

looked up. "Get this convoy moving, Beth. You know

where we're going."

"Yes, sir." She lifted her mike.

The convoy drove over to Fifth Avenue and turned

north. At the edge of Central Park, Ben

ordered a halt and got out.

"You people stay in the truck," he told them, just as

Ike came walking up.

"You monitoring the front?" Ben asked him.
"Yeah. Khamsin's got some confidence back this

morning. Our people have given him a two blocks already.

They say he's really punching hard."

"We don't want him to think it's a cakewalk.

Get on the horn and tell our people to draw some

blood and then pull back. I don't want

Khamsin past One Hundred Ninety-third

Street this day."

"You figurin' on bringin' the bridges down by about this

time tomorrow, Ben?"

"Right. So get your explosives people in position.

I'm heading on up the line."

"Watch your ass up there, partner." Ike grinned.

Ben leaned to one side and took a look at

Ike's more than ample south gate. "You should

talk!"

Rolling north on Fifth Avenue, those in the

small convoy had the time to study the seemingly dead

city.

"Used to be millions of people in these streets," Ben

said aloud, looking at the empty shops and office

buildings. "The greatest city in the world. All it

needs now is for someone to kick a little dirt over

it."

"And that's what we're going to do, General?"

Jersey asked.
"That's what we're going to do. In a manner of

speaking."

They rolled on in silence for a few blocks.

"What happened to the Night People, Ben?" Jerre

asked.

"I think they gave up once they discovered the

Judges had abandoned them. I think they burrowed

deep and intend to keep their heads down for the duration.

They don't know it, but they just voluntarily crawled

into their own graves."

As they approached Frawley Circle, Ben said,

"Tell

the lead vehicles to hang a left here, Beth.

Then pick up Nicholas Avenue. We'll stay

with that all the way up to our lines."

As they passed Lennox, Ben caught a glimpse

of black movement as the figure scurried back

into the gloom of a building. "They're not all in their

holes," he said, pointing out the furtive movement.

"But they don't want to mix it up with us, either."

A gunner in a Duster swung his twin-mount

.50's and gave the inside of the ground floor a

hard burst in passing. The big slugs chopped

away at the murky interior, kicking up dust and

knocking down plaster and paneling.
The column rolled on, swinging onto Nicholas.

They saw no more Night People as they made their way

dirough the littered streets of the city.

Ben reached over and opened the front air vents,

allowing some ventilation to circulate through the Blazer.

He guessed the outside temperature was in the

60's. Far too warm for this time of year. Except

for spots in the alleys where the sun never touched, the

city was almost entirely free of snow.

"Much too warm," he muttered. "The storm is

going to be a bad one, and it could hit anytime."

"Sir?" Cooper asked.

"You have the chains with you, Cooper?"

"Yes, sir."

"Beth, tell the lead vehicles to angle

off at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street.

Go on over to the waterfront. I want to take a

full look at the sky. I think this storm is just

about on us."

"Done, sir."

Ben twisted in the seat, looking at the cargo space

behind the rear seat. All their arctic gear was there,

along with cases of ammo, food, camp stoves,

grenades, and water. Cooper was a natural-born

clown, but when it came to survival, he was all

business, keeping the Blazer stocked with everything he
felt they might need to stay alive.

"Did you remember toilet paper, Cooper?"

Ben asked him with a smile.

"I got a box full of hundred-dollar bills,

General. About a million dollars' worth, I

reckon."

"That should do it," Ben said, looking out the window,

trying to get a glimpse of the sky. He finally

gave up on that.

At the waterfront, Ben stood by the Blazer,

waiting until his teams had secured the area; then

he walked up to the parkway and took a look around.

He had mixed emotions about what he was seeing.

The sky held a very flat, almost ominous

look, stretching from north to west. This weather system

was coming straight out of Canada and was coming at them with a

vengeance.

"It'll hit us this afternoon," Ben predicted. "And

it's going to be a bitch-kitty."

"Do we head back for the CP, General?" Jersey

asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

"What do you think, Jersey?" Ben grinned at her.

"Somehow I knew you'd say that."

Ben waved the Rebels around him. "All you people have

arctic gear with you?"
Most did, stored in the trunks and tanks.

"Those that don't, double up in a vehicle and head

on back," Ben ordered. He knew his forward

teams were supplied with foul-weather gear; he had

personally seen to that. "Let's head on up the line,

gang."

They backtracked, picked up Broadway, and

headed north.

"Are we going to get stuck up here, Ben?" Jerre

asked.

"I hope not. But there is always that possibility.

Doesn't make any difference. We've got the

supplies so we can sit it out. I've got to see

firsthand what Khamsin has to throw at us."

But his eyes kept sliding toward the sky as they

drove toward his Rebels' northernmost positions.

At the front, Ben joined one group of Rebels,

startling them by his presence, and viewed the

battleground through binoculars. A tank leaped

into view through the powerful lenses. Ben lowered the

glasses and again looked

up at the sky.

"Is it getting colder or is it just my

imagination?"

"It's dropped a few degrees, General. The

sky sure has a funky look to it."
Ben made up his mind. "Fall back, people. Give

them some territory and see if they'll take the new

bait. Beth, get me Ike on the horn.

Scramble and translator, please."

"General Ike, sir," Beth said.

"Ask him if his explosives people have left yet?"

"He says ten-four, sir."

"Tell him to get them into position to blow the

bridges as soon as possible. Wait for my

orders to do so."

"Message acknowledged, sir. General Ike

wants to know what's up."

"One hell of a fast-moving winter storm,

of the major type. That's what's up. Now I have

to come up with some way of getting the Hot Fart and his

turds down a few more blocks. Bump me when your

people are in position. Eagle out. Let's back up,

people."

The Rebels fell back a full two blocks,

leaving it wide open for Khamsin. And this time the

troops of Khamsin poured across, moving fast and with very

little resistance from the Rebels.

At 191st Street, Ben ordered a line thrown

up and told his people to hold for a few minutes and draw

some blood. To Beth: "Get me the forward units
east and west of our position." With them on the horn,

he asked, "This is Eagle. Any signs of

infiltrators?"

"Negative, sir. We have them in sight, but

they're maintaining east and west positions in line with the

central force."

"Ten-four. Get ready to fall back further with

Sonny." He turned to the forward team leader.

"Drop some mortar rounds in on them, Sonny. Just

as many HE'S as you drop in a couple of minutes

and then grab your ass and make a run for it."

"Yes, sir!"

"Get me Ike, Beth."

"On the horn, General."

"Ike. When I give the word, blow them all, all

the way down to the footbridge. You ten-four that?"

"I copy it, Eagle. Man, it's gettin'

cold!"

"I can ten-four that, Shark. I look for snow in about

an hour. Must have dropped twenty degrees in that

many minutes. That's why I've got to keep

Khamsin on the move, so he won't notice it so

much. Eagle out."

The flutter and crash of mortars put an end to any

conversation level below a shout.

"Let's go!" Ben shouted at his team. "Get to your
vehicles. Move, move! Sonny! One more

minute and you get your asses out of here. All the

way down to a Hundred Eighty-first Street.

That's an order!"

"Yes, sir."

In the Blazer, Ben said, "Beth, tell Dan and

Buddy and Tina to get up here. Meet us at the

High Bridge Park. We'll link up at the

swimming pool. That's on One Seventy-third.

Tell them to bring five days' rations, full arctic

gear, and all the ammo they can stagger with. I want

plenty of fifties and Big Thumpers.

Tell them to shake a leg."

To Cooper, "Get us down to a Hundred

Eighty-first Street, Coop. Then over to the

Harlem River Drive. I'm the cause of it, so

I want to witness history being shattered. Move.

Beth, stay in contact with Sonny and his forward

teams."

"Yes, sir."

As they drove, all could tell it was turning colder

very quickly. "Mind if I turn the heater on,

sir?" Cooper asked.

"Be my guest, Coop."

"General?" Beth spoke from the backseat.
"Ourspotters in the skyscrapers have reported in.

They've been investigating as much of the buildings as

possible, and each team has found dozens of

creepie bodies. The creepies killed themselves

en masse."

Ben nodded his head. "Tell them to bust some windows

and toss the bodies out. Then have some teams shovel

up what's left and truck it to the barges."

"Yes, sir."

"Probably in every building in the city," Ben said,

gazing out the window and seeing the streets grow darker as

the massive storm approached, the winds

churning and howling high above the earth, the clouds

beginning to block the sunlight.

"It's going to be a bad one, Ben," Jerre said.

"I've seen them out on the plains. It won't be as

bad here because of the buildings, but if you get caught in

one out there, you're dead."

"Yes. I'm sure that Khamsin and his people have winter

gear, but not like ours." He suddenly smiled, and

Jersey caught it.

"Oh, hell! I've seen that smile before. What

are you thinking, General?"

"Head-hunting, Short Stuff. Cutting some

throats in the night."

"Coming up on the bridges, sir," Cooper said,
pulling onto Harlem Drive.

At the High Bridge, Cooper stopped and Ben

and the others got out. Ben had left his Thompson in

the Blazer, electing to carry the M14, with longer

range and just as much punch. He squatted down,

staring at the three bridges.

"What are you thinking, Ben?" Jerre asked.

"What I'm about to destroy, and I don't think

history is going to treat me very kindly for doing it."

"Sonny reporting the fighting is very heavy,

General," Beth related. "He's

steadily falling back, and Khamsin is right on his

heels."

"When he gets to One Hundred Eighty-first

Street, let me know. Once there, Khamsin is

going to find the going will not be so easy."

"Trucks coming, Ben," Jerre said.

Ben nodded, again making a battlefront decision.

"Beth, tell my tank commanders to get the monsters

cranked and up here."

"Yes, sir."

"Looks like Colonel Gray brought an extra

company up with him, sir."

"I'd have been disappointed if he hadn't." He

turned to face Dan and Buddy and Tina. He
quickly explained what was happening. "Buddy, you and

your team unpack your snow gear. Emergency food

packets and fuel tabs; the whole nine yards.

If it snows this afternoon, you're going head-hunting

tonight."

"Sonny and his people have formed a line at a Hundred

Eighty-first Street, General," Beth reported.

"They have linked up with the other companies and are

holding."

Ben held out his hand as he leaned up against a

concrete barrier. "Give me the mike,

Beth. This is Eagle to Shark ..." He sighed

heavily, almost painfully. "Shark, blow the

bridges." He slowly handed the mike back

to Beth.

It really wasn't a spectacular sight-just a

dull crumping sort of sound as sections of the

bridges collapsed and fell into the river. The

tons of debris sent up cascades of water from the

Harlem River.

All up and down the line, from the northernmost tip

of the island down to the footbridge on FDR

Drive, the bridges that once were vital links

to Manhattan were crippled. It took less than

one minute to destroy thirteen bridges.

"General," Beth said, "Sonny says all
fighting from Khamsin's side has stopped."

"I'll just bet it has," Ben said grimly.

"Khamsin probably went into a state of shock when

his recon teams gave him the news about the

bridges. Give me the mike, Beth. This is

Eagle. Hit them, Sonny. Hit them hard.

Tanks, mortars, rockets, everything you've got,

use it!"

The thundering boom of 105's and 90mm cannon

rolled toward the men and women standing in the now

downright cold winds alongside the river.

Something very soft touched Ben's face. He brushed it

away.

"Ben?" Jerre touched his arm. "It's starting

to snow."

In less than an hour, the snow was coming down so

thick and so hard it had dropped visibility to near

zero. Ben had led the new companies north to beef

up the three companies stretched out west to east along

181st Street, from Lafayette Plaza over to the

now impassable Washington Bridge.

But the near-blizzardlike conditions had brought

Khamsin and his people to a dead halt; they had never seen

anything like this in South Carolina, and while they had

winter clothing, it was not enough to cope with what was yet
to come at them from Mother Nature.

And Mother Nature wasn't going to be alone in

sending surprises at the Libyan.

"All the bridges have been blown in our sector,

General," Khamsin was told. "And we suspect

that all the bridges on the east side have also been

destroyed, or at least crippled."

"Not all the bridges," Khamsin found his voice.

"Ben Raines has left himself a hole. Wager

on that."

The field commander did not think this to be a proper time

to remind the Hot Wind that Sister Voleta had

warned him not to cross over into Manhattan. Not a

good time at all.

The field commander waited for orders.

"We cannot fight a war in this miserable weather,"

Khamsin said after a long sigh. "And as skillful as

Ben Raines is ..." And it pained the terrorist

to compliment Ben Raines in any manner. "... I

doubt that he can, either. Make certain our loyal

troops are well fed and housed adequately.

We'll wait out the storm."

"Yes, sir." The man waited, knowing that his general

was not yet finished.

"Ben Raines is worse than any filthy dog

who ever wandered the earth!" Khamsin spat out the words.
"He must be destroyed, Akim. Whatever the cost,

we must kill Ben Raines."

still

would much prefer to get my ass clear of this miserable

island,

Akim thought.

Preferably without getting it shot off.

But he did not speak those words aloud.

"Ben Raines will do nothing in this damnable

blizzard," the Hot Wind prophesied. "You may

leave now, Akim."

"Are all our forward units pulled back?"

"Yes, sir. They've used the storm to pull back

to our sector."

A solid line had been formed at 173rd

Street, stretching from the Hudson to the Harlem

rivers.

"Tell our Long Toms to start lobbing them in,

Beth. They have the coordinates. HE, Willie

Peter, and incendiary. Let's make it a very long

and totally miserable night for the Hot Fart. I

want nothing but rubble between

us and Khamsin. Commence firing and keep it up."

"All Long Toms commence firing," Beth gave the

orders.
A few seconds later, the men and women on the

line at 173rd heard the first rounds sing over their

heads.

Ben smiled. "I hope Khamsin is sitting on

the pot when the first rounds fall."

"Do you want my team to stand down, Father?" Buddy

asked.

"Yes. Let's let artillery have the first dance,

Buddy. You'll have plenty of other chances

before all this is over.""

The first rounds of high-explosive shells hit the

tops of buildings in Khamsin's sector and sent

tons of rubble crashing down into the streets.

Khamsin was not sitting on the pot, but he was changing

clothes in his CP when the first rounds came tearing

into his sector. He had one leg in his fresh

field pants when a round landed just across the street.

The concussion of the HE blowing knocked out all the

windows and outside-facing doors in his CP and sent

Khamsin rolling on the floor. The two guards

who had been posted outside the CP'S main entrance

were splattered all over the street when the second

round dropped in.

Khamsin managed to get his other leg in his pants

and jam his feet into boots as other rounds came in,

singing their deadly songs. One round set a building
on fire, another round tore the top off another

building, and the third round of white phosphorus

peppered troops of the Hot Wind as they scrambled

for cover, running out in the open. They lay screaming

in the streets as the Willie Peter burned through

flesh and bone.

"Khamsin will return the shelling," Ben said. "Have

our spotters in the tall buildings

coordinate the returning fire."

Ben waited until Beth had relayed those orders.

"Khamsin doesn't have the range to reach our Long

Toms south of us, so he'll be trying to drop some

mail directly in on us from his tanks and

eighty-ones. He's got the range, if his crews

are worth a damn, so get ready for it.

It isn't going to be pleasant. Order the people in

bunkers."

"All personnel into bunkers," Beth relayed the

orders. "Deep and keep it tight."

Ben grinned at her and she blushed.

It was an afternoon and evening of artillery as the big

guns roared and spat out death and destruction, the

flames leaping out from the muzzles as the rounds were

hurled into the air.

The Rebels on the front line took some wounded,
but no deaths, since they were dug in and heavily

sandbagged against shrapnel.

Khamsin and his people were not so lucky. They had not had

time to adequately fortify their positions and were forced

to take to the basements. In many cases, the heavy

shelling from Ben's Long Toms brought the buildings

crashing down on them, burying them under tons and tons

of rubble.

"All right," Ben ordered a few hours after dark,

with die snow still coming down with blinding thickness. "Have

our gunners start demolishing the area between Khamsin

and us, Beth."

Those orders relayed, Beth said, "General Ike

on the horn, sir." She handed the mike to him.

"Go, Shark."

"What's up, Ben? We're sitting down here with

our thumbs stuck up our butts wondering what's

going on. What is goin' on, Ben?"

"A defined battlefront, Ike. A no-man's

land. We might make several of them before this is all

over. When Khamsin advances, I don't want his

people to have any type of adequate shelter. I want

them to be just as cold and hungry and miserable as I can

make them. Ten-four?"

"Ten-four, Ben. Holler when you need some more

personnel up there."
"Be ready to come up quickly, Ike. And pass the

word to the others. Eagle out."

Ben turned to Beth. "Have the shelling continue until

midnight. The crews can stand down then." When those

orders had been sent and received, Ben took the

mike.

"This is Eagle to Tall Eyes.

What's it looking like?"

The spotters in the skyscrapers reported back.

"A lot of fires, Eagle. You've got about a

four- or five-block area that is burning. Night

glasses are picking up a lot of destruction.

Khamsin and his people are going to have a rough time of it

picking through all that mess."

"That's the plan. Eagle out."

The deadly song of the shells as they passed overhead

continued unabated. Jerre and Jersey and a few of the

others of Ben's personal team tried to sleep, or

at best, rest, during the late hours of the first night

of open warfare between the men and women of the Rebels and the

troops of the Hot Wind.

At midnight, Ben ordered all shelling stopped and

Khamsin followed shortly afterward. A silence fell

over the northernmost section of the island of

Manhattan. Ben stepped out of his hastily
bunkered CP and looked to the north. The snow was still

coming down hard, in thick wet flakes, but the

flames from the fires caused by the heavy shelling,

leaping high into the night sky, could still be seen very

clearly.

Buddy walked over to join his father. "I have a good

feeling about all this," the young man said. "I

know we have a lot of hard fighting ahead of us, and

Rebels will be hurt and killed, but I think I can

taste victory."

"It's there," his father acknowledged. "Just as long as we

don't become too overconfident. And don't

forget, we've still got your mother and Monte and

Ashley to deal with."

"How do you plan on dealing with them?"

"I don't know," Ben admitted. "I'm just taking

it one step at a time."

One round from Khamsin's gunner had hit the

building across the street from Ben's forward CP,

knocking a huge hole in the front of the structure

and littering the street with bricks and mortar and

twisted bits of steel reenforc-+ rod.

And the snow continued to fall; the streets were already

buried under a thick blanket of white.

"Let's get some sleep, boy," Ben said. "Come

the dawn, we're going to be busy."
Ben was on the line before dawn; this close up, he was

making a lot of his Rebels nervous.

"Relax, people," Ben told them, squatting beside a

Duster. "Before this is over, we'll all be fighting

shoulder to shoulder."

Ben looked up the wide snow-covered

expanse of St. Nicholas Street as far as the

night would allow. "Any of you see anything moving

last night?"

"Nothing, General," a young Rebel said. "After that

hammering we gave them last night, I would imagine

they're going to keep their heads down."

"Don't count on it, son. Khamsin is going

to hit us and hit us hard. He wants to kill me so

badly he'll expend every man he's got to do it."

"How many troops you figure he's got, sir?"

"Between six and seven thousand. Another two-three

thousand of Monte's and Ashley's and Sister

Voleta's people sitting over there in New Jersey,

waiting to see what happens before tfiey commit. But

I don't think they'll try any type of boat

crossing. They'll wait and strike from ambush when

we get on the road."

"Dammit, Ben!" Jerre yelled at him from behind,

finally finding him. "You had us all worried." She
walked to his side.

The Rebels on eidier side of him seemed

to melt back into the graying light, giving the general

and the lady plenty of room.

Ben smiled at her. "You could have brought some coffee,

Jerre."

She smiled thinly and held up a thermos of

coffee. "You want me to pour, too?"

"If you like."

Tin cups filled with the hot black brew, they

sipped in the dim new light of fresh morning and

stared at each other, their breath as steamy in the cold

air as the vapors

coming off the brew.

"When do you think Khamsin will hit us, Ben?"

"Within the hour. He'll probably start with some

artillery to soften us up."

"Then don't you think it would be wise to seek some

shelter?"

"Only if there's some breakfast waiting. Besides,

we'll be able to hear the rounds coming about ten seconds

before they hit."

"That's so comforting to know." She looked at the strange

expression on his face. "What's the matter,

Ben?"

"Incoming mail, Jerre." He grabbed her around the
waist and literally tossed her behind a sandbagged

enclosure, coming in right behind just as the artillery shells

started dropping all around them.

They huddled close as the ground trembled around them.

The street was showered with falling debris as

rounds smashed into buildings and exploded. Ben

protected her with his body as best he could, both of

them shivering as they lay on a blanket of snow that

had gathered inside the topless sandbag enclosure.

Ben fumbled for his walkie-talkie and yelled for

Beth.

"Here, sir!"

"Order all units to commence firing, Beth," he

yelled over the crash and boom of the incoming rounds.

"Give them everything we've got in return."

He could not hear her reply, but within seconds,

friendly mail was singing and whining overhead, heading for

impact with Khamsin's lines.

The incoming slackened as Ben's gunners laid down

a lethal wall of flying steel and Willie

Peter; then the incoming faded out entirely.

"Let's go!" Ben yelled, his hearing temporarily

impaired from the recent explosions.

Together, they ran for the safety of his bunkered CP.

Behind them, Khamsin's people had resumed their shelling.
The concussion of an incoming round literally blew them

inside the CP. The door had been knocked off

its hinges the night before.

"You all right?" Ben asked, sitting up on the

dirty floor.

"Oh, just dandy! But I dropped the thermos back

there."

Ben started laughing at the expression on her face,

and the laughter was infectious. It was almost like old

times, years past. Almost.

"General?" Beth said. She was holding out the mike.

Her voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a

well. "General Ike on the horn."

"Go ahead, Ike. But talk loud. My hearing is

shot for a moment. I'm still hearing booming in my ears.

What's up?"

"Hell, you tell me! Are you all right up there?"

"Oh, yeah. I haven't received any casualty

reports yet, but I don't think we suffered any

major injuries. We're pretty well dug

in. . . ."

A runner stepped into the CP. "Khamsin's people

advancing, General. Comin' at us hard."

"Gotta go, Ike. Work to do. Talk to you later."

Ben picked up his Ml4 and moved to the door. There

were no sounds of any incoming, so he concluded that
Khamsin was letting his infantry carry the load on

this one. He turned to the runner. "Pass the word up

and down the line and the word is Hold! Hold until

you receive orders from me. Go, son!"

He looked at Bedi. "Tanks in position on

our flanks, Beth. Mortars and heavy machine

guns in the middle." He looked at Buddy. "You

ready, boy?"

"After you, Father."

Ben and Buddy, with the remainder of Ben's personal

team right behind them, ran from the CP and took up

positions behind what was left of a wall, facing

north. Ben repositioned some concrete blocks and

bipodded the M14 just as the first of Khamsin's

troops came darting into view.

"Hold fire," Ben ordered, and Beth relayed the

orders. "Let them get on top of us and then give

them everything you've got. Everybody keep their heads

down; absolutely no movement."

The troops of Khamsin's army moved closer,

slower now that they were closing. The snowing had abated

somewhat, after dumping several feet of snow on the

city,

andwiththe full dawning, Ben felt sure the

temperature would be dropping. Soon it would be too
cold to snow. Soon it would be just miserable.

But not as miserable as Ben intended to make it for the

Hot Wind.

"Steady, steady," Ben said, and Beth

whispered the words into the mike. "I'll open the dance.

Wait for me, people."

The enemy was a block away, then half a block

and closing rapidly, the footing treacherous in the

deep snow. Nothing moved before their eyes. The last

reported lines of the Rebels seemed deserted.

"Now!" Ben said, and pulled the trigger, the old

Thunder Lizard set on full auto.

The cold air was split with hot lead; the fluttering

of mortar rounds sang as they floated in. Tanks

cut loose their cannon; 40mm, 90mm, and

105 rounds blasted the white-covered calmness of the

city.

Still the troops of the Hot Wind pressed on, using

their dead comrades for cover as they sprawled on the

snowy ground.

"We're too light!"" Ben yelled in Beth's

ear, his voice just carrying over the rattle and crash

of weapons. "Order all Rebels to begin falling

back. Regroup at a Hundred Sixty-eighth

Street. Order West and his people up. Tell them

to stretch out east of Broadway to the river. We'll
take everything west of Broadway."

Beth nodded her head and gave the orders calmly.

Ben was going to hate to lose her; but he had

a hunch that when this was over, she was going back to Lev

and the cows.

"Make it appear to be a rout," he heard her

say, and Ben smiled at the words. She was one tough

lady who knew the way his mind worked. "Pull them

after us. Let's go!"

She looked at Ben. "Cooper and the others are in the

Blazer, waiting for us, sir." Her gaze lingered

on his face. "Jerre's there."

"Let's go! We'll set up around the old

Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center for a

time."

They ran for the Blazer, parked a block away.

Cooper had put chains on the tires, and the engine was

ticking over when they reached it.

"Go, Coop," Ben said, as the women piled into the

backseat.

"West reporting his men are on the way, General,"

Beth told him, listening through a headset.

"Generals Ike and Jefferys have moved several

companies north just in case."

"Good. Bump Dan." He turned up the volume
of the radio under the dash.

"Dan here, sir."

"Buddy with you?"

"Ten-four, sir. We're spearheading."

An artillery round exploded against a building,

showering them with fragments of brick and mortar before they

could pass through it.

"Close," Ben muttered.

Several creepies ran out of a building and pointed

AK'S at the Blazer. Cooper cut the wheel and

ran over them, their bones crunching and flesh tearing as

the chain-covered tires spun the life out of them.

Their screaming faded as their blood stained the snow of the

street.

