“Yes, sir.”
“Billy? What would you suggest I do with Jake?”
“If I was you, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I’d shoot him. He’ll never forget or forgive, sir. And he’ll never be no part of this outfit. He’s gonna hate you for the rest of his life. He’ll be schemin’ and plannin’ on a way to kill you. Don’t never trust him, general.”
Cecil nodded his head. “Thank you, Billy. See to your command.”
“Yes, sir.”
Billy turned to leave, and then stopped, turning around, looking at Cecil. “General? The near three hundred you and your people culled out? They was the bad ones.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve knowed most of them ol’ boys and gals for most of their lives. They never was any good. Drunks, dishonorable discharges from the service, thieves, back-stabbers, womanizers, game poachers, outlaws, two-timers . . . you name it. What you’ve got here, in this bunch . . .” He jerked a thumb at the lines of men and women, standing at ease. “Is not a bad bunch of people. Damn near every one of them was a decent, hard-working man or woman.” A curious look crept into his eyes. “What puzzles me is this: How’d you and your Rebels know which ones to cull and which ones to keep?”
Two faces came to Cecil’s mind. That deputy sheriff and the face of Ben Raines. Both of them thought alike on one particular subject. “We’ve had a lot of practice, sergeant. Down through the years. And I had a good teacher in the subject of human behavior.”
“Oh? Who was that, sir?”
“Ben Raines.”
SIX
He was pointed out to Tina, and as she drew nearer to the young man, she had to smile. This, then, was what her adopted father had looked like as a young man.
Buddy glanced up as the officer approached him. He stood up. New to this, he didn’t know whether to salute or not.
“Relax,” Tina told him. “I’m your sister, Tina Raines.”
Buddy smiled and held out his hand. She shook it. Brother and sister stood for a moment, looking at each other.
“The general adopted me, long years ago,” Tina said, clearing up any doubts that might be lingering in Buddy’s mind. “When I was just a little girl.”
“Where is the general?”
“Getting ready for a meeting tomorrow. I . . . don’t think he’s quite ready, yet, to meet you. It was quite a shock for him.”
Buddy smiled. “Yes, I bet it was. He send you up to check on me?”
“Yes. And to bring you to meet him tomorrow morning.”
“Well . . . what do I call you? Captain? What?”
“Tina will do. Or sis,” she added, smiling.
The young man and young woman put their arms around each other. Both of them began to softly weep.
“Sounds good to me, Ashley,” his men told him. “It’ll be an easy shot from this spot.” He punched a dirty finger at the map spread out on a table.
“With Ben Raines out of the picture,” Ashley said, “the Rebels will be completely demoralized and frozen in their tracks. They won’t know what to do. I want all of our troops ready to go at my command. The women and kids and old people in front of the point teams. Just as soon as Ben and Big Louie go down, move out and hit the bastards with everything we’ve got. Remember this: The first strike is going to be the most important one. And once we start, we cannot, we must not, stop our momentum. All right, men, move out and get your snipers in position. Good luck to you all.”
The field commanders moved out quickly. Night was fast approaching, and the men had to be briefed and the gunmen in position before dawn. All the field commanders of Big Louie’s army were smiling, one thought uppermost in their minds: It would be such a relief to get that idiot Louie dead and in the ground.
Why Ashley had put up with the silly prick was something that none could understand.
If they could pull this off, the entire United States could easily be theirs for the taking.
And Ashley had promised them all the women they could ever crave.
When the command post had emptied, Ashley sat down and propped his highly polished boots — shined by a slave, certainly not by Ashley — up on a table. He smiled, thinking that he really wished he could be the one to line up Ben Raines in the cross hairs of the scope and pull the trigger. He would like to see the expression on Ben Raines’s face as the bullet struck him in the center of the chest, exploding his heart.
And forever stilling that bastard!
“God, I hate you, Raines!” Ashley muttered. “I despise you with all my heart.”
