“They haven’t said, yet. They say they declared this state to be free and neutral last year. They claim to have sent you a letter stating that.”
“Sent me a letter? How in the hell did they send it? There’s no mail service.” Then he noticed that West was smiling. “Come on, West, give.”
“They drove across the line into Alabama and dropped it in a mail slot at a post office in the first town they came to . . . according to Blotto.”
Ben thought about that for a few seconds. Then he shook his head; this was getting confusing. “Why did they drive to Alabama to do that?”
West started laughing, doubling over holding his sides. He finally managed to gasp, “I . . . don’t know, Ben!” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
Ike had joined them, along with the other battalion commanders. Dan said, “You just stand pat, Ben. I’ll find out what this ragtag bunch of misfits wants.” He walked toward the gates.
“While you’re at it,” Ben called, “find out why they drove over to Alabama last year to mail me a letter.”
That stopped Dan cold in the night. He turned around slowly and stared at Ben, a frown on his face. “I beg your pardon, Ben? They mailed you a letter?”
“Yes.”
“This past year?”
“Yes.”
“From Alabama?”
“Yes.”
Dan took off his beret and scratched his head as he walked back to the group. “But there hasn’t been any mail service in the States in over a decade.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t we get Emil to talk with them?” Tina suggested. “He’s sure the right man for the job.”
“You’re right, but no,” Ben nixed that. “We don’t want anything to happen to him. We need him to drive the boat.”
“Ship,” Ike corrected.
“You peoples is trespassin’ on holy ground!” came the shout from within the group of punks.
“Holy ground?” Buddy questioned.
“This ground and all of what used to be the state of South Carolina has been claimed by the Church of the Holy Hoodoo.” At that, they all started clapping their hands and rapping.
A black company commander raised his rifle.
Ben caught the movement just in time. “Hold it, Nick,” he called. “I never liked it either, but you can’t shoot someone for rapping.”
“I did fifteen years ago,” Nick said softly, lowering his rifle.
“Is he joking?” Buddy asked.
“I doubt it,” Ben told him. “He loves classical music. We share tapes often. I know he shoved a punk’s head through the speaker of a boom box one time. Nick’s from New York City. He was a stockbroker there before the Great War.”
“Shut that crap up, you goddamn heathens,” Nick shouted.
“Let’s see what Nick can do,” Ben suggested.
The rapping and clapping stopped. The silence was wonderful. A big youth stepped from the gang.
“That’s Blotto,” West said.
“Is you a brother?” Blotto yelled.
“I’m no brother of yours, you idiot,” Nick called.
“He an Oreo,” another gang member said. “Black on the outside and white on the inside.”
“How much of this crap am I supposed to tolerate, General?” Nick asked.
“What would you suggest we do, Nick?” Ben asked.
The Rebel officer shook his head and was silent.
“Come on,” Ben said, and started walking toward the front gate.
He was immediately surrounded by Rebels.
Ben walked to the front gate and stood gazing at the crowd of young men; they were of all races. And they all shared the same vacant, slack facial expression.
“I’m Ben Raines. And you don’t want to make war against me.”
“We don’t?” Blotto asked.
“No. That would be a very foolish thing to do. And you’re not foolish, are you?”
“Hell, no, man!”
“We’ll be gone from here in a few days. And then you can practice your religion and not be disturbed. During that time, we won’t bother you if you don’t bother us. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“Seems like it. Yeah! You all right, man.”
“Thank you. If there is nothing else, I’m going to go back to bed.”
“We sleep all day,” Blotto said, a big foolish grin on his face.
“We’ll do our best not to disturb you,” Ben assured him.
“Right on, man. Super cool. You boss, man. We gonna go chill out now.”
The gang of young men and women faded back into the night, clapping and rapping.
“My God,” Nick said. “They were mental defectives.”
“Yes,” Ben said, still standing by the gate. “Probably all of them. I would imagine they banded together for protection as well as for company, since no one else would have anything to do with them.”