"Saves ammo," Coop said with a tight smile.

"The man can think about something other than women,"

Jersey said from the backseat.

"I lust for your body, baby!" Cooper fired

back. "I dream about you at night."

"I retract that statement. Drive, Cooper, and

shut your mouth. Don't think. It's too much a

strain on your brain."

"Creepies in the medical center," Dan's

voice came through the speaker. "I would guess

several hundred of them."

"Just about the time we think we're rid of them, they
pop up again," Ben said, reaching for the mike. "Dan,

we can't fight two fronts. Order

tanks up and destroy the complex. Willie Peter

and HE plastic rounds. Use flamethrowers

to torch the ground floors. Set up behind the

complex."

"Ten-four, General."

"I'm not going to lose any more people to those bastards,"

Ben growled. "I'm tired of jacking around with them.

Coop, take us around behind the center on a Hundred

Sixty-fourth Street. Khamsin's men won't

try to punch through a blazing fire."

Coop slid around a snowy corner and came out on

164th Street. Tanks were already blasting away at

the huge old complex, and flames and smoke were

pouring out of the building's top floors. Rebels with

flamethrowers were working on the ground floors while

others were tossing homemade Molotov cocktails

through the shattered windows, the firebombs catching and

spreading flames.

"Mortar the roof," Ben spoke into the mike.

"Cave it in on them. You ten-four that, West?"

"Ten-four, General. Setting up mortar teams

now. You going to call in coordinates?"

"Affirmative. Drop them in when ready. I'll
correct if need be."

"Back us up a few hundred meters,

Coop," Ben told him.

From their position a few blocks east of the medical

complex, West's men began lobbing in mortar rounds,

the first ones falling short. Ben corrected and the

rounds began striking their target.

"Dead on, West," Ben said. "Keep it up."

The mortar crews began dropping in incendiaries,

and within moments, the medical center was engulfed in

flames. Black-robed crawlers were hurling themselves

out of windows, trying to escape the raging flames.

The Rebels shot any who survived the fall to the

ground.

Standing outside the Blazer, Ben lifted the mike.

"Buddy, take your teams and set up along the

Henry Hudson Parkway just in case Khamsin's

people might try some flanking moves."

"Ten-four, Father."

"Tina, you and your teams join me."

"On the way, Pops."

"Cease firing, West. Good job. That place will

continue burning for hours. Khamsin won't try

to punch through

all that. They'll be hitting your sector hard any

moment."
"I see them, Ben. We'll hold

until you tell us to fall back," he added

calmly. It was not a brag; the mercenary knew his

men and knew what they could do.

"Wogs advancing across a Hundred Seventieth

Street, General," Beth told him.

Ben looked at her, a smile on his lips.

"Wogs,

Beth?"

"Slip of the tongue, General. That's what my father

used to call them. When the Palestinians declared open

war on Israel, my father lost nearly all of his

family over there. My mother was there visiting. They

killed her. I just don't like those people, General. Not

one damn bit."

What could he say to her? He remembered as a

teenager talking with World War II veterans who

until their dying day hated the Germans or the

Japanese.

Ben also noticed that Beth had taken her Ml6 from

the back of the Blazer and was carrying filled clip

pouches around her waist.

"Whatever, Beth." Ben motioned a young Rebel

over to him. "Take the radio, son. Give Beth

a break."
"Yes, sir."

Beth looked at Ben for a moment, then slipped out

of the radio and handed it to the young man. She took up

her M16 and wriggled around behind a pile of debris

until she had staked out as comfortable a position as

possible.

"What's your name, son?" Ben asked.

"Chuck, sir."

"All right, Chuck. You stay with us. If a

translator is needed, hand the mike to Beth."

"Yes, sir."

"Stay out of the line of fire and don't let the

radio take a hit if you can help it."

st"Yes, sir!"

Ben knelt down beside Beth. "Back on the line,

Beth?"

"Yes, sir. I have a really personal interest in

this fight."

Ben nodded and waved his team down just as Tina and her

people were pulling up. Ben spread them out between Fort

Washington Avenue and Broadway then returned

to kneel down beside Beth and Jerre and Jersey.

Cooper had

taken up position in a building behind a

5.56-caliber machine gun called the Minimi.

Each prepacked and belted ammo box
contained 250 rounds, and the Minimi could spit out the

lead with a vengeance.

"Where'd you get that thing, Cooper?" Ben called.

"I stole it from the Canadians!" He grinned with

his reply.

"Armies never change," Ben muttered.

"Here they come, sir," Jersey called.

Ben found him a spot and lifted the M14, seton

full rock and roll and bipodded. "Chuck, tell

the people to fire whenever they get a target."

Ben sighted in, pulled the trigger, and began

to make life awfully uncomfortable for some of

Khamsin's troops.

All up and down the line, the Rebels found

targets and sent Khamsin's people either diving for cover

or sprawled on the snow. Cooper's Minimi was

rattling out 5.56-caliber slugs. Beth was very

carefully picking her shots, and her aim was true.

Between shots, she was muttering some highly

uncomplimentary remarks about the enemy. Like she'd

said, she had a personal interest in this fight.

"Spotters report Khamsin is moving up

tanks, General!" Chuck called.

"Send our Abramses out, Chuck. All Dusters

and other light tanks hold in position."
Ben knew that his Abramses were much more heavily

armored and better gunned than Khamsin's lighter

tanks. It would not be much of a fight.

Ben, watching through binoculars, saw one Abrams

round a corner, lower its main cannon, and blow one

of the Hot Wind's tanks clear off one track and

then turn it into a fiery death trap with armor-piercing

rounds.

Another Abrams clanked up the street, looking

for trouble. It soon found it in the form of Khamsin's

heaviest tank. Khamsin lost another tank to Ben

when the gunner fired an antitank round called a

HEAT, and the enemy tank exploded from the inside out,

frying its crew.

With two of his tanks out and two more crippled,

Khamsin recalled them. They just were no match for

Ben's heavier tanks.

"All tanks return," Ben ordered Chuck.

"No pursuit." Chuck relayed the orders, then

said, "Khamsin's people

are dropping back, sir. They're crossing a

Hundred

Seventy-first and formed a line."

"All right, people," Ben called. "Get ready for

mortars

and artillery. Get yourselves bunkered in as best you can
and grab your asses. Khamsin is going to give us

all he's

got!"

Khamsin spent the early hours of the afternoon dropping

artillery rounds on where he thought Ben and his

Rebels were hunkered. But when the first shells started

falling, Ben had shifted his people several blocks to the

south.

Khamsin was shelling an empty sector.

Over on the east side of the island, West chuckled,

then said to one of his men, "Smooth move. Like silk.

Khamsin is detroying the exact sector Ben had

proposed destroying. The silly bastard is doing

our work. We have found a home, Monroe. I always

said if I ever found a better tactician than

myself, I'd follow him up to and through the gates of

Hell. I've found him."

The shelling stopped. Within seconds, Ben ordered,

"Back on the line, people. Move, move, move."

He grabbed up the mike. "West! Move your people

back to our original lines. Let's have a

surprise waiting for Khamsin."

Laughing at Ben's downright sneakiness, the mercenary

yelled his men forward through the snow, and they

took their hidden positions in deserted buildings.
Khamsin's men came running through the cold snowy

streets, racing toward the smoking desolation left

by their gunners.

They ran straight into the guns of Ben Raines's

Rebels and died by the dozens-died wondering what had

happened and why their great religious leader, the Hot

Wind, had been so wrong.

Ben occasionally watched as Beth coolly and calmly

picked her shots, rarely missing. There was a grim

expression on her face, and her eyes were flint

hard with long-overdue satisfaction.

"Enjoying yourself, Beth?" he asked during a short

lull in the fighting.

"Retribution, General. Pure and simple."

She lifted her M16 and knocked another of

Khamsin's terrorists sprawling to the snow-then shot

him again to put an end to his squalling.

"I'm going to miss you when you go back to Lev and his

cows, Beth."

She cut her eyes. "I ain't gone yet,

General."

As night fell over that shattered portion of the city,

Khamsin sat in his drafty CP and did not

savor the copper taste of defeat that had

formed on his tongue.

He sent his tanks into battle, and Ben Raines
had bigger and better tanks. He sent his troops

into battle, and Ben Raines's Rebels

slaughtered them. He poured hundreds of rounds of

artillery into a sector, and Ben Raines and his

Rebels were not there. Then the Rebels materialized

like ghosts, and more of his troops were dead.

The man was a devil!

Ben sat in his warm CP and enjoyed a spot of

bourbon from a cache his people had found. He had ordered

whiskey for all his Rebels who wanted a couple

of drinks. The whiskey sort of killed the taste

of the goop that Doctor Chase called field

rations. Highly nutritious, but with all the flavor

of a horseshoe. Some Rebels even went so far as

to say it tasted like something that dropped from a horse.

Jerre looked into her opened field-ration packet.

"What is this crap?"

"I do not have the vaguest idea. And to tell you the

truth, I'm afraid to ask Chase. He might

tell me."

It was at times like these that Ben felt a closeness

to Jerre. More on his part than hers, he knew. But

a feeling that he enjoyed; more than this was

something that he knew could never be and would never be.

Then why wouldn't he accept that? still
have,

the other side of his brain countered. still

have for years, and gone right on living, so what's the

problem, brain?

A simple yet complex emotion called Love, you

dummy!

the other side fired back.

Ben stilled the arguing sides of his brain when he

became conscious of Jerre staring at him through the dim

lantern light in the CP.

The others of his personal team were resting, after having

endured the blandness of their field rations. Except for

Beth, who was sitting far across the room, cleaning her

M16, making ready for tomorrow's fight. She was

certainly doing her part to right what she felt was a

two-thousand-year-old wrong against her people.

"Thinking up more brilliant tactical moves

to use against Khamsin, Ben?" Jerre asked in a

soft voice.

was 'Fraid not, kid. I'm about tacticaled out for

this day."

"Tacticaled? Is there such a word?"

"I don't think so. Call it poetic

license."

"What would you be doing right now, Ben, if the Great

War had not occurred?"
Ben was thoughtful for a few seconds. "Probably

getting drunk, listening to classical music."

"Did you drink a lot back then, Ben?"

"I wasn't an alcoholic, but I probably

drank more than I should."

"Why?"

"A question I often asked myself, Jerre. Back

then."

"And the answer, Ben . . . ?"

"I never came up with one that satisfied me."

"There was no special lady in your life that day the

bombs came?"

Ben shook his head. "No. I guess I spent a

lot of years just waiting for the right one to come along,

instead of

going out and looking for her."

"And she never did come along."

"Not back then, Jerre. Maybe we just better

drop the subject before you think I'm leading you into or

up to something."

"I don't think that. What were you looking for in a

woman, Ben?"

"I'm not even sure. After I got snakebit-in

a manner of speaking-more than a few times, I think

I just resigned myself to the fact that I would live
alone; that that would probably be best all the way

around."

"That's a pretty dismal thought, Ben."

"Yes, it is. But have you fared any better,

Jerre?"

"You shoot from the hip, don't you, Ben?" It was her

turn to be thoughtful for a few seconds. "I guess

I haven't, Ben. But at least I can say I've

been trying."

"And have you succeeded in finding your ideal soul-mate?"

"Obviously not." A touch of ice in her reply.

"Whatever happened to ... what was his name?

Matt."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I heard he was killed."

No reply.

"How many more after that?"

"And you've been chaste, I suppose?" she came

back at him, a surprising amount of heat in her

voice.

"Oh, hell, no! There have probably been more

women in my life during the past five

years than in all the time before Tri-States."

"Which is symptomatic of... ?"

"Symptomatic? Hell, I don't know. You

tell me."
"You're lying, Ben."

"That make you feel proud?"

"I didn't do anything, Ben."

"I never said you did."

"This conversation is going around in circles."

"As always."

"Good night, Ben." She stood up and walked over

to

her bedroll.

Ben picked up his M14 and walked outside. As

usual, they were so close, yet worlds apart. He

rolled a cigarette and blew smoke to the cold

breeze.

"Everything all right, General?" a sentry asked,

passing by.

Ben smiled despite his tangled inner feelings.

"Better than nothing, I suppose."

Ben, very quietly and with prior notice, moved his

troops up three blocks several hours before

dawn, knowing it was a risky move that could well

backfire on them all. Just before dawn,

Khamsin ordered the Rebel lines shelled.

Khamsin's light artillery hammered away for over

an hour, and then he ordered his troops to advance.

The Libyan troops walked a half a block and
came face-to-face with hard-eyed Rebels, who

turned the cold morning into a steamy bloodbath. The

slaughter took less than ten minutes; then the

Rebels were fading back toward the south, moving like

white-shrouded ghosts, leaving behind them an area

bloodstained and littered with the bodies of the Hot

Wind's troops.

Sister Voleta, Monte, and Ashley sat over

in New Jersey and monitored radio traffic.

Ben was not using translators except for the most

important communications.

"Brilliant," Ashley said. "I hate the

bastard, but I have to concede his daring in warfare."

Monte didn't know what in the hell Ashley was

talking about.

Sister Voleta remained, for the most part, silent.

She still had not been able to figure out where Ben

Raines was going once he got off the island of

Manhattan. But she knew one thing: Ben Raines

was slaughtering the Libyan's troops, almost as if

he were playing with them.

She thought of something, rejecting it almost as soon as it

popped into her head. Not even Ben Raines would try

something that stupid.

Or would he?

No, she concluded, throwing the idea onto her
mental junkpile.

"I hate to bring this up," Ashley said. "But we

only have food for about two more weeks. After that,

we're going to have to start rationing or do a lot of

hunting. We have a lot of mouths to feed."

"It will be over on the island in about a week,"

Sister Voleta predicted. "There is no way that

Khamsin can hold out any longer than that."

"I agree with that," Monte said. "He must have lost

a full quarter of his people in the last twenty-four,

thirty-six hours."

"I disagree," Ashley objected. "The battles

will go on much longer than a week."

Sister Voleta looked at him. "Why do you say

that?"

"Khamsin has learned a hard lesson. From now

on, there will be no more head-to-head confrontations.

At least not from Khamsin's side. I think

Khamsin will be forced to resort to guerrilla

tactics. If he can pull it off. He

knows, now, that Ben outguns him. He'll have sense

enough to see-I hope-that Ben has deliberately set

up clearly defined fronts, and that if Khamsin

continues his present method of fighting, Ben will

slowly but surely pound him into the concrete."
Sister Voleta grunted.

"You pretty brilliant yourself," Monte said.

"I knew I done right in makin" you second in

command."

Ashley glowed under the warm light of verbal

praise. Even coming from a near-cretin like Monte.

"But Khamsin cannot hope to defeat Ben Raines

using guerrilla warfare," Voleta said. "The

Rebels are masters at that."

"He knows it," Ashley replied. "But he's

willing to die in order to kill Ben."

Siter Voleta rose and walked out of the room.

Ashley's eyes followed the woman. "And so is

she,

Monte. Remember that. She's a fanatic. We

must be careful not to let ourselves be sucked into a death

trap." "Whatever you say, Ashley. You're

runnin' the show, partner."

Khamsin looked at the reports from his commanders and

winced at the totals.

A full twenty-five percent of his army had been

destroyed. Estimates were that less than twenty of the

Rebels had died; maybe that many more were wounded.

And they were trapped on this miserable island.

Trapped, except for the bridges at the south end,

which, Khamsin concluded, Ben Raines intended to use
as his escape route.

He studied a map of the city and felt hopelessness

settle in the pit of his stomach. There was no way

he could get sappers down that far without being

detected. And what was the point of blowing those

bridges? That would seal his own fate as well as

Raines's.

But wasn't that what he wanted? Hadn't he made

his boast that Ben Raines would die even if he had

to die along with him?

Yes, if that was the only way. Yes. He would

willingly die. "If Allah wills it," he

muttered. "Allah be praised."

"What's the word from Khamsin's lines?" Ben asked

Chuck.

"Forward teams report nothing, sir. No movement

of any kind."

"He's probably had it for today. Now I have to put

myself in his boots and try to figure out what

I'd do."

Ben had shifted his battle lines once again, moving

them all down to 155th Street. For the remainder of

that day, he had his people booby-trapping the ground

floors of buildings and laying claymores in

alleys. Ben was giving Khamsin a half a dozen
blocks, but they would be

very dangerous blocks, and with each explosion, the

morale of the Hot Wind's troops would sag.

And after that? Ben thought. What would Khamsin do? still

have him outgunned with artillery; I have heavier

tanks. So putting myself in his boots, what would I

do?

Hit and run. Guerrilla warfare. Sure. The

man was trained as a terrorist.

"Chuck?" Ben called across the room. The young man

looked up. "Alert all units to be heads up for

sneak attacks; hit-and-run guerrilla warfare."

"Yes, sir." He glanced up at the door, then

took his radio and went outside; he could always say

it was for better reception.

Ben noticed and turned his head, meeting the level

gaze of Jerre. "So it's getting down to your type

of warfare, huh, Ben?"

"That's what the Rebels are famous for,

Jerre. If that's what Khamsin wants, we'll

sure oblige him."

"The others might not realize it, Ben, but I know

you've been taking a lot of chances. Not just you

personally, but with the others. Why?"

"I want this over with, Jerre. I want to get the

hell off this island and back to Base Camp One and
just rest for a time. I'm not a young buck anymore."

"You're not that old, Ben."

"Thanks. But calendars don't lie."

"Mind if I tag along back to Louisiana with

you?"

"What would be the point? It wouldn't change anything.

Nothing at all."

"Giving up on me, Ben?"

"Yes. I am."

"That's not like you."

"Comes a time, Jerre, when a man, or woman,

has to say it's over. With us, it never got started.

And it never will."

"And we can't be friends?"

"You know the answer to that."

"This sounds an awful lot like goodbye."

"I guess it is, Jerre. I've got a war

to run, and we took a lot more wounded than

I've let on. Chase needs some

help-desperately. You can either volunteer, or

I'll order you down."

"At least I can get a hot bath down there. When

do you want me to leave?"

"I can have Cooper run you down there now."

"Suits the shit out of me, Ben." There was enough ice
in her tone to freeze a side of beef.

"See you around, kid."

She turned her back to him and left without another

word.

Beth and Jersey and Cooper gave him the cold

shoulder the rest of that day. Chuck didn't know what

the hell was going on, so he was bewildered by it all.

"It's not you, Chuck," Ben assured him.

"Relax. My team is a little miffed at me."

"About Miss Hunter?"

"Yes. You're very astute."

"I know what that means, General. And I'm not.

Hell, sir, the whole camp knows about you and

Jerre. But you got to do what you think is right for the

both of you. And I reckon you done it."

Ben smiled, then laughed. "Yes, Chuck, I

reckon Idid."

Ben went to bed early that night. There were no

booming explosions during the night to awaken him, so

he reasoned that Khamsin had not yet begun his move

south.

He dressed and stepped out of the CP long before

dawn, walking across the snow-covered street

to Dan's billet. There had been no more snowfall,

but it was bitterly cold, his boots crunching on the

frozen snow.
He saw faint candlelight in Dan's quarters and

knocked on the door. "Up, Dan?"

"Come on in, General. I was just brewing some tea.

Would you like some?"

"Yes, I would." Ben sat down. "I gather there

were no surprises last night."

"Not a peep out of them. And our Tall Eyes

reports nothing is moving over in New Jersey."

"They're waiting for the outcome of this. Then they'll

move." Ben accepted a cup of tea and sipped.

"Have you opened your breakfast packet yet?"

"I'm afraid to."

"Well," Ben sighed, digging in his pocket. "No

time like the present, I suppose."

Dan grimaced as Ben opened the packet. "What

in the world is that stuff?"

"It's guaranteed to be highly

nutritious and as good for you as mother's milk."

Dan opened his food packet, took a small

bite of whatever the inert lump was, and grimaced.

"I have a small bottle of hot sauce I would be

happy to share."

"Thank you. Where is it?"

After breakfast, Dan asked, "What's up for today,

General?"
"We pull back. Khamsin will think we're

closing with our people south of us."

Dan looked at the man in the dim, flickering

candlelight. He saw the smile on Ben's face

and knew there was more to come.

"I'm going to order Ike's unit to start the

pull-out to Brooklyn."

Dan waited.

"And not to be furtive about it. I want Khamsin

to come busting down here after us. I want to see what

those over in New Jersey will do, and I want to end

this damn war and get off the island. It's like a big,

ugly, festering boil, Dan. Let's bring it to a

head."

Dan looked at his crumpled-up food packet.

"The sooner we do, the sooner we can stop dining on

this totally unpalatable goop."

"That in itself is a good enough reason."

Before the grayness of dawn touched the eastern skies,

Ben was on the radio to Ike. Until Ike could

pack it up and get moving, the transmissions would be

scrambled.

"You know the drill, Ike. Get moving and get

things

ready to receive on the docks."

"Ten-four, Ben. Shark out."
Ben stood up. "Let's take a ride, people."

They drove through the predawn light to Chase's

hospital without seeing a single living thing or having

a shot fired at them.

"Eerie," Jersey muttered. "It's like we're on

another planet."

"Two more generations would have had to seek life on

another planet if the Great War had not come when it

did," Ben said.

Cooper cut his eyes. "Why, sir?"

"The Greenhouse Effect, Coop. This planet was

in serious trouble. We were deliberately destroying

it because of man's greed and stupidity. Some

scientists predicted that by the year Twenty-one

Hundred, the Earth would have been almost uninhabitable.

So the war did some good after all."

"Smoke and other crap from cars and trucks and

factories was causing it, right, General?" Jersey

asked from the backseat.

"That's right. That's why in a few years, Base

Camp One will be a model town, using solar energy

to heat- among other things-and very nearly

pollution-free. If the government had thrown its

time and money toward solar power instead of wasting

billions of dollars on nuclear power . . .
well, hell, it's a moot point now. But we'll

do it, people. We'll rebuild out of the ashes; hell,

we are rebuilding! We just have to keep plugging. . .

and fighting."

In the hospital, Ben located Chase and dropped

the news on him.

"Get everyone ready to ride, Lamar. You'll be

going across with Ike; probably late this afternoon.

I'm ordering flybys of JFK Airport to check

for creepies. But I'm pretty well convinced

they've bugged out. I'll have people clearing a few thousand

feet; just enough for our birds to get in and out so you and the

badly wounded can be flown back to Base Camp

One."

"The wounded can go," the doctor told him. "I'm

staying."

"I won't argue with you, Lamar. You want to stay,

fine. Just start packing up and get ready to move out

quickly." He smiled at the man. "I'll see you

over in Brooklyn, Lamar."

"Watch your butt, Ben. I'm tired of picking

lead out of you."

"Oh, yeah. I'll do that."

Ben saw Jerre in the hall as he was leaving. They

stared at each other for a moment; then she turned her

back to him without speaking.
"When this is over," Ben muttered, "I think

I'll look up Emil and we'll get drunk.

We do have at least one thing in common."

"Sir?" Jersey asked.

"Nothing, Jersey. Just muttering to myself. Let's go

see Ike."

Ike wasn't wasting any time. His sector was

packing up and clearing out fast. As Ike's people

left, Cecil and his bunch were swinging over from the park

to link up with Striganov's team, who were also

spreading out to cover the gap left by Ike's leaving.

"Put the wounded in the middle of your column,

Ike. They'll meet you at the Manhattan

Bridge this afternoon. Assign part of your people to clearing

a runway at JFK so the wounded can be

flown back to Base Camp One. You know what

else has to be done. You're going to run into a few

creepies over there. But predictions are not many of

them are left. Of course," Ben added dryly,

"we've all said that before-about two dozen times."

"Who goes next, Ben?"

"Cecil, probably. Although he'll bitch and

fuss about that."

The two old friends shook hands. "I'll have everything

set up for you, Ben." He looked hard at the
man. "Who is gonna be the last to leave the

island?"

"Me, Ike. You knew that without asking."

"I was hopin' you'd change your mind. Any further

intell on Gene Savie and his bunch?"

"Dribs and drabs. None of it good. I still

haven't made up my mind about that bunch.

Probably won't until the last minute.

Hell, I might go see them now. Luck to you,

Ike."

Ben turned and walked away. He paused and

looked back. "Keep an eye on Jerre for me,

Ike."

Ike nodded. "Will do, Ben."

"Where to, General?" Cooper asked.

"To see Gene Savie and his bunch. Might as

well bring it all to a head."

Buddy and his team and Tina and her team followed the

Blazer. Ben stared down a pasty-faced member of

Savie's survivors. "Get Gene out here.

Now."

The Rebels had spread out in a half circle

around Ben as Gene crunched through the snow, walking up

to Ben.

"You wanted to see me, General Raines."

"Not really. But it's time for some truth, Savie.
How deep in cahoots were you with the Night People?"

"Why . . . not at all, General."

"You're a goddamned liar, Savie! There is no

way you could have survived as long as you did without

striking some kind of deal with them."

Savie tried to meet Ben's steady gaze, but his

eyes kept sliding to one side or the other. "They

forced us to work with them," he finally said, his tone about as

believable as a dentist who says that this isn't going

to hurt a bit.

"You're slime, Savie. Pure slime. You and the

rest of your scum turned your backs to the horror,

for years. You're just as bad as the creepies."

Ben's hand lashed out and slapped the man

across the face. "Look at me when I talk to you,

you son of a bitch!"

A thin trickle of blood leaked out of Savie's

mouth. He made no effort to raise the weapon he

carried in his hand.

"Stay out of my way until this is over,

Savie," Ben warned him. "As a matter of

fact, stay out of everybody's way. Some Rebel

just might take it into his or her head to kill you!"

