Part 5 (1/2)

Yes, it was raining there, too. Had been for two days. It was a b.i.t.c.h!

The building where Sylvia's riggers had worked so feverishly leaked; the chutes would have to be unpacked,dried out, and repacked.

If it ever quit raining.

Another full day lost.

And the battalions coming in from the east were bogged down, having to make many detours due to the bad roads. More delays.

And Ben knew that Striganov was not sitting on his hands. The longer his Rebels had to wait, the more time the Russian had to beef up his defenses. For Ben did not delude himself: he knew the Russian knew where he was. And the Russian would be wondering what his old enemy was up to.

And worse yet, the human suffering at Striganov's experiment stations would continue unabated.

Ben paced his command post and cursed.

”G.o.ddammit!” Cecil cursed, standing in the rain beside his Jeep. ”We're a hundred miles out and bogged down. ”Son of a b.i.t.c.h!”

The Rebels maintained a respectable distance from General Jefferys. The almost-always-eloquent and soft-spoken black man-one of General Raines's closest friends-rarely used profanity. But when he did ... stand clear.

Cecil Jefferys had been with Ben since the inception of the Tri-States, and, for a very brief time, Vice-President of the United States. Cecil was the man Ben Raines leaned on most heavily for support.

Cecil turned to an aide. ”Bring a tank up here,” he ordered. ”And blow that G.o.dd.a.m.ned bridge clear.”

”Yes, sir!”

An M109A1 was off-loaded from a flatbed and rumbled into life. It roared up to Cecil's position. The commander of the twenty-six-ton vehicle spoke to Cecil through a headset. ”I think we can push that c.r.a.p free, General.”

”Then do it,” Cecil said tersely.

The commander reversed his howitzer and ordered the ma.s.sive machine forward, slamming into the rusting debris that blocked the bridge on the interstate.

The tank backed off, allowing a truck with a scoop-mount to roll into place. The scoop shoved what remained of the blockage off to one side and the column began rolling.

”Hang on, Ben,” Cecil said, climbing back into his canvas-s.h.i.+elded Jeep. ”We're almost there.”

Cecil ordered the hammer down. About fifty miles from Ben's base camp, Cecil's column caught up with Ike's motorized battalion. His Jeep skirted the front column and Cecil waved them forward, clenching his fist and working the clenched fist up and down; the infantry signal to Go!

By late afternoon, the sun began poking through the clouds, the air warming. Forward scouts radioed back that the road was clear and free of anyobstacles all the way to General Raines's camp.

Just before dusk, Cecil's battalions rolled into the old Tri-States.

It was the first time Cecil had been back since the government a.s.sault against Raines's Rebels. The familiar terrain brought to the man a myriad of emotions. His wife, Lila, had died not too many miles from here, during the government a.s.sault on the Tri-States; she had stepped in front of a Claymore mine.

Then, all of a sudden, Ben was standing by the side of the road, tall and erect and seemingly ageless, his beret c.o.c.ked on his head Ranger fas.h.i.+on. A young woman stood by Ben's side. Cecil recognized her. Lieutenant Barris.

He grinned, thinking: Ben and his women.

But he was glad for Ben. The men did not shake hands. They embraced. ”Ugly b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” Ben told him. ”Old goat!” Cecil responded, cutting his eyes toward Sylvia.

”Ready for a war?” Ben asked. ”I'll follow where you lead, Ben.” ”Then, let's do it!”

Chapter Six.

General Georgi Striganov's forward deep recon scouts would make no more radio reports back to the Russian. They would never do anything again.

Ever. They lay motionless on the damp ground, widely separated, the earth soaking up their blood.

And they had been unable to fire one Shot in their defense.

None of the IPF people had lever gotten so much as a glimpse of the men who killed them.

They had encountered the underground people. Silent and deadly.

The first IPF scout to die had risen from his concealed position-a position he thought was concealed.

He took an arrow through the head, the point driving out the other side, carrying with it bits of bone and brain and tissue. The scout dropped to the earth, only a bit more loudly than he had risen.

The scouts were widely separated; none of his comrades knew of his death.

The second IPF scout to die never heard the person who crept silently through the brush and timber behind him. He felt only the eyes on his back. He turned to check the source of his concern. The hand axe bit deeply into his skull; blood and fluid splashed from the ma.s.sive wound. The attacker grabbed the IPF scout before he could tumble loosely to the ground and make any noise as his body came in contact with the ground. The underground man lowered the body to the damp earth. The underground man, dressed in clothing of earth tones, turned and slipped silently back into the timber.

The third scout to die felt first the leather strap-loop around his neck and then the knee in the small of his back, pinning him to the earth. His head began roaring as life-sustaining air was closed off.His frantically clawing fingers could not slip under the tightly pulled leather strap around his neck.

The roaring in his head dimmed all other sounds as life began oozing away from the Russian. He could but vaguely remember his mother and father back in Russia. Most of his boyhood and young adult life had been spent in Iceland. But he thought, now, of his parents. He wondered what had ever happened to them?

And he thought too of the teachings of Marx and Lenin.

Was there nothing after life? Only death? were they wrong?

He knew he was about to find out.

His lungs began to collapse as his heart seemed to literally burst in his chest.

The underground man swiftly tied a knot in the leather as he felt the young Russian's body grow limp. He slipped away from the body, back into the timber, knowing that they would be back when all the scouts were dead. They would show Ben Raines they were sincere in their offer of help.

The last IPF member of this forward team tried to raise his comrades by radio.

He received no reply.

The team leader placed the radio on the ground. With a terrible feeling in his guts-a feeling that would soon be replaced by a terrible pain-he knew his friends would never again answer anything.

Not on this earth. Not in this life.

His own thoughts startled him, and for a few seconds, shamed him.

Then he turned to meet his fate.