"I have reports that large numbers of troops are massing just south of Highway 299. From the coast to Weaverville." He looked at Ben. "I told you about that, Ben."
Ben nodded his head. "Yes. So Striganov doesn't want us to flank him. Either from the north or south. What options does that leave us?"
"Straight ahead," John Dunning said.
"That's right," Ben said. "Right into the wilderness areas. Take a look, people. From north to south between Highways 20 and" 299. Trinity National Forest, Six Rivers National Forest, Yolla Bolly Wilderness area, Mendocino National Forest. That's where the Russian wants us. He's trying to play our game." "General," Dan spoke. "There is no way he could effectively cover that much ground.
He's got us outgunned, but he doesn't have that many troops. That's about five hundred miles deep, and at its widest point, about two hundred miles west to east. He can't have that many men."
"No, he doesn't," Ben agreed. "But he knows we couldn't possibly hack our way through the wilderness; that would take us forever. We'd have to use existing roads. That's where he's set up ambush sites."
"You have a plan?" Pete Ho asked.
"Oh, yes," Ben said with a smile. "We hold what we have taken thus far. We rest, we eat, we sleep, and we do nothing-nothing except stay very alert. Either Hartline or Striganov will become impatient.
One or the other will bust loose and do something."
A Rebel walked into the meeting room.
"General, our listening post at Iron Gate Dam just received a message from the kids up in Oregon. The warlords have broken loose from Hartline and are heading out. Five, six hundred of them. Looks like, from the direction they've taken, they're going to head east, then cut south, come up behind us."
Ben glanced at Cecil. "It's your baby, Cec. Take off and good luck. If you need help, get on the horn."
Cec nodded, gathered up his aides, and quickly left the meeting room.
"How are the girls?" Ben asked.
"Seem to be fine. They report picking up a half-dozen more kids. I told Iron Gate to tell them to hold their position and wait for further orders."
Ben nodded. "Tell them to get back across the line into safe territory. No point in them staying up there."
"Yes, sir." The man hesitated.
"Something else?" Ben asked.
"Yes, sir. Iron Gate reported that the girls have mixed it up with two patrols. One patrol of outlaw bikers loyal to Hartline, and the other a regular IPF patrol. The girls left one biker alive-after they cut off his privates and cauterized the wound with a heated knife blade. They killed all the IPF bunch."
"Jesus!" Ben muttered.
Ike's smile was tight. "You remember the first rule of guerrilla warfare, Ben.
Don't get taken prisoner by the women."
"Only too well," Ben said. He thanked the messenger and waited until the man had left, closing the door behind him. He turned to face the group of field commanders. "Any questions?"
"Do you suppose Cecil will need some help with those outlaw bikers?" John Dunning asked. "They can be terribly vicious." The Rebels in the room smiled.
"Yes," Pete Ho said. "That bunch, the ones aligned with Sam Hartline, came through Ukiah above five months ago. Their leader, of that bunch, was some cretin named Popeye. At the time, my group of resistance fighters was up in the hills, knocking heads with the IPF. When we returned, victorious, I might add, the town had been looted, men and women killed, and several young girls taken prisoner. We never saw the kids again.
I'll offer my people to assist General Jefferys."
Dan turned his head so the civilian freedom fighter could not see his grin.
Harris, out of Redding, said, "It was Grizzly's bunch of bikers who rolled through our town. They're much worse than any IPF people I ever saw. They kill and torture for no apparent reason. From what I am able to understand, General Jefferys only has a battalion of Rebels. I don't mean to second-guess you, General Raines, but I think he's going to need some help in dealing with these outlaw bikers."
Ike could not contain his laughter.
The civilians looked at the ex-Navy SEAL, not understanding the laughter; not knowing the why of it.
Ben waited until Ike's laughter faded.
He faced the group. "People, listen to me. You are all now a part of the Rebel organization. So let me be terribly blunt. I want you all to understand the Rebel philosophy; let there be no misunderstandings concerning what we do and how we do it. We don't take prisoners, people. We do not take prisoners. Ever."
Ben let that sink in, his eyes flicking from one civilian to another.
"Never?" Pete Ho asked softly.
"Not any more," Ben told him.
"What do you do with those who offer to surrender, General?" George asked.
"Once the fighting starts, George, it's too late. The enemy can surrender en masse, or not at all. Those are the rules I've laid down.
Striganov and Hartline know it. And the same rules apply to any Rebel. You'd all better know that going in."
"I don't know whether I could shoot any unarmed man," Harris said. "I mean, I've never done it."
Harris was suddenly very much aware of Dan Gray's extremely cold eyes on him. The unblinking gaze made the man very uncomfortable.
"Unless the people are standing stark naked in front of you," Ike said, "how do you know they're unarmed? Then there is this to consider: these people are your enemies. They have, to a person, committed acts so hideous as to be unspeakable. They have taken oaths to destroy the Rebel movement. Striganov wants a pure Aryan nation. Where does that leave you, Pete?" The Chinese-American lifted his shoulders and spread his hands silently.