“They’re still dangerous, Ben,” Chase said, standing in his bathrobe. “Their guns were real.”
Ben nodded his head. “Tomorrow . . . or rather, later on today, I’ll have patrols check out where they live and see how they’re staying alive. I suspect they grow gardens and hunt for food. I don’t think we’ll ever see them again. But stay on low alert just in case. I’m going back to bed.”
“They live just outside of town,” Buddy told his father the following afternoon. “In a shanty town. Really, it’s not as bad as it sounds. They have gardens and they raise chickens and hogs and have milk cows. There are people who live not too far from here who say the Hoodoos—that’s what they call themselves—have caused no real trouble. They’re more of a nuisance than a problem. The people I spoke with say none of the gang members have ever harmed anyone.”
“Very well. Thank you, son. These people you spoke with, are they a part of our outpost system?’’
“No, sir. And they don’t choose to be. They’re pacifists and vegetarians. A very nice group of people.”
“All right.” Ben looked up as Beth entered the office and placed a folder on his desk.
“All outposts from all forty-nine states have radioed in, sir,” she said. “Not one incident of trouble was reported in any secure zone during the past two weeks.”
Ben nodded his head. “One down and the world to go.” He smiled at Beth. “We’re gaining. How are the members of our newest battalions behaving?”
“No problems reported, sir. But everybody is getting a little restless with this waiting.”
“Tell the battalion commanders to start limited exercise. An hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon. That’ll break the monotony. We don’t have that much longer to wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
Buddy left with her. Ben unfolded several maps of Ireland and spread them out on his desk. Ireland, he concluded, was going to be a real bitch to take, with its narrow, winding country roads and what looked to be hundreds of tiny villages. Many warlords and outlaws were sure to have taken over the castles that dotted the land—that would be their level of mentality. And Ben did not want to destroy those historical landmarks. Not if he could help it. Hell, even many of the cottages where good folks had lived and raised families were hundreds of years old.
But, Ben reminded himself, he and his Rebels had destroyed historical buildings all over the United States.
And what the hell was he going to do about Northern Ireland? Build a damn wall around the place?
He didn’t know.
Ben heard a slight noise behind him. Some of Ike’s SEALs were constantly playing their little games ever since Ike had told them they were going to spearhead the Irish invasion. The game was called: see if you can sneak up on the general and startle him by yelling: HOOYAH!
“How would you like a grenade stuck up your nose?” Ben said softly.
A few seconds passed. “Shit,” a man said, disgusted at himself for getting caught. “Makes me feel like a tadpole.”
Ben felt the floor recor
d the sounds of the man’s leaving and he smiled. He lifted his eyes to Jersey, sitting across the room in a chair, her M-16 laid across her legs. “You saw him, Jersey?”
“Right, sir. He wouldn’t have made it much closer.”
“Damn, Jersey. You wouldn’t have shot him, would you?”
“Naw. That was O’Malley. I might shoot Plante. But only a flesh wound. They’re pretty good guys. Full of shit, is all.”
Ben laughed and returned to his studying of the maps.
Ike came in about an hour later and Ben was glad to ease up from the maps. He rubbed his eyes and watched as Ike poured a mug of coffee. Ike had been pushing himself to keep up with the younger members of the teams and had lost some weight.
“It’s hell to hit middle age, isn’t it, Ike?” he asked.
Ike turned and grinned. “You damn well got that right, Ben. Some of those younger guys are runnin’ my old ass into the ground. These past few days have been like Hell Week back in Coronado.”
“You could always turn it over to a younger member, Ike.”
“Not a chance, pal. Only way I’d do that is if I sense that I can’t pull my own weight. Then I’d do it in a flash. I won’t endanger my teams.” He stirred his coffee then sat down in front of the desk. “I nixed the choppers, Ben. As it stands now, we’ll go in by Zodiac. At least part of the way.”
