“Not nearly as bad as I want him, I assure you. You want me to take a look at that wound?”
“Naw. I’ll be all right. I’m goin’ to rest for a time. I don’t recall ever bein’ this tired.”
“How long have you had that wound?”
“’Bout a week, I think. One of Ray’s men shot me. He said it was an accident, but I don’t believe that. He meant to shoot me. I didn’t fit in with that crowd.”
Jerry was asleep on the floor when Ben retrieved his RPG and pouch of rockets and his rifle. Ben knew from the way the wound smelled that Jerry was not going to make it. Gangrene had set in.
He stood for a moment, looking down at the young man. Jerry’s face was shiny with fever-sweat.
Ben shook his head and walked out of the house. He was going to find Ray Brown.
FOUR
Ben walked for several miles, heading in a northeasterly direction, paralleling old Highway 43. There was no way that the punks could head south, for the Rebels had that area blanketed. Ben had a hunch that Ray and his punk army would try for Detroit and a last-ditch stand and then over into Canada.
If Ben had anything at all to say about it, Ray’s days would end right here in what used to be called Michigan.
But as fate would have it, Ben had nothing at all to say about the future of Ray Brown, at least not this time. Before Ben could get into a good defensive position along the old road, the Rebels smashed into the looted city of Kalamazoo and put the punks to rout, scattering them in all directions. Several hundred surrendered and the rest let the wind take them. Ben had aced several fleeing punks with his CAR and set two APCs blazing with rockets from his RPG before a team of Rebel Scouts found him on high ground in a stand of timber.
“Shit!” Ben said, as the Scouts quickly threw up a defensive circle around him and radioed in.
Ben was hustled back to a MASH unit and doctors went to work, checking him out.
“I’m fine!” Ben said.
“Shut up,” Chase told him. “And sit still until we clean out these cuts.”
“I can’t have any fun anymore,” Ben bitched.
“Raines,” Chase said, disgust in his voice, “you are a middle-aged man. Commanding general of thousands of troops. You are not Rambo.”
“Right,” Ben said.
“General,” a Scout said. “We found that house you told us about. There was a guy in there matching this Jerry person’s description. He was dead, just like you said he might be. We buried him.”
Ben nodded his head.
“Hold still, damnit!” Chase thundered. “Before I stick this swab in your ear!”
“Ray Brown?” Ben asked, ignoring the doctor.
“No sign of him. But some captured punks told us they were ordered to head for Detroit . . . or what’s left of it.”
“Have Buddy drop some of his people outside the city. Check it out. Have the pilots start gearing up for an air assault on the city.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I would order you placed under observation for twenty-four hours, Raines,” Chase said, “but you’d just bitch and shout and give orders to anyone who had the misfortune to come close and in general make life miserable for all my people. So get the hell out of this facility. Once again, you lucked out.”
“Skill, Lamar,” Ben said with a smile. “Skill.”
“Horseshit,” Lamar countered.
The bridge was blown and the tunnel blocked leading from Michigan to Canada. If the punks were stupid enough to go into the ruins of Detroit, there would be no escape for them and nothing for them to do but die. After some thought, Ben just couldn’t buy the gang leaders ordering their people into the rubble of the once-great city. Even a punk would have enough sense to know that would be like signing his own death warrant.
Ben ordered fixed-wing aircraft up for high-altitude aerial recon, and it didn’t take them long to get a fix on the punks.
“They’re heading north,” Ben was told. “Into the timber.”
“Shift 7 and 8 Batts over here to beef up Buddy’s 8 Batt and go after them. Ike, you, me, and Dan will concentrate on the ruins of Detroit.”
“It’s full of creeps,” Ike reminded him.
“Yeah,” Ben replied, disgust evident in his voice.
Ben’s team was back together, although Corrie’s left shoulder was still a little sensitive. The battalions had gathered in Eastern Michigan for the assault against Detroit. Ben had been in contact with President Paul Altman of the NUSA and assured him that Michigan would be cleared of punks, thugs, and creeps by early fall.
