Rita Rivers came charging into the room right behind her. She looked even worse than Hooter. “Have the racist, right-wing Rebels defeated our armies?” she yelled.
Blanton almost lost it. He struggled mightily. He stared at the former drug dealer and road whore turned U.S. Representative and in a carefully controlled voice, said, “No, Ms. Rivers. Our armies have not been defeated. But I have decided to have a meeting with General Raines.”
Hooter and Rivers both flopped on the floor in a dead faint.
Moments after Ben had radioed Cecil at Base Camp One, telling him about the upcoming meeting with Blanton, Cecil began sending out teams of special operations people to New York State. They would parachute in to beef up the scouts already in place. Cecil did not trust Homer Blanton any more than he felt he could tame a rattlesnake. By the time Ben arrived at the meeting, Cecil would have more than five hundred of the most highly trained men and women in the world in place in case of a double-cross.
“General Cecil Jefferys on the radio, sir,” a Blanton aide told Homer, sitting at his desk having one of his carefully hoarded bottles of RC Cola and a Twinkie. Nine o’clock in the morning. “He’s radioing from the Rebels’ Base Camp One.”
“I know who he is,” Blanton said sourly. He walked to the communications room and picked up the mic. “This is your President, Jefferys.”
“You’re not my president,” Cecil told him. “I didn’t vote for you.”
Hundreds of miles away, Blanton grimaced. He was getting really, really tired of hearing that. “What do you want, Jefferys?”
Harriet Hooter came flapping into the room. “Parachutists!” she yelled. “Paratroopers are landing all over the place. We’re under attack! Do something.”
Blanton almost told her to go stand on the porch of the hotel and stare at the Rebel soldiers. One look at her face and they’d surely surrender. And take Rita Rivers with her. There might be some Rebel men with extremely lousy taste in women and Rivers could pick up a few bucks. Instead, Blanton keyed the mic. “We have reports of paratroopers landing near us, Jefferys. You know anything about that?”
“That’s why I radioed, Blanton,” Cecil said. “Those troops are Ben’s security . . . in case you have a double-cross in mind.”
“I gave General Raines my word, Jefferys!” Blanton flared. “And that is . . .”
“Pure crap as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather kiss a rabid skunk than take the word of a liberal.”
“You are a very insulting man,” Blanton said.
“Just a truthful one, Blanton. Now you listen to me. Don’t even think of a double-cross when dealing with Ben Raines. If Ben gave his word there would be no trouble from his end, he’ll stand by that. But he’ll be ready for a double-cross from you.”
“Why, for God’s sake?”
Cecil chuckled. “Blanton, you’ve got a short memory. Every time we’ve dealt with the liberal branch of the democratic party—of which you were and are a member—they’ve double-crossed us . . . or tried to. Don’t even consider it this time. Warn your people to walk as though they’re walking on eggs around Ben. I’m offering this as a friendly piece of advice, not as a threat.”
“All right, General,” Blanton’s tone softened. “I will take it as such.”
“Nice talking so cordially with you, Mister President.”
“Very nice chatting with you, General Jefferys.”
Ben listened as President Blanton gave General Revere his orders. “There will be a cease-fire with absolutely no hostilities between Revere and the Rebels commencing immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir, Mister President,” Revere said, but Ben could tell he was speaking through clenched teeth and did not like the orders at all.
“Corrie,” Ben said, “get General Revere on the horn.”
“General Revere? Ben Raines here. How about us sitting down and jawing some?”
“I have nothing to say to you, General Raines,” Revere said, a definite edge to his voice, “that cannot be discussed over the air. What have you done with those prisoners you took?”
“They are well and safe. They are being transported back to Base Camp One for processing and will be turned loose a few at a time. I know your voice, General Revere. We’ve met somewhere down the line.”
“Do you have anything else you want to say to me, Raines?”
“Nope. Have a good day, General.”
Revere broke off.
“You know him, General?” Corrie asked.
“Yes. I’m sure I do. I just can’t put a face to the voice.” He turned to Cooper. “Coop, where was Denise assigned?”
“To supply, sir. You said to keep her out of combat and personnel.”
“Go get her, please. And have Lieutenant Kolwalski come over here. She’s a really good artist.”
Denise and Kolwalski went to work, with Denise describing General Revere to the artist. After the work was done, Ben sat for a long time, staring at the charcoal drawn image on the large white paper.
“You know him, General?” Jersey asked.
Ben nodded his head. “Nick Stafford. He hasn’t changed much at all. We were both special forces types as the Vietnam war was winding down, both of us working for the CIA. Back then it was called sheep-dipping. Nick went bad. Raped some very young girls. I turned him in. I heard he broke out of the stockade before he could be returned to the States. Now he turns up as General Paul Revere, Nick always did have a strange sense of humor. But he was a top-notch soldier.”
“You think Blanton knows all that?”
Ben shook his head. “I doubt it. All that was a long time ago. And for some reason I can’t explain, I don’t think it would be wise to warn the president of it. I’ve got a bad feeling about General Nick Stafford/Paul Revere.”
