Part 17 (1/2)
He's a law-and-order type, from his head down to his boots. The world is gonna be different, pal. There just ain't gonna be no place for guys like us in it. It's gonna be a very polite society.”
His friend snorted in disgust and spat on the dirty floor. He inched up and peeked over the edge of a windowsill. A Rebel sniper about five hundred meters out put a .50-caliber slug right between his eyes. The street punk died with his eyes bulging in shock, the top of his head and his brains splattered on the wall behind him.
Carlos looked at the mess and shook his head.”b.a.s.t.a.r.ds can shoot. And that probably makes you one of the lucky ones, Garcia.” He glanced at one of his lieutenants. ”We're pullin” back.
We can't win this fight with each warlord defendin' his own turf. We got to call a meetin' and make some plans. It can't work this way. Let's go.”
”They're bugging out, General,” Corrie called.
”Forward units report a ma.s.s pullback.”
”Start dropping artillery in on them,” Ben ordered. ”Give them everything we've got for a couple of minutes. That will give us about a three-block secure area. Tell the gunners to keep the airport intact.”
Corrie relayed the orders and the tanks and mortar crews began lobbing them in.
”The son of a b.i.t.c.h!” Carlos cussed as the sh.e.l.ls began dropping in all around him. ”He never misses a bet.” A sh.e.l.l landed close and knocked the street punk off his tennis shoes. They were good tennis shoes too. He'd killed a dude to get them. Good tennis shoes were getting harder and harder to find. When the dust cleared, Carlos jumped to his feet and ran for his life.
”Secure the airport,” Ben ordered.
Tanks surged forward, Scouts and Buddy's Rat Team right behind them.
”Get me a report from Ike.”
”He's punched through and is holding along Highway 101.”.
”Tell him to break it off there and to get some rest.
Cecil?”
”Locked in heavy fighting along Interstate 210 just north of Glendale.”
”It'll be dark soon. Tell him to hold what he's got. Georgi?”
”He's in control of his sector along 210. Colonel West is beginning his stretch-out move. That's the heavy smoke we see to the east and north.”
”Let's don't be too obvious with it. Tell all commanders to shut it down and secure for the night.
Come on, gang-let's go see what the airport looks like.”
Not bad. There was no lingering stench of the Night P.
That confirmed what the prisoners had told them. The Believers were concentrated in the heart of Los Angeles; true to form, they preferred the cities to the countryside.
”Runways are not in that bad a shape,” a Rebel reported. ”We can have one operational in several hours.”
Ben shook his head. ”We won't need this one.
We'll push south in the morning and try to secure the Hollywood-Burbank airport. By that time, we'll be needing supplies and we'll have wounded to fly back to Base Camp One. Corrie, I want a casualty list all the way around.”
Seven dead and twenty-two wounded. Of the wounded, five were in serious condition.
”Transport the dead out of the burn area and burythem up in the mountains,” Ben said. They would be buried in unmarked graves, for the criminal element hated the Rebels so, they had been known to dig up Rebel graves and mutilate the bodies.
”Father,” Buddy said, walked up. ”A group of Woods Children have moved down to the edge of the mountains north of us. They have volunteered to bury our dead in secure places.”
Ben did not ask how Buddy knew that, or how he had been contacted. There was a mystic aura about the young man that baffled his father. ”I thought I told them to stay out of this fight.”
Buddy shrugged his muscular shoulders. ”They obviously chose to ignore that directive.”
”Tell them thanks,” Ben said. ”It'll be a big help.”
Thermopolis walked up to join the small group on the edge of the tarmac. He wore a grim expression. ”I lost a man,” he said. ”The street punks grabbed him and poured gasoline on him, then set him on fire. We found his body about ten minutes ago.” He clenched big hands into big fists. ”G.o.dd.a.m.nit!”
”Now you see yet another reason why I deal with punks as I do,” Ben told him. ”I'm really very sorry, Therm. The bodies are being readied for transport up into the mountains. Do you want to go with your man?”
Therm shook his head. ”No. I'm needed here.
It's just that Santana had been with me for a long time.
We worked together before the Great War. He was a good decent human being. Loved animals and loved the earth. He used to work for the Forest Service.”
”Why did he leave them?”
”He didn't agree with a lot of their policies.
I'll miss him.”
Ben thought of all the Rebels, men and women, buried in lonely unmarked graves all over the United States. Border to border and coast to coast. Freedom fighters. ”I know the feeling, Therm. I know it only too well.”
”Do you ever get used to it?”
”No.”
Therm looked surprised, then managed a smile.
”You never pull a punch, do you, Ben?”
”Occasionally. Not very often.” Ben studied the man's face. ”Getting involved now, Therm?”
”Let's just say I'm trying very hard to keep Santana's death from clouding my judgment.”
”From becoming emotional about it?”
Therm nodded his head. ”Yes. You could say that.”
”You lost Tapper and Robin last year, I recall.”