“I told you the shit was gonna hit the fan.” Ike smiled at Ben.
The Indians fought bravely and well with what they had, but they didn’t have a chance—not against long- range artillery and planes and Cobra gunships and Puffs and paratroopers and marines—those who chose to fight that is, and quite a few did not.
The government, at Jeb Fargo’s proddings, began its policy of extermination, with the help of many Indian- hating whites in the areas.
There was no sense in it. There was ample land for all, and the land claimed by the Indians was not that large. But governments rule by fear, and they are always right. Governments must always live under that premise.
The fighting was bloody and savage and senseless. The only good coming out of it was the death of Jeb Fargo. At the end, ragged and dirty and sick and hated, the American Indians fought what most believed was their last fight for their land.
The government had won again—almost.
For the government did not know that a company of regulars from the Tri-states was with the Indians. When the officer in charge of that detachment saw which way the battle was going, he pulled his men and more than a thousand Indians—from various tribes—out and into Oregon. There, they waited for orders from General Raines.
When the last bastion of Indian defense fell, Ben and his people knew they were next; their time had come.
The strip had been turned into an area of hell: mines, punji stakes, barbed wire, booby-traps. Foot soldiers could and would move through it, but it would be at a fearful price—while the nation’s leaders sat back in Richmond, dining in comfortable surroundings and sipping wine from crystal goblets.
It always comes down to the soldiers.
Gen. Ben Raines called for a meeting with civilian and military leaders. “We’re next,” he told his people. In his hand he held a communique that had been hand-delivered to the eastern border by government messenger. “Congress has voted to enter into war with us if we do not surrender within twenty-four hours. They say because we have formed an illegal state, and aided the Indians in their fight against the central government, we are traitors and must be treated as any other power attempting to subvert or bring down the democratic government of America.
“If any of you want to pack it in, I sure won’t blame you. I know we don’t have a chance in here, and we are too many to run. We’ll hold out for several weeks—six max. Then we’ve had it.”
No one left or spoke.
“All right, here it is. We still have some holes the troops don’t know about. Most of the women with small children didn’t want to leave, but they had to. Some of them have made it out.” He shuffled his booted feet. “Most of them didn’t. Start the others out immediately, with guides and supplies. If any of us get out of here, we’ll regroup in Canadian sector five.
“Get your people into position and booby-trap everything you leave behind.
“Yes, sir. We’ll set timers as soon as our people cross them.”
“I don’t want a bridge left standing in the Tri-states. Not one.”
“Yes, sir.”
To Dr. Chase: “How about the people in the hospitals?”
“Some of them just cannot be moved and they refuse to surrender. They’ve asked that weapons be left by their beds. I have done so. We’re painting red crosses on the roofs of the hospitals. Maybe they won’t be bombed.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Pal said.
“I’m not.”
“Cecil, did the zero squads make it out?”
“Yes, sir. They are all awaiting the signal to go.”
“All right, people.” Ben shook hands with his friends. “Good luck and let’s go.”
EIGHT
The commander of the federal forces, Maj. Gen. Paul Como of the United States Army, lowered his binoculars and turned to his aide. Dawn was just splitting the eastern sky with beams of gold. The men stood on the east side of the Tri-states’ Idaho border.
Como cursed. “Goddamn it, I stood on every border of this state for a week.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve seen the same thing each day: nothing! Not one sign of human life. No smoke, no movement—nothing. Oh, this is going to be a bloody bitch!”
Brigadier General Krigel walked up, catching the last of Como’s statement. “You know the response they gave to our leaflets. What are we going to do about the civilians and the hospitals and the nursing homes?”
“There are no civilians in the Tri-states,” Como said shortly. “The entire populace is an army.” He would rather not think about the rest of Krigel’s question, for it was because of that the Air Force had refused to bomb the Tri-states; the military was decidedly split over war with Ben’s people. “What’s the latest on aerial recon?”
“They started out at ten thousand feet and moved down to five hundred. There has not been a shot fired at any of them. We have not had one hostile move against us from the residents of the Tri-states. There are warm, breathing bodies in there—everywhere—but we don’t know if they are friendly, hostile, young, old, male, or female.”
Como sighed heavily. “The bridges all around the state been cleared?” He knew they had not.
Krigel cleared his throat. “No, sir. The Navy SEALs have refused to go in. They say they won’t fight against fellow Americans. Some of those people in there were SEALs.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn what they
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I would sure hate to be the person who tried that.”
Como ignored that, fighting to keep his anger under control. He glanced at his watch. “All right, then—the hell with the SEALs.” He glanced toward the east. Much lighter. “Get the airborne dropped.”
“The drop zones have not been laid out, sir.”
“What!”
“Sir, the Pathfinders went in last night, but they all deserted and joined the Rebels. To a man.”
“They refused to lay out the DZs. Sir, they said they won’t fight fellow Americans, and anyone who would is a traitor.”
