When Simon Border heard that Ben had turned his army around and was heading west, he immediately went to his sanctuary, fell to his knees, and began fervently praying. He asked God to strike Ben dead with lightning bolts, drown him in a flood, just do something to stop the paganistic godless heathen from reaching Simon’s territory.
When no angels appeared to tell him that Ben had been destroyed, Simon reckoned that he’d just have to do it himself. He put every able-bodied man in his territory on full alert.
“The Great Satan is coming,” he warned his thousands of followers. “Prepare to defend our homeland.”
“We’re going to stay out of Simon’s heavily populated northern areas,” Ben told four batt coms he was taking into Simon’s territory. “Intel has solid evidence that the drug factories are located along the border with Mexico, so that’s where we’ll hit. If Simon doesn’t interfere, and allows us to destroy the drug factories and wipe out the gangs, we’ll leave him alone and get out of his territory once it’s done. If he wants a war—” Ben shrugged his shoulders “—then we’ll give him a war.”
“What about the other battalions?” Jim Peters asked.
“They’ll be stationed along the edge of our territory, ready to come in if needed. Really, I want Simon to see what he’s up against. That may be all it takes to open his eyes.”
“Do you believe it will, Father?” Buddy asked.
“No, son, I don’t. But I want to give the man a chance to back off.”
Dan Gray stood up. “Ben, this is not a holy war. The man is nothing but a two-bit dictator. He’s about as holy as a rattlesnake.”
“In the minds of millions of people, Dan, he’s the next thing to Jesus. And many of those people live outside of Simon’s claimed territory. His movement is nationwide, and it isn’t getting any smaller.”
“How did he happen, general?” Jackie Malone asked. “I mean, what’s wrong with people to fall for a line like his?”
“People became desperate, Jackie. The nation was hammered to its knees twice in only a few years. Many thought perhaps God was signaling them the end was near. Many people lost all hope until they found Simon and his snake-oil message. They needed something to lean on, to prop them up, and Simon provided it.”
“But we were the most stable force in all the world,” Jackie insisted. “We had a working government, schools, hospitals, everything. Yet these people turned their backs on us, and went with a nut like Simon Border.” She shook her head. “I just don’t understand it.”
Ben smiled. “My dad used to say—‘Everyone to their own taste, said the woman who kissed a cow.’”
Buddy waited until the laugher died down and said, “What is the fascination with drugs, Father? I can appreciate an occasional drink to relax, but to destroy one’s mind with chemicals is beyond my realm of understanding. It’s . . . stupid.”
“It really started back in the 1960s, son, when I was just a little boy. The peace and love generation. Tune in and drop out, I believe one of the slogans went. A lot of recording artists glorified drug use. As did many of the movies. It was a sad time in our culture. None of you people, with the exception of Dan and me, were even born then, and we were just little boys. Hell, most of the Rebels weren’t born until years and years later. The government had very ineffective drug prevention programs . . .”
“Why didn’t the authorities just shoot the dealers?” Ben’s son persisted.
Ben chuckled. “Oh, that, ah, would have suited many Americans just fine, son. And there were countries who did just that. But if we wouldn’t execute murderers, rapists, child molesters, and the like . . . ?” Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it’s all moot now. Any further questions?”
There were none.
“Well, let’s go to war, people.”
TWENTY-ONE
Ben carefully studied the terrain through binoculars. He could see nothing out of the ordinary, which he knew meant absolutely nothing. There might be hundreds of enemy troops waiting in ambush.
“Scouts report nothing, boss,” Corrie said. “No signs of life whatsoever.”
The Rebel convoy was stopped just inside the Oklahoma line, on old Highway 70. Arkansas lay a few miles behind them. The Red River flowed silently on just to the south of them.
“How far in are they?”
“What is left of Broken Bow. No signs of life in the town.”
“About 4,500 people lived there before the Great War,” Beth said. “Next town of any size is Idabel.”
“We may be too close to the Texas line for Simon’s people to give us any trouble. I’m thinking he settled his people some miles north of the line. We’ll soon know. Let’s push on. Mount up, people.”
Idabel was a silent and deserted ruin, utterly devoid of human life. The town had been looted and picked over so many times that nothing remained. The column pushed on.
The Rebels bivouacked that night in the ruins of Hugo, another once bustling and prosperous town. Now it was home to only the sighing of the wind and whatever ghosts might have chosen to remain among its looted buildings.
“Place is spooky,” Cooper said.
“Cooper,” Jersey replied. “You’ve seen hundreds of deserted towns here and halfway around the world. What’s so special about this one?”
“I don’t know. It’s just gives me the creeps, that’s all.”
Ben lifted his head and stared at Cooper for a moment. “What’d you say, Coop?”
“Huh, boss?”
“What did you just say, Coop?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“No, after that?”
“I said . . . this place gives me the creeps, that’s all.” Coop’s eyes narrowed. “You think . . . ?”
“Maybe. I’ve been jumpy myself ever since we stopped here. Creeps just might explain why we haven’t seen any people.”
“Oh, crap!” Corrie muttered, reaching for her CAR.
