seventy-five hundred more troops to contend with.”
“My Lord,” Colonel Gray said after a soft whistle of alarm.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “I hope He is on our side in this upcoming fight.”
“We’ve been thinking that for five thousand or more years,” Gale said. “Believe me, sometimes I have serious reservations.”
“Let’s not tempt fate by becoming sacrilegious at
this stage of the game,” Ben said.
“For the first time in a long time,” Nancy said, “I feel a little bit of hope for the future. I feel like I’ve found a home.”
“Right.” Gale once more took her hand. “Believe me, I need all the help I can get with this bunch of schlubs.”
“Ben,” Doctor Chase said, “have you ever considered taking a hickory stick to her tush?” He jerked a thumb toward Gale.
Gale glared at him. “I didn’t know you had turned to wife-beating, Lamar.”
“Only when she needs it, baby.” Chase grinned at her.
Nancy laughed at this exchange, her first laugh in weeks.
Ben patted her gently on the shoulder. “You’re safe, now, Nancy.”
“Yes,” the young woman said. “But I keep thinking about all those poor people north of here who are anything but safe.”
“We’re going to do our best to stop the Russians,” Ben told her.
“I really hope God is on our side,” Nancy spoke to no one in particular. “I really, really do.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The column covered only seventy-five miles the next day due to numerous equipment breakdowns and the worsening condition of the roads. The terrible roads contributed to the mechanical problems. The mechanics stayed busy, cussing as they worked frantically, for they realized they had no time to waste. Each hour meant someone in the IPF’-CONTROLLED areas was being tortured and killed.
Before limping into Rolla, Ben told Colonel Gray, “Take a full platoon in there, Dan. If you find any of the IPF or any civilian who has tossed in with them-kill them.”
The Englishman smiled coldly and knowingly, saluted and pulled out. The ex-British SAS officer was one of the most savage fighters in Ben’s command.
The first thing Colonel Gray observed just outside of Rolla was the body of a black man. He had been hanged by the neck and his features were horribly disfigured. A crudely lettered cardboard sign was hanging about his neck: “NIGGERS-STAY IN
YOUR PLACE.”
Sgt. Mac Cummings, a young black, swallowed audibly. “My momma used to tell me they’d be days like this, but she didn’t tell me they was goin” to come in bunches.”
Colonel Gray said, “When-or if-we find those responsible for this, Mac, you may lead the firing squad.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
A team lowered the body and a medic inspected the stiffened corpse. “Colonel,” he called, “this man’s been tortured and castrated.”
Sergeant Cummings made a low sound of anger and spat on the ground.
“Scouts out,” Colonel Gray ordered. “Heads up and steady on, now, lads.”
“And lassies,” Cpl. Anne Lewis reminded him with a smile.
“I could never forget the lassies.” Dan grinned.
“What do you want us to do with the body?” a medic asked.
“Leave it,” Dan said tersely. “It will be a pile of rotting bones in a month.”
Sergeant Cummings’s face registered no emotion. He knew they didn’t have the time to bury the body; and what the hell difference did one more rotting body make at this stage of the game? But he had never gotten accustomed to the necessary callousness.
One mile up the pitted and weed-grown highway they were stopped by a barricade stretching from shoulder to shoulder across the highway. A sign on the blockade read: “NIGGERS SPICS JEWS and ALL OTHER NON-WHITES STAY OU.”
“I have just about taken all this crap I am going to tolerate,” a young Jewish Rebel said. His words were laced with venom.
“Calm yourself,” Dan told him. “Les, get General Raines on the horn and inform him of this development and ask what he wants us to do about it.”
The radio operator was back in a moment. “General Raines says to assess the situation, sir. If you think we can handle it, proceed.”
“Thank you, son. Sergeant Cummings? Inspect that barricade for explosives. If it is not touchy, please remove it.”
“You put your black hands on that blockade, nigger, and you’ll die!” A hard voice shouted the warning from the woods alongside the highway.
A shot cracked in the morning calm. The sounds of a body hitting the forest floor drifted out. One of Colonel Gray’s scouts stepped from the timber, a smoking pistol in his hand.
“I found another one back in the woods always,” the young man said. “I cut his throat.”
“Thank you, Jimmy,” Dan replied, as if thanking a waiter for a fresh cup of tea. “Well done. I take it the timber is secure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Dan’s walkie-talkie barked. He listened as the message spewed forth. “We got a fight on our hands, Colonel,” the forward scout reported. “The citizens are armed and hostile and waiting for us. The man who appears to be in charge says this is as far as we go. No nigger-lovers welcome in here. Told me to tell you to turn around and get the hell out.”
“How perfectly inhospitable of him,” Dan muttered. “One would think they were void of manners. How many people involved?” Dan asked the scout.
“Couple hundred, sir.”
“Pull back,” Dan ordered the LETTERRP’S. “Take coordinates for the mortar teams.”
“Roger, sir.”
“Tell me to get the hell out!” Dan muttered. “Halfwits probably never even heard of Lord Byron.”
Col. Dan Gray had come to Ben after serving first with the British Special Air Service and then, after the bombings of 1988, with the American Special Forces. His small company of Rebels were known as Gray’s Scouts. They could aptly be compared to a cross between Tasmanian devils and French foreign legionnaires, with a little bit of spitting cobra tossed in. They were experts at behind-the-lines, guerrilla-type action, experts with the knife, piano wire, brass knuckles and just plain ol’ dirty fighting.
Tina Raines had trained and seen combat with Gray’s Scouts. And Col. Dan Gray had given her the highest compliment one soldier could give another: “That lady,” said Colonel Gray, “is no lady.”
Ben was at the site in half an hour. The barricade had been torn down. Dan quietly and succinctly brought the general up to date.
Ben listened, the anger in him growing as Dan spoke. “Thank you, Dan.” He turned to the young man who had headed up the LETTERRP’S into Rolla. “Are
the people united in there?” he asked, jerking a thumb toward the distant town.
“Yes, sir-all the way. They told us they wanted a pure race of people, free of color. There is a Jewish girl hanging by the neck just down the road. We asked them about it; they admitted doing it. Said she got uppity with some of their women. We asked them what they meant by “uppity.” Said the Jewish girl was unhappy about being a servant. So they hanged her. Real nice people, General.”
“Yes. Just lovely,” Ben said. “How about the minorities that used to live around here?”
“They were either handed over to the IPF, run out or killed.”
“I see.”
