Part 27 (1/2)
The young lieutenant flushed.
Striganov hid his smile. No need to personally berate the young man; the major had done it for him, quite well.
”He's playing a waiting game, sir,” the grizzled, battle-hardened major continued. ”Cat and mouse, so to speak.”
”But who is the cat and who is the mouse?”
Striganov tossed the question out.
A question no one chose to answer.
”On another matter, sir,” a captain said. ”There is something odd going on in Oregon.”
”Odd? With Hartline, you mean?”
”Yes, sir. Our people up there report that Hartline left his base camp for several days.
When he returned, he was, well, different.”
”Different? My G.o.d, give me something more to go on than different.”
”Well, sir, he's spending a lot of time with his communications people, for one thing.”
Striganov was immediately suspicious. Sam had not been in radio contact with him, he knew that. ”Any idea who he might be contacting?”
”He's using ham radio equipment with special scramblers. Our people are busy trying to break it down now. But they have pinpointed the location of the returning transmissions. South Carolina.”
Striganov turned in his chair, gazing at nothing. He had known it was bound to happen, someday.
And that day had dawned.
Sam Hartline was selling out.
”Something wrong, General?” the major asked.
”Yes,” Striganov replied, his back still to his men. ”Sam Hartline is turning on us. It does not surprise me. Disappoints me, yes, but comes as no surprise.”
”Do you wish to send in a K team, General?” the major asked.
”Not yet. Let's let Sam dig his own grave.”
”A lot of radio between Oregon and South Carolina, General,” Ben was informed.
”Can you make it out?”
”Bits and pieces. We know for certain Hartline is talking with the commander of the Islamic Peoples Army. Not talking to him directly, but the messages are directed to this Colonel Khamsin.”
”So the Hot Wind is beginning to blow,” Bensaid. ”Any further word from our recon teams?”
”Yes, sir. They're in place along the border of South Carolina. Teams from Base Camp One are working with resistance fighters.
Recon reports everything is shaping up, but they're not very large in numbers. Not nearly strong enough to try anything head to head with the IPA.”
”How about those outlaws and warlords that pulled out of here?”
”They're linked up with those outlaws Hartline put between us and the Mississippi. They're pretty careless about radio security. We can, so far, track every move they make. And ... something else, sir. I think, our intelligence people think, Sam Hartline is going to turn on the Russian.”
Ben nodded his head. ”It would be like Sam to do something like that. Sam wants on the winning side.
Always. What else?”
”Your name keeps cropping up in these radio transmissions, sir. And, sir ... General Jefferys has ordered more security around you, at all times.”
”G.o.ddammit!” Ben exploded. ”I've got a squad around me now. I can't move without b.u.mping into someone.”
The Rebel said nothing.
Ben cooled down a bit. ”I'm not yelling at you, son. Just letting off a little steam in general.”
”Yes, sir.”
”James Riverson will be in charge of your security, sir,” Ben was informed.
”James is getting entirely too G.o.dd.a.m.ned old for this business,” Ben b.i.t.c.hed.
The young Rebel wondered how old Ben Raines was. Somewhere around fifty, he thought. He hoped when he was that old he would be as active as Ben.
”Sir? Ike radioed in. His people are getting restless.”
”I'm sure,” Ben said. ”And he's getting too G.o.dd.a.m.n old for this mess, too.”
Again, the Rebel said nothing. Ike McGowan was like a bull, commanding just about as much respect as Ben Raines.
Suddenly, Ben smiled. The young Rebel watched him closely.
”Let's go stick some needles into the IPF,”
Ben said. He slung on his battle harness and picked up his old Thompson. ”Like right now, boy.”
”All right,” Ben told his hurriedly gathered commanders. ”Striganov wants us to bring the fight to him. Fine. We'll do just that. A little at a time.
He wants the whole sandwich-we'll give him crumbs.”
Ike, Cecil, and Dan began smiling. They had known all along that Ben would not stand and slug it out with the Russian. The Russian had the superior numbers. Ben was going back to his original plan: a dirty little guerrilla war.
”Ike,” Ben said, ”send your teams in from the south. Dan, your people will come in from the north. I'll come in from the east. Cec, once again I'm asking you to stay in reserve.”