The Rebel battalions were strung out for about 20 miles, with several miles between each battalion, a long and very formidable line.
“Put everybody on alert, Corrie,” Ben ordered. “The shit just may be getting ready to hit the fan. Let’s get over behind those ruins, over there.”
There had been no breeze all afternoon, and it had been hot and dry as summer began waning. Now the air was beginning to stir with a slight breeze and the moving air brought with it the very faint smell of creepie.
Ben wrinkled his nose. “Smell it, gang?”
They smelled it. Anna said, “Wet sheep shit smells like perfume compared to that.”
Ben smiled. “My, but you do have a way with words, dear.”
“Wet sheep shit?” Cooper grimaced, bipodding his SAW and making sure he had another container of ammo ready.
“Thank you,” Anna replied, and checked her CAR, laying out half a dozen 30-round magazines within easy reach.
“All battalions on alert,” Corrie said. “Several sentries have reported what they were sure were sightings, but too far out to be sure.”
“They can be sure,” Ben told her. “Mortar crews ready with IMs?”
“Ready with illumination flares.”
“Batt coms are on their own as to when to drop them in.”
“Affirmative.”
Lightning licked at the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance as a late summer storm built up steam in the West.
“This is liable to get interesting,” Jersey muttered, her words tossed around as the wind picked up.
“At least the bastards will get a bath,” Beth replied.
Jim Peters’s 14 Batt was the easternmost bivouac, miles away from Ben’s 1 Batt. “Batt 14 under attack,” Corrie called.
“There must be a lot of the bastards to attack us at this strength,” Cooper said.
“Now we know where the punks and the creeps went,” Ben replied.
“Surely Simon Border didn’t invite these cannibals?” Anna questioned.
“No. I doubt that even
he would do that,” Ben said.
“Heads up!” Corrie called. “Here they come.”
“IMs up!” Ben said.
The cloudy night was abruptly filled with artificial illumination as the flares soared high and popped.
“They never learn,” Ben muttered, his words too low for anyone else to hear. “Every time they try a frontal assault, we always kick their asses.”
Then there was no time left for conversation as the night became filled with gunfire, screaming and cursing. The dark shapes of the creeps, appearing on the land as giant, hooded roaches, rushed toward the Rebel positions.
The Rebels opened up with everything they had at their disposal, which was awesome. The creepies went down in bits and pieces and bloody chunks of what once was more or less human flesh.
“Keep your eyes open for the bastards to pop out of the ruins,” Ben yelled.
The words had no sooner left his lips when creeps began pouring out of holes they’d dug and then camouflaged in the ruins of the town, waiting patiently for a new food supply to come unsuspectingly along.
Those who were hidden in the ruins died just as surely as their brothers and sisters in perversion who were attacking the town from the weed-grown fields.
The firefight did not last long, although in combat seconds very often seem like minutes and minutes often seem like hours to those caught up in the noisy hell.
The IMs still filling the air with harsh light showed those creeps left alive and able to crawl, stagger or run doing so, away from the ruins of the deserted town, leaving behind them dozens of dead and dying.
Ben popped an empty magazine and slipped home a full one. “Start putting those wounded creeps out of their misery,” he called in a cold voice.
Single, well-placed shots began ringing out in the bloody night.
“Report,” Ben said.
“Except for those few hidden in the ruins, none of the creeps even got close,” Corrie said. “We have no dead, two with non-life-threatening wounds.”
“Not much of a fight,” Anna groused. “I think the creeps are losing their punch.”
“They’re losing their numbers, dear,” Ben corrected. “Over the years we’ve killed thousands of them. And I wouldn’t think their recruitment numbers are all that high.”
“Yeah, I would think they’d have trouble convincing any normal person to join them voluntarily,” Beth added.
“I can just hear the recruitment ads now,” Jersey said. “Come enjoy the pleasures of never taking a bath and dining on raw human flesh. Yuck!” She spat on the ground.
“I don’t think they’ll return,” Ben said. “But double the guards just in case.”
“Reports coming in from other battalions,” Corrie announced. “One dead and a dozen wounded, most of the wounds not serious. Scouts report that while the creeps retreated north and south, they soon cut west.
“Durant’s the next town of any size,” Beth called. “About 15,000 before the Great War.”
“Have fly-bys shown any signs of human life there?” Ben asked.
“Negative, boss. Nothing.”
“So we have the creeps to look forward to from here on in. Wonderful.”
“At least they don’t profess to be something they’re not,” Corrie said. “Unlike Simon Border.”
“For a fact, Corrie,” Ben agreed. “For a fact.”
* * *
The Rebels began massive daily daylight airdrops into Utah: medical supplies, food, and weapons, from M-16s to .50-caliber heavy machine guns, artillery pieces and mortars. Ben halted the airdrops only when the commanders of the various Mormon units in Utah radioed that with the new supplies, they could now hold their own against just about anything that Simon might throw at them.
The long Rebel columns moved on the morning after the firefight. They did not take the time to bury the creepie dead.
“Carrion birds have to eat, too,” Ben said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I hope they don’t get sick and croak afterward,” Jersey replied.