Ben turned around and walked off, leaving a badly

shaken Gene Savie staring at his back. Savie
slowly looked around him, looking at the hard eyes

of the Rebels. "They forced us to do it," he repeated.

"You don't know what it was like here. You don't!"

One of the Rebels moved the muzzle of his M16.

"You better carry your ass, Savie. "Cause

there isn't a one of us that wouldn't have rather died than work

with the creepies. They'd have had to hunt us down like a

wounded animal and kill us, one by one. Now get on

out of here, you slimy bastard! Just lookin" at you

makes me want to puke. Move!"

When Savie had walked away, toward his apartment

building, a Rebel asked, "Do you reckon

General Raines is gonna take them with us?"

He got a quick glance and a hard smile.

"Don't bet on it. I got me a hunch the

general is gonna leave them on the island."

Ben drove over to Colonel West's position and

briefed the man on his encounter with Savie.

West spat on the snow. "We don't need them out

there," he said, jerking his head to indicate anywhere

outside the confines of Manhattan Island.

"I don't intend to take them with us."

West's smile was very diin. "I didn't think you

would."

"You and your people and Tina and her teams follow Cecil

and Buddy out of here when the time comes. Rebet and
Danjou will go next, then Striganov, with Emil and

Thermopolis. I'll come out last with Dan."

"When do you figure the total bug-out will take

place?"

"Another three-four days. Maybe five. It

all depends on how well Khamsin takes the

bait. I want him in the center of the city before we

push the button."

"And Savie and his people?"

"After we take the kids from them, I don't care

where they'll be."

"Ahh! Not only have I discovered that you are a

hopeless romantic, but that you also have a soft

spot in your heart for kids and animals, Ben."

"Guilty on all counts, West. Dan will round

them up

just before we bug out."

Ben drove over to speak to Cecil. "You go after

Ike, Cec. . . ."

"Now, goddammit, Ben!"

"No arguments, Cec. I've got to have my

second-in-command free and clear should anything

happen to me. If I get caught up in the

firestorm, you know what to do. Have you spoken with the

Underground People?"
"Yes. They're ready to leave. They say they

plan to make their way to Colorado. I understand they

have others like them living in caves out there."

"To each his own," Ben said. "They're good people. All

right, Cec. The fighting isn't over yet. I'll

see you before the bug-out."

Ben briefed the others on their role in the bug-out and

then returned to his CP.

"Dan, you take a team and hit Savie's apartment

complex the morning of the bug-out. Grab the kids and

take them over to Striganov's sector. Buddy,

you'll leave with Cecil's battalion. Dan and

I will be the last to leave the city."

"Yes, sir."

"Any word as yet on whether Khamsin has taken

the bait we offered?"

"Tall Eyes report a few patrols have made

their way into that sector," Dan told him. "It's

a good thing we didn't booby-trap the first few

blocks."

"What now, Father?" Buddy asked, the youth in him

impatient.

Ben smiled. "We wait."

Khamsin halted his recon teams a block before they

would hit the booby-trapped buildings and

alleyways. Then he began slowly moving up his
main force, still several thousand strong, to join his forward

patrols.

They spread out west to east, from river to river, and

settled in for the night.

Tall Eyes reported this to Ben.

"Do we hit them, Father?" Buddy asked.

"Be patient, son. Why should we risk our

lives when we have a hundred or so booby traps

to do the killing for us? What's the matter, boy? You

got a girl back at Base Camp One?"

"I have girls wherever I go, Father," the son

replied, trying to look stern and very worldly.

Ben laughed at him and ruffled the young man's hair.

"Typical Raines," Dan remarked, saluting the

pair with an uplifted empty teacup.

"General Ike pulling out, sir," Chuck said.

"And he's got his tanks snorting and clanking,

going around in circles."

"That's what I wanted him to do. Surely

Khamsin had sense enough to send some spotters up to the

top floors of tall buildings."

"I think the man's hatred for you, and us, has

clouded his mind," Dan said. He lifted the lid

on his teapot and inhaled the fragrance of the steeping

tea. "Nothing finer
in all the world," he said with a smile. "Now if I

just had some decent biscuits to go with it."

"We had biscuits for lunch," Buddy told him.

"He means cookies," Ben said.

"But he said biscuits."

"Trust me."

"Tea, gentlemen?" Dan smiled.

"I'll pass," Ben said. "Give me the radio,

Chuck. Go have yourself a cup of tea."

"I hate tea, sir."

Dan looked offended. "The tastes of Americans

never cease to amaze me."

Ben lifted the mike. "Eagle to Shark on

scramble."

"Go, Eagle."

"Any indications that Khamsin is watching or

listening to all that racket?"

"I got to believe he is, Eagle. The man

may be a little bit nuts, but I don't believe

he's a fool."

"All right, Ike. Safe journey."

"Ten-four, Eagle. Shark out."

Ben looked at Buddy. "Take a recon team

up north, Buddy. Don't mix it up with any of

Khamsin's people. I want reports, not blood.

Take off."
"On my way."

"You sure you won't have a spot of tea?" Dan

asked.

"I hate tea!" Chuck said. "Yuck!"

"A large contingent of Rebels leaving their sector,

General," a runner told Khamsin.

"Heading where?"

"East."

"Brooklyn. It has to be. They're heading across

the river." Khamsin was thoughtful for a moment. "But

why? Why now? What is that filthy dog

Raines pulling? He gave us half a dozen

blocks. Why? We've encountered no traps. So

why did he do it and what is he doing now?"

"Perhaps he is running away?" one of the general's

gofers suggested.

Khamsin frosted him silent with one long dark

look. "Running away from what? Us? If he is

running away, he's doing it laughing, and not from fear.

Admit it, people. I have. He's done nothing but toy

with us. He has manipulated us with the ease of a

puppet-master. We advance in the morning-very

slowly, very carefully. Let's see what Ben

Raines is giving us... and why he gave us those

blocks."
Buddy was back at ten o'clock, reporting to Dan.

"Nothing moving up there. The streets are deserted.

But the troops of the Hot Wind are on an

unusually high level of alert."

"Which probably indicates they will make some sort

of move come the dawn. Thanks, Buddy. Go get

some rest. I'll advise your father."

Ben listened and said, "We'll roll out an hour

earlier, Dan, and move everybody south ten

blocks, to a Hundred Forty-fifth Street.

Let's give Khamsin all the room he

needs. Once he hits that booby-trapped area,

he'll slow down, probably for a day. That will give

Ike more time to wrap things up in Brooklyn. I

want Khamsin in the Central Park area before we

make our final bug-out. There isn't much in the way

of lethal doses north of the park. Let him come

on."

"Going to be interesting when his men hit the

booby-trapped areas."

"Very interesting."

Ben started pulling his people back several hours before

dawn, moving them down to 145th Street. But even

with this move, Khamsin was still fifty blocks away

from the northernmost edge of Central Park.

By dawn, only Ben and Dan and one company of
Rebels were still on the line, and they were all ready

to bug out.

A shattering roar split the white calmness of early

dawn, the explosion setting off half a dozen other

booby traps nearby. Buildings collapsed,

sending walls tumbling down onto the troops of the

Hot Wind. Entire storefronts were blown out

into the snow-covered streets, the bricks and tangled

steel rods becoming as lethal as a hail of

bullets, breaking bones, ripping flesh and

smashing skulls.

"I do believe Khamsin's men have reached the

scene," Dan observed, munching on a cracker.

"Right-o," Ben said, with a smile, lifting his

binoculars.

The powerful lenses brought the street of destruction

leaping into his eyes. Huge clouds of dust were

lifting into the air; small fires had been set

by incendiary bombs. The flames began reaching out and

igniting the dry wood of other buildings. Black

smoke soon joined the dust clouds, spiraling up

into the sky, to linger around the top floors of tall

buildings.

"Stay out of the buildings!" Khamsin screamed his

orders, understanding then why Ben Raines had so
willingly given up so many blocks; but also knowing that

the Rebels could not have booby-trapped all the

buildings down to their lines.

Wherever the hell Ben Raines's lines might be,

Khamsin thought bitterly.

"Stay in the streets and out of the buildings and

alleys," Khamsin ordered, calming himself.

"Move through the next five blocks swiftly but

carefully."

"He's put it together," Ben said, lowering his

field glasses. "All right, gang, let's

split and leave the field wide open for the

bastards."

Ben felt something wet touch and slide down his

cheek. He looked up at the sky. Snowing again.

Marvelous. Anything to help make life miserable

for the Blowhole and his mini-farts.

"What do you find so amusing, Father?" Buddy asked,

looking at the smile on Ben's face.

"The end to this damn war, son. It's within our

grasp."

"Khamsin's men moving closer, sir," Dan

pointed out. "I suggest we depart as hastily as

possible."

"In other words, Dan, you want us to carry our

asses out of here?"
"Crudely put, but that sums it all up rather well,

yes."

"You're deep in thought, General," Beth said,

breaking the silence in the makeshift office just off

145th Street.

"I'm about to make one of those semi-famous,

so-called "command decisions," Beth," he said with a

smile. "And if I'm wrong, I'll be putting us

in a bad spot."

"If it'll get us off this frozen isalnd,

General," Jersey said, "I'm for it."

"It'll put us one step closer, that's for sure.

Chuck, get me General Jefferys on scramble."

"Go, Eagle," Cecil's voice came through the

speaker.

"Bug-out time, Cec. Right now. And make it

noisy. I want Khamsin to regain some

confidence."

"Ben . . ."

"No bitching, Cec. Has to be. Pack it up and

clear the island today. Eagle out." He glanced up

at Buddy. "Take off, boy. You're leaving with

him."

"If that is your wish, Father."

"It is." He stood up and shook hands with his son.
"I'll see you in a few days. Go say goodbye

to your sister."

Buddy quickly gathered his gear and was gone out the door,

yelling for his team to pack it up.

"Chuck, advise the others of General Jefferys's

leaving. And tell Colonel West to be ready

to bug out at a moment's notice."

"Yes, sir."

Ben picked up his Ml4 and walked

outside, to stand for a moment on the sidewalk, the snow

gently and silently falling around him.

Beth stepped outside to join him.

"We can't wait much longer, Beth," Ben told

her. "We can't let the bridges get to the point

where they become impassable due to snow. Chuck!"

he yelled over his shoulder.

The young man appeared in the broken doorway.

"Advise the other commanders to fall back to Central

Park as soon as Cecil has left his sector.

We'll give Khamsin the upper part of

Manhattan. Maybe that will get the lead out of his

ass and put some steel into his backbone."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll tell Coop to bring the Blazer around,"

Beth said.

The Rebels began falling back just as Cecil and
his battalion were leaving their sector, heading for the

bridge and Brooklyn. And they made no effort

to hide their withdrawal from any unfriendly eyes that

might be watching.

By dusk, all the Rebels had pulled back

to Central Park and were bunkering themselves.

To the north, a thoroughly confused Khamsin was

conferring with his field commanders.

"We've encountered no more booby-trapped

buildings?"

"No, General. None."

"No snipers, nothing?"

"No, General. Nothing to stand in our way."

"Except this damnable snow," Khamsin muttered.

"By all that is holy I do not know what Ben

Raines is doing. That is not true. I know

what

he is doing. I do not know

why

he is doing it."

"For sure he is making preparations to leave the

island, General."

"I know that! But why? Don't delude yourselves,

gentlemen: Ben Raines and his Rebels could

easily defeat us in this dreadful place. Surely
by now you have all admitted that to yourselves. You may say

it aloud. I know it is true."

The field commanders all exchanged glances, but they

would not speak those words aloud. They had never been

defeated. In all their years of roaming the world, they

had always been victorious.

Except for the few times they had butted heads with

Ben Raines.

"We advance first thing in the morning," Khamsin said

wearily. "I must pray for guidance."

"I can't bear to be parted from my precious flower!"

Emil wailed, standing in front of Ben in his CP.

He threw his arms wide, and his helmet slipped

down over his eyes.

"Emil . . . 1"

"Her voice is like a gentle fragrance. Her

lips two rose petals." He pushed the helmet

back up so he could see. "Assign me

to Danjou's battalion, General. Please!"

"Hell, no! Major Danjou would never forgive

me. Look, Emil ..."

"Michelle is the true love of my life. She

is die wind beneath my combat boots. ..."

Ben poured a glass of whiskey and drank it down.

Neat. He did his best to tune Emil out. It was

no use. Emil blithered and blathered and ranted and
raved. Ben was afraid he might start speaking in

tongues any moment.

"Emil . . . to was

"She is my treasure at the end of the rainbow. The

light at the end of a long dismal day . . ."

Ben poured another drink.

Emil started singing "Bridge over

Troubled Water."

"That does it," Ben muttered, and started to rise.

"Don't stop me now!" Emil said. "I'm

gettin' to the good part."

Ben sat down and rolled a cigarette and smoked and

listened. He didn't want to listen, but short of

shooting Emil, he didn't know what else to do.

Emil finally finished and sat down. "Help me,

General Raines!" he pleaded.

Ben poured Emil a glass of booze and pushed it

toward him. "Have a drink, Emil. I'll have one with

you. Believe me, after that performance, I need one."

Emil knocked back the drink and held out his

glass for a refill. "That's good hooch."

"Thank you. Now, Emil, listen to me. I know,

personally, what you're going through."

"You!"

"Sure. Don't you think I've ever been
rejected?"

"Did you love her?"

"I still do, Emil. Just as much as I did yesterday

but not as much as I will tomorrow."

Emil burst into tears.

"Now what's wrong, Emil?"

Emil honked his nose and wiped his eyes.

"What you just said."

"What about it?"

"It was so fucking beautiful I couldn't hardly stand

it!"

"Thank you." Ben thought about that for a second. "I

think."

"But how do you cope with it, Ben? How do you stand it?"

Ben gave each empty glass another splash.

"Emil, let me tell you something. Memories.

That's how I cope with it. I remember all the

laughs we had. All the good times. And we did have

some good times. A lot of good times. Memories can

be beautiful, Emil. I have in my mind a

picture of her standing in front of some windows, with the

sunlight hitting her. I thought then, and do now, that

she is the most beautiful woman in the world.

"But she and I can never be, Emil. So I've

learned to accept that and live with it. She will always

hold a special place in my heart. But I'm
not going to stop living because we can never be ... or rather,

be the way I want us to be."

Emil met Ben's eyes. "Jerre Hunter."

"That's right, Emil. But this is just between us. Man

to man."

"On my word of honor, Ben. I'll

never breathe a word of it. I got an idea, Ben

Raines."

"Lay it on me, Emil."

"Let's us, you and me, two men of the world who now

find ourselves with broken hearts . . . let's get

shit-faced drunk!"

Ben carried Emil out into the anteroom, slung

over his shoulder like a sack of feed.

"That didn't take long," Jersey said.

"Emil passed out during the second verse of

"Ruby, Don't Take Your Love

to Town.""

With Cooper taking his shoulders and Chuck taking his

legs, they carried Emil out to the Blazer.

"Take him to his quarters, boys. And handle him

gently. His heart is broken."

"So is his voice," Chuck remarked. "I

believe that's the worst singing I ever heard."

Shaking his head and laughing, Ben walked back
inside. He went to the radio, fiddled with it until

he figured out how to work it-conscious of Beth watching

him with a smile on her face-and tried to reach Ike.

No responses.

"You got to turn it on, General," Beth called

from across the room. "The black plastic

switch on the right. Right there."

Muttering, Ben turned the equipment on and waited

for it to warm up.

"It's ready to go, General. It stays hot from a

backup battery. If you want it on scramble,

flip that silver toggle switch on the left side.

Right there."

"Thank you, Beth. Eagle to Shark." He waited

while a runner located Ike.

"Go, Eagle."

"How's it going over there, Ike?"

"Better than we expected, Ben. We got the

engines in these old rust buckets ticking over like

perpetual motion machines. We got the winches and

cranes working to lift most of our gear on board."

"That's good news, Ike. We've moved down to the

park and are waiting for Khamsin to follow. Did

Cecgetover?"

"That's ten-four, Ben. We cleared one section of a

runway. The wounded will be flying back to Base
Camp One in the morning. We have not seen one sign

of any creepies."

"That's ten-four, Ike. Talk to you next day.

Eagle out."

Ben walked outside to stand in the snow and

cold for a time. It was coming down to the wire, and it all

depended on Khamsin pushing hard and how Sister

Voleta and Monte and Ashley would react once

the plan went into effect.

Ben tried to put himself in the place of those over in

New Jersey. Ben felt he could figure what

Ashley would do. He did not know enough about Monte

to reach any firm conclusions, and Ben knew he should

not even attempt to plumb the depths of the mind of

Sister Voleta. She was totally but brilliantly

insane. So there was no way of knowing what she might

do.

And Sister Voleta was also a fanatic, her sole

purpose for being to destroy Ben Raines. Like

Khamsin, she would willingly die if in doing so she

could be assured of Ben's death.

Ben returned to the warmth of the building and sat down

on his cot, pulling off his boots and stretching out.

He expected Khamsin to start his advance in the

morning. If the Libyan did as Ben thought, his
Rebels would have to hold their current positions for

at least one full day, and then begin falling back,

sucking Khamsin deeper and deeper into lower

Manhattan. Anywhere past 86th Street would be

ideal. They had enough fuel oil and gasoline

to ensure a big bang and a steady burn in lower

Manhattan.

The chemicals would take care of any who survived

the

initial blast and burn. Ike and Dan had

planted explosives at stress points of many

buildings, guaranteed to bring them down.

Ben went to sleep thinking of the bug-out and the devastation

that would follow. He went to sleep wondering if he

and his Rebels could pull it off.

And he went to sleep thinking of Jerre.

Since he went to sleep so early in the evening, he

was up long before any of the others. He dressed

quietly and picked up his M14, slipping through the

darkened anteroom and stepping outside.

"Ben Raines," he whispered to the sentry who had

whirled around as Ben exited the building.

"Yes, sir. You startled me, sir. Christ, it

isn't even three o'clock yet."

"I'll stand your watch, girl. You go get us a

couple cups of coffee."
"Yes, sir!" She grinned at him, glad for a

chance to get out of the cold.

Ben squatted down on the sidewalk and looked up

at the sky. Not a star in sight. And the air

was not only cold, it was wet. More snow on the way.

And that was not good news.

Two more days of snow, and bridge traffic during the

bug-out would be slowed to a snail's pace. That was

both good and bad for a couple of reasons. The bug-out

would have to be executed very quickly, but if it was snowing,

the dispersion of the chemical agents in the wet air would

be greatly reduced and would thus place the Rebels

in less danger should there be a wind shift. Ben's

weather people had given him the green light for the day after

tomorrow. But it might have to be sooner.

"Damn!" Ben said. He also felt that the snow would

slow Khamsin's troops in their advance. And they

needed to be at the nordiernmost section of Central

Park in thirty-six hours. Then, one more day of

die Rebels falling back, and Ben could cut the

tiger loose.

And when to order West to bug out? No later than tomorrow

evening, for sure. Khamsin's spotters would know that

at least three battalions had left the city. That

just might prompt the man to make a full frontal
attack against the weakened lines at the park.

Maybe.

The sentry returned with two cups of coffee and some

hot bread. "I conned the cook out of the

bread, General."

"Smells good. Thanks. Everything quiet during the

night?"

"Like a grave, sir." She squatted down beside him

and they ate the bread and sipped the coffee.

Ben knew her face but not her name. "What's your

name?" he asked.

"Penny."

"Got a family, Penny?"

"No, sir. Maybe when all the fighting is over

I can think about that. I been fighting with the Rebels for

three years. I kind of envy those who do have kids,

but it's not for me, not just yet."

"You'd miss the action?"

"For sure. It gets in your blood. Here it

doesn't make any difference if you're a man or

woman. Everybody is equal. I had me a man

down in Texas-back when I was j ust a kid,

fifteen years old. The day he told me he was the

boss and I do what he tells me to do, that's the day

I told him to shove it and left. I joined up with

Ramos and his people and then was transferred to a base
camp over in North Carolina."

"Equality is the way I planned it, Penny.

How old were you when the Great War came?"

"I think I was eight, General. Some folks

took me in for a few years, then the man raped me.

I was about twelve, I guess. I split and

stayed with some other kids for a couple more years."

She didn't elaborate on what took place

between ages twelve and fifteen and Ben didn't push

it. Over the years he had spoken with hundreds of

kids who had been caught up in those years

directly after the Great War. Theirs had been a

mean, miserable and scary existence. Many had

drifted to the Tri-States. Most had stayed and

become part of the Rebels.

"They going to hit us today, General?"

"I would, if I were in Khamsin's boots."

"We really going to sail out of the harbor in those big

ships over yonder in Brooklyn?" She

pronounced it "Brookering."

"That's the plan, Penny."

"That'll be fun. I never been on a ship. I

never even seen one up close."

"It won't be long now."

Ben rolled his people out at four o'clock and after breakfast,
told them to get into position.

Chuck got the field commanders on the horn and Ben

took the mike, telling Chuck to take it

off scramble. He knew his words would be monitored

up in Khamsin's CP. "This is Eagle. We

don't use artillery unless they open up with it first.

Let's see if the Hot Fart and his assholes have

the courage to face cold nerve and hot lead.

They've got us outnumbered three or four to one, but

I don't think any of them have what it takes in the

guts department. Dawn will tell the story, I

suppose. Eagle out."

When Khamsin was told of

the

challenge, he took it calmly, and then reached

exactly the conclusion that Ben had hoped for.

"A challenge between generals," Khamsin spoke

softly. "I see now why he fought without honor at

first."

"Why, General?"

"To bring our forces closer to his number,

naturally. Very well, I accept his challenge.

No tanks, no artillery." He held up a

finger. "Do not fear. The forces of Allah will

prevail."

"Recon teams report Khamsin and men are on the
way, General," Chuck related. "Looks like he

took the bait. No tanks and no

artillery."

Ben smiled. "Very good. This time tomorrow, we can

start moving our heavy tanks across the bridges."

"We gonna load them on the ships, General?"

"Some of them. I guess we'll have to leave the

rest." He again allowed himself a strange smile and

picked up a map, studying it, seemingly

unconcerned that approximately four thousand

decidedly hostile troops were rapidly moving

toward his position.

Ben walked over to Chuck. "Take a break,

Chuck. I need to use the radio for a minute."

"Ah . . . yes, sir! You want it on

scramble?"

"Please."

Ben sat alone in the CP for several minutes,

alternately looking at a map and speaking into the

mike. Then, again with that strange smile on his

face, he hung up the mike and stepped outside.

"Let's go fight a war, gang."

Neither side gave up an inch of ground all through that

long and bloody day. Toward evening, it began to snow

again, and Ben had to make a decision and make it
fast.

He drove over to Colonel West's

position. "Bug out tonight, Colonel. Take Tina

and her teams and head for New Jersey. We can't

wait any longer. Another twenty-four hours of

snow, those bridges will be impassable even with

chains."

"All right, Ben. But you're damn sure going to be

short."

"Even shorter come noon tomorrow, West."

"That's the final bug-out?"

"That's it."

The two professional soldiers stood looking at

each other for a moment, both of them smiling. West

broke the silence.

"I always said if I ever found a better

tactician than myself, I'd follow him through

Hell and back again. I found him."

"Let's see if it'll work before you start heaping

accolades on my head."

"Oh, it'll work." He gripped Ben's arm.

"See you, Ben."

"Take care of my kid."

"Will do."

Ben waited and watched as West began grouping his people.

Tina came to his side.
"Why do I get this feeling, Pops, that

you're about to pull something damned sneaky again?"

"Me? Girl, you know I would never do anything like

that."

"Right, Pops. Sure. Now then, what about

Jerre?"

Ben stiffened just a bit, and it wasn't from the cold.

"What about her?"

"She told me she wanted to return to Louisiana

with us."

"So I can bump into her every goddamn time I turn

around? So I can see her with other men? Get real,

girl! No way."

"She's assigned to us, Dad. You know how shitty

that's going to look when you deliberately send her off

to the boondocks?"

Ben was silent for a moment. Then he sighed.

"Maybe it's time for me to open up the plains

states, girl. Yeah. I've been thinking about that.

Just taking a battalion and striking out, looking for

trouble."

"Running away is a better name for it." When he

did not acknowledge her comment, she said, "Are you going

to run from her all your life?"

"I do not wish to continue this discussion any longer,
Tina. It's bug-out time, girl. Join

your team."

"Yes,

sir,

Generall" Then the expression on her face softened

and she kissed Ben's cheek. "You have to do what you

think is best, Dad. I'm with you whatever you do."

"Thanks. You take care. I'll see you tomorrow

afternoon."

"I still think you're going to pull something sneaky."

"Never! You know I am as straightforward as a

bullet. As honest as Abe Lincoln. As

truthful as George Washington. As pure as the

driven snow. As honorable as a minister. As . .

."

"Full of crap as you have always been," she finished it

Ben gave her a swat on the rear and she ran

away, over the snow, laughing. "I'll tell

Jerre you said hello," she called over her

shoulder.

"Yeah, you probably will," Ben muttered. "And when

you do, she'll probably spit in your eye or

hang a cussing on you."

"How is Ben?" Jerre asked.

"Ben is Ben," Tina told her. "He's never

going to change."
West's column had made it over the bridges

without difficulty and were bivouacked in New

Jersey. Tina and Jerre were having a very welcome

cup of coffee and talking.

"I'm tired of drifting, Tina. I want a

home, some permanency in my life."

"Dad isn't going to kick up a fuss if you come

to Base Camp One with us. Just stay out of his way and

don't flaunt your boyfriends in his face. Dad's

going to pull out anyway, probably within a couple

of weeks of our returning."

"If I come back with you?"