For a few hot moments, Ashley let the hate wash over him, enjoying the venomous sensation. The moment he had dreamed of for years was now only hours away.
And Ashley could hardly wait.
What would be appropriate for the body? Strip it naked and hang it up by meat hooks? That might be nice. He’d have to give that some more thought.
That would certainly draw some attention.
Ashley sat with the hate bubbling within him. He remembered, recalling with startling accuracy, each detail of the humiliating beating he had received at the hands of Ben Raines so many years in the past. But the memory still burned as hotly in his brain, the flames of reminiscence blazing just as intensely as they did twenty years back.
The days he’d spent in the hospital, thanks to Ben Raines, the looks he’d received from the nurses — trashy little bitches; half of them niggers. Disgusting.
And his reputation as quite a good fighter had plummeted after that. Ben Raines had used all that tricky stuff on him. Man didn’t fight fair. But what could one expect from a damned Midwesterner?
And for a time, Ashley let misty memories take him winging back in time; back to when life had been so good, and he and his mommy and daddy and sister had lived the good life. No matter that there had been poverty and hunger all around them. They had all inherited the money; it was theirs, to spend it on whatever one damn well pleased.
Then the awfulness of the bombs that carried the deadly germs spreading all over the land.
And Ashley had lost everything. Everything.
He had, for the first time, been on his own. He had to learn survival. But he’d gone too far with it, and became an outlaw. What the hell? No law to speak of. Except the law of the fittest. And Ashley became fit.
It wasn’t until about a year after the Great War that Ashley learned what finally became of his sister. But by then, he was well on his way toward becoming a warlord, and his sis was doing quite well — no point in upsetting any applecarts.
So he had never seen her again.
But he kept up with her. And when the government finally moved against Ben Raines and his damnable Tri-States, Ben Raines had sent out his Zero Squads; something that no one thought he would ever do.
And his sister had been killed. By that goddamned lowlife son of a bitch Ben Raines.
And Ashley’s hate had only intensified after that.
Sitting, thinking, Ashley wondered, since he’d later found out that his sis had traveled with Ben Raines for a time, if Ben had ever screwed his sis.
Surely not. That thought was just too disgusting to ponder. Besides, sis had been much too much the lady to ever allow someone of Ben Raines’s ilk to get into her pants.
A couple of years after his sis had been killed, Ashley had teamed up with Big Louie, adding his own small army of thugs and outlaws to Big Louie’s troops. And for a time, they all had it pretty damned easy. Ashley had all the pussy he could stand; servants to wait on him, catering to his every whim.
Of course, he had to put up with Big Louie; but that was not that difficult. Just let the fool simper and have his perverted pleasures and Louie was happy, thinking that he was running the show. That gave Ashley ample time to subvert Louie’s army, weeding out those who were truly loyal to the fool.
Then Ben Raines just had to come along, tilting at windmills like the damned idealistic bastard that he was.
But maybe, Ashley thought, leaning back, his hands behind his head, just maybe Ben had come along at a most opportune time.
Ashley smiled. He firmly believed that if Ben Raines were to die, the Rebels would disintegrate, falling apart without Raines’s leadership.
Oh, sure. Ashley had heard all those silly rumors about Ben Raines being some sort of god. How ridiculous! He was a god, all right. A goddamned meddling asshole. Ben Raines was pure flesh and blood just like anyone else. But if the Rebels even remotely believed that garbage, the sight of their wonderful god being shot dead before their eyes would be so demoralizing to them that their ranks would crumble. And then Ashley would have had his revenge and be rid of the do-gooder bastard Raines once and for all.
Damn! but that thought was so good it was almost as good as sex.
He felt himself gaining an erection. He rubbed his crotch and thought about all those cute little girlies he had stashed away, willing to do anything to serve him.
And some of them just barely into their teen years. Hot little bitches!
