Part 7 (1/2)

”Filled with stinking creepies.”

”Tell him to take the field.” That transmission sent and received, Ben said, ”Tell all units to launch attack.”

Rolling thunder split the morning as artillery batteries opened up north, south, and east of the city. To the west of Sacramento, Ike and Cecil began their attacks, softening up their objectives with waves of artillery. The ground trembled under the boots of the Rebels as the artillery pounded the city with HE, WP, and napalm, the sh.e.l.ls whistling and humming overhead.

Ben waved to his XO. ”Take over here. I'm moving my section and securing McClellan AFB.” To Corrie: ”Tell Dan to get his people moving. We'll link up at McClellan.

Dusters and LAV'S out. Let's go.”

Cooper cut east, with Interstate 80 to the south of them, and headed for the old Air Force base. They crossed Marysville Boulevard and ran into a roadblock they could not breech.

”Get a Duster up here, Corrie,” Ben said.

A Duster pulled up and began hammering at the roadblock with 40mm cannon fire.

Outgunned, those left alive at the barricade abandoned their dead and wounded and pulled back, cuttingsouth toward the Interstate.

”Let them go,” Ben said. ”Coop, get us to the base.”

Cooper rolled through the east gate of the base, right behind a main battle tank that had pulled ahead of them. The tank busted through a wooden barricade, crus.h.i.+ng several creepies who thought they might be able to stop the tank with small-arms fire.

They were wrong. The treads left several b.l.o.o.d.y smears on the concrete and rumbled on.

The tank led the way across what Ben guessed might once have been a parade field, and then brought them into a complex of old buildings.

”Out!” Ben yelled. He bailed out of his side of the wagon, M-14 in hand. ”Tuck the wagon behind a building and join us, Coop,” Ben said, then grinned and added, ”And leave some water for Smoot.”

The Husky pup, although battle-hardened and accustomed to loud booming noises, had been trained to get down on the armor-plated floorboards and stay put.

Shots kicked up dirt at Ben's boots and he made it to the door of an old building, Jersey right behind him. He kicked in the door and went in, the Thunder Lizard set on full rock and roll, Jersey's M-16 clattering along with it.

A smelly creepie reared up in front of Ben, his unshaven face a mask of hate and perversion.

Ben lifted the muzzle and blew the man's face into several corners of the room. He stepped over the cooling, twitching body and pointed to a closed door.

Jersey nodded and moved to one side of the door, a grenade in her hand. She pulled the pin and held the spoon down.

Ben blew the doork.n.o.b off with .308 slugs. The door yawned open and Jersey released the spoon, tossing the Fire-Frag grenade into the stinking room. A few screams gradually faded into silence.

Ben and Jersey hit the floor as the grenade boomed, sending shock waves through the first floor of the building and sending b.l.o.o.d.y hunks of creepies in all directions.

Ben both heard and felt footsteps above them, on the second floor. He rolled over on his back and pulled the trigger of his M-14, emptying a full clip of lead into the overhead. He slapped in a fresh clip and got to his boots just as Corrie, Beth, Linda, and Coop ran into the room.

”You're late,” Jersey told the group. ”You missed all the fun.”

Linda's face was pale, but she was hanging in, her Remington 870 sawed-off at the ready, a bandolier of sh.e.l.ls looped around her waist.

”Next building,” Ben said, stepping into the blood-and-gore splattered room and over the mangled body of a creepie.”This one is still alive,” Linda said, looking down.

”Shoot him” Ben told Coop.

Coop's M-16 barked once and the creepie had no more worries on this earth.

Before Linda could recover from her shock at the execution, the team was out the back door and running hard. Beth jerked her along.

Automatic-weapons fire from the second floor of a barracks building kicked up dirt and rocks at their feet as they ducked behind the foundation of a burned-out building.

”Duster up,” Ben ordered.

Within seconds, a Duster spun around the side of the building and opened fire with its 40mm cannon.

The old frame barracks began to splinter and smoke under the impacting sh.e.l.ls, and the screams of the cannibals inside reached Ben's group. One creep tried to run for safety. Ground fire tore him apart. Another jumped from the second floor. He was riddled with bullet holes before he hit the ground. The building burst into flames.

”Corrie, order all buildings demolished by cannon fire. All capable use Willie Peter.”

Main battle tanks began hammering white phosphorus at the old buildings. Creepies with their clothing on fire began running in all directions, screaming as the WP ate holes into their flesh. Ground fire ended their search for safety.

The Rebels took their time, taking it building by building, following the MBT'S, the Dusters, and the Piranhas. Behind them and to the south, Sacramento began to burn from the relentless bombardment of artillery.

Inside the besieged city, creepies were frantically radioing to San Francisco and L.a. California was the last great bastion of the Believers, and if they could not stop Ben Raines and his Rebels here, their cause would be lost nationwide.

South of the border, in Mexico, the people had banded together, re-formed their army, and were putting Believers up against walls, in front of firing squads.

South of San Francisco, creepies began blowing bridges up and down the Interstate. They did not care that they were cutting major arteries; they did not care that the structures might never again be rebuilt. Their only thought was to slow Ben Raines's march toward them. They did not care that they were cutting off their comrades north of San Jose, dooming them. Ben Raines had to be stopped.

The Believers threw up skirmish lines across the state, stretching from the Pacific to the Nevada line. Suicide teams were sent out, their mission: to kill Ben Raines at any cost.

One of General Striganov's radio operators, scanning the frequencies, caught something, backed up, and listened, recording the conversation on tape.

Her face paled as she realized the content of thetransmission. She sent a runner for General Striganov.

He came at once and listened to the tape, his fists clenched and his face hard. ”The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! All right.

Go to scramble and advise all commanders. I want a screen around Ben at all times. h.e.l.l curse and fume and object, but it's the only way. The others will agree with me, Fm sure of that. Go, Neta-hurry!”

The old AFB was declared secure by 1200. The creepie dead were pushed into piles by blade-equipped trucks and set on fire. The stench of burning flesh mingled with the smoke from the burning buildings on the base.

The Rebels had taken yet another step toward clearing southern California.

Ben looked up from a map to see an entire section of Gray's Scouts moving into position all around him. ”What the h.e.l.l is going on here?”

”Colonel Gray's orders, sir,” a young Scout said. ”He said under no circ.u.mstances were we to let you out of our sight.”

Ben waved to Corrie. ”Get Dan on the horn.

I ...” He turned as Dan's Jeep pulled up in front of the CP and the Englishman stepped out, walking toward him.

Dan neither backed up nor apologized for his actions. He explained his reasons quickly and succinctly. ”And there is more, General. My forward recon people are reporting the creepies and outlaws are blowing major bridges on the Interstates all the way across the state, west to east. We're going to be forced to take secondary roads down to Los Angeles.”

Ben slammed a fist on the hood of the vehicle. ”d.a.m.n!” He knew those bridges would never be rebuilt in his lifetime, and possibly never rebuilt at all. Take two steps forward and one step back toward progress and the unrestricted movement of future generations. ”They're desperate people trying to buy a little time.” He nodded his head.