“Separate but not quite equal, eh?”
“More or less.”
“It’ll never work, General.”
The general’s face brightened. “Sure it will, boy. You don’t know the American people like I know them. Deep down, boy, we’re the master race. Besides, we’ve got the guns—most of them. And the military will be revered in our society—not like it used to be. Logan plans to resettle the people, reeducate them, kind of reprogram them, so to speak. All at the same time he’s offering the hand of good fellowship to the jungle-bunnies in Africa.”
“Changing the subject momentarily, General—you don’t mind if I stall for a bit more time?”
“Not at all, since you’re not leaving this club alive.” The general’s eyes were hard.
Ben had figured that out all by himself. Under the table, he slipped the M-10 off safety, speaking just a bit louder to cover the metallic click. “How come, General, we survived, and so many others didn’t?”
The cassette recorder was rolling, taping it all.
“Good question, Raines. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and reached this conclusion: beats the shit outta me.”
“For a fact, General, the truth: Russia and China?”
“Gone. Hell, boy—you don’t think we actually destroyed all those nukes, do you, back when the final SALT was signed? No way. There is nothing left, sonny. Human, that is.”
“Fallout?”
“We’ll be getting some—but don’t worry, you won’t be taking any of it. We won’t be taking much. Too many clean bombs used.”
“You men in on the general’s plan to be part of the master race?” Ben asked the trio.
“All the way, partner,” the captain said. The sergeants nodded.
Ben pulled the trigger of the M-10, working the weapon from left to right, clearing the room of all living things in front of its stuttering muzzle.
He rose from his half-crouch to look at the carnage he had wrought. They were all dead. He got into his truck and drove to the communications center of the base. He stood for a moment looking at the maze of electronic equipment. None of it looked familiar. He finally managed to turn on what he hoped was a radio transmitter and set the dial to 39.2. He keyed the mike and watched the VU meter jump with needle action.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “This is Ben Raines,” he spoke slowly. “I hear you people have been looking for me.”
“How do we know you’re Ben Raines?” a voice jumped back at him. “We’ve had two dozen crank callers.”
“How do I know you’re who you claim to be?” Ben challenged.
“The Bull told us about the last time you two saw each other. He shouted something to you as he stood in the door. We know what he said. And if you’re Ben Raines, so will you. Do you remember those two words?”
“Bold Strike,” Ben said.
“Sorry, General Raines, sir. But we had to be certain. Lot of snooping going on.”
“Yes, you are, sir. Begging your pardon.”
“I’d like to know just who in the hell told you that!”
“Colonel Dean, sir.”
“A colonel can’t make anybody a general.”
“The Bull can—and did, General.”
Ben released the mike button. “Shit!” he said. “Now what?” He pushed the mike button. “How… ah… do I scramble this thing?”
“On which end, sir?”
“Both ends!”
“What is the number on the transmitter facing?”
Ben looked, found about forty-eight different numbers. He settled on the largest number that seemed permanent.
“Look to your left, sir,” the voice told him. “A switch with the word ‘scramble’ just above it. Flip the switch.”
Ben looked. There it was. He felt like an idiot. “Some general I am,” he muttered. Keying the mike, he said, “Am I scrambled?”
“Repeat, sir.”
Ben repeated.
“Scrambled now, sir.”
Ben informed the voice of what had just transpired in the service club.
“Yes, sir. We know Logan is planning worldwide power play under the guise of a good-neighbor policy. But our immediate concern is: what do we do?”
“Are you people nationwide?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you handle explosives?”
“We can do anything with explosives, General.”
“I am
“Yes, sir.”
Ben sighed. He waited.
“General Raines? Are you still there?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Ben punched the mike button. “You wanna know what you can do? I’ll tell you: you can order your people to slip onto every military base in this nation and destroy every goddamned plane they find.”
“Yes, sir, very good, sir. That will prevent Logan from getting the jump on us. We have men among us who can fly those planes, sir. Shall we take some for our use?”
“What use!” Ben yelled.
“For the defense of our nation, sir.”
“What fucking nation!” Ben screamed.
“The one the Bull told us you had planned. The one you used to talk about in ‘Nam.”
Ben’s sigh was long and frustrated. “By all means… ah… to whom am I speaking?”
“Lieutenant Conger, sir.”
“Fine. All right, Conger. If you people have places in… ah…” He closed the mike switch and thought for a few seconds, then said, “Idaho or Montana, take them there. Pick up anything you feel you might need along the way. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
With the mike closed, Ben said, “Goddamned yo-yo. That ought to keep them busy.”
“General Raines?” The voice popped and snapped.
“What!”
“Where are you, sir? I need your location so I can send some personnel to guard you until you link up with us.”
“Guard me? Goddamn it, I don’t need anyone to guard me!”
The voice was silent for a few seconds and Ben was sure he had broken off transmission. “Yes, sir. You said General Ruther, sir? That’d be Shaw AFB. We’ll have our South Carolina contingent pick you up as soon as possible. I—”
Ben began shouting into the mike, not knowing whether the man called Conger was off the air listening or still jabbering his nonsense. “Now, you listen to me!” Ben roared. “I am
“Affirmative, sir. But you can’t make me commander.”
“Why the hell not?”
