“Considering the circumstances and all,” Jim replied, “I’d say it would be downright dumb.”
“I know you are the vanguard of a much larger force of Rebels,” the captain stood his ground. “And I know you people have destroyed any law officers who tried to stop your advance in Kentucky and Virginia. Just how much bloodshed do you anticipate in this area?”
“That is entirely up to you people,” Jim told him.
The captain looked at his sergeant. Both men shrugged. “Under this new system we keep hearing about,” the captain said, “will there even
“Peace officers,” Jim replied. “We’re going to try to keep cops to a minimum. You men think you can handle the title of peace officer?”
“What’s the difference between a peace officer and a cop?” the sergeant asked.
“You enforce the laws the people tell you to enforce and you don’t hassle.”
“I think we can handle that,” the captain said dryly. “We were both police officers years before the federalization order came down. All right, count us in.”
“Y’all sure give up easy,” Jim’s gunner said. “What’s the catch?”
“Simple,” the captain replied. “You people are going to win the first round of this war. I have no intention of dying fighting you. You’re still going to need officers to investigate accidents, patrol the highways, take care of drunks, and pick up the bloody pieces of stupid fools who shoot themselves with all those guns you people are passing out—right?”
Jim grinned. “Maybe you two will make good peace officers after all.”
The highway cops didn’t see the humor in it. The captain made that clear. “We’ve always been good cops, Reb. So have a lot of other men. But we needed a job. I never tortured any citizen in my life, and neither did Harry here,” he nodded at the sergeant. “Lots of cops didn’t. I like to think we probably saved some people from that fate.”
“Okay,” Jim smiled. “I think you guys will be all right. I’ll take you at your word. Now then, how many troopers in your district are good cops and not bully boys with a badge and a gun?”
“Not very many,” the captain said reluctantly. “Not like it was before the bombings of ‘88. Maybe… thirty percent of the troopers are still good cops.”
“How about the sheriffs and deputies and local cops?”
The sergeant spat on the ground. “Shit!” he said. “Asshole buddy system prevails there. They got their friends who can do no wrong—everyone else gets hassled. Not a whole hell of a lot different from before the bombings, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Jim said. “Okay. You two have a lot of work to do if you want to prevent bloodshed. You get in touch with the men and women you think will work with us, cull the rest. Maybe we can pull this nation upright again—if we work together.”
“I wonder how Roanna is doing?” Jane asked. Sabra glanced at her. “Last word I got from her she said she was pulling out with the Rebels. Should be a hell of a story if she makes it.”
The women locked gazes. “Something, Jane?” Sabra asked.
The small woman sighed. “For all the feeling of… unclean I have after the other night, I have to say this, Sabra: Al Cody is not an evil man.”
“I know, Jane. I got the same impression. Tell me, did you get the feeling the VP is not playing with a full deck?”
“Yes,” her reply came quickly. “I certainly did. And that phone call he got. I listened on the extension; I know that voice.”
“Who was it?” Sabra asked, excitement evident on her face.
“It was muffled; I think intentionally so. I couldn’t place it, but I’ve heard it before, many times, I believe.”
“You said Lowry kept repeating, ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir.’ Who would Lowry say that to? I know he wouldn’t say it to the president.”
“No. Certainly not.” The woman sighed. “All I can think about is the invitation for next week. I feel like a kid going to the dentist’s office.”
Sabra said nothing.
“How’s Nancy?”
“Coping. Very well, I should think. Hartline has… taken her several more times. I don’t know what to do, Jane. I’ve never felt this powerless in my life. This… helpless to deal with a situation.”
“Then we’ll just have to do what Nancy is doing,” Jane said.
Sabra looked at her.
“Cope.”
At one o’clock in the afternoon, Ben’s column of Rebels rolled into Radford. Two squads of Rebels rounded up all the police, disarmed them, and put them in jail.
“You can’t do this!” the sheriff squalled. “I’m the law around here.”
“Oh, shut up,” a Rebel told him. “Stop bellyaching. If you don’t like it in jail, just tell us, we can always take you out and shoot you.” The sheriff did not see the wink at another Rebel.
“Luther, goddamn!” the chief of police said. “Will you, for Christ’s sake, keep your big mouth shut?”
In the downtown area, many people stopped to witness the arrival of the Rebels. Many thought they were regular Army troops.
“Hey, what outfit you guys with?” a bystander called. He took a second look. He blinked. “Holy Christ!” he said. “There’s women on those trucks; and they’re armed, too.”
A crowd gathered around the lead vehicles of the convoy. A hundred or more people. They fell silent when Ben pulled up and got out, carrying his old Thompson SMG.
When it comes to firearms, the American public is conditioned to react in a measurable way. There are people who will tell you, quite honestly, that a .22-caliber bullet will not kill a person. Those people are not very bright.
An M-1 rifle will bring this reaction: “Oh, yeah. My Uncle Harry has one of those. Uses it to deer hunt.”
Many people still think of the M-16 as a toy.
A BAR is not that well known.
A 155 howitzer just sits there.
But lay the old Chicago Piano on a table, the .45-caliber Thompson submachine gun, and there is a visible sucking-in-of-the-gut reaction.
My God, boys! That thing can kill you.
“There is no need for any panic,” Ben told them. “We’re not here to harm any citizen. We’ll spend the night and be gone in the morning.”
“You people are the Rebels,” a woman said. “You must be General Raines.”
“That is correct, ma’am.”
Dawn walked up to the Jeep, drawing a number of frankly admiring glances from the men. She ignored a few hostile looks from several women. “The local cell has a town meeting set for this afternoon at five,” she said. “They want to know if that’s all right with you?”
“Let’s see what the citizens have to say.” He faced the ever-growing number of townspeople.
“How would you people like to have a town meeting this afternoon? If there is a law you don’t like—change it. It’s your town, you live here.”
“Where are the federal police?” a man called out the question.
“In jail, along with the sheriff and the chief of police.”
Another citizen shared the grins of many in the crowd. Several men and women laughed aloud. “Now, that’s a sight I’d like to see.”
“They haven’t been good lawmen?” Ben asked.
“They were appointed after the federalization order went into effect,” he was told. “Being out there in the Tri-States like you were, you probably didn’t—couldn’t—know all that was going on out here. They got awful high and mighty once they realized the ordinary citizen couldn’t touch them in any way; when the private guns were