"Whether you do or not. Cecil will be running the show

at the base camp because he's better at

administration than Dad. Cecil has him a lady

friend and would rather stay home. Oh, Dad will bitch and

moan about his getting old and all that type of crap,

and about how he's too old for the field and this, that, and the

other thing. But he's never going to leave combat

to others. He's always going to be right in the thick of

it. Just make plans to come on back with us. Like I

said, just stay away from Dad when he's in camp."

Jerre nodded her head. "What's going on around

here,

Tina? Something is very strange. The docks
are off-limits except for a few people."

"I don't know, Jerre. But I have this feeling that

Dad is pulling something very sneaky and keeping it

close to the vest."

"General Jefferys said he wanted everybody in their

sleeping bags by nine o'clock tonight. He also said that

everybody was going to have a very busy day facing us tomorrow.

But what the hell are we going to be doing?"

"Beats me, girl. You know Ben, he's full of

surprises."

"Yes, I know that only too well. And he can

spring them on you right out of the blue."

Ben stepped out and looked up into a dark but snowy

predawn morning. "Now or never," he muttered.

He walked back into the CP and located the

radio, taking it outside. "Eagle to Hawk."

Cecil was on the horn within a moment. "Go,

Eagle."

"Get them up and moving, Gee. We'll be bugging

out at noon."

"Ten-four, Ben. We'll cross at the

easternmost point, well out of range of any of their

spotters, and then angle toward rendezvous."

"Affirmative. Eagle out."

HegotRebetandDanjouand gave the

orders. "Bug out, gentlemen. And don't be
quiet about it. I'll see you across."

Dan had joined him. "Get the kids, Dan."

"Right, sir." Dan waved his team to vehicles.

Gene Savie awakened to a cold muzzle pressing

against his face.

"I do hate to be so abrupt this early in the

morning, don't you know?" Dan spoke softly.

"It isn't a bit civil. But we're going

to relieve you all of a burden."

"What are you talking about?" his wife asked.

"Your children, Madame. I do hope you will not kick

up too much of a fuss abot it. I hate

unpleasantness before I have had my morning cup."

"You son of a bitch!" Gene cursed him.

Dan's smile was thin. "I wouldn't want you to get

in the habit of calling me that. I might take

umbrage at the slur against ray mother and become quite

hostile. Like bashing your teeth out with the butt of this

weapon."

Gene slumped back onto the pillows.

"Take all the art you can gather, people," Dan

reminded his Scouts. "They won't be needing it."

Gene and his wife lay in the dark bedroom and glared

at Dan.

A few moments passed in silence.
"We've got them, Colonel!" a Scout

called.

"Very good." He smiled at Gene and wife.

"Ta-ta, now, folks. Do enjoy yourselves ... in the

time you have left. Oh, and don't attempt to leave

your apartments. I'll have sharpshooters posted here and

there. Good day!" he called cheerfully.

"What's happening?" his wife cried.

"Ben Raines is leaving us on the island, that's what

is happening. Just relax. We can strike a deal

with the Libyan just like we did with the Night P."

"But the children!"

"Less mouths to feed."

Dan took the very quiet and scared kids

to Striganov.

"What do you plan to do with them once we are clear

of the island?" the Russian asked.

"Spread them around our various outposts, I

suppose," Dan told him.

"Do you suppose Ben would object if some of them

went to Canada?"

Dan smiled. "I don't think he would mind at

all, General." He was watching as some of the

Russian troops were busy making friends

with the children.

"Good, good!" Georgi said, then began assigning
personnel to get the kids off the island. They would

leave immediately.

Dawn began streaking the eastern sky as Khamsin's

troops began firing at the Rebel-held lines.

"Fall back," Ben ordered. "Down

to Ninety-sixth Street. Let's go, people. Fall

back as if you "re running in fear from the Hot

Fart."

The Rebels pulled back, giving the Libyan

troops twelve more blocks of the city.

"Throw up a line here," Ben ordered. "We've

got to hold until noon."

The Rebels stopped the fast advance of the Libyan

troops and held firm. There were few casualties

on either side that morning. The snow already on the ground

and more coming down made visibility poor and any

type of movement very dangerous.

"Get any vehicles that we don't need out of

here," Ben instructed Dan. "Get them across the

bridges. Have the drivers of the vehicles that are

staying with us turn them around and keep them ready to go."

Dan was back at Ben's side in a moment.

"The bridges wired and ready to blow,

Dan?"

"All set, General."
Ben checked his watch then opened a map case.

"When we bug out, Dan, we'll take Amsterdam

all the way down until it intersects with

Broadway. We'll follow Broadway down

to Fourteenth Street and then I'll angle off

to Fourth. We'll head down to the two lower

bridges, then across to Brooklyn. As soon as

we're on the bridges, blow the Williamsburg

Bridge."

"Ten-four, General."

"All the Tall Eyes down and clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"All recon patrols back to our lines?"

"All back home, sir."

"What am I forgetting, Dan?"

"I can't think of a thing, sir. I believe we are

ready to put the stopper in the bottle."

"Just a few more hours," Ben muttered, his voice

barely audible over the crash of combat.

"Rebet and Danjou are across," Chuck relayed the

message to Ben.

Emil walked up, looking like the original Sad

Sack.

"Did my sweet poopsie arrive in Brooklyn

safely?" he asked.

"Yes, Emil," Ben replied, fighting to hide his
smile. "Your rose of no-man's-land is safe."

"I feel like the sun has gone forever out of my

life," Emil moaned, looking as if he might

tune up and start bawling any second. Or singing,

and one was just as bad as the other.

"Hang on, Emil," Ben told him. "You'll be

together again." He silently groaned as soon as the

words left his mouth, for he knew Emil was old enough

to remember that song.

Emil burst out in song.

Dan looked on and listened, his face a study in

emotions as Emil bellowed out the words, his voice

carrying over the rattle of gunfire.

Ben turned to a Rebel. "Go find Thermopolis.

Tell him to get his people-and Emil and his group-across the

river. As quickly as possible." He grabbed Emil

by the shoulders. "Emil! Get ready to head for

Brooklyn. Your sweet baboo is waiting."

"Oh, thank you from the bottom of my heart!"

Emil shouted. He ran off, slipping and sliding in

the snow, to join his group.

"Thermopolis is not going to be happy about

this," Dan said.

"Would you like to escort Emil across the bridge?"

"God forbid!"
"Let's go to work."

The men and women walked toward the sounds of battle.

Ben was leaning up against a truck when Thermopolis

and his group drove past in their VW'S. Emil was

sitting in the backseat of Thermopolis's Bug.

He looked very happy, and he was singing.

Thermopolis looked long at Ben, an

extremely disgusted expression on his face, then

raised his hand and gave Ben the finger.

Ben was still laughing and Dan was losing the struggle

to maintain a straight face as the short column

faded out of sight, the chains on the tires clanking

and clicking and rattling as they gripped the snowy

street.

"We can't have any amateurs on this last run,

Dan. Get the Underground People out. Tell them

to move out now."

Within minutes, the trucks carrying the strange and

pale men and women and children of the underground moved past.

"Gettin" down to the nut-cuttin' now," Jersey

commented.

Dan glanced at her. "What a quaint

expression. You certainly have a way with words."

"Thanks," Jersey said with a straight face.

"Wind is beginning to shift around," Coop said.

"Another hour or so and it'll be coming straight out of the
east."

"That's when we'll make our move, people. Blazer

all packed, Coop?"

"Ten-four, General. Sittin' on go."

Ben stuck out his hand and Dan shook it. "Return

to your unit, Dan. Get ready to bug out. I'll

advise General Striganov and his people they'll be

leaving within the hour."

"I shall see you on Broadway, General.

Naturally, you will be leading the parade?"

"Wrong. My team will be the last ones off this island,

Dan."

"I had to try."

"I was waiting for it."

"Good luck, sir."

"Same to you, Dan."

The Englishman wheeled around and began the short

walk back to his unit of Scouts.

Ben stood in the cold winds and blowing snow and

rolled a cigarette, his mind racing back and forth like

a restless panther in a cage. He began

to pace up and down the sidewalk.

Had he remembered everything?

He thought so.

His personal team stood around him in silence,
watching him pace the snow.

Ben sighed and stopped his restless walking. He

looked at his team. "Take a look around you,

gang. Take a look at the Big Apple.

We're about to tear the core out of it. It's a good

thing Hizzoner isn't around to see this."

"Who, sir?" Coop asked.

"The mayor. He would have been very unhappy with me."

Ben lifted the map and for the tenth time in an hour

studied the route to freedom. "Miles to go," he

muttered. "And we're leaving so many treasures behind

us."

"Sir," Jersey said. "We got a hundred

tons

of books and paintings and stuff being loaded over in

Brooklyn. More than I ever dreamed we'd

manage to salvage. If history hangs a lot

of blame on you, then the historians can just go kiss

ass!"

Ben was startled for a moment; then he burst out laughing.

"You're right, Jersey. Thanks for taking

a load off me."

"You're welcome," the little lady said.

"Let's go cross some bridges, gang. Chuck,

tell General Striganov to bug out!"

As soon as Khamsin's troops realized what was
happening, they radioed the news back to his CP.

"Pursue them!" Khamsin screamed. "Don't

let them reach the bridges. Cut them off."

Easy to say. But Ben had prepared for that move, as

well.

What Khamsin did not know, but was about to discover, was

that East 65 this Street, from the park all the way

over to the East River, was blocked by as many junked

vehicles as the Rebels had been able to drag in from

all over that part of the city.

Khamsin split his forces, one group pushing down from

the recently abandoned battle lines on the east

side of the park, the other group chasing after Ben on the

west side of the park.

Some of Gene Savie's group, seeing what was

taking place, ran out of their apartments and tried

to wave down the troops of the Hot Wind.

"We're friends!" they screamed at the trucks.

"We're on your side. We're glad to see you."

"Please stop!" Gene shouted. "Please.

We're your friends."

The Libyans laughed at them.

"Leave them be," a field commander ordered. "When

we get back we'll shoot the men and have our way

with the women."
The race went on through the slick snowy streets of

the city.

In the Blazer, Ben took a page from Emil's

book and began humming "Homeward Bound."

With chains on all four wheels, Cooper could

maneuver the four-wheel-drive vehicle almost as

well as if he were driving on dry pavement.

Since they were the last vehicle in the column, Ben

decided to have some fun by tossing grenades out of his

open window.

That action kept Khamsin's men back a good two

blocks, for the Rebel grenades were almost twice as

powerful as the old conventional type.

Ben picked up his mike and keyed it. "Dan? When

we reach Columbus Circle, spread a couple

hundred pounds of HE around the area and put a

two-minute timer on it. That ought to catch

Khamsin's column just right. Keep the east lane,

east side clear."

"Ten-four, sir."

Cooper glanced at a battered old sign. West

72nd Street. It was going to be close. He

picked up his mike. "You guys up front wanna

kick it in the ass some? I sure would appreciate

it."

The column picked up speed.
"What's the matter, Coop?" Ben said with a

smile. "You getting nervous?"

"Oh, no! Not me, sir."

"He doesn't lie any better than he

drives," Jersey remarked.

Coop slid through Columbus Circle, his face

shiny with sweat. "Shit!" he yelled, relief very

evident in his voice as they cleared the hidden

explosives.

The high explosives blew just as the third truck

in Khamsin's column passed over it. The truck

and its occupants were splattered all over the area.

The huge explosion blew the gas tanks on

several more trucks and created a massive, burning

traffic jam. The twisted and mangled and bloody

bodies of the Hot Wind's soldiers littered the

snow.

The Rebel column sped past 57th Street and

continued south, toward Times Square.

"We're blocked!" Akim screamed into his

mike. "Completely blocked at Sixty-fifth

Street."

"Backtrack!" Khamsin squalled into his

mike. "Backtrack and cut over through the park."

He was frantically eyeing an old city map. "Just
past the zoo there is a road that cuts south, it will

bring you out on Central Park South. Move,

Akim, move!"

"Times Square." Ben pointed it out, much like a tour

director. "I almost got mugged in this area one

night."

They passed the Times Building.

"Macy's is just a few blocks down, ladies.

I wish we had the time to stop and browse, but I'm

afraid our schedule just won't permit it.

Pressing business and all that, you know?"

"Comedian," Jersey muttered. "A

grenade-tossing comedian."

"Yeah, you could say he bombed out," Beth said.

Ben groaned as the others laughed.

They were through Herald Square and then passing the

Flatiron Building on 23rd Street.

Ben keyed his mike. "Dan, everything is still G.

You cross on the Brooklyn Bridge.

I'll take the Manhattan Bridge."

"Ten-four, General."

"Lead Scout," Ben radioed, "when you get down

here to Union Square Park, just past it, hanga

leftand you'll pick up Fourth Avenue, turn right

on Fourth. That changes to Bowery later on. Stay

with it. We might even see a bum or two."
"Sir?"

"Never mind. We'll pick up the bridge just off

Confucius Plaza."

"Yes, sir."

"Where the hell did our pursuit go?" Beth

asked, twisting around in the backseat.

"They probably got all tangled up," Ben said

with a smile as the others groaned.

Coop followed the column as they turned onto

Fourth.

"Cooper Square right down there a few blocks,"

Ben

"All right! Probably named after one of my famous

relatives."

"Probably where they

hung

one of your relatives," Jersey fired back.

"Speaking of being hung ..." Cooper

laughed as he was booed and hissed quiet from Beth and

Jersey.

"General Striganov is across," the speaker spewed

the words. "What is your twenty, General?" Dan

asked.

"Coming up on Houston."

"I'm crossing Canal. I'll wait for you,
General."

"Ten-fifty on that, Dan. You get across the

bridge."

"Yes, sir."

"Khamsin's people in sight, General," Beth told

him.

Ben rolled down his window and began tossing

grenades out as fast as his people could hand them to him and he

could pull the pins.

Khamsin's column fell back several blocks.

Bullets began slamming into the back of the Blazer.

"That's very annoying," Ben remarked, as they sped

past Delancey Street. He read the old street

sign. "Just a couple of minutes more, gang." He

picked up his mike.

"Eagle to Shark?"

"Go, Eagle."

"I think we just might have a few

vehicles on our tail when we cross. Have some

reception waiting for them, please."

"Ten-four, Eagle."

Ben flipped the radio to scramble. "To all units

crossing over. Do not go to the docks. Repeat, do not

go to the docks. You will rendezvous with me just off the

Brooklyn-Queens Expressway on Navy

Street. Shark, shove off."
"Aye, aye, Captain." Ike's voice contained

a lot of high humor.

"What the hell . . . ?" Cooper muttered.

They were on the bridge and staying in the ruts made

by previous vehicles.

The sound of a ship's horn drifted to them.

Jersey looked at Beth and Beth looked at

Chuck.

"Don't ask me," he said. "I just work here."

"Eagle to West."

"Go, Eagle."

"You may have the honors, sir."

"That's a big ten-four, General. But it is with a

mixture of sadness and satisfaction."

"I understand the emotions, West. Peel the

Apple."

Behind them, in several hundred spots throughout

the city, massive charges blew, bringing buildings

down and sending deadly gas wafting through the cold

air. Electronically opened valves sent

gasoline flooding into the subway system and the sewer

tunnels under the city. The fumes ignited and

exploded. Entire sections of streets were lifted

high into the air. The methane was ignited and flames

leaped hundreds of feet into the air as the methane
mixed with gasoline.

And the poisonous chemicals reached human lungs and

flesh.

"You across, Dan?" Ben radioed.

"Ten-four, sir."

"So are we. Blow the bridges."

Those who had chased Ben and his columns dirough the

city were caught on the bridge as sections of both

spans were blown. The fast-moving trucks could not

stop in time. They plunged off the bridge, falling

through the blown sections to the icy waters below, carrying

their screaming human cargo to a watery death.

Ben did not immediately look back on the death of a

city. Had he looked, he would have seen huge

columns of smoke rising into the snowy air,

flames dancing and twisting from the gasoline and

methane as they touched and torched dusty old

buildings.

On both sides of Central Park, and from 86th

Street down to Battery Park, a fiery

maelstrom had enveloped the city, one fire feeding

another as the flames spread unchecked.

Only one battalion of Khamsin's troops was

above the deadly line of fire and poison

chemicals. Khamsin ordered them into protective

gear and began moving them back
toward the north, the taste of defeat bitter in his

mouth.

Gene and Kay Savie and their collaborators

made it away from the chemicals and flames with the

clothes on their backs, their weapons, and damn little

else. They got into their once-expensive cars and

station wagons and raced toward the north.

John Savie sat in the backseat of his son's

car and muttered, "I always knew that Ben Raines was

a no-good, no-talent son of a bitch!"

He looked back at the city and cursed.

Flames were rapidly moving up the dusty interiors

of the tall towers of the city, building with a hideous

fury as the tons of papers within the offices

exploded in flames, the force blowing out windows and

pocking the snow-covered streets with shards of

glass.

As the water in the sewers and tunnels began

to boil, steam began to build, producing pressure

with no adequate release valve. The working energy

finally reached the exploding point and blew, the

collected masses blowing great holes in the

streets of lower Manhattan and in the basements and

lower levels of buildings. That action proved too

much for structures already weakened by age and neglect.
Steel twisted and concrete buckled, bringing

hundreds of thousands of tons of ragged debris down

into the streets.

Khamsin looked back at the holocaust and cursed

Ben Raines, damning him forever to the pits of Hell

and the demons therein.

In the department stores of the city, mannequins

melted as the fires reached near-impossible

temperatures; silk and satin and cotton burst

into flames; expensive jewelry melted; and

five-hundred-dollar bottles of perfume and

cologne exploded, one last and very brief touch of

extravagance splashing an aroma-salute to a dying

city.

Those troops of the Hot Wind who had been caught

in lower Manhattan now lay choking on the

snow, the deadly gases ending their lives just as the

flames touched them, or they lay buried and forever

forgotten beneath tons of rubble as buildings

collapsed.

Those Night People who dared challenge Ben Raines and

his Rebels, those who remained in the city, went up

in a puff of fire and smoke, for they had no

place left to run.

Ben ordered the Blazer stopped on an overpass

of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. He
stood by the railing, facing west, a hard wind blowing

at his back. Lower Manhattan was completely

enveloped in smoke and fire and explosions. Below

him, on the streets under the overpass, Rebels

waited in silence, all of them looking at the

destruction across the cold and silent river.

One Rebel in the crowd of men and women standing in the

cold and snow turned to face Ben, standing above him.

He raised his Ml6 high in the air and let a

Rebel yell rip the air. Ben cut his eyes and

looked at the man.

Others in the crowd turned, raised their weapons and

cut the cold winds with wild Rebel yells of

victory. Behind them, the black smoke roiled

angrily and darkly into the air.

Soon all the Rebels on the streets and

expressway were yelling, pumping their weapons up and

down in a victory salute.

Ben let them work off weeks of collected steam,

their cries of victory filling the snowy air.

Then he lifted his M14 into the air and joined in the

celebration.

Far in the distance, the sounds of ships' horns joined

the victory yells as Ike led the three-ship,

nearly empty convoy out into Lower New York
Bay, past Fort Hancock, and then assumed a

southerly heading.

Buddy stood by Ike's side on the bridge of the

lead ship, both of them looking back at New

York City.

"This was a deliberate move by my father, wasn't it,

Ike?" the young man asked. "My being here with you, I

mean."

"Yes."

"So I would not have to be a part of fighting against my

mother."

"Yes."

"He had this in mind all along, didn't he? This

ruse,

I mean?"

"Just about from the git-go, boy."

"Where will we land these monsters?"

Ike laughed at him. "We'll find us some docks

down south with the equipment to offload our vehicles,

and then we'll head on back to Base Camp

One."

Buddy stared at the smoke that was once lower

Manhattan. "My mother is going to be highly

displeased with this action," he commented.

"That's the general idea, boy."

Spotters posted along the New Jersey shore had
seen the ships leave, steaming stately along and then

cutting out into the Atlantic. They had radioed

back to Sister Voleta.

"Damn him!" she exploded. "This idea came

to me but I rejected it as unworkable. Goddamn

Ben Raines! Somehow he pulled it off."

Ashley had been stunned as he watched the beginning

of the destruction of New York City, and then he

shook himself out of it and ordered everybody to move

south, quickly, all the way down to Middlesex

County.

"Why?" Monte demanded.

"Because I don't trust Ben Raines," Ashley

told him.

They waited at the rendezvous point for the last men

to arrive. They did not arrive.

"That's about what I thought," Ashley said.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Monte

challenged him. "Them boys was good soldiers. They

wouldn't run off. They'll be along."

"They will never be along," Ashley told him. "Ben

used some sort of chemicals; poisonous gases.

I wondered why he was waiting to cut and run. He

was waiting for the wind to change, to blow straight out of the

east."
Even Sister Voleta was shaken. "If we had

stayed, we

would all be dead."

"Yes. I think that, too, was his plan."

Monte shook his head. "This guy ain't human.

He's cruel! B. . . with him and his people all gone

on them ships, what are we gonna do?"

Ashley squatted down and warmed his hands over an

open fire. his Ben Raines and his Rebels are

indeed on those ships."

"Now what the hell do you mean by that?"

Sister Voleta listened in silence.

"You have to understand how Ben's mind works. He is such

a sneaky son of a bitch. I'll wager that

not one percent of his people knew what he was going to do

until it was actually taking place."

"You mean he don't even trust his own people?"

"Oh, he trusts them. Of course he does.

That's not why he does it. If one of them were

captured and tortured, they might break and talk.

Be quiet and let me think for a moment. Your silence

would be most gratifying."

Monte closed his mouth and pouted.

Ashley was thoughtful for a momentand then said, "We know that

Ben has spotter planes. Probably based

down at this old military complex." He punched
at a worn map. "McGuire, Dix, the

Naval Air Station. Somewhere in there. What if, just

for argument's sake, Ben was not on those ships, but

instead headed north out of Brooklyn . . . say,

crossing into the Bronx here," he pointed, "on either

Six-seventy-eight or Two-ninety-five. He

would then proceed up into We/chester County and cross

the Hudson using the Tappan Zee bridge, then

cut south and come down behind us."

"So what's with this spotter plane business?"

Monte asked.

"If spotter planes go up more than just a couple

of times," Sister Voleta said, "that would

mean that they weren't just doing reconnaissance of the

city. They would be searching for us."

"Precisely!" Ashley beamed.

"It would be just like that son of a bitch to pull something of

this nature," Voleta said.

"We'll rendezvous with Cecil at this point,"

Ben said, putting his finger on Gypsy Sprain

Reservoir. "East side. He's taken command of the

units Ike left behind." Ben turned to Chuck.

"Advise the spotters to do no flybys of any

area until I order them up. Tell them to keep

the birds on the ground. Do it now."
Chuck nodded and walked to the Blazer.

"Now I'll answer the question I know you all have in your

minds: What in the hell is going on? I've already

briefed Ike and Cecil; now it's your turn.

"We're going to finish Monte and Ashley and

Sister Voleta once and for all. If we have

to chase them all the way to California, then that's

what we'll do. Georgi and Danjou and Rebet

say they're in diis fight for the duration. That's

good-I welcome their assistance.

"What we're going to try is swinging north and then

coming down on them. I'm sure you've all noticed

that none of our heavy stuff was loaded on

ship. Ike took just enough to get him through to Base

Camp One ... if he should run into trouble."

Ben paused for a moment, turning to look at the

smoke pouring into the sky from the hundreds of unchecked

fires in the city. He shook his head and turned

back to his people.

"Once we rendezvous with Cecil, we'll continue

north and cross over the Hudson here." Again he

punched the map. "*ationorth of the Tappan Zee

Bridge. It's out of our way, but Ashley may have

figured this move out-give him credit, he's a

jerk, but plenty smart-and have it ready to blow when we

cross. Then we'll head south, slowly, giving
Dan's Scouts plenty of time to range far out in

front of us.

"When Monte and the others are located, we'll hit

them and hit them hard, and get this nasty business over

with-

at last.

"All right, people. Let's mount up and head north."

It was slow going picking their way through the

rubble-strewn and snowy streets of the Bronx. It was

a ghost town, with not one living thing seen by any of the

Rebels.

"Eerie." Even Ben said it aloud.

"Will the fires spread over this far, General?"

Jersey asked.

"I doubt it. The city will burn for several weeks,

in spots, and then the fires will burn out when all the

wood and other flammable materials have been used

up. But for any left alive over there, it's going

to be damned uncomfortable."

The column finally picked its way through the mess and

rolled north into We/chester County. It was well

after dark when they reached the rendezvous point and linked

up with Cecil's command.

They were all tired and cold and hungry.

Cecil moved them on a few miles north to a
deserted town where his people had cleaned out a high school

and adjoining buildings, including the gym. There, the

Rebels had set up a kitchen and placed stoves

all around the complex. Huge containers of water were

being heated, providing the Rebels with a very quick but very

welcome warm bath. To a person they were dirty and

smelling of stale sweat and death.

"Hell of a fire," Cecil commented, after Ben had

bathed and shaved and had a bite to eat. "Any way

of knowing whether we got Khamsin personally?"

"No. But knowing that thug's luck, I doubt it. But

we destroyed probably ninety-five

percent of his army. And the five percent remaining are

going to be a long time recouping from this beating. If

he's alive, and I feel that he is, he'll get

off the island and set up someplace-on a much

smaller scale, but we'll see him again, somewhere

down the road."

"Monte and Ashley and Sister Voleta?"

"A thorn in our sides. And don't count them

short. They're still a force to be reckoned with. For a

time I toyed with the idea of just going on back home,

bypassing them. But all that would do is delay

matters and give them time to recruit more people, and we

won't have the time to deal with them later. So it's now."