“Fine with me, Ike. It’s your show. Tell your boys to cool it with the sneaking up on me. Jersey’s about ready to shoot one or two.”
“I’ll tell ’em to stop it.” He twisted in his chair and looked at Jersey. “You’d do it, too, wouldn’t you, you little Apache?”
Jersey stared at him, a bleak look in her eyes. “Fuckin’ A, I would.”
On the day the mooring lines were to be cast off and the armada was only a couple of hours from getting underway, Ike sat with the other commanders in Ben’s now-vacant CP. The maps were gone from the walls, the typewriters, filing cabinets, boxes, and bags all loaded on board ship.
“Well,” Dan said, fiddling with a paper cup of lukewarm coffee, “you all remember what someone always said in the movies just before setting sail or hitting the beaches or the silk, don’t you?”
“I guess this is it, boys,” Ben mouthed the words that had become immortal on the silver screen.
The base would now be occupied by Rebels being shifted over from Louisiana. It would be the only shipping link to resupply the Rebel Army once they touched European soil.
“I have a funny feeling in my stomach,” Tina said.
West gave her a sharp look.
“Not that kind of feeling!” Tina told him and the others burst out laughing, including Ben.
“It’s sort of a . . . well, lonesome feeling,” Tina said.
“I know it well,” Ben said. He glanced at his watch. “About two and a half hours from now, when you can no longer see the shore, it will be much worse, I assure you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said. “I really needed that.”
Smoot wriggled nervously around Ben’s boots, while Chester was content to stay close to Dan. Both dogs knew something was up and they weren’t sure they liked it.
Ben wadded up his paper cup and threw it in the garbage. He stood up. “If we hang around in here much longer, we’ll all start singing dirges. The last one to leave please turn off the lights.”
They stepped out into a cool, misty day. The docks were empty of equipment and containers and boxes and crates. The huge cranes were still; spider arms sticking blackly up into the air, cables dangling.
The captain of one transport—a man who had been a petty officer in the Navy—clicked on a bullhorn. “Start loading the troops,” he called. “Third Battalion Pier Two. Third Battalion Pier Two.”
“That’s me,” Dari said He shook hands all the way around. “See you folks in Ireland,” he said softly; then he turned and walked toward the ship.
“Second and Fourth Battalion load up now on Pier Five,” came the electronically boosted voice. “Second and Fourth Battalion on Pier Five.”
“That’s us, lad,” West said to Buddy. The handshakes were quick and firm and the two men were gone.
“Five and Six Battalions here on Pier Seven,” the call drifted out.
Striganov and Rebet shook hands with the others and walked away.
Finally, Ben stood alone with his team. His battalion and Therm’s battalion were together on this run. Ben looked up at Thermopolis, standing on the bridge, by the railing. He motioned for Ben to come on.
Ben waved in reply. “Let’s go, gang. Next stop, Ireland.”
TWELVE
“What happens if we all go to one side and look?” Jersey asked.
“Damn tub will probably fall over and sink,” Ben told her. Then he noticed her worried look and smiled. “Just kidding, Jersey.”
“I’m sick already,” Cooper said.
“Jesus, Cooper,” Corrie said. “We haven’t started moving yet!”
“It gets to me every time,” Cooper moaned.
“What does?” Jersey said. “Cooper, you’ve never been on a ship in your life. Go below and lay down.”
“There go the last of the lines,” Ben said.
“Oohh, I don’t feel good,” Cooper said.
Jersey reached for her sidearm and Cooper beat a hasty retreat for the other side of the ship while the others laughed at him and at the expression on Jersey’s face.
“Put him out of his misery,” Jersey muttered. Just then the ship lurched and Jersey grabbed for the rail. “Oh, shit!” she shouted.
Laughing, Ben went to his quarters, laid down on his bunk (only banging his head once in the process) and went to sleep. He woke up about two hours later, raised up in the bunk and banged his head on the overhang.
