cab of the pickup. Ben looked at the ruins of Denver, the sight of the once-beautiful city almost making him sick.
“Damn shame, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind Ben.
Ben spun, the 9mm pistol in his hand. Juno had been off taking a pee.
“Whoa!” The man had held out empty hands. “I’m friendly, boy.”
The man wore a pistol on his hip, but it was covered with the leather of a military-type holster. USN on the side of the flap.
Ben holstered his 9mm. “Navy?”
“For twenty-four years. Captain when the war broke out. Chase is my name, Lamar Chase.”
The men shook hands. “Ben Raines. What happened here in Denver?”
“Enemy saboteurs hit the base and hit it hard. For
some reason, spite probably, they also placed firebombs in the city, in very strategic locations. Gas mains blew. The winds were just right. And Denver is no more. I was home on leave at that time. Took my wife up the mountains and sat it out.”
“I used to have a lot of fun in Denver. I was… I took some training up at Camp Hale.”
Chase smiled. “Ex-Hell-Hound, Ben?”
“That unit never existed, Captain-you know that.”
“Shit!”
Both men laughed. Ben took a closer look at the flap on Chase’s holster. USNMC. “You a doctor?”
“Yes. You look like the survivor type, Ben. Let’s sit and talk.”
The men talked for several hours.
“What do you think about our president, Ben?”
“I used to fuck his wife.”
Doctor Chase laughed so hard tears rolled from his eyes. “Beautiful,” he finally said. “I needed a good laugh. Come on home with me, Ben Raines-meet my wife and eat a home-cooked meal. I’ve got something to discuss with you, if you’re the Ben Raines I think you are.”
He was, and the doctor’s ideas were very nearly the same as Ben’s.
The men had agreed that the concept of Tri-States could work. And it did work for more than a decade.
“I’d like to see you try to stop me from running my combat hospital, Raines.” The old doctor stuck out his chin.
“Look, Lamar, be reasonable. Can’t I at least appeal to your common sense?”
“If I had any common sense, you crazy gun-soldier, would I be a part of anything you planned? Huh? Got you there, Raines.”
“Old goat!”
The troops stood back and listened in silence. They had heard it all many times from the general and the doctor.
“You should talk, President-General,” he said sarcastically. “I’m beginning to think you plan on repopulating the world single-handedly. Why don’t you try keeping it in your pants every now and then? Now go tend to your business while I give my doctors and corpsmen some last-minute instructions on how to patch up people.”
“Damned hard-headed old crustacean,” Ben fired back at him.
“Oh, butt out, Raines.”
“That should be corpspersons,” Gale spoke from the silvery background.
“Ye gods!” Chase roared. “Is she coming along? Raines, can’t you control that woman?”
“You’re a male chauvinist pig, Lamar Chase,” Gale said with a smile.
“Damn right I am, sweetie. And proud of it.” Lamar stalked off, roaring and bellowing for his doctors and corpsmen to get off the dime and get their asses to their assigned places in this goddamned circus parade.
Ben took Gale’s hand and together they walked on up the line.
Ben spoke to his Rebels: a word, a greeting, a sentence, a smile. He was very much aware of the fact that every man and woman present would follow him into hell, and he loved them all for that.
He wondered again-as he had many times since he had made up his mind to commit his people-how many would die because ofandfor him?
He pushed that from his mind. As far away as he could.
“Ike,” Ben stopped and spoke to his longtime friend and buddy.
“Ben.”
Ben looked over Ike’s brigade. He spotted Jerre and her husband, Matt. He smiled and nodded at them and they returned the silent greeting. Ben always wondered what went on in Matt’s head, the young man knowing the children he was raising had been fathered by Ben.
He swung his gaze and spotted his daughter, Tina. A tall young man stood beside her. He smiled at them.
He looked again at Ike and noticed the gray in his friend’s close-cropped hair.
And the thought came to him: We are not young. Do we have the years left us to see this war-torn nation rise from the ashes?
I hope so.
“Kick-ass time, Ben?” Ike asked with a gin.
The Medal of Honor winner was spoiling for a fight.
“You ready, sailor?” Ben returned the grin.
“Cast off, mate.”
“Then get them mounted up and moved out, Ike,” Ben spoke the words that would again shake the nation into warfare. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Let’s go!” Ike shouted. “Go-go-go!”
Juan’s Solis’s troops had rolled out of Arizona thirty-six hours before Ben’s column headed north. Al Maiden
and Mark Terry moved their people in conjunction with Solis. Almost seven thousand fighting men and women were rolling slowly but steadily toward the most hideous threat to humankind since Hitler’s nightmarish dreams of a master race.
And all knew that madman’s ravings could not, must not, be allowed to again rear its ugly head.
Juan knew it. Al and Mark knew it. Ben knew it. All the troops knew it. Troops of every race and nationality: blacks, whites, Hispanics, Jews, Orientals, Indians, both East and West Indians. If this nation was ever to climb out of the ashes of war and destruction and disease and hunger and lack of faith and hope, it would have to be done without bigotry adding to the seemingly insurmountable task facing those who believe in democracy over slavery, justice over lynch mobs, fairness over prejudice.
This violent confrontation just had to be. The participants had no choice in the matter.
This might very well be their only chance.
The world’s last chance.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The convoys had to move slowly, for the big tanks had a top speed of only thirty mph, and it was essential that the tanks be a part of any assault, for the M60A2 tank not only had a 152mm gun launcher, but also carried thirteen Shillelagh missiles, a .50-caliber commander’s machine gun, and coaxially mounted 7.62-caliber machine guns. It was fifty-seven tons of awesomeness, twelve feet wide, almost eleven feet high, and twenty-four feet long. Ben had thirty M60A2 tanks. Ten in each brigade.
The M60A1 battle tank was just slightly lighter, weighing fifty-two-and-a-half tons, carrying a 105mm cannon, plus .50-caliber and 7.62-caliber machine guns. Ben had thirty of them. Ten per brigade.
The M48A3 main battle tank carried the same type of machine guns, but with a 90mm cannon. It was a half ton lighter than the M60A1, but could fire ten rounds a minute from its cannon, and was more maneuverable. Ben also had thirty of them. Ten in each column.
The scant intelligence reports Ben had received had indicated the IPF had no tanks, but did have rolling howitzers and mortars.
Ben smiled a secret smile as he drove in his pickup, Gale sitting by his side. Occasionally she would rest her