He stood up, his hardness a throbbing painful pleasure, and exited out the back door, heading for his house. He’d think about killing Ben Raines while getting a blowjob from that cute little blonde. That would make sex even better.
“I’ve been frightened of a few things in my life, Tina,” Buddy admitted. “But I will freely admit to you, that at this moment, I am scared half to death.”
She laughed at him. “Why, Buddy?”
Buddy turned and pointed. “Because of that.”
The tall figure of Ben Raines stood out, leaning against the fender of a Jeep. Ben was having a cup of tea and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.
“He’s just a man, Buddy. Your father. And there is no doubt of that. You two look enough alike to be scary.”
Tina did not tell Buddy that she had already met with Ben a couple of hours before.
Ben turned his head, looking at the pair.
“Here it comes,” Buddy muttered.
Tina laughed at him. Together, they walked toward Ben. And then the father and the son who had never seen one another were only a couple of feet apart.
Father and son stared at one another. Tina stepped to one side, to stand beside the man she called her Uncle Ike. She felt the same affection for him as she did for the man she called her Uncle Cec.
“You want some hot tea, boy?” Ben asked, his voice gruff.
Buddy was afraid the man would hear his knees knocking; and he was certain that they were. He opened his mouth to speak. But nothing came out except an unintelligible squeak.
Buddy felt like a fool.
Ben smiled. “Early morning is when my voice does that. That’s why a long time ago, I started using honey in my coffee instead of sugar. Honey smooths out the throat.”
Buddy found his voice. “Yes, sir. I’ll remember that. If I ever find any coffee, that is,” he added.
Ben laughed. “Save some for me when you do. About that hot tea? . . .”
“Oh, yes, sir. That would be very nice. Sir,” he added.
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, a cup of steaming tea was placed on the hood of the Jeep.
Ben waited until the younger man had sugared and stirred the tea before saying, “How did you leave your mother?”
“Quite insane, sir.”
“Her army?”
“Numbers, sir?”
Ben nodded.
“Several thousand, sir. A very large group of motorcyclists had just joined prior to my leaving. I believe that they had been a part of Sam Hartline’s army before that.”
“Grizzy, Sonny Boy, Skinhead, Popeye, and Plano among them?”
“Yes, sir. That’s the bunch.”
“Then your mother has taken up with scum,” Ben said flatly.
“Yes, sir. I know. Most of the people who follow her are nothing more than savages.”
Ben looked at Buddy’s weapon. The old Thompson looked to be in fine shape. “Interesting weapon you carry, boy.”
The son met the father’s steady gaze. “I find that it does the job, sir.”
“Yes. I agree.” Ben looked at his watch; plenty of time. “Tell me about yourself, Buddy.”
And for five full minutes, Buddy told Ben of his past — as far back as he could remember — and about his grandfather raising him, shielding him, letting his mother think him to be dead.
He concluded by telling Ben of his belief that his mother probably ordered the Old Man burned at the stake.
Ben stared at him, then shook his head. “Her own father?”
“Yes, sir. But he would go to his death singing Christian songs. He was dying of the cancer.”
“Then he is a brave man.”
“Was, sir.”
“You know that someday I’m going to have to fight your mother and her army?”
“Yes, sir. I know. And so does she. The people she has gathered about her might well be savages, but they have professional soldiers, ex-mercenaries, training them. She will be hard to handle. And I don’t mean to be disrespectful in saying that.”
“I’m glad to have that word, Buddy. What would you do if I should order you to take part in the action against her?”
“I would go. I would not want to; but I would follow your orders.”
“And if I ordered you to kill your mother?”
“I don’t believe I could kill my own mother, sir. I know she is evil, and that she deserves to die, but not by my hand. Not unless she was trying to kill me. And even then . . . I just don’t know.”
Ben smiled. “You just saved your life, son.”
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“If you’d said anything else, I would have had you tossed out of my sight. I’d have known you were lying.”