“Goddamnit!” he said, then looked over at Linda, lying in her bunk, reading and trying to keep a straight face. Smoot was in bed with her.
“Watch your blood pressure, Ben,” she said, doing her best to choke off laughter.
“My blood pressure is fine,” he told her. “I’m not that sure about my head.” He managed to get out of the bunk and into his low quarters without putting another knot on his noggin. “I’m going up to the bridge.”
“I’m going to take a nap,” Linda said, reaching up and clicking off the small lamp. Smoot yawned at Ben and conked out at Linda’s feet.
Ben was momentarily startled to find himself completely surrounded by water. The shoreline was gone. He stood by the railing for a few minutes, letting the cold air blow the sleep from him. The other ships were maintaining a safe distance in the convoy. Ben enjoyed the sea breeze for a few more minutes, then headed toward the bridge.
“Enjoy your rest?” Therm asked from his chair.
“It was very nice. Where the hell are we?”
Thermopolis grinned. “Several thousand miles west of Ireland and proceeding smoothly.”
“That’s what I get for asking stupid questions,” Ben said with a smile. “Any storm systems building anywhere near us?”
“That I can tell you straight out. No. It looks to be a very quiet crossing. And I hope to God it is.”
“Ten days do it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“When do we rendezvous with the tankers?”
“They’re off Bermuda now. They’ve been warned away and are taking no chances. They’re steaming away from the islands now.”
“Any hostile action taken against them?”
“No. The communiqué said go with God but leave those on the island alone.”
“Suits the shit out of me,” Ben muttered. “Where’s the coffee pot?”
Ben sat with Therm on the bridge for a time, drinking strong coffee and chatting. “Has anybody seen Cooper?”
Therm smiled. “He’s sure he’s dying, last I heard.”
“He better not let Jersey hear him say it. She’ll offer to put him out of his misery.”
Ben left the bridge and walked the bowels of the transport, chec
king on his people and being damn careful not to bang his head. There were only a few cases of seasickness, and they were not severe. Cooper, however, was another matter. It did not surprise Ben to find Jersey with him, putting cold, wet cloths on Coop’s head. Jersey talked a good fight; but she liked Cooper and worried about him.
“He’s been making out a verbal will, General,” Jersey said, looking up at Ben. “Although I sure don’t want any of the crap he’s leaving people.”
“You’re sure as hell not included in my will, either,” Cooper told her.
“You better be nice to me, Coop,” she told him. “Or the next wet rag gets shoved in your mouth.”
“OK. Fine. I’ll leave you my collection of Playboy magazines, then.”
“How thoughtful of you, Cooper.”
Laughing, Ben left them arguing and walked back up to his quarters, wondering when they were going to eat and how the cooks were going to manage feeding all these people.
“The galley is working twenty-four hours a day, Ben,” Linda told him. “The food is going to be simple, but plenty of it.”
“I guess we’d better settle in for a boring run,” Ben said.
On the third day out, Thermopolis called Ben to the bridge. “Radar has picked up a large object just ahead Floating dead in the water. It’s a ship. We’re going to see a lot of them. I’m surprised we haven’t spotted one before now.”
“Tell Ike to get some of his SEALs ready. Board it and find out what happened, if they can.”
Zodiacs were made ready. A SEAL team scrambled down ropes and headed for the seemingly dead ship. The convoy slowed and circled while the team checked out the ghost ship.
“It’s a container ship,” the leader of the SEAL team radioed back. “Looks like they had a hell of a fight on board. But it was a long time ago. Years back. Nothing but skeletons and a few scraps of skin and hair left here.”
“Get the ship’s log,” Ben said. “And see what she was carrying.”
After a few moments the SEAL team leader came back. “Scotch whiskey, among other things.”
“What other things?” Ben asked.
“Women’s drawers, bras, slips. Medical supplies that are way out of date. All kinds of other stuff that are either rusted or rotted to dust.”
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