"You want to explain that "we won't have the time"
bit?"

"Trouble out west. Not even Ike knows of this,

Cecil, so keep it between us for a time. Dan advised

me a few days ago that two of his long-range

recon patrols have been wiped out. When the first

failed to report as usual, another was sent down from

Washington State. They reported, through

Katzman, that a very large force has set up in

Wyoming, ranging in all directions. Then no more was

heard from them. We can only assume they're dead."

"What type of force?"

"I don't know. Whatever or whoever it is, it's

big and mean and nasty. Ramos dispatched planes

up from the southwest base. They never returned and

never reported one damn word."

"Shit!"

"At least."

"Who are you sending, Ben?"

Ben stared at him for a moment and then smiled his

reply.

Cec got the message. "Oh, come on, Ben!"

he raged. "We've got the makings of a model

city down in Louisiana. You've got it to run."

"Correction, old friend.

You
have it to run. And you've got Patrice to think about.

You two are talking marriage, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but. . ."

"No buts. It's settled. I'm going to do some

shaking up on this run. Pure volunteer all the

way. After we return to Base Camp One,

I'll ask for volunteers and re-form the units.

I'll take one full battalion and support

units. But that's tomorrow, we've still got a lot of

fighting facing

us today."

"You're letting yourself in for trouble with this volunteer

business, Ben."

"How do you mean?"

was Jerre conducted herself well on the island,

didn't she?"

"After her initial freeze-up, yes, very well.

Why do you ask?"

"What are you going to do should she volunteer?"

"Reject her."

"On what basis, Ben? You know the way we

operate. You made the rules."

"I have discussed matters with Jerre. She knows how

I feel. She won't volunteer." still

hope,

he silently added.
The Rebels got a good eight hours' sleep that

night, and upon awakening, each took another short,

warm bath; they were beginning to feel human once again

as they lined up for their first full breakfast in days.

Striganov sat down at Ben's table, a worried

look on his face.

"What's the matter, Georgi?"

"I just got word from back home. Trouble. Gangs

have resurfaced, stronger than before. Our home guard

is holding them at bay, but..." He let

that trail off.

"You need to split off and head back?"

"Maybe. But let's see if we can't wrap up

this nasty business first. What's happening, Ben?

We destroy one gang of thugs and three more pop

up."

"Everything has broken down, Georgi. There are

no rules to follow, no guidelines for the young, no

heroes to look up to. Kids who were three and four

years old when the Great War came are now

seventeen and eighteen years old. And they've known

nothing except savagery. It was to be expected.

I, too, have trouble." He told the Russian about

his teams being killed in the west.

Georgi was thoughtful for a moment. Then he smiled a
grim soldier's smile. "I think we shall be working

together

again, Ben Raines."

"Very soon."

"Yes."

"When I get back to Base Camp One, I'm

outfitting one battalion with support."

"All volunteer?"

"To the last person. There is no telling how long

we'll remain in the field."

"Ben," the Russian said softly, for Ben's ears

only. "While we are far from being old men, we are

no longer young bucks. The juices still run hot within

us, and, God willing, shall continue to do so for many more

years. Is that part of the reason you are once more taking

to the field?"

Ben smiled. "You sure chose a roundabout way of

asking a simple question. Yeah, Georgi, it is."

"So you will take to the grind of the field in order that

she may live in peace and comfort?"

"It isn't an entirely selfless act,

Georgi. I'm doing what I think is best for

both of us. Besides, I like the field."

"And you think she will never know?"

"Oh, no. She'll know. Whether she'll give a

damn is up for grabs."
Georgi refilled their coffee mugs. "I have been

blessed in my middle age, Ben. I have found a

woman who loves me." He shrugged

philosophically, and then smiled, a twinkle in his

eyes. "But I, too, love the field. So I can

both sympathize and empathize with you." He sighed.

"Well, now that we have discussed matters of the

heart-to not much avail-how about your children's part in this

talked-about sojourn into the Wild West?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll both go. Dan will be the

first to volunteer. I'd hate to think of him not being

there. I couldn't keep West and his men out of it if

I tried. But I think I'll send them off in a

different direction, with a rendezvous point to be

determined later."

"Have you given any thought to this being the same gang of

thugs working both countries? Although borders

don't matter much anymore."

"Itmightbe. If that's the case, it's one hell

of a big force. And not one that we should take lightly.

Georgi, go ahead and take your people back home.

We can handle this. Besides, I need some firsthand

intelligence as to what's happening out West. Stay in

radio contact with me, please."

"You're sure about this?"
"Yes. I would imagine your men are worried about

their families."

"To be sure. Ben? With so many women in the

Rebels, how do you keep down camp romances?

That's something that's puzzled me for some time."

"I don't try to keep them down. I'm sure there

are a lot of them going on. But they know to keep it

discreet, and if they marry, one of them is leaving the

field for a noncombat job at some

outpost or base camp. So far it's worked."

Georgi nodded his head and sighed. "Well, it's a

long way back home, Ben Raines. Almost three

thousand miles. And sitting here isn't getting us

any closer." He smiled and stuck out his hand.

"I'll keep in radio contact with you and I'm

looking forward to seeing you again, this spring or summer."

Ben took the offered hand. "Take it easy, friend.

And thanks for all your help."

Georgi Striganov smiled and left the table,

stopping at the table where Rebet and Danjou were having

breakfast, and telling them the news. Both of them

turned with a smile and tossed Ben a salute.

Ben returned the smile and the salute and watched the

three men leave the gym. He mulled over the final

casualty reports from the fight in New York.

Seventy dead and more than two hundred wounded. A
hundred and fifty of those wounded had been flown

back to Base Camp One.

Doctor Holly Allardt had flown back with the

last planeload.

He looked up as Tina and Jerre came walking

into the large gym for breakfast. Already Ben was

experiencing a

sense of loss just looking at Jerre.

Emil abruptly took his mind off Jerre when the

little man came running into the gym and threw his arms

wide. "My poopsie-whoopsie is leaving!" he

wailed. "The light in my life has been forever

dimmed. Oh, woe is me!"

"Oh, shit!" Ben muttered.

Ben had found Thermopolis's eye and motioned for him

to please do something with Emil. With a disgusted look on

his face, the hippie and several of his friends carried the

squalling Emil out of the gym. Ben waggled his finger

for Dan to join him.

"As soon as Tina finishes breakfast, Dan,

get her and her team on the road north. I want

her a full ten miles ahead of us checking things out,

all the way up to the bridge."

"Right, General. Jerre?"

"What about her?"
"She's rejoined Tina's team."

"Always has something to prove." Ben shook his head.

"Well, it's her ass. Sure, send her with

Tina."

"I'll have them gone within the hour."

"Tell our people we're leaving at ten o'clock, Dan."

"Ten-four, General."

Ben watched as Dan stopped at a table

to inform some of his Scouts. The whole group of them

burst out singing the old Willie Nelson song

"On the Road Again."

As was his custom before beginning any new campaign,

Ben walked the length of the convoy, chatting briefly

with each driver and as many of his Rebels as time would

allow. The snowing had stopped, the day bright and

sunny, the temperature right around the

thirty-degree mark, accord -

ing to an old thermometer Ben had found still nailed

to the side of a building.

"Tina reports the roads are slick as owl

crap," Ben told one driver. "Even with chains

it's going to be slow going. We won't make the

bridge today. We're not going to try."

To another: "Going to be home before spring, Davy.

You can get that garden in."

Back up the other side of the convoy he walked, his
waterproof arctic boots crunching the snow and his

breath steaming the air as he spoke to the men and women

of the Rebels.

Back in his Blazer, Ben spoke to Cooper.

"Let's go, Coop. We have miles ahead of us."

The long column snaked ahead and began to stretch

out. Striganov's columns had pulled out

almost two hours before, and the Rebel drivers were

following their ruts. Striganov would drive all the

way up to the Canadian border, crossing over the

St. Lawrence at Montreal.

It was a beautiful day, and the beauty, although barren and

void of human life, was not lost on the Rebels,

who had been locked between the tall buildings of New

York City for week after drab and bleak and

dangerous week.

The Rebels saw no signs of human life, but

the wildlife had returned: bear and deer were making

a dramatic return to their rightful place in the

scheme of things. Ben also suspected that behind the deep

timber and brush that had overtaken the earth, mutants

were watching the long convoy pass. Ben had pretty

much left the beastlike creatures alone over the

past few years.

Possessing some sort of native intelligence, the
huge mutants seemed to understand that Ben would not harm

them if they left the humans alone.

So far, it had worked out.

At one time, Rebel scientists had theorized that

disease had wiped out the misshapen and grotesque

creatures. That had proved to be a false

assumption. The mutants were very much a part

of the rural landscape. But they stayed well away from

humans.

And, Ben thought with a smile, the wolves had

returned

over the years, the elusive and magnificent

animals once more roaming the timber, doing their part

in maintaining the balance within the animal world.

No Rebel shot a wolf. Those orders came from

Ben Raines. Only if a person found himself or

herself in a life-threatening situation with a wolf was

deadly force to be used. And since that never happened,

and would never happen if one possessed even the most

basic knowledge of and respect for wolves-which all

Rebels did, thanks to Ben-the wolf was back,

running wild and free, safe from ignorant

rednecks and other assorted fools with guns.

Ben knew, from extensive research on the

subject, that in the United States, over a

hundred-year period, there had never been a
documented account of a human ever being attacked by a

healthy, full-grown wolf-without the human

provoking the attack. Ben had always believed that if

Little Red Riding Hood was eaten by a wolf, she

probably started the incident by poking the wolf in the

eye with a stick.

There had been many changes in the treatment of

wildlife since Ben started ramrodding the show.

Animals were still hunted for food, but only if

absolutely necessary, and never for sport. Kids were

taught in school-from the earliest grades-to

respect wildlife. Theirs was a natural place

in the scheme of things. Given enough land to roam and

hunt, animals would take care of animals without

human interference.

And as long as Ben was alive, humans would not

interfere.

The Rebels spent the night in the deserted town of

Croton-on-Hudson. Tina and her team had

made a fast but thorough inspection of the town.

"It doesn't appear that human life has existed

in this place for years, Dad," she told him.

"It's just like every town we've inspected on this

run-nothing. No dogs, no cats, nothing."

"They've gone back to the wild, Tina. They're
seeing us, but we're not seeing them. And only the

toughest of dog breeds have survived. The working

breeds probably

made it by feeding on the smaller, pampered breeds.

It isn't cruel, it's just the way it is.

Animals don't kill for sport,

girl. Only man kills for sport. How about the

bridge up ahead?"

"It's okay, structurally. But it's going to be

tough to cross unless we can find some snow blades

to hook onto our trucks and plow a lane open."

"We'll get on that in the morning; find a state

highway department building and start rigging the

trucks. You find us a place for the night?"

"Several of them. School, gym, motels-the whole

town is ours."

Ben squatted in the snow and watched as several

trucks, now equipped with snow blades, carved a

lane down the center of the bridge. Slowly the convoy

made their way across the Hudson River and once more

began their trek. By nightfall, they had only

traveled twenty-five miles. The roads were

several feet deep in snow. Tina's team had been

forced to rejoin the main column and let the snowplows

forge ahead, plowing a path for the vehicles. In many

cases, had it not been for the old, for the most part
wireless power poles, they would not have been able even

to find the road as it twisted and turned through the deep

snow.

The column had to travel many miles before they could

turn back south, since sections of the

New York State Thruway had been destroyed.

When they did finally cut south, using state and county

roads, the traveling was even slower.

"At this pace," Dan said, "we just might lose

our quarry. They might get tired of waiting and

start to wonder if perhaps we all were on those ships."

"Possibly," Ben acknowledged. "If so, we'll

meet them another day. But I think they're still just about

where we left them. South of the city, probably."

The men turned as the last of the vehicles began

pulling into camp for that night. Thermopolis and his people

had been forced to find big tractor-trailer rigs

with flatbeds and

chain down and transport their VW'S that way; the

snow was just too deep for the Bugs and many of the vans.

The hippies were not about to give up their VW'S. That

would be as unthinkable as cutting their hair or shaving.

"Enjoying the sightseeing?" Ben asked, as

Thermopolis and some of his group walked up.

"Actually, yes. The scenery is breathtaking. And the
air is so clean. Ben Raines, what do you people do with

your garbage?"

"We bury it so the earth can once more claim it."

"Goddamn walking

contradictionea8Thermopolismuttered as he

went his way. "Shoots every human being in sight and

worries about the environment. Blows up entire

cities and protects the wolves. Jesus

Christ!"

"How's Emil?" Ben called.

Thermopolis turned around, a bleak look on his

face. "In mourning. He says if he could find

some sackcloth he'd wear it. He's already

sprinkled ashes on his head. I don't think he

realizes that sackcloth was originally made of

goats' hair. Come to think of it, I might mention

that to him."

"Please don't. He'll go out hunting goats and

get lost."

"Yes. There is that to consider. Both pro and con."

He turned to leave.

"Look after him, Therm. Remember, his heart has

been broken."

"Thank you so very much, Ben Raines. Your faith in

me is very nearly overwhelming."

Dan lifted a map. "We should reach Highway
Seventeen sometime tomorrow. That will take us to the New

York Thruway, then on into New Jersey. Each

day the sun shines, the going becomes a bit easier.

I would predict three days

to confrontation."

"On the morning of the third day, I'll order

spotter planes up to make one pass over the

city. Two people to a plane. They should be able

to pinpoint the bogie camp. But when they do, we're

going to have to drive as fast as possible and hit them

hard."

"With General Striganov and his people gone, we're

too short to try to box them in."

"I know. We're going to have to hit them so hard and so

fast, we put them into a rout. Voleta's forces

are made up mostly of thugs and punks and

remnants of various motorcycle gangs. Their

bikes are absolutely useless in this weather, and

besides, they don't know jack shit about tactics

anyways. Monte probably has the larger force,

but they are going to be cold and miserable and surly and

have never had to rely on anything except brute force

to get their way. Ashley and his men will be the ones

we'll have to destroy and do it totally-if we can. Of

course, none of us have any idea, really, how many people
we'll be going up against until the spotters give

us some kind of a report; even then it's going to be

pure guesswork."

"Let's get us a bite to eat," Dan

suggested. "Chase has promised faithfully that this

evening's meal will be something to remember."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

The convoy pulled out the next morning, just at dawn.

And it promised to be another bright and sunny day, the

sunshine continuing to melt the snow and turn the roads

slushy, especially for the vehicles rolling along

at the rear of the long column.

At noon they reached Highway 17 and turned

southeast, angling toward the New York State

Thruway. Ben sent a team in to check out

Middletown. When they reported back it was the

same as always on this trip: nothing. Absolutely

no signs of life.

"The Night People ranged out far, didn't they?" Ben

said, sticking his arm out the window and motioning the column

to move on.

"We'll fight them again, won't we, General?"

Jersey asked.

"I'm sure. But after the lesson we handed them in

New York City, you can bet the Judges will

contact their kind
around the country and warn them to fight shy of us. I'm

thinking they'll also try to adopt a more normal type

of outward lifestyle."

"You mean dress like us or other civilians?"

Beth asked.

"Yes. And perhaps even bathe occasionally. But that might

be asking too much."

"If I never smell one of those creeps again,

it'll be too soon," Chuck said. "I don't

think I ever smelled anything like that in my life."

"Killed the taste of the field rations," Cooper

offered.

All agreed that was about the only good thing to be said for the

creepies.

They spent the night at a small town not far from the

West Point Military Reservation.

"No desire to go inspect the place, Ben?"

Cecil asked, over dinner.

"None whatsoever. I always figured all that crap

the cadets had to go through to be a lot of bullshit.

And it must have been," he said with a small smile.

"I'm running the biggest army known to exist anywhere

in the world, and they're all dead."

The sun continued to shine, and the column was moving much

faster; they would be well inside New Jersey before
noon.

Ben ordered the convoy halted and two spotter

planes up.

"They were practically sitting in our laps,

General," a spotter reported. "They're all

strung out between Twin Rivers and what appears to be

... ah, Kingston, I guess it is. If I had

to take a guess, I'd say about fifteen hundred

to two thousand of them. They must have been joined by some

other outlaws."

"Probably. Did they appear to be nervous at

seeing you?"

"Ten-fifty, General. Some of them waved at us."

"All right. Thanks. Return to base and pack it

up. Get out of there. There are little airports south

of your

position. Try the Camden-Burlington airport.

That's just off the New Jersey Turnpike. Check

it out and give me a bump one way or the other.

Eagle out."

Ben looked at Dan and Cecil and West.

"Ashley's got something up his sleeve. Dan,

get your Scouts out. Let's find out what the hell

is going on."

Ben had skirted the area around New York City,

and the column had wound their way through the countryside.
Ben halted the convoy in Somerset County and told

his people to eat and rest. It might be the last

chance to do so for several days.

Late that night, the Scouts reported back.

"They seem to be strung out in a line running

southeast from Kingston over to Twin Rivers. They're

in private homes all up and down the line."

"You saw them in the homes?" Ben questioned.

"We observed a few of them through long lenses,

yes, sir."

"And that is all that's there, too," Ben said, leaning

back and sipping at his coffee. "All they were

waiting for is the spotters to note their positions and

then the bulk of them took off, leaving fires burning

and a few behind to throw us off."

"Where'd they go?" Tina asked.

"That, my dear, is a damn good question." He glanced

at the Scout. "You saw people moving around in those

houses?"

"Ah . . . no, sir. Not moving around. Sitting

in chairs . . ." The Scout trailed itoff,

frowning. "I think, sir, that we've been had."

"Right. I think so, too. Heads up, people. Full

alert.

Everybody spread their people up and down the line from . .
." Ben studied the map. He had no idea where the

enemy was and no clue as to where they might

strike. "Shit!" he spat out the word. "Spread out

all over the town and I want a total blackout.

No smoking, no fires, no light whatsoever.

Get everybody in full arctic gear for warmth.

Move!"

The town of Sommerville went black as the orders

spread. One minute there were lights all over the

place from portable generators and cook fires; the

next minute it was as if someone had flipped a

giant switch.

Ashley was smiling with thoughts of total victory

dancing in his head, when all of a sudden the sugarplum

pudding turned rancid.

"Hey!" Monte yelled. "The damn place done

wentdark on us!"

"There is nothing wrong with my vision," Ashley

told him. "That bastard figured it out. That has

got to be the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

"Let's charge!" Monte yelled. "Hell, we

got "em outnumbered!"

"Let's don't." Ashley nixed that. "I prefer

to go on living for quite a few more years. Be quiet,

let me think."

"How many lights is that?" Ben asked Chuck, who
was monitoring through a headset as Rebels

with night lenses began reporting flashes of lights

from matches, probably from lighting cigarettes.

"Eight, sir. Fifteen hundred meters out in a

rough line running east and west."

"Uh-huh. Ashley swung his people around as we moved

up into town." Ben lifted his own mike.

"Gunners, you have the coordinates?"

"Ten-four, sir."

"Commence firing."

The quiet starry night was shattered as every piece of

artillery Ben had at his disposal began booming out

its lethal loads.

"Willie Peter," Ben ordered. "Let's start

some fires. It'sa cold night."

Grinning at Ben's deadly humor, Chuck

relayed the orders.

Showers of white phosphorus began lashing the

night, the burning shards setting homes and buildings

burning. The flames, burning unchecked, soon

began ravishing the area, leaping from building to building

and putting the enemy's troops into a rout, running

wildly in all directions in an effort to escape

the flames.

"Cease firing," Ben ordered. "And stand down to a
low alert. I don't think they'll be

back this night."

At dawn, Ben ordered the spotter planes up

while the Rebels began a body count. While not

many of the thugs had been killed during the short

shelling, it had obviously knocked a large hole

in their morale, for the eyes in the skies could not

locate any sign of the outlaws.

"Both good and bad," Ben said. "They've gone, but

where?"

"Spotters report the roads are almost entirely

free of snow," Ben was told. "So they can't

track the retreat that way."

"Dan, get your Scouts out. The rest of us will be

moving down the New Jersey Turnpike. We'll

cross the river between Trenton and Philly and set

up camp on the outskirts of Philly. Might as

well see what the city holds."

"More Night People, General?" Chuck asked.

"Probably."

"If we find them there, are we going to destroy the

city?"

"We don't have enough explosives left, Chuck.

We're running low on everything except bullets

and grenades.

If we come face-to-face with any
major battles, it's going to be damn near

hand-to-hand from here on in. Let's pack it up,

gang."

Dan sent his Scouts out, ranging all the way down

to Philadelphia. They reported back that they could

find no sign of Monte or Ashley or Sister

Voleta's people, but that Philadelphia contained some

life. What type of life, unclear.

"Do not enter the city," Ben ordered. "Hold what

you've got. Make no moves until we get

there."

It was not that long a run down to Philly, andwiththe

roads nearly clear, the convoy made good time,

arriving at the outskirts a couple of hours before

dark.

Ben approached his daughter. And Jerre. He

ignored Jerre. "What's it look like in there,

Tina?"

"I didn't go in. She went in with Ham and a

team." Tina jerked a thumb toward Jerre.

Ben turned to face her. "So what did you find?"

"A lot of people without much organization. It looks like

a huge hobo camp. I felt sorry for them."

"You would. How far in did you penetrate and using

what route?"
"We went as far as Pennypack Park, using

highway one. It ran right past the North

Philadelphia Airport. The airport

appears to be intact, but littered."

"Tina, at first light, take a team in and clear a

runway for our planes. We've got to be

resupplied from Base Camp One." He cut his

eyes to Jerre. "That was a good report. Thank

you."

"You are certainly welcome, sir," Jerre said,

her words very crisp.

The snow had melted on the roads, but Ben didn't

have to look far to find plenty of ice.

"We'll set up for the night in this area. We'll

enter Philly in the morning." He wheeled around and

exited that spot before he came down with a bad case

of frostbite.

"I thought for a time we were in for a warming trend,"

Dan spoke to Colonel West. "It appears I

was badly mistaken."

"I think I have bits of ice on my nose,"

West agreed.

The men cut their eyes to Tina and Jerre, both of

whom were glaring at them, not appreciating their stabs

at humor one little bit.

"Shall we take our leave, Colonel West?"
Dan suggested.

"By all means, Colonel Gray." He looked

at Tina. "Shall we have our evening meal together as

usual?"

"I'll be busy," she frosted him. "Thank you."

"I'm available," Dan told the mercenary. "Just

don't try to kiss me."

After dinner, Ben went over the list of remaining

supplies and shook his head. "We'll make the

airport our CP," he told his team. "As

soon as a runway is clear, our birds from down

south can start resupplying us. We'll enter the city

in the morning. But I got a hunch that, from what

Jerre said, all we're going to find is a bunch of

goddamn losers waiting for someone else to do for

them."

"And we do what with them?" Chuck asked.

"We help the elderly and the young-probably ship them

back to a base camp. The rest can go to hell."

"We see this a lot," Jersey explained

to Chuck. "We'll find a group of people really

putting things back together again. Schools,

collective gardens, farms, the whole nine yards.

But we see more of people just doing nothing. The

way we feel is this: If these people won't do anything
here, for instance, they're not going to do anything after we

leave ... no matter what we do to help them."

"We've tried it the other way, Chuck," Ben

told the young man. "It just doesn't work. These people

you'll see tomorrow-most of them-were a pretty sorry

bunch before the Great War. Whiners and complainers.

Always looking for the easy way. No matter what an

employer paid them, it was never enough to their way of thinking.

These are the people who eagerly supported any wealth

redistribution programs dreamed up

by politicians. These people are narrow-minded, lazy,

ignorant, and for the most part, good for nothing. You'll

see. I promise you."

"Are you here to help us?" a man asked Ben. A

group of people had been waiting at the airport for the

arrival of the Rebels.

"Why in the hell didn't you help yourselves?" Ben

asked him.

The question seemed to confuse the man. He blinked a

couple of times. "We have defended our city,

General."

"Your city? The goddamn city is dead, man!

How in the hell are you going to grow crops on

concrete? Have you restored any type of

power? Running water? Sewage? I can answer the

last question. No. The place stinks like a cesspool.
What do you do with your waste, just dump it in the

gutters? I believe you do. I've seen this a

hundred times. When you've fouled one neighborhood

beyond belief, you simply move to another. Have you set

up schools for the young? Do you have a system of

government? I doubt it."

Ben pushed the man away with a gloved hand. "Get out

of our way. We've got work to do."

The man was astonished. "But we need help! We

need food and clothing."

Ben withered him silent with a look. Something was all

wrong here; but Ben couldn't pinpoint it. "Then grow

your food and sew your clothing. And stop bothering

me." He turned his back on the small crowd and

walked away. The crowd started to follow. They

stopped when a squad of hard-eyed and heavily armed

Rebels blocked their way.

Ben walked up to Dan. "Get your teams out,

Dan. Round up the kids and take them to the old

state hospital building we passed coming in.

That's where Chase is setting up. As soon as our

birds come in and unload, we'll start flying the

kids out."

"Hard man," Rosebud whispered to her husband.

"Hard times," Thermopolis replied, and was aston-
ished to hear those words coming out of his mouth.

Rosebud stared at him.

"I gotta get out of this army," he said. "It's

beginning to cloud my ability to reason."

Cecil walked up to Ben. "Some of the . . .

citizens say you're being unreasonable, and that they

want to become part of the Rebel army."

Ben leaned against a vehicle and rolled a smoke,

licking the tube tight and lighting up. "And you told

them .. . ?" He couldn't shake the feeling that something

was terribly wrong.