“You think this Nick Stafford might be playing both ends against the middle?” Jersey asked.
Ben held nothing back from his personal team. His team was the first to know of any major decisions. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Beth, have you finished the report on the prisoner interrogation?”
“Just about. Many of the officers in Blanton’s army came to him with General Revere. They form the nucleus. We have also learned that Blanton is training at least one more division—and possibly two—up in Canada. Just as you thought, the new division, or divisions, are made up almost exclusively of Americans who hate the Rebel movement. Punks, thugs, criminals, trash of all colors—whiners, complainers.”
“That should be an extremely interesting army,” Ben said sarcastically.
“They won’t have much in the way of discipline,” Corrie remarked. “That’s something those types of people lack.”
“Yeah, but sheer numbers could do a lot of damage to us,” Cooper injected. “We’re short in every battalion and stretched thin.”
“You’re right about that, Coop,” Ben agreed. “If Revere ever learns of the holes in our lines . . .” Ben let that trail off. Everybody in the room knew that would be disastrous. “All right, people. Let’s pack up and go meet President Blanton.”
“What a thrill,” Jersey said. “I’m practically swooning from all the excitement.”
“When it gets overwhelming,” Cooper said, standing up and getting ready to bolt for the door, “fall in my direction, darlin’.”
Jersey chased him out the door, threatening dire consequences when she caught up with him.
“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.”
- Theodore Roosevelt
BOOK TWO
ONE
Ben’s team made bets as to how they would arrive at the old resort hotel. Beth won. They were going to parachute in. It was by far the fastest way to get to the ground, for the nearest functional airstrip was many miles away. Another reason was that Ben simply
did not trust Blanton.
“Shit!” Jersey said. Although she had jumped many times, she still was not overly thrilled about hurling her body out of a moving airplane at five thousand feet.
“Tiger-stripe,” Ben told his people. “Look sharp. Carry enough ammo for a sustained fire-fight. We may be jumping into a real stem-winder. I just don’t trust that socialist bastard or those wimpy hanky-stompers he’s got around him.”
Ike had flown in and would assume command in Ben’s absence. “If Blanton and I can reach some agreement to end this fighting, I fully expect Revere to go on the offensive as soon as he gets word of it. And you can bet he’s got informants among Blanton’s general staff. Stay on middle-alert, Ike.”
The flight across country was uneventful. The planes set down at a Rebel outpost in Kentucky for refueling and then it was on to New York State the next morning. Blanton and company were standing on the porch of the resort hotel when Ben and his people came floating down.
“Oh, I just knew Ben Raines would do something terribly macho!” Harriet Hooter sniffed. “How utterly theatrical.”
“Honky, racist son of a bitch!” Rita Rivers said.
The troops of Blanton were very much in evidence, and they stood silently around the huge old hotel, watching the Rebels land. Their commanders had met with the teams of special ops people Cecil had sent in, and Blanton’s troops were very careful to keep their weapons at sling and their hands still.
“I just know we’re going to be ravaged,” Representative Fox said, standing behind the First Lady, who was standing behind her husband for the first time in twenty years—who was standing behind a post.
Blush Lightheart was wearing a bulletproof vest, motorcycle goggles, and a helmet. He looked like a bigger idiot than he really was. He wished he could have found a gun, but since he was one of those who had twittered and sobbed and peed their panties and finally passed legislation outlawing all guns—except those in the hands of punks, thugs, street slime and other worthless dickheads—weapons were sort of hard to find. Unless one knew where to look. And Blush didn’t.
“President Blanton,” Ben said, stepping up onto the stairs leading to the porch. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“General Raines,” Blanton acknowledged, stepping away from the post. Those behind him moved with him. It resembled a short conga line . . . with Blush out of step.
“You there!” Rita hollered, waving at two black Rebels. “Lay down your arms and stop being the lackeys of this racist pig.” She pointed at Ben.
One of the black Rebels winked at Ben. “You want me to eliminate her now, General?”
“Oh, my God!” Rita shrieked, and jumped behind Blush.
“Great stars and garters!” Blush squalled. “Get away from me, bitch!” Both of them bolted for the front door and got all jammed up together.
Ben laughed so hard he sat down on the steps. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes, looking up at Blanton, who was slightly embarrassed. “Is this a fair representation of your Forces of Independence and Brotherhood?”
That stung Blanton. “I suppose a certain type of person would find fear amusing.”
“Fear? Fear of what?” Ben stood and walked up to the landing. He towered over Blanton. “No law-abiding person has any reason to fear a member of the Rebel Forces.”
Rita and Blush were still hung up in the doorway, with Rita doing some pretty fancy cussing and calling Blush some very uncomplimentary names concerning his sexual preferences.
“Yep,” Ben said, moving to a wicker chair and leaning his Thompson against the porch railing. He jerked a thumb toward Rita. “That’s what I call true brotherhood and understanding.”
Blanton sighed audibly.
* * *
After some semblance of order was restored, Blanton and Ben met privately in Blanton’s office. They sat for a moment, looking at each other.
