Part 38 (1/2)

”So Ben Raines is really dying,” a mercenary said. ”Ain't that a kick in the. a.s.s?”

”Yep,” Hartline said. ”But this time, we're going to be the ones who kick a.s.s.”

”It's about G.o.dd.a.m.n time.”

Everyone, including Hartline, laughed at the truth in that remark. For years, Raines's Rebels had been kicking a.s.s all over the battered nation. And a lot of the time, the a.s.ses kicked were Sam Hartline's mercenaries.

”Never have been able to understand Raines,” Hartline was fond of saying. ”The man was a mercenary in his time, just like me.”

Ben Raines had never been a mercenary.

He had been a soldier of fortune for a time, after his time in the Army. But never a mercenary. A mercenary will fight for any flag, any political ideology, regardless of the savagery of that particular regime.

A soldier of fortune will almost always fight with those waging war for democracy-many times for no pay, other than personal satisfaction.

There is a lot of difference between a mercenary and a soldier of fortune.

As much difference as between Sam Hartline and Ben Raines.

”What do you want done with Rich's body?”

Sam was asked.

Sam laughed. ”Dump the little s.h.i.+t in the ocean!”

The word spread like a raging, unchecked woods fire: Ben Raines is dying.

In less than a week, the rumor had spread all across the torn nation: Ben Raines is dying.

Only a few of Ben's most trusted Rebels knew the truth. The majority believed him to be near death.

Sam Hartline's fly-bys confirmed it. The spotters reported large groups of Rebels gathered around Ben's command post standing and sitting quietly. Waiting.

But still Hartline was not certain; not yet convinced in his own mind that it all wasn't some clever ruse on Ben's part. Sneaky son of a b.i.t.c.h! ”Wait,” he told his people. ”When the b.a.s.t.a.r.d is cold in the ground, that's when we'll move.”

Then the word came, buzzing out of the radios: THE EAGLE IS DEAD.

Hartline sent a team into California, ordering them to get as close as possible and check it out.

Report back.

They reported back, grim satisfaction in their report: Ben Raines is dead. The Rebel movement is in chaos. Ben Raines is being buried in the morning.

And Sam Hartline leaned back in his chair and howled his laughter.

”Get the boys ready,” Hartline ordered.

”We're gonna kick those Rebels clear into the sea.”

On the South Carolina border, a young Rebel captain said, ”We can't get much accurate intel out of there, Ike. This Khamsin, whoever he is and wherever he came from, is one h.e.l.l of a top-flight soldier. But we have found out one thing that's firm.”

Ike looked at him.

”He's got three divisions,” the captain finished it.

”s.h.i.+t!” Ike breathed. ”I hope you're talkin' short divisions?”

”A little over thirty thousand personnel, Ike.”

Ike shook his head. ”I don't suppose there's much point in talkin' about artillery and tanks, right, Captain?”

”He's got it all, Ike.”

”You know where this puts us, don't you?” Ike asked.

”Between a rock and a hard place, I reckon.”

Ike nodded. ”Well, me and Ben have been in tougher spots.” But he couldn't recall a one.

”General Raines? ...” the captain started to speak.

”Let it slide, son,” Ike quieted him.

”Just believe.”

”Okay, sir.”

Ike looked back at his teams. They were split up into twenty 6-person teams. ”It's still up to y'all,” Ike drawled. ”I ain't orderin'

n.o.body in that don't wanna go. Is that understood?”

The men and women of the Rebels squatted and stared in silence at him. ”Let's go,” Ike said softly.

Cecil had called his section leaders, company commanders, and platoon sergeants together. Dan Gray stood beside the tall, well-built black man with the salt-and-pepper hair.

Dan knew what was going on in Cecil's mind, for the same thing had been buzzing in his mind since Ben had told them of his plan.

Ninety-nine percent of the Rebels believed Ben to be dead. Now, with hard intel that Sam Hartline and his army was on the move toward the Rebelsstrongholds, Ben was suddenly going to appear.

And that was only going to further the myth that Ben was larger than life. Not quite human.

A G.o.d.

”One of the risks of this plan,” Ben had said, just hours before his ”funeral.”

Cecil stood on a raised platform and looked at the Rebels in the room.