Bizarre would be too tame a word.
Their headgear ranged from Nazi helmets to berets. Some wore combat boots, others cowboy boots. Some had chains looped and wound around their chests and waists. Some wore only vests with no shirt. Others were dressed in leather from ankle to neck.
To a man, they were dirty, lice-infested, ugly, and vicious. Hartline had promised them a free hand to deal with the enemy in any way they saw fit, "The enemy" being anyone opposed to General Georgi Striganov.
But they had been getting bored. Life in the Northwest was getting too tame.
Until now.
This particular bunch of outlaws rodemotorcycles exclusively. This was Sonny Boy's bunch.
Skinhead's bunch rode motorcycles, drove souped-up dune buggies and chopper bikes.
Grizzly's bunch rode motorcycles and drove souped-up pickup trucks.
Popeye's gang rode motorcycles.
About five hundred strong in all, they were, to a person, a very odious crew. In more ways than one.
Sonny Boy walked up and down in front of the captured Rebels. When he grinned his mouth was filled with rotten and blackened teeth. His breath would fell an ox.
He stopped in front of a woman Rebel.
"Lookie here, boys. This here is prime pussy."
The woman spat in his face.
Sonny Boy reached out, grabbed a breast, and twisted harshly.
She screamed as pain bent her almost double.
Sonny Boy brought his open palm around and slapped the woman, knocking her sprawling. Reaching down, he jerked the field pants from her and shredded her panties. He jerked her to her feet and threw her to his men. Several caught her, their hands roaming her body.
"Take turns with "er," Sonny Boy said.
"I wonder if it's possible for a woman to be fucked to death?"
In less than a minute, Reba began screaming as the rape began.
Sonny grinned as he stared at the only other woman in the Rebel team. "My, my, ain't you the pretty one. You gonna be my woman, bitch."
The woman stared at him, her face impassive.
"Think you're tough, don't you?" Sonny Boy asked.
She shrugged.
Sonny Boy's men laughed, their laughter bringing a flush to his face. "You'll be beggin" me to quit "fore it's all over, bitch," he said.
She stared at him in silence.
"You got a name, bitch?"
"Sally."
"Ain't that pretty? You be nice to me, now Sally, and I'll be nice to you. You fuck up with me, and I'll stick a grenade up your ass, you understand? And don't nod your goddamn head, speak!"
"I understand."
"Good. Hope for you yet." He waved toward his people. "Take them men prisoners. Hartline wants to torture them; see if he can get anything out of them."
Reba screamed as two men took her at once, front and back.
Striganov was silent, deep in savage thoughts, as he rode back to his command post by the raging sea.
He should have known better, he kept thinking. He should have known better than to try and second-guessBen Raines. For every time he did ... he failed.
And Georgi Striganov did not like to fail.
But what galled him more than Ben Raines destroying two full battalions of his people ... was Sam Hartline sending those cretins in to seize the outpost at Youreka.
Sam had suspected Ben Raines was going to pull something. But if so, why hadn't he voiced stronger objections?
Unless? ...
No, that was unthinkable!
Or was it?
Striganov tried to clear his head of those thoughts.
But they persisted.
Was Sam trying to pull something? If so, what could it be? For he lost men in the battle with Raines, too. Although not nearly as many as Georgi did.
Georgi would have to give this some thought. A lot of thought. But he could not believe Sam Hartline would be stupid enough to try some sort of coup. They needed each other to continue the fight against the common enemy: Ben Raines.
"Outpost at Youreka on the horn, General,"
Ben was informed.
"It's pretty bad. They're raping Reba."
"They call us?"
"Yes, sir."
Ben walked to the communication truck. The battleground was nearly void of living beings, the Rebels pulling out, leaving the dead silent, for the earth to claim.
Ben glanced at his watch. Hartline would have had time to get there by car.
"Get them on the horn," Ben ordered.
"Hello, Ben," the cheerful voice of Sam Hartline cracked through the speaker.
"Hartline," Ben replied, without the cheerfulness.
"You won one, Raines," Hartline said. "Going to come get your woman warrior?"
"Doubtful," Ben said honestly.
"You're a hard man, Ben. 'Bout as hard as me. Hell, maybe you're harder. God knows I've tried to kill you often enough."
Ben could hear faint screaming in the background.
But it was not a woman's screaming.
"That's one of your Rebels, Ben,"
Hartline told him. "One of my boys is burning his feet off. I don't think he likes it very much."
Ben cursed; got it out of his system before he keyed the mike. Keeping his voice level, he said, "What do you want, Hartline?"
"Why, just a friendly chat with an old enemy, Ben.
That's all."
The screaming of the burning Rebel became louder.
Then Ben heard Reba screaming.
"I opened a window just in case you wanted to get a better ... ah, picture, shall we say, of what is happening here."
"I could have done without it, Hartline." "Oh, I wouldn't want you to miss a thing, Ben.
Oh, by the way, the woman you had in the cabin, Rani Jordan? I suppose you know by now that she's dead."
"I know."
"I tortured her to death, Ben. Of course I fucked her, too. Several times. In several different ways."
Ben said nothing.
"A lot of my, ah, newer colleagues had a whack at her, too. They're anxious to meet you, Ben."
"Oh, we'll meet, Hartline. Bet on that,"
Ben assured him.
"Oh my, Ben! I wish you could see this. It's very entertaining. Two of my men are double-teaming Reba. Poor girl doesn't appear to be enjoying it. I wonder why?"
"Where is Sally?"
"Sonny Boy claimed her for his woman.
He's such a delightful man, Ben."
"One of your warlords, Sam?"
"That's a big ten-four."
"I'm looking forward to meeting them all, Sam."
Hartline chuckled. "I know what you're doing, Ben. Oh, I'll tell you their names. Sonny Boy, Grizzly, Skinhead, Popeye. Nice boys, all."
Just before Ben signed off, he said, "I'm going to kill you, Hartline. That is a promise."
Chapter Fifteen.
"You know what's going to happen now, don't you, Georgi?" Sam asked the Russian.
They were enjoying a late dinner in the Russian's lovely home near Pepperwood, just off Highway 101. The Russian insisted on living as luxuriously as possible, considering the conditions around them. Not two miles away, people were just barely clinging to life.
When Striganov and his IPF first landed on American soil, after years in Iceland, Georgi had treated the Aryan race quite differently.*
But all that had proved too expensive in terms of food and clothing and medical treatment.
Now anyone who did not willingly embrace the Russian's lopsided philosophy was left to fend for themselves, as best they could.
"No. You tell me, Sam," Striganov said.
"Ben Raines is going to pull out all the stops now. He's going to hit us from all sides. He's going to use *
Anarchy in the Ashes every tactic he knows, and believe me, he knows them all."
"Stand up and slug it out across battlefields?"
the Russian asked, a hopeful note to his voice.
"You know better." Sam waved away the offer ofdessert. But his eyes took in the trim little ass of Jane as she moved around the table to serve the Russian.
"You may eat now, Jane," Georgi told the girl. "Then take your bath. I'll be along shortly."