verbal sound and fury.
“Why the hell did they do that!” Walker roared. “Oh-yeah. I remember. No matter. That was still the best weapon the army ever had.”
“General Walker,” General Tanner said patiently. “I would be proud and honored to have you join my HQ’S company. Your knowledge of tactics is unsurpassed, and your-was
“Boy,” Walker cut off the sixty-five-year-old retired general. “If you get any sweeter, you’re going to give the whole bunch of us diabetes.”
Again the laughter.
“Speaking of that,” Tanner said when the laughter had faded away.
A half dozen men stood up and joined the group that was making up headquarters company.
was ‘Knowledge,” Tanner said. “All right, boys. We’ve been scrounging and stealing and gathering up equipment all summer. Get on back to your billets and pack up your gear. Kiss your wives and girlfriends goodbye. We move out day after tomorrow. Scouts out at 0600 in the morning. Dismissed-and good luck.”
“Ah, sir,” Emil Hite walked up to the wounded Rebel who seemed to be in charge of the loading of equipment. The Rebel had his left arm in a sling and the right side of his face was heavily bandaged. “May I be so presumptuous as to inquire why you have all these people racing willy-nilly about, creating all this confusion?”
The Rebel officer looked at the cult leader. The contempt he felt for the man was ill-concealed in his eyes. “What business is it of yours, weirdo?”
Emil ignored that slur upon his appearance. “Because if you people are leaving this area, I would like permission to move my poor band of followers in here.”
The Rebel laughed at him. “Why, sure,” he said. “I don’t see why not. Maybe some of what we did here will rub off on you. Just as soon as we’re gone, just slide on in.”
Emil looked around him. He took in the neat fields and gardens, the homes that had been repaired and
painted and restored, the neatly trimmed lawns and carefully maintained sidewalks.
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart, sir,” Emil said. “And on behalf of my people, they thank you for your consideration.” Emil’s mind was racing. He thought: Why, with an idyllic setting such as this, he could attract hundreds, perhaps even thousands more followers into his fold. Just think of all that new pussy! Emil hid his smile and resisted an impulse to rub his hands together in glee. Instead, with his left hand in one pocket of his robe, he scratched his crotch.
“Ughum, bugum, bisco,” Emil said.
The Rebel looked at him. “Flaky son of a bitch!” he muttered.
The Rebel began yelling out orders, his grating voice causing Emil to flinch. The man reminded him in a very painful manner of his old drill sergeant. A most disagreeable fellow. Emil hoped one of the bombs that fell back in eighty-eight landed right on that bastard’s head.
“Once again,” Emil. “I wish to thank you on behalf of my simple flock of worshippers.” Somehow, Emil thought, that never came out just right.
The Rebel looked at him and laughed.
“Juggy, muggy, be bop a lula,” Emil said.
“Joe Cocker to you, too,” the Rebel said, then turned his back and walked away.
“Fuck you,” Emil muttered. “And fuck the horse you rode in on, too.” But he was very careful not to say that too loudly. The Rebel was huge. And very mean-looking.
Emil shuffled away, his robes dragging along the
ground. He caught the toe of one sandal in the hem and almost tripped himself. He ignored the laughter coming from the wounded Rebels.
“Bless you, my children,” Emil said to them.
One of them gave him the finger.
No matter, Emil thought, shuffling away, being more careful where he put his feet. After this, he would be even more revered by his people.
For a very short time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“The route has been cleared of all mines?” Ben asked Colonel Gray.
“All clear, sir,” the Englishman replied.
Ben turned to Ike. “How about the troops, Ike-they ready?”
“Eager to go, Ben.”
Ben looked at Cecil. “How about your people and the supplies, Cec?”
“Ready to go, Ben. We have supplies for a three-month campaign.”
“We’d better get it done a hell of a lot sooner than that,” Ben said grimly. He glanced at Doctor Chase. “Medical teams ready?”
“Yes,” the doctor replied softly, for once not retorting with a smart crack.
To Hector: “I wish you would reconsider, Hec. You were hit pretty hard and not that long ago.”
“My command, Ben. Where they go, I go,” the Mexican replied. “Besides, you’re forgetting, I have a personal stake in all this.”
Ben nodded. He glanced around him in the predawn darkness. A heady feeling of deja vu swept over him. He had done this before. God, how many times? The massive convoy was silent in the darkness. All motors off. Dew glistened wetly off the camouflaged metal of Jeeps, tanks, half-tracks, APC’S, rolling artillery, mortar carriers, deuce-and-a-halves, tanker trucks and off the helmets of troops and the metal of their weapons.
A messenger walked up to him, a flashlight in his hand. “Dispatches, sir. I found them to be … well, rather unusual.”
“Read them to me, son,” Ben said.
“Yes, sir. This one is from the north, up in Michigan. It’s from General Tanner and General Walker.”
“Iron-Legs Walker? Captain March or Die, from Merrill’s Marauders?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My God. The man must be pushing ninety!”
“Yes, sir, that’s the one. And General Tanner used to command the Eighty-second down at Bragg.”
“Go on,” Ben whispered. He shook his head. “Jesus God.”
“Mr. President,” the Rebel read the first dispatch under the narrow beam of a flashlight. “Have four hundred and fifty of us old soldiers moving out this a.m. in simultaneous advance with your troops. Do not fear for us. We have lived our lives and lived them well. We have seen the rise of America, and have witnessed her downfall, as well as predicted that downfall. Now it is up to you to put this nation together once more. We believe you are the only man capable of doing that monumental feat. But first we must rid ourselves of General Striganov and his IPF people. We
will dig in at various spots along the Iowa line, just as soon as our scouts report the IPF crossing into Missouri. You will have young people on both your flanks. If we have any sort of luck, we will have the IPF in a closed box. I call the young people the Orphans” Brigade, if you remember that from the Civil War. It fits them well. They’re all tough little monkeys and they’ll more than hold their own. Don’t spend too much time worrying about them. We will be shoving off at first light. Good luck and Godspeed, Mr. President.”
“Dear God,” Ben said, with more than a touch of awe in his tone. “Most of those old boys must be in their sixties and seventies.”
Ike had a large lump in his throat and was afraid to speak.
Cecil looked as though he was fighting back tears.
Chase cleared his throat several times.
Hector was openly weeping.
The messenger’s hands were shaking as he unfolded the second dispatch. “The next two messages are almost identical, sir,” he said. He read: “There are three hundred and twenty five of us to the west, Mr. Raines, and some four hundred to the east. We will be moving out at 0600. We will try to link up with your people on the lower west and east borders of the battleground, putting the IPF in a box when we do. We have no parents, no homes to return to. We are now part of your society, Mr. Ben Raines, and we will follow wherever you choose to lead us. Good luck, sir.”