"Hartline wants war," Ben picked it back up. "And he'll switch sides faster than a snake can strike. Sam is pure mercenary. He is not a soldier of fortune. The side that can offer him the most is the side he'll choose. These warlords and outlaw bikers are scum. They don't care if the country ever rises out of the ashes of destruction. I have more feelings for a roach then I do for them.
"You all wondered why Ike was laughing a moment ago. He was laughing because Cecil will deal with this filth and trash and scum in the same manner that we've dealt with them over the years-with extreme prejudice. No negotiating with them. No deals.
No pity. No mercy. We just shoot them out of the saddle. On sight.
"The Rebel dream is to rebuild this nation. To have schools and hospitals and churches and libraries.
To once more be able to produce. To build something for future generations. Outlaws and warlords and roaming gangs of thugs and punks and dickheads have no place in that society we dream of. None at all. We didn't tolerate them in the old Tri-States, and I will not tolerate them now."
Ben looked at the group of civilians; looked at them all. Gave each man a full ten seconds of unblinking stare.
"You are either one hundred percent for the Rebel movement, or you are one hundred percent against it. That's the way it has to be, for now, at least, and that's the way it's going to be. Give that some thought, people. For I will not tolerate traitors."
Ben walked out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-two.
Ben stood alone outside the motel meeting room, his thoughts jumbled and disorganized. Then, one by one, he began separating them and assigning positions of numerical importance within his head.
Same old story, he thought, remembering the conversation back in the meeting room.
People still cling to the concepts of law and order as it existed back in the days when the nation was whole. They simply cannot, or will not, accept the glaring fact that the entire world, as far as we know, is in a state of anarchy: dog-eat-dog, the strong roll right over the weak, the lawless reign unchecked until they are shot dead.
Sometimes, even though he knew it was not true, Ben felt like a man alone.
The feelings expressed back in the meeting room could be boiled down to what Ben had called for years the Soldier Syndrome.
All the nice pretty people want a nice pretty society. But they won't fight for it. The Soldier Syndrome. You go fight my battles for me; and then, when you've done it... go away, "cause we don't want your kind around here. You're not nice like us.
And no, we don't want to hear about the terrible, awful things you had to do to make us safe. Just make us safe, and then go away.
Those so-called "nice people" just cannot, still, after all that's happened, they still cannot understand that one simply does not attempt to pet a rabid animal.
One simply destroys it.
Ben turned as the door opened. Dan and Ike stepped out to join him.
"I think they'll stand, General," Dan said.
"But they don't like it," Ike added.
Ben nodded. "Sometimes I just want to give up.
Just pull back, claim territory, rebuild to our liking, and to hell with the rest of the people."
"I know, Ben," Ike said. "I know."
"It would be a grand thing," Dan said. "A simple house, a garden, a lady, perhaps some children.
I could work the land, have some cows for meat and milk. And together we could live peacefully. It would be a grand thing," he said wistfully.
"We had it in the Tri-States," Ike said.
"And I'd be lyin" if I said I didn't miss it."
Ben looked at his close friends. "Do either of you ever think about the fact that we've been fighting other peoples' battles, off and on, for fifteen years? And it never seems to stop. Is this our destiny? Is this our hell? Is our philosophy so alien to others? Or is it so simple it's complex? What in the hell is it that people are clinging to?"
Both men knew Ben did not expect a reply, so neither offered one.
"Shit!" Ben said.
Ike grinned and clasped his friend's shoulder.
"Destiny, Ben? Hell? Maybe it is. But maybe it's just that we're all so goddamned hard-headed we won't give up on a dream. You ever think about that?"
Ben smiled and hitched at his web belt.
"Well, boys, let's follow that dream."
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Chapter Twenty-three.
The Rebels waited and rested. They cleaned equipment, spent hours pouring over maps of territory assigned them once they were inside IPF'-CONTROLLED territory. They waited for weird from Ben Raines to strike.
But there was only silence from Ben.
The men and women of the Rebels would see him at the most unexpected times and places. Always with Lora with him, sometimes with Sylvia. Sylvia no longer shared Ben's blankets. No one knew what had happened between them to cool the brief affair, and no one was going to ask the general. Lora, who stayed with two Rebel women at night, had nothing to say onthe matter; the child could be as taciturn as Ben.
The outlaw warlords had yet to make their appearance. If any of them had the sense God allowed an idiot, they would have turned around and headed east, putting as much distance between themselves and Cecil Jefferys and his people as time would let them. For years the outlaws had called the tune as they rampaged about the ravaged and torn land, killing and raping and maiming and torturing at will.
There simply had been no organized force large enough to stop them.
Most of the survivors still clung-as Ben and his Rebels were constantly being reminded-to the concept of law and order that had died with the nation.
In other words, they were waiting for someone else to do it for them.
That someone had arrived, in force.
Now, all the outlaws had to do was tangle with that force. Just one time.
"Contact has been successfully made,"
Colonel Khamsin was informed.
"And? ..." the colonel asked.
The aide shrugged expressively.
"Don't give me gestures!" Khamsin berated him. "Speak to me."
"The persons contacted were very interested. But they must have some time to think about it."