“And then what am I supposed to do with it?” Paul asked.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Ben told him. “How’s your cabinet coming?”
“Slowly, very slowly. General, I’m thinking of making Indianapolis, Indiana the new capitol.”
“Whatever. Say hello to Dan for me.”
Paul waited patiently until Ben had stopped chuckling before asking, “Could I borrow a team of your engineers to start work?”
“Sure. Give Cecil a bump. We’ll be glad to help. The sooner we can find a place for all the liberals to gather, the better off the rest of us will be.”
“Thank you,” Altman said, very very drily.
Ben looked through long lenses at the smoking ruins of what had once been Ann Arbor. At first glance, there didn’t appear to be much left and absolutely no sign of life.
Ike McGowan stood to Ben’s left, Dan Gray to his right.
“Three battalions won’t be enough, Ben,” Ike said, lowering his binoculars.
“I know it, Ike. But we’ll just have to make it enough. We’ll split our battalions into six battle groups. Each group will have twice the normal number of tanks. The last of them should be arriving midday tomorrow. We’ll start the push at 0600 the next day.”
“The punks have been cornered,” Corrie said, after listening to her headset. “The old Michigan Militia has surfaced and blocked off any further escape to the north. Buddy is coming up fast from the south.”
Ben glanced at her, surprise in his eyes. “I thought the federal government destroyed them before the Great War?”
“They tried,” Corrie said. “But Beth has just learned that a lot of the militias went hard underground after the liberal government grab. They’ve kept their areas as clean as possible since the balloon went up. Mike has just learned that the Montana Militia is waging a guerrilla action against Simon Border’s people. And the Wyoming Militia has surfaced and is doing the same in their states. Constitutionalists all over the Northwest, that were forced hard underground years back, are surfacing to align with us and fight Simon Border. And all these groups have people of all races in their ranks. Mike’s spooks have confirmed that.”
“Well, I’ll just be damned!” Ben said.
Corrie said, “The Michigan Militia, or at least an offshoot of it, whatever they are, have spread out along Highway 10, east to Saginaw Bay. They’re holding, but badly need ammo and medical supplies.” Corrie had been a small child when the civilian militias, concerned about the federal government’s interference in the lives of citizens, sprang up all across America. Some of the militias were blatantly racist groups, some were filled with kooks and nuts, but many were just law-abiding citizens very much afraid of the direction the government was taking.
“See that they get anything they need,” Ben told her. “Arrange for air drops.”
“Including the western states under Border’s control?” Corrie questioned.
Ben smiled. “Let’s see if we can’t supply them a bit more covertly.”
“Right, boss.”
Ike and Dan exchanged glances and smiles at that. Like all the batt coms, they knew that the Rebels would someday have to fight Simon Border’s army.
“Have all battalions reported in?” Ben asked.
“Affirmative, boss. They are holding and resupplying for the next push north and east.”
Ben nodded his head. “All right, people. Le
t’s gear up to take this city.”
Thousands of miles away, Bruno Bottger carefully read the latest reports on Ben Raines and the Rebels. Bottger hated Ben Raines, but he had to grudgingly admire the man. Raines was going to put America back together again. There was no doubt in his mind about that. There was also no doubt in his mind that once Raines turned his attentions west of the Mississippi River, toward Simon Border and his followers, it would be the beginning of the end for Simon Border.
Bruno wondered again if Ben would someday turn his attentions toward Africa.
“The militias have surfaced, sir,” an aide told Simon Border. “Obviously the government did not succeed in destroying them all before the Great War.”
“And you think these groups have kept their heads down all these years?” Simon questioned.
“Yes, sir. That is exactly what our intelligence thinks.”
“Then they were much better organized than we originally thought.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ben Raines?”
