Ben wriggled around and freed one boot from the debris, then the other. He still couldn’t see for shit so he moved very carefully, not wanting to bring tons of the old hotel down on him. He got to his feet and found his cigarette lighter, sparking it into flame. He ached all over, but could find no serious wounds. Standing in one spot, he slowly did a full circle. The floor was still attached to one side of the wall, the other side blown free and hanging at an angle. He was in the cellar. He moved to the concrete foundation and found a door. It was either locked or jammed shut. He kicked it open and stepped into a long corridor. He did not have the foggiest notion where it led, but wherever it went was a damn sight better than where he was, so he started walking.
He stumbled over a body and nearly fell down. He knelt down and saw it was one of Blanton’s aides. The man’s chest had been crushed by a heavy timber. Ben walked on. He came to another door and opened it, exposing a stairway. He could see stars above him. Very cautiously, moving silently, his Thompson at the ready, Ben slowly climbed the stairs, finally stepping out onto what had been the porch.
There were bodies everywhere. Ben made his way through the rubble and to the ground. He turned, looking back. The old resort hotel had been flattened except for the north wall, which still stood.
Ben began inspecting the bodies. It had been a hell of a fire-fight, for sure. He found Rebel dead, guards and troops loyal to Blanton dead, and troops wearing red armbands dead. Ben assumed those were Revere’s people. He took a flashlight from one of his Rebels but did not flash the beam, not wanting to advertise his location just yet. He took twin canteens, field rations, and a back pack from other dead Rebels and, moving cautiously, made his way away from the hotel grounds. He could do nothing in the night except get himself shot, so he found a place in the shrubbery and spread the ground sheet and laid down, pulling the blanket over him. Since there was nothing he could do until light, he went to sleep.
He awakened several times during the night, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. Up at his usual time, long before dawn, Ben shivered in the cold, but did not light a fire. He breakfasted on field rations and sipped water from a canteen, waiting for dawn. It seemed very slow in coming.
He quickly field-stripped his Colt .45 auto-loader, and found it unharmed. He had left his Desert Eagle .50 behind for his trip. Ben still preferred the old service auto-loader, considering it to be a fine old workhorse.
As dawn began to silver the sky, Ben could better see the terrible carnage that sprawled silently all around the ruins of the hotel. There appeared to be hundreds of bodies. It was eerie, for they were all dead. As Ben walked amid the horror, he could see why. All of his people and the people loyal to Blanton had been delivered the coup de grâce: a bullet to the head. After inspecting the bodies, Ben concluded that Revere’s forces had carried off most of their wounded.
Ben began gathering up weapons, ammo, field rations, and first aid kits and hiding them in the woods around the hotel grounds. He had no idea where his personal team was; only that they were not among the dead around the hotel. He did not know if they had been captured, were miles away fighting Revere’s troops, or believing him dead, trying to make their way back to Rebel-controlled territory. They had good reason to believe him dead, for several of his team and several of Blanton’s people had seen the floor open up beneath his boots and the walls cave in on him.
Ben hooked grenades on his battle harness, loaded up five more clips for his Thompson, filled a pack with ration packets, horseshoed ground sheets and blankets, and started walking down the side of the road he assumed led to a main highway of some sort. Damn thing had to either dead end or lead to something.
He had traveled about half a mile when he heard the sound of voices. Ben took to the brush and began slowly making his way toward the voices.
When he saw who the voices belonged to, he suppressed a groan—VP Harriet Hooter, and Representatives Blush Lightheart and Rita Rivers. Senators Hanrahan, Arnold, and Ditto. Of course, there was not a gun among the bunch. Naturally. He couldn’t think of any bunch he disliked more than this one.
Ben stood up. “Quiet down!” he said. “You’re making enough noise to wake up Rip Van Winkle.” He walked into the camp and shook his head at the sight. It was a miserable-looking bunch of people. Not a one of them had had enough presence of mind to grab up from the dead a food packet, canteen, first aid kit, gun, or grenades.