"I told them we would take their request under

advisement and would give them our reply sometime in the

near future."

"Cec, you certainly have a way with words. You're

going to love running things when we get back

to Base Camp One."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking

forward to it, Ben."

"You and Patrice going to tie the knot?"

"It's a distinct possibility."

"I'm glad, and you know I mean that, Cec."

"I know. You're really going to stay in the

field, Ben?"

"Yes, I am, Cec. I figure it'll take

four or five weeks back at the base
to reorganize and get reequipped for the field.

I'm handing all the administrative duties over

to you the instant we get back."

"And you'll be gone . . . ?"

"I don't know, Cec. When I do get back, it

won't be for any lengthy stay." He smiled at his

friend. "So I expect many great and monumental

tasks to be accomplished while I'm gone."

Cecil grunted. "Well, if your mind is made

up, I won't try to talk you out of it."

"And I appreciate that. Now then, what do you think

about exploring Philadelphia?"

"Well, as my daddy used to say, it sure beats

the hell out of a lick upside the head!"

"Bullshit!" Ben said with a laugh. "Your father was a

psychiatrist and your mother was a college

professor, and I happen to know that you hold a

Ph.d. from what was once a very prestigious

Eastern university. So don't pull your

cotton-patch coon business on me!"

"Cotton-patch coon? Good God!" Cecil

roared with laughter, and Ben joined him,

while other Rebels stood and stared at the men,

thinking that one of them must have told a hell of a funny

joke.
"Care to come along with us?" Ben asked

Thermopolis. "It'll get you away from Emil for a

few hours."

That did it. "I'll ride with General Jefferys,"

Thermopolis said. "Let me tell Rosebud where

I'll be."

"Bring her along if she wants to come."

She did. Sitting in the backseat of Cecil's

Blazer with her husband, she said, "If someone had

told me years back that someday I would be a part of a

Rebel army, armed to the teeth and fighting all over

the United States-or what's left of it-I would

have laughed at them."

Cecil smiled. "Both my wife and I were

college professors back before the Great War,

Rosebud. Believe me, I know what you mean."

"Your wife was killed during the fighting of the

Tri-States, was she not?"

"Yes."

"And you've been with Ben Raines . . . ?"

"Since the beginning. And I can tell you that no man

ever fought harder to avoid being placed in

charge of the Rebels than Ben."

"And Ben's wife . . . ?"

"Salina. She was about ready to give birth to their

son when she was killed during the fighting. The baby
was born as she lay dying."

"Did Ben love her?"

"No. He told her he did. But she always knew

that he

was in love with Jerre; had been for years and would always

be in love with her. But he was never unfaithful

to Salina. Ben has a very rigid moral code about

marriage. Ike's wife was also killed during the

fighting. Ben was very badly wounded. We got creamed

and Ben rebuilt the Rebels, practically from the

ground up. The rest is, as they say-whoever they

might be-history."

"Pulling over just up ahead," Ben's voice came

through the speaker.

They all got out and stood staring at the littered and

filthy streets.

"Christ, what a mess!" Ben was the first to speak.

"And those sorry bastards want to join us? To do

what, do you suppose?" That feeling of something being very

wrong continued to nag at his mind.

"To get a free ride," Jersey

answered him. "Look at this place. New York

City was a paradise compared to this hog pen."

"Let's go see the rest of it," Ben said. "But I

think it's going to be a short tour. This is making
me sick."

He was to be a lot sicker at heart before the morning

was over.

They toured the downtown area, inspecting a few of the

once fine hotels for a few floors up. The

citizens had fouled every room. It appeared that when

one room became too filthy-and that took some

doing-they would just move to another and start all over.

Most of the historical old homes had been

ravaged by looters and vandals. The Betsy Ross

House had filth and profanity spray-painted all

over it and on the inside walls. The Christ Church

Burial Ground had been desecrated with shovels

and sledgehammers. St. George's Methodist

Church had been burned.

"I've seen enough," Ben said.

"For once, I agree with you," Thermopolis told

him, pointing. "Look over there."

Ben's eyes narrowed and his face hardened as he read

what was spray-painted on the side of a building.

Someone, or a group of people, had tried

to remove it, but

the letters were still readable. And that nagging feeling opened

wide to the light.

THE JUDGES RULE

"Just like Gene Savie and his bunch." Cecil put
it together for them all. "Only these people fit right in with

them-with the possible exception of being cannibals, and

I'm not so sure I'd rule that out."

"Chuck, tell our people to go on middle alert. Warn

them that the city might be filled with creepies." Ben

stood for a moment, mentally sorting out some facts.

"Cecil, didn't you tell me that the group of people you

talked with seemed upset when they learned that we were

going to tour the city?"

"Seemed that way to me, Ben."

"What was that spokesman's name?"

"Allen."

"Let's go see this Allen person."

Ben walked up to Allen and pointed his .45 at the

man's head. Allen paled under the dirt on his

face and his hands began to tremble.

"The Night People, Allen, where are they?"

"General Raines ... I don't have no idea

what you're talking about. I ain't never seen no

Night P."

Ben eared the hammer back, the metallic cocking

sound loud in the silence.

"If you think I won't blow your goddamned head

off, Allen, then you don't know much about me," Ben

warned the man.
"They all pulled out!" Allen screamed. "They

done left."

"That's better. Why did they leave and when?"

"Nearabs a week ago. They got some sort of

message from New York City. I don't know

where they went."

"How long have they been in the city?"

"Forever, I reckon! Don't kill me, I

don't want to die."

"You and your scummy-assed bunch worked with them, right?

And don't lie to me, you bastard!"

Allen bobbed his head up and down.

"You filth! You and your bunch procured people for them

to eat, right?"

"Yes, sir! But we was forced to do it."

"You're a liar. You could have left anytime you wanted

to leave. There are no blockades around this city. You

weren't chained or imprisoned. Everything you and your

scumbags did you all did willingly. Now,

isn't that the truth?"

"We had to live!" the man shouted.

"I hope you enjoyed it, because you haven't got much

longer."

Allen looked around him, searching for any sign of

compassion in the eyes of the Rebels.

He found none.
"They'll get you, Raines," Allen hissed.

"They're everywhere. In every city still left standing in the

world. They been here for a couple of centuries,

growin", and growin', and growin'. They's a couple

hundred thousand of them in the States alone. Maybe

as many as half a million. You'll never defeat

them, Raines. They'll cut your heart out and eat

it!" He screamed the last.

"How many left in the city?"

Allen just grinned at him, and to Ben's thinking, the

grin of a Nazi SS man must have looked the same

way.

Ben pulled the trigger. The force of the big

.45-caliber slug, fired at almost point-blank

range, knocked Allen off his feet. The man was

dead before he bounced on the dirty street.

Ben walked up to a woman and placed the muzzle

of the .45 between her eyes, the muzzle touching the

dirty flesh of her forehead.

"You want to die?"

"No, sir! I'll tell you anything you want

to know. I promise I will."

Not one of the filth-encrusted citizens made a

move. They were all looking down the muzzles of

Rebel weapons.
"How many Night People left in the city?"

"I don't know, sir! Maybe a couple of

thousand. When it was learned that you and your troops were

winning in New York City, the message come that

they was to scatter; to split up and fan out, seek

new places to live. I swear to God that's the

truth!"

"God!" Ben's voice was harsh. "You profane

His name by speaking it from that cesspool you call a

mouth!"

"We had nothin'," the woman said, her words shaky

with fear. "Not "til they surfaced and we struck a

deal with them ..."

"I get it. Now I know. You were instructed, or you

volunteered to join us to infiltrate our ranks.

Where do you live?"

She said nothing.

"Speak, goddamn you!" Ben shouted.

"When did you put it together?" she finally

spoke.

"About fifteen minutes ago. Dan? Are the kids

all clear?"

"Ten-four, sir. They're at the hospital."

"Order security at the hospital to go to full

alert, Chuck."

"What's up, Ben Raines?" Thermopolis
asked.

"They're all Night People, Therm. Every one of them."

The woman tried to grab for Ben's pistol. The

.45 roared, the slug striking her on the jaw and

angling up to exit out the top of her head.

The crowd of men and women grabbed for weapons concealed

under their ragged-appearing clothing.

It was no contest.

The Rebels opened fire, most firing from a distance

of no more than thirty meters.

"Death before defeat!" a man shouted.

Ben shot him in the head.

"The Judges rule!" a woman screamed,

leveling an Uzi at Thermopolis.

Rosebud stitched her with her Mini-14.

Rosebud loved most living things. She loved her

man more.

The battle was very intense, and very short.

Within seconds the street was littered with bodies, the

gutters

running with blood.

Silence crept over the battleground, broken

only by an occasional moan from a dying creepie.

A shot from a Rebel hastened the process.

"Jesus God!" West shouted, driving up in a
Hummer and viewing the carnage. "What the hell

happened, Ben?"

Ben very quickly briefed the mercenary.

West's driver, Curly, arched one eyebrow.

"Looks like we got a long war ahead of us,

Colonel."

"To be sure, Curly. But that is our chosen

destiny, is it not?"

"From Africa to Central America to the States,"

another of his men said. "I never would have thought it."

"What now, Ben?" West asked.

"We've got to be here for at least several more days,

getting resupplied for the run back home. West,

you and your men take everything north of Market

Street. Cecil and his battalion will take

everything south of it. That's up to the Schuylkill

River. I'll take everything west of the river.

Hunt them down and kill them!"

Ben set up his CP just across the river, in an old

Post Office building-after first clearing the building

of creepies. Then the gruesome task the Rebels

thought they'd left behind them in the ruined rubble of New

York City began anew. Although not on such a

huge scale.

There were no defined battle lines; this was deadly

house-to-house search and destroy, with no one knowing
what lay behind a closed door or at the darkened end

of basement steps.

Sister Voleta, Monte, Ashley, and their forces

had seemingly dropped out of sight; however, Ben

knew he had not seen the last of them, and when they did

resurface, he felt they would be much stronger and more

difficult to deal with. But for now, another deadly

hunt was on.

Ben's teams spread out all over the city, looking

for any elderly people. There were none. Only bones.

"Ghastly business, what?" Dan commented, over a

cup

of tea during a break in the SandD.

"Looks like the creepies disposed of the elderly

first," Ben said. "I guess they were fattening up the

kids, not of their persuasion, for later dining." Ben

spat his disgust on the sidewalk.

"Speaking of the kids .. ."

"The doctors say the younger ones will be all right. But

the ones thirteen and over, for the most part, are

hardcore crawlers, so thoroughly brainwashed they will

never come around."

And you plan to do what with them?" Thermopolis

inquired.

"Leave them here when we pull out. What'd you think
I was going to do, shoot them?"

"I hoped not. But let me play devil's

advocate for a moment."

"Go ahead."

"When you turn them loose, they'll just return to their

cannibalistic ways."

"That is true, sadly."

"And they and their kids and all their kind will grow up

despising you, Ben Raines."

"That is also true. But I still can't kill a

thirteen- or fourteen-year-old, Therm. Not unless

he or she is pointing some type of weapon at

me."

"They'll be a threat to me and to others as well as to you

and yours, Ben."

"That is certainly true. Do you want to be the one

to kill them, Therm?"

He shook his head. "No. No. I could not do that,

and there is no one in my group who could." He was

silent for a few seconds. "And I wouldn't have

anyone around me who could. I think," he added.

"It's like I keep telling you, Therm. You and me,

we're not all that different. We both want a

cool shade tree in the summer and a fire to keep the

chill away during the winter. We want to be able

to sit on our front porch and watch the squirrels
play and the hummingbirds feed. We like to have friends around

us for companionship and

conversation. We both want peace, Thermopolis.

The only real difference between us is how we were going

about attaining it."

"How we

were

going about attaining it?"

Ben smiled. "You're here, aren't you? That's a

weapon in your hand, and another one belted around your

waist. There isn't fifteen cents" worth of

difference between us. Really, there never was. See you,

Therm." Ben walked away.

Thermopolis stood with a frown on his face.

Rosebud walked to him. "What's the matter with

you?" she asked.

He pointed toward Ben. "I just hate it when he's

right!"

With two runways cleared for landings and takeoffs,

birds from Base Camp One began bringing in

badly needed artillery rounds for the tanks and

mortars. They also brought in hundreds of cases of

home-canned vegetables and meats just slaughtered and

boxed in dry ice. The cargo planes brought in

fresh BDU'S to replace the torn and frayed
battle dress the Rebels now wore. The

planes brought in soap and socks, boots and

berets and bras and underwear, bombs and bullets and

belts. Planes were landing every hour around the clock,

the runways lighted by flares at night. They

offloaded their cargo, grabbed a bite to eat and cup

of coffee-sometimes a few hours' rest-and were back in

the air.

During the daylight hours, the Rebels continued their

deadly search-and-destroy missions throughout the city.

And destroy they did, sometimes burning entire

blocks of the old city to flush out the night

crawlers, shooting them as the flesh-eaters ran from the

burning buildings.

It was New York City all over again, and while

on a much smaller scale, just as deadly,

just as dangerous, and just as nerve-racking.

The Rebels' eyes smarted from the smoke of the

torched buildings; their clothes stank of sweat and

soot and blood and death. They worked slowly but

relentlessly, clearing block by block. Finally, after

working a five-block area, from Market all the way

over to the Spring Garden Street

Bridge, without finding a single creepie, Ben

called a halt to it.

"I don't think there's two hundred creepies
left in the city," Ben told his commanders, from company

level down to squad leaders. "So let's knock

it off. Tell your people to stand down and relax for

twenty-four hours. We'll shove off day after

tomorrow."

Dan and West and Cecil stayed behind.

"Gentlemen," Ben looked at them.

"What are you going to do with the kids, Ben?" Cecil

asked.

"They've already been flown back to base camp."

"You know what I mean, Ben."

"Nothing. I don't plan on doing anything with them.

I plan on leaving them right here when we leave."

West breathed a very audible sigh.

"Something on your mind, Colonel?" Ben

asked.

"I must be getting old-turning into some sort of

sentimental fool!"

"And that means . . . ?"

"Ben, some of those kids are just in their teens."

"I'm aware of that. Say what's on your mind,

West."

"Well, some of my men have agreed, if it's all

right with you, to take a few of the kids with us. We think

we can shape them up."
"It'll be your responsibility. Solely," Ben

cautioned him.

"I'm aware of that."

"Fine with me. I just hope you don't wake up some

evening with one of them carving off part of your leg for a

late-night snack."

The convoy pulled out of the Philadelphia area just as

the weather was once more turning foul after days of

pleasant weather. A cold, bone-chilling rain was

falling as the Rebels pulled away from the still-smoking

city, heading west.

Ben had traveled the straight westerly route before,

and

wanted to see some new country this run, so he

ordered the foward teams to plot them a

southwesterly route. The city faded behind them. On the

morning of the second day out, the recon teams

reported smoke coming from chimneys; it looked like some

sort of small community, set well back from the

highway.

Ben pulled the convoy over and told the recon

teams, "Check it out. Carefully." He sat in the

Blazer and waited, the hard rain drumming on the

roof.

"They're not friendly, Eagle," the team leader's

voice came through the speaker. "They ordered us off the
land."

"Did you tell them who we were, recon, and that we

mean them no harm?"

"Ten-four, Eagle. They said they didn't like you and

didn't want to have anything to do with you."

"Whether they like me or not is their business," Ben

radioed. "Do they have children?"

"Ten-four, Eagle. A whole bunch of kids

all gathered around us."

"Ask one of the kids if they can read and write."

Ben waited for a few moments. Thermopolis walked

up to the Blazer and Ben rolled down his window.

Thermopolis had been listening to the exchange over a

walkie-talkie.

"And if the kids cannot read or write, Ben

Raines?" he asked, rain lashing at his face.

"We'll take the kids with us."

"Just about the time I get where I like you, you pull

something like this. Goddammit, Ben, what gives you the

right to take someone's kids from them?"

"Thermopolis, we cannot have a nation of illiterates,

not if this battered country is ever going to pull out of the

ashes of war. Education is right up there with

survival."

"They can't read or write, Eagle," the voice
came out of the speaker.

Ben lifted his mike. "How many people in the community?"

"I'd say a hundred, tops."

"Stay put. Tanks, forward. Circle the

community. West,

your men in position behind the tanks."

Ben waited.

"You're really going to take the kids, aren't you,

Ben?" Thermopolis asked.

"We've been doing it for years, Therm."

"In position, Eagle."

"Tell the leaders of that redneck community I want

to talk to them-right now!" Ben got out of the Blazer and

faced Thermopolis. "You want to come

along?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

It was a miserable day all the way around, and Ben was

in no mood for a lot of lip from near-cretins. He

faced the group of men and came right to the point.

"Why can't your children read and write?"

""Tain't none of your goddamn concern whether they

can or cain't, General."

Thermopolis then noticed that Ben Raines was

awfully quick. The man with the smart-and now bloody-

mouth also noticed it, from his position flat on his

back in the muddy front yard.
"Oh, but it is my concern," Ben said. "It is the

concern of every person in this shattered nation who

possesses a forward-looking mentality. Now get

your ass up off the ground and face me!"

The man crawled to his hands and knees and stood

up, with the help of a couple of his buddies.

Ben said, "I will repeat the question again. And if you do not

give me an answer that holds some degree of

civility, I will take the butt of this M14 and

knock your goddamn teeth down your throat. Why

can't your children read and write?"

"Never seen no use for it, General." The man

wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand.

Ben glanced at the ramshackle buildings of the

community. In western vernacular it would have been

called a rawhide outfit: not built to last for

any length of time.

"Can you read and write?" Ben asked.

"Some. I never cared much for it. Readin" makes

my

head hurt. I'd ruther watch the TV."

"What do you do now?"

"Huh?"

"There is no television, you idiot. What do you do

now?"
"NothinVery

"How do you feed yourselves? Do you have gardens?"

"Shore. The wimmin work "em. The men does what

men is 'posed to do. Hunt and fish. Beat the

wimmin ever" now and then to keep "em in line."

Several female Rebels stirred at that remark,

and the man's eyes flicked to them for a second.

Somewhere amid the rot of his brain, he realized he

had erred-badly.

"Tina," Ben called.

"Here, Dad."

"Take a team and go house to house. Explain our

philosophy to the women of this . . .

community of ignorance. Ask them if they'd like to join

us. And you might explain to them that we are taking the

children."

The man did not stir at that.

"That doesn't bother you?" Ben asked.

"Naw. Not really. Snot-noses is a bunch of

bother anyways."

"Jesus Christ!" Thermopolis muttered.

"But you ain't takin" Jenny," the man stated

flatly.

"Who is Jenny?"

"My oldest girl. She tends to my needs when the

old woman don't feel up to it."
The man looked to be about thirty-five . . .

rotting teeth and all. So Ben figured the "old

woman" bit was nothing more than a

colloquialism.

And Ben did not have to be told what the man meant

by Jenny "tending to his needs."

"How old is Jenny?"

"Twelve, I reckon."

"And how long has she been tending to your needs?"

"Three-four years."

"Having sex, you mean?"

"She enjoys it. Says she don't, but a

man can tell.

Wimmin was put here with a hole. Ain't no point in

lettin' it go to waste."

Ben noticed that Rosebud had joined them, and that the

muzzle of her rifle was pointed a few inches below

the man's belt buckle. If she shot him there,

he would not have to worry about anyone ever again tending

to his needs.

"Dan, find this Jenny. Take her to Chase and

tell him what's going on. We'll wait for his

report. It won't take long. As a matter of

fact, tell the medical team to inspect all the

kids for signs of sexual abuse. Male and
female. I think we've lifted the cover off of a

snake pit here."

"I said you ain't takin' my Jenny," the man

spoke, his breath very foul.

"We're goin', Hoyt," the voice came from

Ben's left. He cut his eyes.

A very pretty woman, perhaps in her late

twenties, stood with several children. One boy, two

girls.

"I'll whup your ass, woman!" Hoyt warned.

"No, you won't," Ben corrected. "Just stand still and

shut that flapping mouth." He looked at the

woman. "Take your kids and go with this lady." He

nodded at Beth. "You don't have to stay here against your

will. Has this man, Hoyt, been having sexual

relations with his daughter?"

"Jenny. Yes. And he just started with Abby." She

placed a hand on the wet, uncovered head of a girl

no more than seven or eight.

"Beth, take diem to the medical teams."

Hoyt stood and cussed Ben, his breath steamy in the

cold rainy air.

A dozen women and perhaps thirty or forty kids

came trooping out of the shacks. Several of the women

had black eyes and bruises on their faces. The

kids looked malnourished and frightened.
"This ain't constitutional!" another man stuck his

mouth into it.

Ben laughed at him.

Beth returned after only a few minutes and

whispered in Ben's ear. Ben nodded his understanding.

Tina walked up. "That's it, Dad. All the

women and kids are out."

Beth whispered to Tina. Tina drew back, a

grim look on her wet face. "All of them?"

"Yes," Hoyt and the other men heard Beth say.

"And several of the boys have been

sodomized."

"Colonel West, you and your men will stay here with me.

The rest of you return to your units and prepare

to pull out."

"Does that include me?" Thermopolis asked.

"That depends entirely upon how strong your stomach

is, Therm. And, of course, your interpretation of

law and order."

Rosebud touched his arm. "Come on. Let's get

back to the van."

"Tanks out," Ben told Chuck. Then conversation was

impossible for a few moments, while the tanks roared

and spun around in the earth, moving back to the road.

"Chuck, you and Cooper return to the Blazer."
"Yes, sir."

"Beth, you and Jersey going to stay for this?"

Their reply was to click their weapons off safety.

Behind the wheel of his VW van, Thermopolis was not

startled when the rattle of gunfire cut the cold

wet air. He watched as Ben and West and the others

walked slowly down the muddy hillside to their

vehicles.

"This has got to be the most barbaric time since man

stuck his head out of the caves," he said.

Rosebud gave him a cold but not

unloving look. "Either that, or justice was just

served."

Ben ordered the convoy on a straight westerly route

and instructed Dan's Scouts to check out the York

airport, but to stay out of the city itself until the main

force had caught up with them.

"That was a town of about forty-five thousand at one time.

Big enough for a lot of night crawlers to hide in.

If they're in here, we clean them out. We're going

to be waiting a couple of days for the birds to come get

these new people. There should be enough motels and private

homes close by for us to use. Check them out."

And it was as Ben had suspected. The place contained

the flesh-eaters.

"How's the airport look?"
"It's going to take some cleaning up, but it's usable.

Gong to take us a day or more to pick up all the

litter and shove these old cars and trucks out of the

way and patch some holes in a runway."

"Throw up a line of defense against possible

attack from the creepies. They're sure to know about

what went down in Philadelphia. We're about

two hours behind you. Hold what you've got."

"No sweat, General."

Dan was standing outside Ben's Blazer,

wearing a poncho and hood against the still-falling rain.

"No sweat?" he muttered. "I shall certainly

give him a lesson in military courtesy. And

promptly."

Ben smiled at the Englishman. But he did not

interfere. Each commander ran his or her own unit, and

Ben seldom interfered.

Ben looked around. "Chuck isn't back yet?

Where'd he go?"

"Back to see Doctor Chase," Beth told

him. "He was sweating and running a fever. I think

he's coming down with pneumonia. I've treated it

before, General."

"I'll take your word for it, Beth. You want some

help with the radio?"
"I asked for a replacement, sir."

"Good," Ben said absently, his mind on other

matters.

"By your leave, sir," Dan abruptly said, and

went walking off, quick-stepping through the rain.

"What was all that about?" Ben asked, not expecting a

reply and receiving none. Had he turned around, he

would have seen Beth and Jersey winking at each other.

Cooper was looking in the rearview mirror. "Oh,

shit," he muttered.

Ben cut his yes. "What's that, Coop?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Well, here I am," the voice spoke through the

open window, Ben's side.

Ben looked into very familiar blues. "I can see

that. What are you doing here, Jerre?"

"You sent for me!"

"I didn't send for you!"

"Well, dammit, I was told you needed someone on

the radio. I'm radio trained. By the way,

Chuck will have to be flown back to Base Camp

One. He has pneumonia."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Oh, hell, get in out

of the rain."

With everybody settled, Ben said to Cooper, "Get

this circus on the road, Coop. I swear
to God, I sometimes think we ought to charge

admission."

"Is something the matter,

General?"

Jerre asked very sweetly.

Ben ground his teeth together and broke off an old

filling.

"Oww! Goddammit!" Ben roared.

"General, I have to clean out the old cavity

before I can fill it. It'll only take a few more

seconds."

"Hurry it up!"

"Yes, sir." The dentist did not like to work on the

general. Made him nervous.

What he didn't know was that Ben had been scared

to death of dentists all his life. But he sure as

hell wasn't going to admit it. Not to a soul.

After a few more minutes of trying not to hurt Ben- which

he didn't-the dentist stepped back. "There you are,

General. Good as new."

"Thank you. Can I go?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"Thank you." Ben got the hell out of the converted

truck. Quickly. He never could stand the smell of

dentists' offices or hospitals.
Tina caught up with him. "I'm so happy to see that

you survived your terrible ordeal, Pops."

"Your concern is touching."

"Why are you talking funny?"

"Because my damn mouth is numb!"

"You'll probably need an interpreter for a few

hours. You want me to call Jerre?"

Ben shook his head and had to smile. It was rough

humor, no disrespect was meant by it, and

he knew it. And Ben also knew that those involved

really wanted him and Jerre to make up. This was their

way of showing concern for the both of them.

"Well, the damn rain has stopped," Ben said,

looking up at a few rays of sun trying to cut

through the clouds. "Something good is coming out of this

lash-up."

"You want me to reassign Jerre, Dad?"