The aide knew what Simon meant. “Steadily advancing against the gangs and the Night People. They’ve already cleared half a dozen states.”
“Our people in Michigan?”
“Most of them have been ferreted out and either shot or hanged. Those left are keeping out of sight.”
“Did the Rebels execute them?”
“No, sir. The militia did.”
Simon felt like cursing. But of course, being a very devout Christian, he didn’t. He dismissed the aide, waited until the door had closed behind the young man, then he cussed, long and low.
Mostly he cussed Ben Raines.
Additional tanks had been brought in from other battalions to beef up those battalions standing ready to launch the final assault against the ruins of Detroit.
Ben had decided against air strikes, for air recon had showed the creeps and the punks were underground, in basements and storage areas and bunkers. Air strikes would be a waste of explosives. The Rebels were going to have to go in and take the ruins by land search and destroy. And to a person, they all knew it was going to be down and dirty work.
On a gray morning that was threatening rain, Ben glanced over at Corrie, standing patiently, waiting for orders. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Oh, it’s fine now. Not tender at all.”
Ben nodded. He no longer had to give orders for everyone to be buttoned up in body armor; those were standing orders and any Rebel, regardless of rank, found without body armor could expect a chewing out.
To complicate matters further, the Rebels knew the creeps would have underground storage areas, or holding pens, for their human food supply, fattening them up to eat later. The Night People, or creeps, as they had been nicknamed, were held in complete contempt by the Rebels. They were they most disgusting people the Rebels had ever encountered.
And the Rebels never took any Night People prisoner. At first they did, and tried to rehabilitate them. Not one creep had ever been successfully rehabilitated.
Doctor Chase walked up, a grim expression on his face.
“Get into body armor!” Ben snapped at him. “You’re not three hundred yards from the front, Lamar.”
A Rebel quickly found body armor and helmet for the doctor. Lamar struggled into the protective gear and looked at the weapon in Ben’s hands. An old M-14 (7.62x51), .308 caliber.
“Loaded for bear this trip, eh, Ben?”
Ben smiled and patted the old Thunder Lizard. “I drag it out from time to time.”
“We’re set to receive wounded,” Chase said quietly. “I have six MASH units set up in a semi-circle on the outskirts of the city.”
Ben nodded his head.
“Don’t bring me any creepie wounded, Ben. Man, woman, or child.”
“I understand, Lamar.” And he did, but like most Rebels, he did not have to like that knowledge.
The Rebels had found out the hard and bloody way that the children of Night People were even more savage than the adults. But most Rebels could not bring themselves to shoot a child, unless that child was shooting at them. They usually just ran them off, knowing full well that someday, they would, more than likely, have to fight them again.
“Everybody in position, Corrie?” Ben asked.
“Set to go, boss.”
Ben motioned to a Rebel. “Escort the doctor back to his HQ, please.”
Lamar offered no objections to that. “See you, Ben.”
“See you, Lamar.”
When the doctor was gone, Ben said to Corrie, “Let’s do it.”
Corrie spoke into her headset and the tanks surged forward, the Rebels right behind them.
The final battle for Detroit had begun.
FIVE
The Rebels had to slog through several miles of suburbs before they even reached the small cities that surrounded Detroit. Ben and his split battalion were going straight in, first on Highway 14, then switching over to Interstate 96, or what was left of it.
They hit stiff fighting just west of the ruins of Plymouth and the advance was slowed to a crawl.
Some of the thugs and punks who had gathered in Michigan had fled to the city, and they were fighting a last-ditch stand in the suburbs. Most of the creepies had retreated to the city proper.
“They’ll be dug in deep by the time we get there,” Ben said to his battalion and company-level commanders. “Hard underground. They’ll have all sorts of nasty surprises waiting for us. Everything we touch is going to be booby-trapped and blow up in our faces.” Ben smiled a warrior’s smile as he turned to Corrie. “Get on the horn. I want every combat engineer we can spare up here. Have Cecil start loading the transports with all the explosives he can get his hands on and crank up the munitions factories. I can play just as dirty as the creeps can.”