Blanton finally broke the silence. “I never in my life would have thought this day possible.”
“Why? We both want basically the same thing: order and stability.”
“But the roads we take to those ends are quite different.”
“I put people to work, Homer. If they don’t want to work, they get the hell out of any Rebel-controlled area. And I won’t tolerate crime. Now how far apart does that make us?”
Blanton was noncommittal.
“And where in the hell do you get off calling me the Great Satan, a shit-head, and a baby-killer, and my people malcontents?”
“I will admit that leaflet was a bit overdone.”
“Thank you. And we don’t rape and pillage either.”
“Rita and Harriet will be sorry to hear that,” Homer muttered.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Oh! Nothing. Talking to myself. It’s a bad habit I have.”
“I do the same thing.”
“Really? General . . .”
“Call me Ben.”
“Thank you. Ben . . .” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. “Do you think we could coexist, our two societies, peacefully?”
“I don’t see why not. I’d rather see us come together instead of having two separate nations within a nation.” He smiled. “As a matter of fact, I was working on a book about that very thing when the nation started coming apart, and then the Great War came. Two countries carved out of the United States. One extremely liberal, the other conservative.”
“How did the book end?”
“I never got a chance to finish it. Your federal agents seized the manuscript.”
Blanton sighed. “I made a lot of mistakes, Ben.”
“You sure as hell did. But you’re a big enough man to admit it now, and that’s good.”
“I tried to do too much for too many, far too soon.”
“Yes, you did. Do you see now that this nation, cannot be all things to all people, all the time?”
Blanton smiled. “We will never agree on that, Ben.”
“Probably not. But at least we’re talking, and that beats the hell out of fighting.”
“Do you blame me for the Great War, Ben?”
Ben shook his head. “Oh, no. Not at all. And I don’t think historians will either. No reason to. When you took office, the world was changing so rapidly it was breathtaking. Major world events were happening with such speed that no one could keep up. The entire world was rushing toward self-destruct. And it did.”
Jersey entered the room over the loud protestations of a Blanton aide. She ignored him until he clamped one hand on her shoulder. Jersey spun around and stuck the muzzle of her M-16 under the man’s chin. “You have a deathwish, partner?”
“Ah . . . no,” the aide managed to say.
“Then don’t ever put your goddamn hands on me again. You understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ben stood up. “What’s wrong, Jersey?”
“Something weird’s going on, General. About half of Blanton’s guards have pulled out. And they did it real quick.”
“Pulled out?” Blanton asked, getting to his feet. “Why?”
“You tell me,” Jersey said menacingly.
“I swear to God I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on.”
That was another opening for a great comeback for Ben, but he let it slide.
Blanton turned to the aide who had made the mistake of putting hands on Jersey. “Fred, where is Bobby?”
“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t seen him since before General Raines arrival.”
“Find him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a trick, I tell you!” the voice of Harriet Hooter came screeching and bouncing off the hall walls. “Raines is pulling something nasty and evil and totally Republican.”
“Spoken like a true liberal,” Ben muttered.
Blanton glanced at him and smiled. “Come on, Ben. Let’s see what’s happening around here. I’m sure there is some reasonable explanation for my guards’ disappearance.”
“Nick Stafford.”
“Who?”
“The man who now calls himself General Paul Revere. His real name is Nick Stafford. We served together briefly in ’Nam.” Ben brought the president up to date on Nick Stafford.
“My God!” Blanton said.
The sounds of gunfire reached those in the old resort hotel. “Rebels are under attack!” Corrie called.
Fred, the aide, came rushing up. “Our people are under attack, sir.”
“Kill that double-crossing, no good Republican bastard!” Harriet hollered, pointing at Ben.
Jersey gave the woman the bird.
“How dare you!” Harriet said. “You camp follower. You cheap little road whore.”
Jersey took a step toward the former representative, fully intending to clean her clock. Ben grabbed her by the seat of the pants. “No contest, Jersey. Just consider the source and forget it.”
“Our people are under attack,” Blush rushed up. “But not by the Rebels.”
“Head for cover!” Ben shouted, giving Blanton a push toward the doors. “Nick’s trying to take us all out. I should have guessed it.”
The old resort hotel suddenly exploded and the floor beneath Ben’s boots opened up and swallowed him. The last thing he remembered was being conked on the head by what felt like a sledge hammer. He was plunged into darkness.
Ben came out of the darkness into more darkness. His head throbbed and he couldn’t move his legs. He could hear no sounds at all. He blinked a couple of times and his vision began to clear. There was some light, but not much. He looked at the luminous hands of his watch. Eight o’clock. He’d been out for hours. Something was cutting painfully into his back and it took him a moment to figure out it was his Thompson. At least he still had that. He lay still for a couple of moments, while his vision cleared even more and his brain began to work at one hundred percent.
Revere’s people must have planted explosives all over the damn hotel, Ben concluded. Then just before the charges went off, they split for the woods and got into a fire-fight with Blanton’s loyal people and Ben’s Rebels.
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