“We thought you were dead, General Raines,” Senator Hanrahan broke the startled silence.
“Well, I’m not. Come on, follow me. We’re going back to the hotel.”
“Whatever on earth for?” Blush asked.
“To get you people outfitted for the field. You’ll all die of exposure dressed as you are. It’s threatening rain now. You’ve got to have tarps and blankets and ground sheets. We’ll get the clothing off the dead. Let’s go.”
“Off the dead!” Harriet hollered. “How grotesque!”
“Move your ass, lady,” Ben told her. “Before the bodies start the second stage of stiffening and start to stink.”
“I refuse!” Rita Rivers said.
“Then stay here and die. I don’t give a damn one way or the other.” Ben turned and started walking toward the hotel. He did not look back. He knew they’d all follow him, and they all did, bitching and complaining all the way. Until Ben threatened to shoot the next person who broke noise discipline. That shut them up.
“Green is simply not my color,” Blush bitched, holding up a cammie BDU shirt. “Yukk,” he said, looking at the blood stain.
“Put it on and find some britches and boots that fit you. All of you. Move, goddamnit!”
“You don’t have to use so much profanity, General,” Hanrahan said. “There are ladies present.”
Ben had disliked Hanrahan from the moment he’d heard the man speak, some years back. That dislike had grown over the years. Hanrahan took one look into Ben’s eyes, and averted his gaze and closed his mouth.
“Wise decision, Senator,” Ben said. “Very wise.”
TWO
Ben got his reluctant commandos outfitted and ready to move. Almost to a person, male and female alike, they handled the M-16s Ben shoved at them like they were fondling live snakes.
“I haven’t the vaguest idea how to operate this evil thing,” Harriet said.
“The person behind the gun may be evil, Ms. Hooter,” Ben told her. “But since the weapon is not capable of thought or reason, it is impossible for the gun to be evil. Move out.”
Before Harriet could come back with one of her usual liberal—and totally out of touch with reality—comments, Blush Lightheart said, “I have never fired an M-16, but I was quite proficient with a hunting rifle in my youth. I never liked to kill animals but I did become a good shot.”
“Good,” Ben replied. “I want you to get up here and lead this . . .” For a moment he was at a loss for words. “. . . dubious gathering. I’ll range ahead about a hundred yards.”
“You want me to lead?”
“Yes. I’ll signal when I want you to move out. When I signal you to get down, get down fast.”
Rita Rivers immediately started boogeying. Which was a pretty good trick, since she was carrying about forty pounds of gear.
Ben cast his eyes toward the heavens for a moment and then moved out. About a hundred yards away, he motioned for the rest to follow.
“Forward, troops!” Blush ordered.
Ben hoped with all his might he did not meet with any type of resistance until he could hook up with some his own people.
“My feet hurt,” Harriet complained.
“My back hurts,” Hanrahan bitched.
“I think I have herniated myself,” Arnold announced.
“Silence in the ranks,” Blush said.
Ben heard the faint drone of a plane and motioned the group off the side of the road and into the brush. The single-engine plane was flying low and slow, with spotters on each side, behind the pilot.
&nb
sp; “Keep your faces down,” Ben ordered.
“Why?” Hooter asked.
“Because the paleness can be easily seen.” He looked at Rita. “Excluding you, of course.”
“Honky, racist son of a bitch,” she replied.
“I’m certain that remark was not meant as a racial slur,” Blush objected. “The general was merely stating a fact.”
“Oh, shut up,” Rita told him.
“Tut-tut,” Senator Hanrahan said. “Shame on both of you.”
The plane flew on and Ben got the group up. “Stay close to the brush,” he told them, as he studied a map. “We should intersect with Highway 86 just up ahead. That will lead us to Lake Placid—if anything is left of the town.”
“Not very much,” Blush told him. “It’s been looted and stripped down to a shell.”
“By poor unfortunate people who were oppressed for years and were only trying to survive in this still racist and sexist society,” Hooter immediately piped up. “Ruled by people with guns!” she added.