“Dirtier,” Ike said with a smile.
The Rebels continued to beat back the hundreds of punks that had gathered in the suburbs. With dozens of MBTs spearheading, their 155 and 120 main guns spitting out HE rounds, literally disintegrating the ruined buildings the punks had taken refuge in, the criminal element was slowly driven back toward the city.
But the thugs and punks apparently had no stomach for aligning themselves with the creeps. On the fifth day of the Rebel advance, the gangs of criminals began surrendering in droves, walking or staggering out of the buildings with their hands held high in the air.
POW camps were set up on the outskirts of the city and the prisoners trucked to the camps. Ben went to see some of the punks captured in his sector.
They were a sorry-looking, sullen, unwashed and unshaven pack of rabble. They were also stark naked, for the Rebels had ordered them stripped, their stinking clothing burned, and they were being lined up for very close haircuts and then the de-lousing program.
Somehow, Janet House-Lewiston had managed to wrangle a ride to the battle zone; after one look at the lines of naked men and women, she quickly fled to the safety of Doctor Chase’s main MASH unit. That action was prompted when one of the prisoners shook his dick at her and made some rather lurid and really quite inventive suggestions concerning what a lovely time they could have together. What really set her boots to flying was when another prisoner said she had a mouth perfectly shaped for sucking cocks.
Janet was vocalizing her outrage to an extremely bored Doctor Chase when Ben walked in and caught the last of her venting her spleen.
“Now, now,” Ben said, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to stick the needle to a liberal. “You’re forgetting that these men and women probably came from broken homes and were all traumatized by some horrible act they witnessed as children. They’re only venting their rage toward an uncaring society, mainly populated with what used to be called Republicans.”
The look she gave him was indescribable in its disgust. Chase turned his head to hide his smile.
“And to further add to the predicament of these poor little lost lambs—” Ben wouldn’t let up “—I’m sure that someone in their
neighborhood had a fancier bicycle than they did, or a more expensive pair of tennis shoes, maybe the kind that have batteries in them, that light up at each step. Those were really neat . . .”
Chase had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his chuckle.
“. . . And I’m sure that the teachers picked on them, as did the police. For no reason at all, certainly. They probably got spanked, too. Oh, my word, what terrible traumas that must have caused . . .”
Janet stared at Ben through narrowed eyes.
“. . . And to make matters worse,” Ben continued, “they probably didn’t have a new car all their own to drive around in when they were young. And since the liberal left of the Democratic Party never could get wealth redistribution passed in Congress—other than through huge increases in personal income tax by the IRS, that is—the punks just went out and stole themselves a car. And when they got caught, why, some judge—probably some old meanie who belonged to the Republican Party—actually had the gall to sentence a few of them to prison for stealing. Not many, mind you, but a few.”
Janet stared at Ben. If looks could kill . . .
Doctor Chase was quietly edging away.
“Now, let’s see, what else?” Ben began. “Oh, yes. We must not punish those poor, poor unfortunate people. For they—”
Janet held up a hand. “General Raines?”
“Yes, Ms. Janet House-Lewiston?”
“Fuck you!” She wheeled around and stalked off.
Lamar Chase burst out laughing at the expression on Ben’s face. “Oh; boy! She got you that time, Raines.” He pointed at Ben. “You look like you just bit into a green persimmon, Raines.”
Ben smiled. “I love liberals. I think they’re all full of shit, but I love to be around them . . . for very brief periods of time,” he added.
“What the hell do you mean, General Raines, what do I want done with the prisoners you’ve taken?” President Altman asked over the horn.
“It’s your nation,” Ben replied. “We’re just here doing a bit of clean-up for you.” Ben’s eyes twinkled and he smiled. “You want us to shoot them?”
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