at the retreat. “Tell me,” he said, his eyes bright.
The man leaned back in his chair. He began to speak. By the time he was finished, both he and Lowry were laughing and slapping each other on the knee.
TWO
It began raining on the afternoon of the fourth day out of the Smokies, the weather turning cool. As Ben’s column moved through Kentucky and into Virginia, the skies cleared and the stars seemed close enough to touch. The column moved through the night, meeting no resistance, for the news of their coming had preceded them, and the federal police wanted nothing to do with the Rebels, for those of their kind who had fought the Rebels had died hard and quickly… and the Rebels were taking no prisoners.
After a few hours sleep, the column again headed east, meeting their first roadblock just inside the Virginia line. The scouts radioed back and Ben drove his Jeep to within a few hundred meters of the roadblock. He picked up a portable bullhorn. His message was brief.
“We’re coming through—one way or another. I’m not going around you bastards.” His voice boomed through the early morning mist. “You men can live to tell your grandchildren about this moment, or you can die where you are and be damned with you all. It’s up to you. You’ve got one minute to make up your mind.”
To the federal police, the column seemed to stretch for miles. And then they heard the snick of ammo being snapped into chambers; the rattle of belt ammo being fed into machine guns. The federal police heard too, the rustle of leaves and vegetation on the road banks that surrounded them. They knew to fight now would be stupid. They would die. They looked at each other, nodded, and holstered their sidearms and laid aside their rifles and shotguns. One of the men waved the column through. The lead vehicle passed and then Ben’s Jeep stopped by the side of the road, by the blockade.
“You men showed good sense,” Ben told them. “Now go on home until the people tell you to go back to work.”
“Who is going to keep the peace?” Ben was asked.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Ben said. “You men don’t really believe you were keeping the peace, do you?”
They shuffled their feet and looked everywhere except at Ben.
“That’s what I thought,” Ben told them. “We’re arming the people as we go. So my advice to you men is to go home and keep your heads down until the smoke clears. If any of you had a hand in torture or intimidation around here, my suggestion would be to hit the trail and keep your head down. And pray none of the victim’s family or friends finds you.”
Ben put the Jeep in gear and moved out, leaving a frightened group of ex-federal police standing beside the road.
An hour later a scout radioed back to Ben. “About seventy-five federal cops and the local National Guard have set up roadblocks just up the highway, General. Town of Marion. They’re getting ready for a fight of it.”
Ben rolled his column to the outskirts of town and then made his way carefully to visual distance of the roadblock. He checked positions and called for mortars.
“I’m not going to lose men fighting those silly bastards,” he told Cecil. “Have they been informed they may surrender?” he asked a scout.
“Yes, sir, several times.”
“Their reply, if any?”
“They told us to come and get them.”
Ben looked down the deserted street. “Have you checked the area for civilians?”
“Yes, sir. The local cell took care of that. It’s all clear except for the federal cops and guardsmen.”
Ben sighted through a range finder. “Call it 700 meters. We’ll use that telephone pole just to the right of them for an aiming stake. Give them ten rounds of twelve-pounders, HE. That ought to clear it out.”
The order was given and the
In a very few moments, those survivors surrendered. “What do we do with them, General Raines?” a civilian asked.
Ben looked at the man. “Turn them loose or shoot them. I don’t give a damn.”
The wire services and the networks reported the Rebel push without asking permission from the government censors. There were no repercussions; every ham operator in the nation and anyone with a CB unit was reporting on the Rebel’s progress.
Krigel’s Rebels were raising hell in Mississippi, Arkansas, and Louisiana. Conger’s people had pushed up into West Virginia, securing areas as they drove in. General Hazen’s people had already secured more than a third of their designated area of operation, and Hector Ramos was driving hard through North Carolina, picking up support as he went, heading toward South Carolina.
“Welcome to the state of Arkansas,” the governor greeted General Krigel from his new state capital of Pine Bluff. “Am I to understand the government’s police state is over?”
“It is in this area,” the general replied. “You may inform your police they are no longer under the auspices of the federal government.”
“You mean they are under my control?” the governor asked with a smile.
“No,” Krigel told him. “They are under the control of the people.”
“You can’t just walk into a town and take over, declaring martial law!” a police chief in Kansas loudly protested.
“We just did,” Captain Gray said, his British accent sounding strange in the Kansas flatlands.
“But… but…” the police chief sputtered. “What about the constitution?”
Both Captain Gray and Tina Raines smiled. Gray said, “Standing behind that badge, wearing that federal flash on your shoulder, and with your jails and prisons full of innocent men and women, do you really wish to discuss the constitution?”
“I guess not,” the chief replied. He sighed. “What do you want me and my boys to do?”
“Direct traffic,” Tina told him. “Maybe you can do that without fucking it up.”
The column of Rebels moved slowly through Virginia, meeting only scattered and usually light resistance from federal police and some guard units still loyal to VP Lowry. They were given a chance to surrender. If they refused, the Rebels hit them brutally, many times, taking no prisoners. Whenever they came to an armory, the Rebels took everything that wasn’t nailed down, sometimes caching it for later use, sometimes giving it to the people, sometimes taking it.
They burned all police stations to the ground, first gutting them with fire and then using explosives to destroy the buildings. They destroyed all government records of the personal lives of citizens and turned the job of peace-keeping over to the people.
They armed all adults who wanted to be armed and told them to protect themselves against arrest should the federal police or troops come in after the Rebels left. In most areas of southern Virginia, the back of the police state was broken.
At noon, Jim Slater and Paul Green landed their twin-engined craft at the small airport of Radford, Virginia. Except for a few curious stares, no one said anything about the way they were dressed, their guns, or what they were doing in Radford. Everyone knew long before they landed. They were met by a Virginia federal highway patrolman. He wore the bars of a captain. Another patrolman, the stripes of a sergeant. They walked to within a few yards of the Rebel pilots and their gunners, the gunners armed with M-60 machine guns.
“I gather it would be rather foolish of me to try and arrest you people?” the captain said.