“Right on, sister!” Rita hollered.
“Move out,” Ben said wearily.
Ben didn’t attempt to push the group hard, allowing them frequent rest stops. Hanrahan was well past middle age and the rest were about Ben’s age, but not nearly in the physical shape he maintained.
During one of the rest stops, Ben began questioning the group. “Did anybody see what happened to Blanton?”
No one did.
“How about my personal team?”
Nothing.
“I was knocked unconscious for a time,” Hanrahan said. “The blast knocked me down.”
“I ran outside and was immediately set upon by this huge brute of a man who seemed intent on ravaging my body,” Rita said coyly.
“No one but Godzilla would want to ravage your body,” Blush told her.
Rita flipped him the bird.
No one knew anything. The blast had knocked them all to the floor and most scrambled to their feet and ran outside and into the woods. They had wandered about until linking up.
Ben remembered shoving Blanton away just as the floor opened up under him so there was a chance he was still alive.
While they rested, Ben eased away from the bedraggled-looking bunch, took out a small handheld scanner, and began searching the bands. His worst fears were soon confirmed as he picked up chatter from Revere’s troops. A group of Rebels had been taken prisoner and were being held at Saranac Lake. Blanton and the First Lady were presumed alive and a search was on for them. Ben Raines was confirmed dead. Ben smiled at that. “Not just yet,” he muttered.
Senator Ditto walked over and sat down beside Ben. “General, I know you don’t like me; perhaps with good reason. But for the time being we are all in the same boat . . .”
“Wrong,” Ben said. “We are not in the same boat. I could walk away from this group and easily survive. Within a week I could have a resistance force gathered and be fighting Revere. You people are a stone around my neck. None of you, with the possible exception of Blush, know anything about guns, or survival, or rigging booby-traps, living off the land, or tactics of staying alive. You goddamn sorry bastards and bitches castrated this nation with your wimpy legislation. You ruined the intelligence community, tied the hands of law enforcement, disarmed the people, and bankrupted us with taxes. Fuck you, Ditto. I have a good mind to take Blush with me and just walk off and leave the rest of you for the jackals.”
The group had gathered around and all heard Ben’s heated words.
“You’d take a fag and leave us?” Rita said. “What are you, queer?”
“I wish,” Blush muttered. He raised his voice. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that General Raines is not gay. Believe me, we know who is and who isn’t.”
“Thank you,” Ben said.
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” Blush replied. “It wasn’t meant as any type of compliment!”
“Are you going to leave us for the jackals, General?” Senator Hanrahan asked.
“No. I couldn’t do that. I just want you all to stop your whining and complaining and do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it.”
“I am senior here, General,” Hanrahan said. “And I speak for the entire group. We will do whatever you tell us to do. We might not like it, but we will do it.”
The rest of the group nodded their heads.
Ben looked at them and had to work to suppress a smile. “Fine. You are now all guerrilla fighters.” He reached out and took Rita’s M-16. “We will now have a short course on the use of the M-16 rifle.”
Ben found a shady and well-hidden glen just outside of Lake Placid and left the group there, warning them not to move or raise their voices. He’d be back.
“You promise?” Harriet asked.
“I promise,” Ben assured her. “’Til death do us part,” he added. Or until I find some safe place to leave your ass, he thought.
“I shall protect the group with my life,” Blush said. “A lonely soldier on his vigilant watch.”
“That’s lovely, Blush,” Harriet said, patting his hand.
Ben left before the shit got too deep.
Ben reconnoitered the town carefully before entering. It appeared to be a dead town, with much of it in ruins. Then a slight movement in the smashed-out window of an old home on the edge of town caught his eye. He waited and watched. The movement came again and this time Ben could see who and what it was. A man wearing BDUs. Ben began working his way toward the house, staying low, skirting the house widely and coming up behind it. He spotted a ton-and-a-half truck parked in the garage. He was careful not to brush up against the house when he reached it. He could hear male voices.
“I hate this crap, man. This town is spooky.”