The column made the 50-mile run to Durant and found a dead town.
“It wasn’t until recently,” Ben said, looking over a cemetery filled with relatively recent graves. “I’d say these graves are no more than a year old.” And in the town’s business district: “Some of these stores have been repainted and fixed up. This was a thriving community until Simon Border and the creeps moved in.”
“Scouts report that the bridge over the lake just west of here is gone,” Corrie said. “At least part of it. We’ll have to detour around it.”
“Did we blow that bridge?” Ben asked. “I don’t remember.”
His team shrugged their shoulders. “Beats me, boss,” Cooper said. “We’ve blown so many.”
Beth had lost many of her valuable journals over the years in ambushes and attacks and could not help either.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ben said. “It’s gone and that’s that.” He laid a map out on the hood of the big wagon. “We’ll cut north up to this little town at the tip of the lake and bivouac there for the night. Advise the scouts.”
“They’re already heading that way,” Corrie said. “Reporting no trouble and no signs of life.”
“Where the hell did the people go?” Ben muttered. “What happened to them?”
The wind sighed its unreadable reply and Ben knew that was about as much answer as he was ever likely to get. He didn’t like to think the creeps got them, but realized that was an option he had to consider.
“You better come see this, general,” a Rebel said, running up to Ben’s side. The young man pointed. “Down that way, about a block.”
Ben and team and about 50 other Rebels walked the distance to an old church.
“It’s inside, sir,” the Rebel told Ben in a very quiet voice.
Ben looked at the young man, then nodded. “Lead the way.”
The young Rebel hesitated.
“What is it, son?”
“Better get the chaplain, sir.”
“All right.” Ben looked at Corrie and she spoke into her headset.
“On the way.”
“We’ll wait until he arrives.”
There were several chaplains assigned to each battalion, Catholic, Protestant, Jew, and all three drove up in a Hummer.
“What is it, general?” Rabbi Wassermann asked.
“I don’t know, Gary. We’ll see in a minute. Whatever it is, it’s in that church.”
“What denomination was this?” another asked.
“Don’t know,” the third replied.
“Let’s go,” Ben said. To the young Rebel: “Lead the way, son.”
The scene that greeted them brought everyone up short. On the wall behind where the pulpit once stood, between a wooden cross bolted to the wall, were the bones of four people, rotting flesh hanging from the bones. They had all been crucified, spikes driven into their feet, knees, sides, and hands.
Ben heard all three chaplains mutter short and very fervent prayers.
Painted on the wall, in bright red, were the words: RAY BROWN RULES.
“Over here, sir.” The young Rebel who had led the way touched Ben’s arm.
Scrawled on another wall, in pencil, were the words: God help us all. First it was the cannibals, now it’s the hordes of criminals, acting under the direct auspices of Simon Border. They’ve taken the women and the young children. The screaming as they are being raped is terrible. The leader, Ray Brown, has told us what he has planned for us. He is a spawn of the devil. The personification of everything evil. Oh my God, give me strength to endure the pain.
“Get the remains down from the wall,” Ben said softly. “And do it as gently as possible. We’ll bury them in the yard beside the church.”
“This Ray Brown,” one of the chaplains spoke, his words hard with anger. “This creature . . .” He shook his head, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know,” Ben said. “We’ll deal with him this run. I
promise you that.”
“We’ve found a pit, or a ditch, that is filled with the bones of people, general,” a scout said. “Looks like they’ve been dead several months. All lined up and shot.”
“Let’s see it.”
Ben stood over the long ditch and looked down at the remains of perhaps 75 people while a Rebel doctor quickly examined the rag-covered bones. Ben noticed he was paying particular attention to the teeth.
“Mostly men,” the doctor said, looking up. “And I would say they were mostly old men.”
“Old men?”
“Yes, sir. No young men here.”
“What do you make of that, general?” an intelligence officer asked.
Ben was thoughtful for a moment. “My guess would be they’ve taken the younger men to use as slaves, or to trade them as such.”
“Trade them, General Ben?” Anna asked. “To whom and for what?”
“I’ll reserve comment on both those questions, Anna. But I can’t believe Simon Border is involved in any type of slave-trading or the use of slaves.”
“I can,” Beth said, considerable heat in her voice. “If these people refused to go along with Simon’s wacky views on religion, I wouldn’t put anything past that bastard, or his goofy-assed followers.”
Ben smiled at her words, for Beth was usually the quiet one of his team, then he sobered at the truth in her statement. Ben was convinced that Simon Border was insane. Functionally mad, but insane nonetheless.
Ben again looked down at the ditch of death. “Cover them,” he ordered. “We can’t do much more than that for them now.” He sighed. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
TWENTY-TWO
The column spent the night stretched out along the eastern side of the lake, with 1 Batt at the northern tip. The next day they rolled into Ardmore, and found it deserted.
“Somebody put up a hell of a battle here,” Buddy observed, as he stood with his father on the main street of town.
“That they did, son. For all the good it did them,” he added.
“We’ve found another mass grave, general,” a scout said, walking up. “The doc is looking over the bones now.”
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