“I spoke the truth, sir.”
“Yes, I believe you. I’m not a very emotional man, Buddy. Never have been. Perhaps that is a fault of mine. I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is . . .” He blinked away a slight mist in his eyes and cleared his throat.
Buddy put a strong young hand on his father’s shoulder. The two men looked at each other just as the sun broke through the overcast skies that had put a pall on most of the morning. The sun bathed the countryside in all of God’s brilliance.
“I’m glad to be with you, Father,” Buddy said. “I only hope that I never do anything to make you feel ashamed of me.”
Ben nodded his head and smiled. He did not trust his voice just yet. He put his right hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed.
Boy was as solid as a damned rock!
“Come on, boy,” the father said. “Let’s get some lunch.”
“Ah . . . sir?”
“Yes?”
“Do you object if Tina and, ah, someone else joins us?”
“Of course not. Who is the someone else?”
“A young lady from General McGowan’s command. She befriended me when the others were reluctant to do so.”
“Handsome scoundrel takes after his father in more ways than one,” Tina said, smiling. “Half a day in camp and he’s got the best-looking woman cornered.”
“Pay no attention to your sister, boy,” Ben told him. “She exaggerates at times.”
And the family, plus one, walked off to have lunch.
Francis Freneau didn’t pull any cucumbers out of his ears, but what he did was just as bad. He sang religious songs with such a pure, sweet, fine tenor voice he damn near had Emil weeping; most of the others were blubbering and snorting with joy.
And then Emil recognized him.
“I knew it!” Emil said. “I knew I’d seen that sucker somewheres before.”
He leaned over and whispered in Brother Matthew’s ear. “I know that son of a bitch! That’s Stanley Ledbetter. He had a finance company in Chattanooga until the state put him out of business; he was runnin’ two sets of books. Then he popped up in Atlanta, selling phony stocks and bonds out of a boiler room. He just got out the state with his ass inta
ct, the cops right on his tail. Then he got him a face lift out in California and was working the schools with a two-bit magic act. Among other things, he got busted for screwin’ the little chickies and was about to stand trial when the bombs came.”
“Hush up,” Matthew said, awe in his voice. “Ain’t his singin’ beautiful?”
Emil whacked Brother Matthew on the side of his head with his fist. “Goddammit, Matthew, listen to me!”
“Ooww!” Brother Matthew said, holding the side of his head. “Shit, Brother Emil, that hurt!”
“Then pay attention, you dumb ass! I know that guy calls himself Francis Freneau.”
“So what?”
“He’s a fraud!”
The look Emil received from Brother Matthew was not a pleasant one. “And you ain’t?”
“That’s neither here nor there you dummy! You and a few others got a pretty cushy job with me, working this scam. You think Ledbetter is gonna keep you on?”
The two of them were joined by a few more of Emil’s Enforcers.
“Ledbetter?” Brother Carl asked.
“Yeah. Stanley Ledbetter.”
Brother Matthew thought about that for a moment. He finally nodded his head in agreement. “We gotta come up with a spectacular miracle, Brother Emil. That’s the only thing that’s gonna save our asses.”
Emil’s face brightened. “You got something in mind?”
“No.”
“Wonderful,” Emil said. “I’m surrounded by yoyos.”
“We can always shoot the son of a bitch,” Brother Carl suggested.
“No, no!” Emil said. “I am opposed to violence. Unless it just absolutely has to be. It’d be so much better if I could best him at his own game.”
“How?” Brother Roger asked.
“If I knew that, you dummy, I wouldn’t be standing here listening to Stanley Ledbetter bellowing songs!”
“How come he’s got all them good-lookin’ duckies and we get stuck with the dogs?” Brother Carl asked, a wistful note in the question. His eyes were on a shapely brunette standing beside Francis Freneau, her eyes glazed over in reverence as Francis crooned.
Of course, the joint she’d just taken on might have had a little bit to do with it.
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