“Relax. This is easy duty. At least we’re not sleepin’ on the ground and being shot at.”
“You do have a point. But it’s weird just us in the whole damn town.”
“Yeah. To tell you the truth, man, I’d rather be over there where the Reb prisoners is being held humpin’ some of them good lookin’ Reb gals.”
“I like it when they put up a fight. I like to slap ’em around.”
Ben stepped in through the back door and gave the would-be rapists a taste of .45 caliber justice. The heavy slugs made a big mess out of both the men. Ben picked up their radio and headed for the truck. Ten minutes later he pulled off the highway and into the shady glen.
“I thought I heard shooting,” Hanrahan said, as Ben got out of the truck.
“You did.” Ben inspected the bed of the truck. Rocket launchers, plenty of rockets, and cases of field rations. “Get in,” he told the group. “And stay low.”
“Where are we going?” Harriet asked.
“To get as close to where my people are being held as possible. Then I’m going into town to raise some hell.”
“Alone?” Blush asked.
“Yep. Come on, people—move!” He didn’t tell them that this could well be their last journey. A single rocket could send them all over the place, in bits and pieces. He figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. At least not for very long.
Ben found a gravel road that more or less headed in the general direction he wanted to go and stayed with it. Hanrahan was very tired and looked awful. His color was bad. Ben made him ride in the cab with him.
“Do you know where we’re going, General?” he asked.
“Call me Ben. Oh, yeah. I know where we’re going. I just don’t know where we are at the moment.”
The older man stared at Ben for a few seconds and then chuckled. “I could find myself liking you, Ben.”
“Don’t,” Ben said shortly. “Because I don’t like one hundred percent liberals.”
“One hundred percent liberal, eh? So you admit you have some liberal in you?”
“Sure. I’m a tree-hugger and an animal lover. To some degree I’m an environmentalist. The Rebels have had teams working all over this nation trying to see to the
needs of children and deserving adults. We’ve set up a monetary system. I’ve got some of the best minds in the nation down at Base Camp One working around the clock on ways to harness the power of the sun. And they’re doing it, Senator. I had trained scientists shutting down all the nuclear power plants around the nation, eliminating the danger of a melt-down. My people have been busy collecting books and art and preserving them for future generations. We have newspapers from all over the nation on microfilm, so those who follow us will have some understanding as to what went wrong. Of course, we already know what went wrong; I’m sitting beside one of the reasons. We have the best doctors staffing the finest hospitals offering the people the most up-to-date medical care. The Rebels have successfully fought armies that sought to occupy this nation and enslave Americans; and we’ve done that at a huge loss of life. There are people of all faiths and all nationalities and all races in the Rebel Army. We work together without bickering and without bigotry. We have a workable society in place, with all systems fully functional. And what have you goddamn liberals been doing since the Great War? Nothing. Except putting together an army to try to defeat the Rebels. Pissing and moaning and making flowery speeches to each other. OK. Now it’s your turn, Senator. Tell me why I should like you.”
Senator Hanrahan sat for several miles in silence. He sighed a lot. “Our intelligence about your society was wrong,” he finally said. “I should have seen through General Revere—should have known he was plotting a takeover. I spent too many years on the intelligence oversight committee.”
“You sure did. Fucking it up.”
Hanrahan shook his head. “You know by now, of course, he had spies in Base Camp One.”
“He doesn’t anymore. Just before I flew to the meeting with Blanton we flushed them out and shot them.”
“After a trial, I hope.”
“A very short one.”
“We will never agree with your system of justice.”
“That’s your problem, Senator. It works for us, and that’s all that matters. We don’t pat criminals on the head and mope about feeling sorry for them and making up excuses and rationalizations about why they did what they did. The law is the law, and in our society it is enforced to the letter. Every human being holds the key to their own destiny. It’s start-over time, Senator. Everybody gets a fresh start. Many of the men and women who make up the Rebel Army were once criminals. You didn’t know that, did you? Oh, yeah. I offered them a fresh start. A one time only amnesty. It will never be offered again.”
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