Part 19 (2/2)
She flushed but said nothing.
The Rebels moved on to Canyon dam and foundthe largest contingent of IPF people thus far.
They were spread out over several acres, in a heavily bunkered and fortified complex.
Ben studied the situation through long lenses.
Lora stood by his side, looking at him, watching every move he made. Sylvia and some of the other Rebels had found the smallest camo uniform around and cut that down even smaller to fit her. But they could not find any combat boots to fit her tiny feet. She wore tennis shoes.
Ben lowered his binoculars. ”For some reason, as yet unknown, this complex is very important to the IPF. Judging from the antennas it could be a relay station. Whatever it is, I'm not going to lose people taking it. Bring up a tank. We'll take a break while we're waiting.”
While they waited for the tank to rumble its way from the northern part of the lake, the Rebels rested as they ringed the complex and waited.
Two M60A1 main battle tanks rumbled up. The lead tank's commander stuck his head out of the cupola. ”Yes, sir?”
”Take it down,” Ben ordered, pointing. ”Then gun it with white phosphorus.”
”Yes, sir!”
The tanks lurched around and pulled back a few hundred meters.
Ben ordered his people down The 105mm guns began belching out their lethal projectiles. They corrected aim and settled down to methodically destroy the complex. Ben ordered a halt to the sh.e.l.ling and ordered in WP rounds.
The complex was soon burning; those who survived the initial sh.e.l.ling were now on fire, and screaming to their burning death.
The Rebels that ringed the complex sat or squatted or stood with impa.s.sive faces. This was nothing new to most of them. They had heard it all before, many times.
The screaming soon died away.
”Mop it up,” Ben ordered.
But as he suspected, there was nothing to mop up.
The Rebels moved around the lake to Almanor.
There, they found a hastily deserted IPF complex, the food on the tables still warm.
As before, the Rebels were gathering more weapons and ammo and other equipment than they could stagger with. But looking at the citizens who remained in these small towns, Ben decided not to trust them, and therefore, not to arm them.
”They're pitiful, Ben,” Sylvia said.
”They're losers,” Ben said harshly. ”These people we've found so far are, I suspect, the very types who p.i.s.sed and moaned and sobbed about criminals' rights a decade or so ago. They blubbered and snorted about all the bad ol' guns in the hands of citizens, and were oh-so-happy when the a.s.sholes in Congress finally disarmed Americans. Now look at them.
Slaves to the IPF, and probably, beforeStriganov came, slaves to any warlord who happened along. I would die before I became a slave to any person. You may feel sorry for them if you wish. I feel nothing but contempt and disgust.”
He looked at Lora. ”How do you feel about them, girl?”
”I don't trust them,” she said. ”I've been in the hands of men just like them. They are no better than the enemy we are fighting.”
”Out of the mouths of babes,” Ben said, and walked away, Lora by his side, her carbine shoulder-slung.
Chapter Seventeen.
Ben and his contingent rested and spent the night at the northwestern tip of the lake that night, near the deserted town of Chester. The IPF had been in Chester, but abandoned it quickly as the Rebels began their latest moves. Here, as in the other town, the Rebels found huge amounts of supplies.
And a small band of citizens that Ben didn't like and didn't trust.
Ben called the leader of the surviving group to his command post for that night.
”Name?” Ben said shortly.
”Reed. Harry Reed. I sure am glad to see you and your people, General. You're here to stay; to protect us?”
”No.”
Ben's curt reply startled the man. ”I beg your pardon, General?”
”Why don't you people protect yourselves?”
”Why ... we don't have the training for that. We Ben tuned the man out, letting him rattle on.
Same old song, different jukebox. Reasons, explanations, rationalizations. Put them all together and they boiled down to the same thing: Excuses.
”Shut up!” Ben told him.
The man ceased his prattling, stopping in mid-sentence, standing before Ben, his mouth hanging open.
The older Ben got, the less patience he had with those who would not help themselves. And it was ”would not.” Not ”could not.” Ben had and would continue putting his life on the line for the elderly and the very young and the helpless. Just as he had done back in ...
'88, he thought, with those elderly p.*
But he had nothing but contempt for people like Harry Reed.
”How many people in this area?” Ben asked.
was ”Bout a hundred and fifty, or so.”
”You mean you don't know how many?”
”Naw, sir.”
”How many children?”
”Bunches.”
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