"No. In a few more weeks we'll be out of each

other's hair for good."

"How do you know that's what she wants, Dad? Has

she told you so herself?"

"It's going to be totally volunteer, Tina," Ben

said, hedging her question. "And we're going to be in the

field for a long time. Maybe as long as a year before

returning to

base. Talk it over with Ham and the rest of your
team, Okay?"

"Okay, Pop. But you know that I'm going. So is

Buddy. What are you going to do if Jerre

volunteers?"

"She won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you're going to see to it, daughter."

The Rebels began a house-to-house,

building-to-building search of York, flushing out the

creepies and destroying them.

With the rain gone, the weather turned mild once more,

and the Rebels shed their heavy winter gear. But all

knew that the winter was far from over, and this warm weather

might roll over onto a nasty side at any

time.

The birds flew in, picked up their passengers,

and were gone, heading back south. They carried with them

twelve wounded Rebels from the operations in Philly

and York.

Two dead were buried far from York, so they could not be

dug up and eaten by the creeps.

"Let's wrap it up and get the hell gone from

here," Ben told his commanders. "Tina, you and your team

cut us a path southwest. Wait a minute." He

looked at Jerre. "You want to go through Cumberland,
Jerre?"

"Why?"

"Because it was your home, kid."

She was silent for a moment. Met Ben's eyes.

"Might as well, I guess." As usual,

keeping a tight lid on her true inner feelings.

Ben nodded and turned to Tina. "We'll cut south

and pick up Interstate Seventy at

Hagerstown, follow that all the way over

to Cumberland." He looked at the atlas's index.

"Hagerstown was about thirty-five thousand and

Cumberland was about twenty-five thousand. Could be

creepie-time again, people. So heads up."

The column rolled out at midday, meandering around on

state and county roads, heading more west than south.

They saw no signs of human life. Southeast of

their

position, and fading fast, lay the devastation that was

once Baltimore and Washington.

The weather was holding in the Rebels' favor, with the

skies blue and the temperature in the low fifties

during the day, dropping down to near freezing at

night.

"Scout to Eagle," Tina's voice came through the

speaker.

"Go, Scout."
"We'll hold here at Waynesboro, Eagle.

Something you need to see."

"Ten-four, Scout. We're about an hour behind you.

We'll approach on Sixteen."

As he approached the town, Ben began to suspect

what Tina and her Scouts had found. It was very clear

that a battle had recently taken place

on both sides of the winding old country road.

Ben halted the column and got out to inspect what was

left of a small town just a few miles east of

Hagerstown. Carrion birds had feasted on the

naked bodies that lay outside the homes-after flesh

had been cut from the bodies. The brass of shell

casings lay twinkling on the ground.

"They put up a fight," Jersey observed. "They

weren't taken easy."

All the bodies had been carved on, with great

hunks of flesh cut away.

And Ben noticed something else, too: those children of the

Night People that West and the others had brought with them, in

hopes of salvaging, were staring intently at the

mutilated bodies, a savage gleam in their

cold, murderous eyes.

"I see it," West spoke the words softly.

"Watch them very carefully, West," Ben cautioned.
"I have a strong suspicion they'll revert back

faster than you can blink."

The mercenary nodded, his face grim.

Ben ordered the bodies placed in a house and the

house burned.

They could find no bodies of creepies. But all

knew that

with the recent victory of the Rebels, the crawlers

had probably discarded their robes for a traditional

form of dress. And the creepies, if they did not

carry off their dead, would probably have no compunction

about carving up or eating their own.

Ben waved the column on and linked up with Tina on

the outskirts of Waynesboro.

"Hell of a fight here, Dad. You saw what went

down at that little town just east of here?"

"Right. We burned the bodies. Jerre, order

tanks into the town, everything buttoned down."

The tanks rumbled and clanked past and disappeared

into the silent town. Silent, but with the smell of death

hanging unseen over it.

With the column halted, West had positioned some of his

men around the vehicles containing the children of the

creepies.

Tina watched the move and met her dad's eyes.

"The little bastards were licking their chops back in that
town. West has realized that he made a terrible

mistake in bringing them, but neither he nor I know

what to do to rectify it-not at this stage of the game."

He sighed. "Well, we know

what

to do, we just don't want to do it."

Tina cut her eyes to the teenagers. They stared

back at her, the hatred cutting like sharp invisible

knives in the sunny afternoon. "It's coming down

tonoprisonersatall, isn't it, Dad?"

"No. I won't permit that. I'm not going to kill

children. If we find them, we take them alive and then

leave them."

"So we can fight them again another day." It was not a

question; more a statement of fact.

"I guess so, girl."

The roaring of cannon fire from the tanks tore the

afternoon. The rattle of machine guns immediately

followed.

"Back to work," Ben said, a grim note in the

statement.

It was grim, but it was short, as the Rebels smashed

the small stronghold of Night P.

During the mopping-up, a small pocket of

prisoners
was found in a basement. Naked, abused, and very

nearly out of their minds from fear and the ravages of day

after long day of degradation at the hands of their

captors.

"See if you can get some of these old vehicles

running," Ben told his people. "We can't

leave these people here. We're going to have to open up a

runway at Cumberland and call for more birds from the

base. Dan, start getting statements from the

survivors. We've got to know what we're up

against in the next town."

"How goddamn many of these creatures are we

facing?" Dan asked, using rare profanity.

"Several hundred thousand, if we can believe what

those crud back in Philly told us."

"Are you thinking that this force out west is aligned with the

creepies?"

"I don't know. But it wouldn't surprise me. I

think we're going to be-we

are

comfacing the greatest threat we've ever encountered. And

we'd damn well better win it."

Ben led the convoy over to the Interstate, using a

badly rutted country road, and halted them at

Greencastle. That town, unlike the others, showed

no signs of any battle. No shell casings,
no blood, no bodies.

"This place was abandoned years ago," West said.

"The survivors probably decided that living beside

any well-traveled road, like this Interstate,

meant trouble and grouped out in the country.

Probably in those towns we just left."

"That's my thinking," Ben agreed. "We'll clear

Hagerstown in the morning. I want us on full

alert this night. The creepies know we're hot on

their butts, and they probably also know Voleta and

Monte and Ashley are somewhere behind us. They may

try to form another alliance."

"You really think those thugs are following us?" Emil

asked. Emil was slowly recovering from his one-sided

affair of the heart with Michelle.

"Oh, yes, Emil. And on both sides and ahead

of us, probably. They're wanting to get us in a

box for an ambush. That's why I keep taking a

snake's route getting home."

Thermopolis arched an eyebrow. He had wondered

why the column was traveling like a bunch of wandering

nomads.

"The creepies just might decide to clear out tonight rather

than face us in the morning," West said.

"Personally, I hope they do," Ben told him.
Ben had his people up and fed and ready to roll while

Dan sent his Scouts into the city well before dawn.

It had turned colder during the night; winter was

preparing to show them all it still held a punch.

"Tina reporting that the town definitely

has creepies," Jerre told him. "No signs

of other life."

"Order Tina and her teams out. Tell artillery

to stand by. They will commence firing on my orders,"

Ben said. "HE and incendiary. Damned if I'll

lose people when I can prevent it."

Less than a minute passed before Tina reported

that her teams were clear and in position to act as forward

observers.

"Commence firing."

The artillery rounds began singing their songs as they

roared through the cold dark morning. In five

minutes, portions of Hagerstown had been turned

into a raging inferno, the flames caused by the

incendiary rounds licking upward into the darkness. An

old underground gasoline storage tank went up with a

whooshing roar, balls of flame jumping high into the

air like angry fingers of hate, searching to destroy.

The gunners began lobbing shells in with much more

discrimination, setting one section of the town blazing,

then moving to another. After an hour of pounding, Ben
ordered the gunners to cease firing.

Dawn was just beginning to pierce the darkness with thin

silver fingers, lifting up and pushing away the lid of

night.

"If Monte and the others are within fifty miles of

this area," Cecil said, "they'll sure know where we

are."

"That they will. Jerre, order Tina and her teams

back. Let's get ready to pull out."

The Night People finally figured out that Ben and his

Rebels were moving westward, and nothing was going to

stand in their way. The leaders ordered their kind

to abandon any towns that stood in the way, moving either

north or south until the Rebels had passed.

The Rebel columns bypassed the burning city and

picked up Interstate 70, heading west, leaving the

smoke and death behind them. Full dawn found them

looking at the deserted little town of Hancock,

Maryland.

"Less than two thousand people lived here before the Great

War," Jersey said, looking at an old map.

"I had friends here," Jerre said. "Just up the road

is a little town called Piney Grove. My

suitemate at college was from there. I was so sick

I couldn't even move off the floor of the room. I
lay there watching her die. The thing that got me moving

was when the rats came and started eating on the dead in

the dorm. How come it didn't kill the damned

rats? I crawled outside, found a car

that was unlocked and passed out in the front seat.

All around me people were dead or dying. Absolutely,

totally gross. When I finally was able to see and sit

up, and my eyes stopped seeing double, I found that the

damn car didn't have any keys in it. The cars that

did have keys also had dead bodies in them. I

finally found a car that was empty and had the keys in

it."

"Where was college?" Cooper asked.

"Salisbury State. Took me days to get

home. I had to drive all the way up

into Pennsylvania because Washington had taken a

direct hit. I met people who had been on the fringe

areas. They didn't have any eyes! They had looked

at the blast and their eyes had melted. The flesh was

burned off of others. I had never seen anything like

that. I didn't know what to do to help them. Then it

dawned on me that there wasn't anything I could do;

nothing anybody could do. They were j ust walking around

dying.""

"You sure you want to do this, Jerre?" Ben asked,

his voice soft, for he was remembering finding his own
parents in Illinois, just after the bombing.

"Yeah," she said, her voice just as soft. "I need

to do it."

Ben waved the column forward.

"Creepies have been here," Tina's voice came

through the speaker. "But they've bugged out. It's

pretty grim here, Dad."

"Hold what you've got. We're not far behind."

Jerre's eyes were busy as they approached the

small city. But whatever thoughts and emotions she was

experiencing, she kept bottled up ... at least

for the time being.

Ben halted the column just inside the city limits

and walked back to Thermopolis's van. "Seems

like I'm always asking you to do some unenviable job. So

I'm asking again. This is where Jerre grew up.

Would you people stay with her while she tours the area?"

"Don't you think she would rather have you with her, Ben?"

Ben blinked; looked shocked. "No. I don't."

Thermopolis cut his eyes at Rosebud, and both

of them smiled rather sadly. "All right, Ben

Raines. We'll look after her."

Ben and Dan took Tina and a team of Scouts and

went on a quick tour of the town. It was just as Tina had

reported: grim.
Mutilated bodies had been stacked in houses

to rot and gather flies-after the choicest cuts had

been carved from them. That the men and women had

been carved upon while still very much alive was evident

by the hideous expression on the still twisted and

pain-filled faces, mouths still open in a silent

scream, before death mercifully took them across that dark

shore.

"Did you find any survivors?" Ben asked

Tina.

"None, Dad. And no sign of any."

"The creepies took their meals with them," Ben said.

"Twenty-first-century version of fast food."

They all looked at him to see if he was kidding.

He wasn't.

"Large hordes of thugs and outlaws and warlords out

west, Monte and Ashley and Sister Voleta

operating here to the east, night crawlers all over the

bloody place. We have long years of war ahead of

us, General," Dan said.

"Probably more years than you and I have, Dan.

Our children's children will be fighting to pull this land out of the

ashes of barbarism and ignorance and savagery.

It's up to us to see that they don't have quite as hard a

battle."

Ben lifted a map and studied it for a moment.
"We'll let Jerre get her fill of her old

hometown-and it probably won't take

her long; then when the birds land and get the rescued

out, we'll cut south. I've got a hunch the

creepies didn't go far. We'll check out this little

town on the West Virginia line. It's just far enough

off the beaten path for the crud to feel safe. If so,

we'll see if we can't crash their party."

Jerre stood before a plaque that read: GOD HAVE

MERCY ON THOSE WHO DIED IN THE

GREAT WAR. TWENTY-ONE THOUSAND FIVE

HUNDRED FIFTEEN SOULS. CUMBERLAND,

MARYLAND.

"Itwas this way all over the nation, Jerre,"

Thermopolis told her. "The survivors scooped

out great holes in the earth and buried them in mass

graves. It would have been impossible any other

way."

"I know. Well," she sighed, "I've seen it.

Hell, I don't even know if my parents are

buried here. They were pretty badly decomposed

when I finally got back to the house."

"I thought that a neighbor was going to bury them?"

"He was too busy trying to get my pants off.

No. They were still in the back yard when I popped that
jerk with a poker and split." She shook her head.

"I've seen enough. Let's go help

clear the airport. The birds are on the way

in."

"West, you take your men and cut south off the

Interstate on this county road, Thirty-six.

It's about ten or twelve miles west of our

present position. Hold up when you get to this little

town of Barton. We'll be coming down Two-twenty

and we'll stop at McCoole. I want both our

forces to hit Westernport together. I think the

creepies have prisoners with them, so shelling is out

until we learn different. You go ahead. We'll

pull out thirty minutes behind you."

West nodded and left.

Ben glanced at Jerre. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. In a way, I'm glad my

parents died back then, rather than like . . . the

creepie way."

"Let's start getting mounted up, people." He glanced

up at the sky. He would like to travel through West

Virginia, but he didn't want to get caught in

the mountains in a snowstorm. The weather had turned

decidedly cooler, but the skies remained clear.

After Westernport had been cleared, if the weather still

looked good, they would angle over and pick up the
Interstate, take that south down

to Charleston. After that. . . his Play it by ear.

And where in the hell had Monte and the rest of that crud

gone? Ben didn't think they had given up-although that

could certainly be possible. They might well have

reassessed the situation, found it not to their liking, and

then pulled back to gather up more men. It seemed like

for every decent person left in what had been

America, there were ten times ten more crud. He shook

his head. Time would tell.

He walked the line of vehicles, deep in thought and

killing time until West was well on his way. He

wasn't even sure what month it was.

February, he thought. They had spent so many weeks

in the city that all of them had lost track of time.

He looked up the line. The column seemed

to stretch for miles. The trucks and tanks and

APC'S and jeeps and Hummers containing the only

army in the world-that Ben was aware of-fighting to restore

some type of democracy to the nation.

So much to do. And where in the hell did that large force

out west pop up from? Had the nation been invaded by some

foreign force? It was certainly possible. Khamsin

had

done it.
The Libyan had waltzed right in and caused

a lot of grief before he elected to stick his nose

in with the creepies in New York City.

Another force knocked down and out. But how many more

to go? And would it ever stop?

"Miles to go," Ben muttered. "Miles to go."

Jerre was very quiet as they rolled out, as could have been

expected after experiencing one hell of an emotional

jolt. Ben noticed that she looked back several

times with tears in her eyes.

What could he say? He knew only too well the

sense of loss when you have nobody left, all

family dead. Kith but no kin.

"Recent fire right over there, General," Cooper

broke into his thoughts, pointing to what was left of a

house. The ashes were still smoldering.

"The creepies are just one jump ahead of us, that's

for sure."

A mile farther down the road they saw another

home that had been torched. Fat carrion birds were

strutting around in the yard, too heavy to fly after

gorging themselves on dead human flesh.

"Yuck!" Beth said, her eyes lingering on the

bloated birds.

"All part of the plan, Beth," Ben said.

"You believe in God, General?" she
asked.

"Oh, yes."

"Heaven and Hell?"

"Sure. But I also believe-rightly or wrongly-that

there are levels, with the highest plane being very

sparsely populated."

"And what level will you attain?"

Ben laughed. "I don't think I'll get very

high, Beth. I'll probably be with the rest of the

warriors. And I'm not at all certain that

Valhalla is going to be a paradise. My

punishment will probably be having to listen to Emil

sing throughout eternity."

After the laughter, Jerre said, "Emil appears

to be bouncing back rather quickly after his loss."

"Life goes on, Jerre. Emil is a sharp little

guy and he'll be all right."

But,

he added silently, still

can tell you for an iron-clad fact that he'll never

forget the woman.

"So you believe that love fades after a time?" she

asked.

"Sure. I don't know that true love ever really

dies. It just loses its sharpness, dimming
into a memory that one can live with."

After that brief exchange, the miles passed quickly

and in silence. Ben was surprised diat Jerre even

brought up the subject of love; but then, she had

always been full of surprises.

"Coming up to the junction, General." Cooper's words

jogged him back to the present.

Ben pulled the mike from its clip. "Eagle

to West."

"Go, Eagle."

"In position?"

"Setting on ready."

"We're turning west on One-thirty-five.

Five miles to touchdown."

"I'm rolling."

"Eagle to Scout."

"In position, Dad. The town is populated, but

it's iffy as to who or what lives here. Those that we

have seen don't look like creepies."

"Ten-four, Scout. We'll be with you shortly.

Hold what you have. Tank commanders, take your beasts

to the point. Convoy slow, let them pass. Dan,

block the road leading south out of the town. West,

split your people and block the west end of

One-thirty-five."

"Welcoming committee coming out," Tina reported.
"They're dressed in normal clothing, but they're

all armed."

The tanks were in position as Ben pulled up. He

stepped out of the Blazer and walked up to the knot of

men and women. The first thing that caught his attention was the

paleness of skin. Even though, he cautioned himself, that

could be attributed to staying indoors during a very long

and cold winter.

But he didn't believe that for a second.

"Welcome, General Raines!" a man called,

a smile on his lips.

But he did not step forward to offer his hand in greeting.

"Thank you," Ben responded. "We just thought we'd

drop in for a visit. Maybe stay a few days and

rest up ... if that wouldn't be an imposition on you

good folks."

"Well . . ." The man hesitated. "We

don't have much food. It's been a long winter and

our supplies are almost gone."

Ben waved that aside. "We have plenty of food.

We'll be happy to share it with you. As a matter of

fact, I have an idea: Why don't we all get

together for a potluck supper this evening? We'll all

bring a dish and share. That sound good to you?"

"J. . . wonderful, General."
Ben spotted a group of kids; they had the same

flat look of hatred and contempt as the kids taken

from Philly.

Stepped right into a snake pit, Ben thought, as his

eyes caught faint movement on rooftops and

second floor windows of homes. Riflemen

waiting to open fire.

Ben and the spokesman stood and smiled at one

another. And each smile was filled with contempt for the

other. The creepies knew that Ben Raines would

take no prisoners, so if this ruse didn't work,

and the spokesman knew it wasn't, they would try

to kill as many Rebels as possible . . .

especially Ben Raines.

"Shouldn't your children be in school?" Ben asked.

"Well ... it isn't every day that the famous Ben

Raines drops in for a visit. We turned school

out for the

auspicious event."

"I'm flattered. But auspicious is a very heady

word. Really, all we've been doing is killing

crud. You folks been having any problems with the

Night People?"

"Ah . . . no. We haven't seen

any."

"You're a goddamn liar!"
The man brought his rifle up, his face mirroring his

inner hate. He was shot all to pieces by Rebel

fire just as

the

cannon on a tank boomed, the round blowing off the

top of a building where the crew chief had seen

creepies lurking.

On the road leading into town, the battle was very hot

and very brief. The instant the spokesman brought up

his weapon, several hundred Rebels opened fire

into the knot of creepies, killing them almost

instantly.

The children of the Night People ran away, disappearing into the

buildings and the brush.

"Take the town," Ben ordered.

The retaking of Westernport was very short and very

brutal, just as brutal as what the creepies had

done with their prisoners, taken from the small towns and

villages around the area.

The Night People must have sensed that the ruse would not work,

for they had killed the prisoners, all the men and

women and children, and hung them up on hooks, like

hanging ducks.

And they had obviously told their own children to head for the

timber at the first shot, for not a child could be found among
the rubble that was all that remained of the little town after the

Rebels had finished.

"Leave the bodies where they lie," Ben told his

people. "It's too dry to burn them; we might starta

forest fire. And there is no point in trying to chase

after the kids. I don't know what in the hell we'd

do with them if we did catch them."

Ben took a sip of water from his canteen. Even the

water tasted of death.

The Rebels were back on the road without a

backward glance at the shattered town and the bodies that

littered the bloody streets.

They took Highway 220 out of Westernport and

spent an hour in Keyser. Ben had expected

to find somebody in the town that once held a

population of over six thousand. But it was a ghost

town.

"It hasn't always been," West said, walking up.

"We've inspected several homes and found signs

that people were here and not that long ago. There are graves that

were dug maybe six months ago-no longer than that.

And one hell of a lot of brass around. There was a

fight here, and a big one."

"But against whom?" Ben questioned, not really expecting a

reply. "And I doubt that digging up the bodies would

tell us anything. Let's go."
A few miles south of Keyser the column turned

west on Highway 50. They passed through small

towns-all deserted. They saw no signs of

human life as the Rebels pushed on into the

unknown. With darkness just a couple of hours away, the

Rebels moved into a small town and began clearing

out homes and buildings to spend the night.

"Anybody see the city limits sign?" Cooper

asked.

"Aurora, I think it was," Jersey told him.

"Why, you want to mail a letter?"

"Funny, Jersey. Very funny."

"Double the guards," Ben ordered. "Just in case."

But the night passed uneventfully, with the Rebels

catching up on rest. Ben was the first one up-except

for the guards already on duty, and the cooks-and walked

over to one of the buildings being used as a mess hall

and poured a mug of coffee. He chatted with the cooks

for a moment and then went outside, to sit on the fender

of a truck until his butt got cold and he was

forced to move around.

By that time he had some appetite and started

back to the mess hall. A runner stopped him.

"General Ike on the horn, sir. They've

docked and have
the equipment unloaded, ready to move west."

Ben turned just as the mess hall building exploded

and the artillery barrage began.

The first explosion knocked Ben and the runner

sprawling. He got to his knees and grabbed die

ankles of the young runner, dragging him under a truck

for protection, and then went racing toward his quarters.

"Everybody out!" he yelled. "Bug out! Bug out!

They've got our range dead on. If we stay

here, we're dead. Move, people, move!"

Grabbing whatever they could, the Rebels, in various

stages of dress and undress, went racing for the

vehicles as the deadly artillery dropped in around

them. A deuce and a half went up with a whooshing roar

as the incoming landed directly on die truck,

blowing the gas tanks, the deadly debris killing

several Rebels who had been working at frantically

loading the bed of the truck.

Running without lights, the Rebels roared away from

the small town, exiting east and west on Highway

50, and south on a county road, for the artillery was

coming in on them from the north.

Ben took as many of his people as he could gather and headed

north, up a county highway. He halted them a

mile out of town, when the muzzle flashes of the enemy

artillery could be seen from the road.
Flipping his radio on scramble, he lifted the

mike. "Eagle to West."

"Go, Eagle."

"What's your twenty?"

"Couple of miles east of the town."

"Find a road north and take it. They're about a

mile outside of the town. You may have to work across

country on foot. I'm taking my people and heading for

them now."

"Ten-four, Eagle. Moving."

"Cec, you copy?"

"Ten-four, Ben. I took some hits and bugged out

south. Chase is with me, patching up the badly

wounded."

"You hold what you've got and spread out. With any

kind of luck, we'll be driving them toward you."

"Ten-four, Eagle."

"Dan?"

"Right behind you, Eagle. What's the drill?"

"I think Monte found us. Now let's go find him

and kick some ass."

Ben and Dan left their vehicles on the road, the

keys out of the ignition, and began walking toward the

artillery, while West and his men came

cross-country from the other direction. Both
advancing parties carried light mortars and rocket

launchers. Just as the artillery ceased firing,

Monte sure he had creamed the Rebels hard,

he was hit from both sides with mortar, rocket

fire and grenades fired from grenade launchers.

Ashley, being the cautious type, was not so certain

he had done much damage to the Rebels and had

pulled his people back about a mile and was attempting

to see through night lenses. He saw the shapes of the

Rebels closing the pincers and knew Monte was

trapped.

"To help or not to help?" Ashley muttered.

"We don't need him," Sister Voleta said.

"The man is a fool."

"Then it's agreed?" Ashley looked at the woman

in the moonlight.

"Of course. There is always another day."

They faded back into the timber and joined their forces.

Monte and his men were, as one Rebel would later

sum it up, getting their asses kicked.

With the Rebels closing with them from the west,

and the mercenaries closing with them from the east, the warlord and

his men went into a panic as the shapes

seemed to materialize out of the darkness.

Monte's men were not accustomed to hand-to-hand combat,

not on this scale, and not outnumbered. Like most
bullies, they were cowards at heart, always being very

careful to pick the people they bullied. This time they had

tweaked the tail of a giant dragon, and the dragon

was a many-clawed fire-breather.

Monte's men tried to run away. Only a few

made it. Ben stepped around a light artillery

piece that had been crippled by rockets and came

face-to-face with Monte. Monte was standing by the

cannon, one side of his face slick with blood from

a minor wound.

The two men had never met, but each instinctively

knew the other.

Monte lunged at Ben, a pistol in his hand. Ben

kicked the man in the knee with a boot, and the pain

caused the warlord to drop his weapon as he cried out,

both hands grabbing his knee.

Ben stepped in closer and butt-stroked the warlord on

the jaw with the stock of his M14. Teeth flew out of the

man's mouth, and his lips were smashed to bloody

pulp. Monte hit the cold ground

moaning and rolling, trying to escape the rage of the

man.

As the sounds of battle waned around them, Ben stood

over the man, the muzzle of the old Thunder Lizard

pointed at the man's chest.
"No!" Monte cried. "I'll deal with you!" The

words came out mush-mouthed.

Then he saw Ben smile as a Rebel came

to his side. "Tie this bastard up," Ben ordered.

