Part 19 (1/2)

”Speak!” ”Well, like I done tole the other feller I come up on ”I am not that other ...

feller”

Khamsin said, his English flawless, without a trace of any accent. ”You will tell me exactly what you told him.” ”Okay,” the man said. ”Can I sit down?”

”No.”

”I'm tared.”

”What you are, I believe, is an idiot.

Your life means nothing to me, American. Have you ever seen a human being skinned alive?”

The man swallowed hard. ”No, sir.”

”Would you like to experience it? Personally?”

”G.o.d, no!”

”Then speak!”

”I know how to get to Ben Raines.”

Khamsin leaned back in his chair. He stared hard at the ragged American standing before him.

Fiftyish, he guessed. He sighed. Khamsin really did not have much interest in Ben Raines-not at this time. Ben Raines, from what he had been able to gather, was a malcontent and a troublemaker. A man who had a small force of people, perhaps five or six thousand strong, who ran about like a modern-day Robin Hood, preaching all sorts of strange dogma.

Ben Raines was obviously a fool.

But, Khamsin thought, perhaps he should listen to what this whining wimp standing before him had to say. It might someday be useful.

So he listened as the man droned on and on.

Khamsin finally cut him off with a curt slash of his hand.

”Enough of your prattling. I thank you for your information. Go get something to eat and stay close. I might wish to speak with you again.”

As the man left, one of Khamsin's closest aides entered the office. What he had to say caught Khamsin's attention and held it.

”We have underestimated this General Ben Raines, Colonel. Badly underestimated him.”

”Elaborate, please.”

”Ben Raines was once President of the United States. For a brief period of time. Before the disease-carrying rodents came and very nearly wiped out the population.”

Khamsin nodded.

That Ben Raines. His people had been at sea during that time of death. And at that time, Khamsin had not been terribly interested in settling in the Americas. The climate was terrible.

”More, please.”

”Right now, Ben Raines is fighting in the west, fighting a General Striganov and some mercenary named Sam Hartline.”

”I am familiar with Hartline. We used him about fifteen years ago. In Lebanon. He's a good soldier, but his brains sometimes are located in his c.o.c.k. Put him around a woman and he forgets everything except what is between his legs and what is between her legs. Go on.”

”Ben Raines and his Rebels have lost a few battles, Colonel. But they have never lost a war.” Khamsin's eyes locked with those of his young aide.

”Never?”

”Never.”

”Continue.”

”Many people believe the man is a G.o.d.”

Ben looked at the blood that stained his hands. He let his eyes drop to the warm body of the dead IPF soldier with the sliced throat. He wiped his blade clean on the IPF man's battle s.h.i.+rt and sheathed it. Lifting his right arm, Ben waved his team forward. They rushed silently past the now-cooling body of a forward sentry.

Soon, the small towns surrounding Lake Almanor would be free of the yoke of the Russian, Striganov.

Ben and his Rebels began with the easternmost town of Westwood. : ”About a dozen heavily armed and bunkered-in IPF people there,” a recon team reported back.

”Don't risk your a.s.ses with heroics,” Ben ordered. ”Blow them out of there.”

Mortar teams were rushed into position, the tubes checked, the bubbles leveled, and what was to pa.s.s for aiming stakes sighted in. The small complex of the IPF erupted in smoke as the 81mm rounds fluttered true.

Any IPF personnel who escaped the initial attack were shot down as they tried to flee.

Raines's Rebels moved on to Clear Creek and blasted the equally small contingent of IPF people out of their holes.

”The survivors want to surrender, General,”

he was informed.

Ben merely looked at the young man.

He got the message.

No prisoners.

Ben had preached it and thought he had it drilled into the heads of all his people: When in war, whether one is fighting a cause, a faction, a nation ... it must be made clear from the outset, before the hostilities begin, to the common soldier and to the leaders, this is how it will be: I will kill your mother and father, your sister and brother, your dogs and cats and horses and cattle and sheep and pigs. I will poison your water, burn your houses to the ground. I will kill your kids and your wife; I shall show no mercy to anyone or anything aligned with you. I shall inflict so much personal grief and pain and suffering and outrage, that, to a person, you will have but two choices: surrender or die.

”They are trying to surrender, Ben,” Sylvia said, standing by his side.

”But they wanted to fight a moment ago, kid. And that is not the way I play the game.” He gave the orders. ”Destroy them.”

He turned to Sylvia and waved the young man away. ”Don't ever question an order of mine again, Sylvia. Not ever.”