Dan shook his head in disbelief. He said nothing. Cutting his eyes, he could see the other commanders felt the same way as he did.
But they all remained silent.
"Isn't that a bit young for-combat?" Ben asked.
"Have you ever tried to grab hold of a young mountain lion, sir?" Ro asked.
Good point, Ben thought. "Would some of your people consider staying back and guarding the hospital area?"
"No," both young men said simultaneously.
There it was. Ben faced the young leaders of the woods-children and slowly nodded his head. "All right.
Then tell me this: how can I best use you and your people?"
"We cannot jump from the skies to float to the earth as some of you are planning," Ro said. "We have had no training in that sort of thing. But you said just a fewmoments ago that you are going to fly in some of your people; land them on the earth in the plane. I would like that way to be our way in."
He smiled, and he looked very young. "It would be fun, for none of us have ever been in an aeroplane."
Ben had no idea where the young man picked up the British pronunciation. Perhaps he was English.
There was much Ben did not know about these strange, wild, elusive woods-children. But he knew firsthand they were savage, vicious, no-quarter fighters.
And the woods-children did not take prisoners.
That would not set well with the people they would be going up against. Ben pointed that fact out to Wade and Ro.
Both young men shrugged it off. Ro said, "We spoke of that with the others last night. None of us wish to be taken as prisoner by the Russian, Hartline, or any warlords. They would sexually abuse us, and then torture us to death. Believe me, we know."
"Then, get your people ready. You'll lift off with the second contingent this afternoon. Scouts report a deserted airstrip at Big Lake. That's where you'll deplane. A platoon of Gray's Scouts will be going in there, too. You'll take orders from the team leader. Understood?"
They understood.
"Draw what supplies you'll need and get ready."
Ro and Wade wheeled about and left without another word.
"To tell you the truth," Dan Gray said. "I rather feel sorry for any IPF people who encounter that bunch."
"They didn't say it," Ben said. "But I'm guessing they know where underground people live in that area. That's the area they both told me they wanted ... earlier this morning."
"They are so young," Sylvia said, her words gentle.
Ben looked at her. "How old were you when you killed your first person, Sylvia?"
"Eleven," she said very quietly. "After he raped me."
"They wanted in," Ben said. "They're in. And they know what is ahead of them-or have a pretty good idea. All right, now. Dan, you and the remainder of your people are dropping in when?"
"We'll be leaving straight away, General."
"Luck to you, Dan."
The Englishman saluted Ben and the others, then left the command post without another word.
Ike moved to the open door and called, "Hey, limey!"
Dan stopped and turned around.
"You bring your ugly face back here in one piece, you hear, you toy soldier?"
Dan grinned. "I shall certainly endeavor with all my might to comply with your request, swabby."
On the runway, the old prop engines were growling, warming up.
Ben looked at Cecil. The man's hair wasalmost all white now, but he still wore his beret proudly. And Ben knew the man was in excellent physical condition.
"Yet another battle for us, Cec," he said.
"And after this, there will be another, and another. We should be used to them by now."
"Yes. I know you don't like your assignment, but someone has to do it."
"That isn't the reason you gave it to me, and you know I know it."
"Yes. The belief that one of us must come out of this alive certainly played a part in my decision. I won't deny that."
Cecil nodded his head. Ben noticed for the first time that the man's face was lined with age. But Cecil wasn't that old, he thought. Fifty-ish ... but certainly not ancient, by anyone's standards.
"My people will form the eastern line, Ben. We'll stand in reserve."
Ben extended his hand and Cecil took it.
"Luck to you, Cec."
Cecil smiled, nodded his head, and left the command post. A few moments later, the engines of his truck convoy coughed into life.
Ike stepped back into the command post, joining Ben and Sylvia. "Gettin' down to the wire, now, Ben."
"Your people ready?"
"Sittin' on Go, Ben."
Ben nodded his head.
"You're gonna be cuttin' it pretty fine, Ben, goin' in last."
"Can't be helped. We're short of planes and pilots. All my people have studied the terrain. If the winds don't screw us up, we'll be in good shape. And we'll be a hell of a lot harder to find at night."
"I never did like night jumps," the ex-Seal admitted. "I made a whole bunch of "em. But I never did like them."
"Keep your boots together, Ike," Ben gently needled the man, a grin on his face. "I don't want you coming back with a cracked spine."
"Yeah? Well, you do the same, skinny. And don't land in no damned tree."
The men shook hands. Ike looked at Sylvia.
"You take care of the old man, now, you hear?"
Her reply was a smile.
"Geronimo, and all that crap, Ike," Ben said.
Ike smiled. "The truth now, Ben. Did you ever holler that leavin" a plane?"
"Not one time in my entire life."
Ike laughed and left the command post.
Chapter.
Seven.
With his forward scouts no longer listed among the living, General Georgi Striganov had no idea when General Ben Raines might strike.
He just knew the man was coming at him. When, andhow, was up for grabs.
And Striganov had accepted the fact that his forward people were dead. That bothered him. For those recon people were the best he had at that type of work.
It was those damnable people who lived in caves and tunnels and only moved about at night who ambushed his men. The same people who erected monuments to Ben Raines.
Which Striganov's people tore down whenever one was found.
And was promptly rebuilt the next day.
Goddamned little pockets of resistance could drive a person insane if one would let it, he thought.
Problem was, he mused, northern California was honeycombed with caves and tunnels and mountains and deep timber. It would take twenty divisions to rout them all out. And even that many might not be able to do it.
Striganov looked toward the east. "Come on, Ben. Come on. Let's do it!"
Sam Hartline was restless, and he did not understand the why of it.
Things, conditions, were better now than they had ever been for him. Well, at least since the world fell apart, that is.
He had the finest foods available; all the women he could ever hope for; more men than he had ever commanded. But still he felt ... well, odd.
Like something was about to pop.
True, he knew, from radio contact with Striganov, that Ben Raines was going to do something.
But the Russian didn't know when; only that Raines was going to strike.
Hartline again fought back that ever-growing feeling in his guts.
He could not remember ever being afraid of any living man in his life.
But he was afraid of Ben Raines.
The son of a bitch just wouldn't die! Jesus H.
Christ! The man had been hit so many times he should have been dead ten times over.
Instead, he just kept on coming at you. And people kept on joining his ranks.
Hartline paced the den of his home. Stopping abruptly, he looked toward the east.
"Come on, you bastard!" he shouted. "Goddamn you, let's get it over with once and for all."
Ben stood on the edge of the tarmac and watched the planes take off, circle, and then take a westerly heading. He lifted a salute toward the vanishing planes and the men and women in them.
He turned to Sylvia. "Let's check our gear."
Ben and his short battalion checked all their gear and laid it out in rows on the edge of the tarmac.
They would wait for the return of the first wave of planes before suiting up for the drop.
For now, all they would do is recheck equipment,field strip and oil and reassemble weapons ... and wait.
Something every soldier knows is a nerve-stretching ordeal.
The Rebels could but marvel at General Ben Raines. He laid down, his head on his pack, and took a nap. A picture of calmness.
Ben napped for an hour, then lay still, with his eyes closed, and let his mind roam free, settling on whatever issue came up. Memory, problem, or philosophy.
Take care of us from the cradle to the grave, and we'll give you one hundred percent loyalty. That was the Rebels' attitude and philosophy toward Ben Raines. Basically the same philosophy of the old-line, hard-party Communists of years past.