"I want him to stay alive- for a little while

longer."

"Forty-seven dead, a hundred wounded," Dan

reported to Ben as dawn kissed the darkness, the

caress opening the mouth of light. "We're going to have

to get to an airfield and open a runway for the

birds to get the wounded."

Ben cursed at the totals. When he had

profanely vented his spleen, he lifted a map.

"There's an airport at Clarksburg. Send some

people over there to check it out. If it's usable, clear a

path and get the birds in."

"Yes, sir. About the prisoners we took this

morning ... ?"

"Keep them alive and well-fed and under heavy

guard."

"Well-fed, sir?"

"That is correct, Dan."

"Very well, sir."

Ben walked over to West. "Ben, my people found

signs where a large force waited and then pulled out,

heading north toward Pennsylvania. Sister
Voleta and Ashley, I'm sure. And they

didn't show any signs of planning to stop anytime

soon."

"They've had it for this run. I don't think we'll

see them again soon." He glanced at Jerre.

"Jerre, advise the forward teams heading

to Clarksburg to clear the airport and advance no

farther. Do not, repeat,

do not

enter the town. If there are creepies, leave them

alone unless the creepies make the first move."

She looked at Ben, questions in her eyes. She

nodded her head and relayed the orders.

West, too, had questions in his eyes, but they remained

unspoken.

"Let's get our dead cremated and the wounded made

ready for travel."

With creepies all over the place they had all

agreed that cremation was the only logical

way to treat any Rebel dead.

"Jerre, bump Katzman and tell him to contact

Base Camp One. Send some planes up here for the

wounded. We'll wait at Grafton until after the

birds have taken the wounded on board, and then we'll

move on."
"Yes, sir."

The convoy made the short run to Grafton and found

the town a deserted death town-but only recently so.

The signs and smells of creepies were all over the

place.

Mutilated bodies lay about the streets.

"Burn them," Ben ordered. "And then stand down for the

night."

"What's Ben got in his mind?" Thermopolis

asked Tina, after the dead were collected and burned.

"I don't know. He's not talking and I'm not going

to push him on it."

"Probably a wise choice."

Ben remained mostly by himself and very taciturn the rest

of the day and all that night. He would occasionally walk

over to the building where Monte and his men were being kept

under guard, to stand and stare at them.

"You wanna deal, General?" Monte would ask

each time Ben came over, the words mushy

coming out of his busted mouth.

Ben would always mutter a low curse and turn his

back to the man.

The planes began landing during the early morning

hours and picking up the wounded Rebels.

Dan informed Ben that Clarksburg was filled with

creepies. But they had made no move toward the
Rebels, and the Rebels were leaving them alone as

ordered.

"Keep it that way," Ben told him.

By eight o'clock in the morning, all the wounded had been

transported out.

"Let's roll," Ben ordered. "All personnel

out of the airport area. Link up on the Interstate

and wait for me there."

The Rebels dismounted and stood on the Interstate,

watching as Ben and his contingent stayed on Highway

50 and escorted Monte and his men to the city

limits.

"Get them out of the trucks," Ben ordered.

On the pavement, Monte looked around nervously.

"What the hell are you gonna do, Raines?" he

demanded. "If you're gonna shoot us, get it the

hell done."

"I have no intention of shooting you," Ben

told the

warlord. "Strip!"

"Do what?" Monte screamed.

"Strip, you bastards! I want the creepies

to see what's coming up for lunch."

"You can't do this to us!" Monte yelled.

Ben's reply was a tight smile.
"I ain't a-gonna do it," a man said.

Ben glanced at Dan. "Strip them and hogtie

them."

Using rifle and pistol butts for clubs, the

Rebels knocked the men down and stripped them

naked, tying them up, leaving them on the cold

concrete.

Monte lay on the highway, filth spewing out of his

mouth until he was breathless from cursing Ben

Raines.

"Creepies watching this," Dan said.

"Good."

Tina lifted her binoculars. "They're carrying

knives, Dad."

"That's even better." He looked at Monte.

"You're scum, Monte. Only God knows how

many innocent men and women and kids you kidnapped,

raped, tortured, sodomized, and then handed

over to the Night P. It's payback time,

Monte. You better start praying, because that looks like

a hungry bunch over there."

"Goddamn you, Raines! This ain't decent. This

ain't right. This ain't nothin' no human being would do

to another human being."

"Call it justice, Monte," Ben told him.

"Call it true justice at last."
Ben turned to leave.

"Wait!" Monte's busted and bruised mouth

wailed out the one word of pure and nearly mindless

fear. "You don't know them people. They'll torture us

a long time "fore they kill us. Them people is worser

than anything on the face of this earth!"

Ben looked at the naked lot of scum and trash and

outlaws. There was only contempt in his eyes. "I

hope so, Monte. I really hope so."

The screaming from the mouths of the warlord and his outlaws

began just as the long column of Rebels was pulling

out. The screaming would continue throughout the very long day.

The Rebels made camp for the evening about fifteen

miles outside of Charleston. Tina and her teams

of Scouts reported that the city was filled with

creepies.

"Do we clear the city, Ben?" Cecil

asked, a haggard look around his eyes.

"We destroy it," Ben said. "Or as much of it as

we can. We've been fully resupplied, so

we're going to stand back and shell it and set it on

fire."

Ben lifted a battered old map. "West, you

take your people, this evening, and cross over the river

down here at Interstate Seventy-seven. Cecil,
take your battalion and cross over here, at

Highway Twenty-one. At dawn, we'll commence

shelling from three directions. That's it. You people get

into position and get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be

noisy."

When Cecil and West had gone, Ben turned

to Jerre. "Get Katzman. Ask him if he's

had any further word from Ike."

Katzman reported that Ike was well inland and

moving toward Base Camp One.

"Advise Ike not to engage with the creepies. He

isn't strong enough. Tell him to avoid the cities

and head straight for the base camp and start setting up

field supplies and vehicles for one

battalion."

"All right, Ben." Her eyes touched his. "Your

battalion, Ben?"

"That is correct."

He walked away while she was speaking with

Katzman.

"When we get close to your camp, Thermopolis,"

Ben told him, "feel free to break loose and

head home."

"We've talked it over, Ben Raines. We're

going to

resettle in Arkansas. Until this creepie
business is over, I have to admit there is strength in

numbers. We'll settle near the Ouachita

Mountains."

"Probably a wise choice. We'll set you up

with good radio equipment and anything else you need."

"You won't run my community, Ben."

"I have no intention of running your show, Therm. I just

want you properly equipped in case you're

attacked or in the event we might need some help.

Like I said before: We're not that different."

The hippie and the soldier smiled at each other and

shook hands. "Well, I suppose I can live with

that, Ben Raines."

"Good. I'll send a platoon of Rebels with you

when you decide to break away. They'll escort you

to your new base and help you get set

up."

"That would be much appreciated. I suppose," he

added dryly, "that Jerre will be among those assigned

to escort us?"

"You're reading my mind, Therm."

"Maybe she won't want to go."

"She'll take orders or leave this outfit."

"In her own strange way, Ben, she cares very

deeply for you. Surely you must know that."
"In her own strange way. Ships that pass in the

night and all that crap."

"Yours is a strange combination of love, devotion,

and anger, Ben Raines. She will never be

subservient to any man."

"And you think that's what I want?"

"Of course it is. You have to control everything around you.

I'm not faulting you; that's just the way you are. But

you'll never control her. No man ever will. I think

one did at some point in her life. And she will never

permit that again."

"You might be right. But it's a moot point. Because

I'll be pulling out and chances are very good that I'll

never see her again. I have a suspicion that she'll

stay with you and your group."

"She'll certainly be welcome."

"Take care of her, Thermopolis."

"I'm not her keeper, Ben Raines. She'll be

free to come and go as she pleases. She's not a child."

Ben's smile was very sad. "That's where you're wrong,

Therm. Because in a way, she is."

The shelling started at dawn, from three sides.

Tanks and self-propelled artillery and mortars

began their destruction of the city. They began dropping

in HE, Willie Peter, and incendiary. It did

not take long before sections of the city were blazing, the
fires, unchecked, consuming the dusty old

buildings.

Ben sat in an old service-station building drinking

coffee, choosing to remain by himself and making it plain

he did not wish to be disturbed. He had his boots

propped up on the desk and was reading a paperback

he had found when Jerre came in and sat down across

the desk from him.

"Something on your mind, kid?"

"Thermopolis and his people are going to be leaving the convoy

in a couple of days."

"Yeah, we talked about it earlier."

"You're sending a platoon of Rebels with them."

"That's right."

"I am formally requesting permission to be

among that platoon." She stuck her chin out, getting

set for an argument.

"All right."

She blinked, not believing what she'd just heard.

"That's it? No arguments about it?"

"There is nothing to argue about, Jerre. If you wish

to go, go. I'll reassign you right now. Dan is

picking the team, isn't he?"

"Yes." She spoke softly.

"Then you're on your way. Pack up your gear and
report to Dan. Tell him what I said. He'll

verify it with me later."

She stood up and looked at him. "Well, I

guess there is nothing left to say."

"I don't know that there ever was all that much to say,

Jerre." He lifted his coffee mug. "Here's

lookin" at you, kid."

She was gone amid the crash and howl of artillery

shells.

Ben was not hearing the roar of combat. He was lost in

memories, remembering that day years back when he

had first looked into those blue eyes.

He sighed and closed the book, putting it in his

jacket pocket. He stood up and walked to the

door, opening it and stepping outside just in

time to see Jerre get into a jeep.

She looked back at him.

He tossed her a salute.

"What's that all about?" she called, her voice

small over the roar of the shelling.

"One always salutes the victor, Jerre.

Protocol and all that."

"Nobody won, Ben. We both lost." She put

the jeep into gear and drove off.

While it was impossible for a force as small as

Ben's to completely destroy a city the size of
Charleston, they did leave behind them a burning city.

None had any way of knowing how many creepies they

had killed, but for about eighteen hours, they had made

life damned miserable for them.

The column crossed over into Kentucky without

further incident, bypassing Lexington and taking

Interstate 75 south.

It was just past Lexington that Thermopolis and his

group split with the Rebels.

"We're not far from home, Ben Raines,"

Thermopolis

told him. "About a hundred fifty miles south

and a bit east of here. So," he stuck out his hand,

"I guess for a time, this is goodbye."

Ben shook the hand. "I'd like to say something to your

following, Thermopolis."

"They are not my following, Ben."

Ben smiled. "Now who is bullshitting whom,

friend?"

Both men laughed and walked toward the band of

twenty-first-century hippies. The contingent of

Rebels who were to act as escorts and to help with the

move to Arkansas were already packed up and ready to go.

Ben made no speeches. He shook hands with

everyone there and thanked them. Then he walked away.
Without seeing Jerre.

As the columns split, Ben did not look back.

Just told Cooper to take the country roads and

to angle southwest; they were going down through Arkansas

this time. And Ben also told his people they were not hunting

trouble. They were going home.

They were lucky to make a hundred miles a day on

the old county and state roads. Two hundred

miles was considered good on the rapidly

deteriorating Interstate system.

They followed Interstate 40 all the way over

to Memphis. From there, the Rebels took 61 down

through the delta of Mississippi. They saw

occasional smoke from the chimneys of houses

along the highway, but Ben made no effort to stop and

inquire as to their well-being. Everyone in this part of the

country, everyone in the deltas on both sides of the

Mississippi River, knew that the Rebels'

Base Camp One was located at Morriston,

Louisiana. If they needed help, all they had

to do was ask, it would be provided. They also knew not

to screw up, or the Rebels would land on them hard.

And on a cool, very crisp and sunshiny midday, the

Rebels pulled into Base Camp One to the sounds

of a band playing and hundreds of people lining the streets,

waving and cheering them home.
That evening after a very long and steamy and soapy shower and a

good close shave, Ben was sitting in his favorite

chair in the den of his home, listening to Gregorian

chants on the CD player and having a vodka

martini while his dogs lay around the chair, glad

to have the master back home.

Of course, he was thinking about Jerre; she was never

far from his thoughts.

A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie.

Ben waved Ike and Buddy inside and offered them a

drink. Ike thought that would be just dandy; Buddy

declined.

The CD player turned down and the drinks

fixed, the men took seats. Ike propped his feet

up on an ottoman and said, "I've had the

mechanics working on vehicles for you, Ben. But

since I don't really know how many people you're

plannin' on takin' with you, I don't really know

how many vehicles to line up."

"Four companies, Ike. All volunteer. And

probably one short company of Dan's Scouts."

"The way our companies line up, you're talkin'

about roughly eight hundred people."

"That's close enough."

"Your four-wheel drive has seen some rough use.
I got you another lined up. People armor-plating it and

replacing glass now."

"You're walking around something, Ike. What is it?"

"I'd like to go with you."

"Ike, you're a brand new daddy. And we've got

several hundred new people to train. With Dan gone,

that's up to you. You and Cecil are needed here."

Ike grinned. "I had to try."

"And I appreciate it." He cut his eyes

to his son. "Your mother is still out there, boy. We could

run into her on this trip."

Buddy shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Then so be it,

Father. The woman is insane and for years

has acted in a criminal manner. She must be

stopped."

"Then you're volunteering?"

"Of course. Father, the entire base has

volunteered

to go."

Ben had expected it, but it still filled him with

pride. "I'll start picking names in the morning.

Now then, the only outpost we currently have out

west-the far west-is at Great Bend, Kansas.

That's another reason for this trip. We've got

to start stretching out and reclaiming territory, making

it productive once more. I just went over the
records here at camp. Jesus, Ike, we've

got over ten thousand people around this area. We've got

people coming in daily. So that means we've got to start

pioneering some families. Pass the word that I'm

looking for settlers to go with us."

Ike nodded. "I'm ahead of you, Ben. I got a

list of more than two hundred families who want

to go."

"Good. We're on the right track. Now then, as we

go, we're going to start clearing small-town

airports for the birds to use, to resupply

settlers until they can get crops in and

become productive. We'll probably be gone

the better part of a year. Cecil is going to handle the

administrative end of things while I'm gone.

Everything else fallson your shoulders, Ike."

Again, Ike nodded.

"I'm not going tojump into this thing, Ike.

Idon'twant to start out and find ourselves in the big

fat middle of a blizzard on the plains. We're

going to have very firm timetables as to when and where and how we

resupply along the line. And down here, I'm going

to go over everything from socks to bullets." He

smiled at them. "But for this night, I'm going

to listen to some music, have a few drinks, and relax.
Get some sleep, boys; tomorrow starts a very hectic

schedule."

Ben patted the track of a main battle tank,

105mm-cannon-equipped. "Ten of them," he

said. "Ready to roll."

Beth took that down in a notepad.

"I thought you were going back to Lev and the cows,

Beth."

"Lev got tired of waiting," she informed him.

"There was a message waiting for me when we got

back. It'sjustas well. I'd have gotten tired

of wiping that ick off my boots." She

jerked a thumb toward a very pretty blond woman,

in her early to mid-twenties. "This is Corrie.

She'll be handling the radio."

"I definitely approve."

"I thought you would," Beth said dryly.

Corrie smiled at him.

"I want a dozen hand-held vision scopes,

Beth, and five tripod night vision scopes.

Five grenade launchers per platoon."

Beth scribbled.

"I want Big Thumpers mounted on every vehicle

that will take them. Five Dusters."

They walked on-Beth, Cooper, Jersey,

Corrie, and Ben.
"Three eighty-one-millimeter mortar carriers,

five-person crew."

Beth jotted it down.

"One five-point-five-six Minimi per

platoon. One fifty per platoon. Two

Puffs ready to fly at all times."

Beth noticed the absence of Ben's old

Thompson. "What will you be carrying, General?"

"I'll keep the Thompson in a boot. I'll

carry the old Thunder Lizard."

She jotted down .308 ammo.

"Tankers to keep us rolling and equipment to test

gas and pumps to suck it up from storage tanks.

"Get everyone's boot size and make sure there

are adequate replacements. I want all body

armor checked and any defectives replaced

immediately."

Beth wrote it down.

"One mini-Mash fully equipped. Find out what

doctors are going along."

"Doctor Chase says he is leading the team of

doctors."

"Doctor Chase is most definitely

not

leading the doctors," Ben countered.
"I just work here, General," Beth said. "Argue with

Doctor Chase."

"Put down Doctor Ling to lead the team. I'll

deal with Lamar.""

"Better you than me," Beth muttered.

"Umm?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Ike is seeing to the vehicles, so if any of them

breaks down, we can blame it on him."

"Yes, sir. We can cuss him a thousand miles from

nowhere, sitting on the side of the highway

holding a busted U-joint. Right, sir."

"Make a note to recheck the transportation before

we pull out," Ben said with a smile.

"Thank you."

"What am I forgetting, Beth?"

"About ten thousand things, sir. I have a list." She

held out her hand and Cooper gave her a notebook

about die size of the Bible.

Ben glanced at it. "Good God!"

"Yes, sir. Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, sir."

"That's what I was afraid of. Where do we start?"

He had discovered that Beth was very thorough.

"Five thousand pairs of socks."
"Can we start with the bras and panties?"

"We'll get to that later," Corrie said, smiling

at him.

Ben arched an eyebrow. Might be a more interesting

trip than he first thought.

Emil had settled back into his role as spiritual

leader of his little group. The battle dress was gone

and the robes had returned.

Emil had contacted the Great God Blomm, and

Blomm,

so the little con artist informed his following, had

"instructed him to keep his ass close to home from

now on.

But Emil was forced to admit, not aloud, that he did

miss

the excitement.

No more had been heard from Sister Voleta or

Ashley.

Thermopolis and his group were settling in up in

Arkansas. Ben had instructed the platoon of

Rebels to stay with them for as long as they were needed.

At least that kept Ben away from Jerre.

And vice versa.

And Ben was stalling in pulling out, and he knew it.

He had made up a dozen excuses for his delaying
the trip west, some of them proving valid, most just

no more than excuses and nothing else.

West knocked on his office door and Ben waved

him in and to a seat. "What's up?"

"Ben, I lost two men last week."

"Lost two men? How? Desertion?"

"No. I've never lost a man to that. My people are

professionals. B. . ." He spread his hands.

"Ithoughtat first that, well, hell, there is a first time

for everything, so maybe they did desert.

Now I find that two more

are missing. Sometime last night."

Ben kept his face expressionless; but his first thought was

of the kids of the Night P. "And your thoughts on the

matter?"

"The same as yours, Ben," the mercenary said

grimly.

"All the creepie kids accounted for?"

"Yes. But that doesn't mean a damn thing. The

sneaky little bastards can almost slip out and away while

you're looking at them."

"You think . . . ?" Ben let that hang.

"Yeah, Ben. I think."

"If they did the unthinkable and unspeakable, West,

they didn't go far to do it. Come on."

The creepie kids would have few places to feast on
human flesh, for there were no slums and no shacks in

any town or outpost occupied by the Rebels. If

there were unoccupied buildings or sheds on any land

claimed by a Rebel, the buildings were repainted and

kept up by the new owner, or they were torn down.

Since building materials and nails and paint were

free for the taking, the standing orders were: Just do it.

Period.

When Ben said that Rebel communities were

going to be models that would stand the test of time for

future generations to build by, he meant it.

Morriston was rapidly becoming a small town that

would have been the envy of anyone even when the nation was

whole. There was no litter. If one littered and was

caught, and the offender almost always was, the culprit

spent a week, seven days, eight hours a day,

doing community service work, usually cleaning out

septic tanks, digging ditches, or some other

unenviable type of work. There was no appeal. There just

wasn't any litter.

But it was not an inflexible society. Ben knew that

kids are kids and kids are going to break the rules

from time to time. Loud mufflers and loud music of any

type-rock to classical-was tolerated, to a

point. Probably the most important thing was that the
kids understood the rights of others. They were taught

values not only in the churches and at home, but in

the schools.

Members of the ACLU were probably spinning in their

graves, and Ben hoped they kept on spinning, right

out into another galaxy.

"Corrie," Ben told her, "have Doctor Chase

get the lab ready to test for human blood on hands

and lips and clothing. Tell Ike to take

a team and go over their quarters like a Marine Corps

inspection team landing on a recruits" barracks.

They left something behind, bet on it."

"Yes, sir." They walked on toward the kids'

quarters as Corrie completed her transmissions.

She said, "General? Doctor Chase says that his

goddamned, blankety-blank,

I-refuse-to-say-that-word lab is always that-word-either

blankety-blank ready."

"Thank you, Corrie. You have to remember that Chase

was in the Navy. He was an officer, but he was a

mustang. You'll get used to Lamar . . .

eventually."

"If you say so, sir." But she looked very dubious

about it.

"What are we looking for, Ben?" West asked.

"The last place those men were seen."
"They were pulling guard duty around our compound. The

dog watch."

"We'll start there."

It took them several walk-arounds of the area, but

West was the one who found the small splotches of

blood. "Got it," he called.

Ben waved a lab technician over, and the woman

lifted the blood onto slides.

"Now we have something to work on," Ben said. "Let's

see if we can pick up a trail."

A dozen yards on and they found a thin blood

trail leading toward a stand of timber across the old

Interstate. In the timber, in an old shotgun

house, they found the men, hanging up like sides of

beef. What was left of them, that is. They were naked

and had been carved on with very sharp knives.

"What's the drill now, Ben?" West asked,

anger very plain in his tone.

"We either prove or disprove it was them. I have never

believed in pampering kids. If a teenager commits

an adult

crime, they should be punished like an adult." "And the

punishment for a crime like this?" "Death."

"What'd you have, Lamar?" Ben asked.

"Dried blood under their fingernails and on their skin
and clothing. It's being matched up now. Did you find

all the bodies, Ben?"

"All four of them. The kids ate their fill."

"If it was the kids," Doctor Holly Allardt

said.

These were the first words she had spoken to Ben since his

return to the base camp at Morriston.

"Right, Holly. If."

The doctor turned her back to him and walked

away, to stand in her office doorway, glaring at

him.

"Hell has no fury, and all that," Chase

muttered, looking at Ben.

"I didn't scorn her, Lamar."

"You think."

A lab technician walked up to the group, which had

now grown to include Cecil and Ike and Buddy and

Tina and Dan. "It's a match. All the kids were

involved. They all feasted. If that's the right word."

Ben nodded. "Dan, take their statements. I

don't think they'll deny it. They're proud of what

they ate."

"Yes, sir. And then . . . ?"

"Hang them."

"They're just kids! "Holly yelled at him. "The

youngest is no more than fifteen. This is barbaric
behavior."

"This is a hospital, Doctor," Chase warned

her. "We have some seriously ill patients. So

please lower your voice."

Holly walked up to Ben. "If you hang those

kids, I'll resign."

"Turn your resignation in to Doctor

Chase, then. And I'll be sorry to lose you.

You're a fine doctor." Ben walked away.

The older cannibalistic offspring of the Night People

were hanged, and Holly did not resign. But in the

time Ben had left at Base Camp One, she

avoided him whenever possible, and then spoke only

when spoken to.

The younger kids were spared; they had taken no part in the

killing and eating of West's men, having been housed

in separate quarters. Most of Ben's medical

personnel thought the younger kids had a chance to shake

their earlier teachings. Only time would prove or

disprove that theory.

On a cool early spring morning, Ben rose before

dawn and stepped out of his house, a mug of coffee in

his hand. He sat down on the porch and looked out at

the quiet before dawn.

His dogs came to him and he petted them all.
"Gonna miss you guys and gals," he spoke

softly to them. He knew they would be well taken

care of by the Rebels who stayed in his house whenever

he was gorie. "But the old man's got to go. I

wish I could take you all with me, but that's not

possible. I'll be back, and that's a promise,

gang."

The dogs took turns licking the back of his hand.

Then they all ran out into the fenced yard to play.

Ben finished his coffee and went back into the house,

to pack up a few last-minute things. He looked

at the only picture of Jerre he had and picked

it up; then he gently placed the framed picture

into a drawer of the nightstand and closed it.

"You will never know how much I love you, Jerre."

Ben buckled his flight bag and walked out into the

predawn darkness.

Ben walked up and down and through the lines of

vehicles in the staging area, noting that a great many

of the Rebels who had volunteered to travel west

had been part of the forces who had fought in New York

City. But still there were many new faces among the eight

hundred Rebels.

Ben stopped and stared at a man from Missouri who

had been with him since the beginning.

"Dammit, Jimmy," Ben said to the sergeant
major. "When are you going to admit thatyou're just

too damned old for the field?"

"The same day you do, General," was his reply.

Ben laughed and walked on, Beth, Corrie,

Jersey, and Cooper walking with him.

He stopped at a truck and looked up

at the line of Rebels seated on the bench.

"Chuck, how are you feeling?"

"Good as new, General," Chuck said with a grin.

"Good to have you back with us."

"Thank you, sir."

Ben completed his inspection and looked at his watch.

Ten o'clock. He walked back to his new Blazer,

bullet-proofed and armor-plated. Cecil and Ike

and Chase were standing beside the vehicle.

Ben shook hands with all of them.

Nobody said anything. There was nothing left to say.

The three men backed into the throng of silent and

watching Rebels who were staying behind.

Ben climbed into the Blazer and rolled down his

window. "Corrie, tell the Scouts to move out and

maintain a ten-mile lead."

"Yes, sir."

"Order the convoy out onto the Interstate."

The orders were given and the long column began
rumbling and snorting and clanking out onto Interstate

20.

"Cooper!" Jersey spoke from the backseat. "Will

you quit tailgating that damn tank. I swear

to God, I only know one other person who's a

worse driver than you!"

Ben laughed as everybody in the Blazer started singing

"On the Road Again."

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