“In position and dug in,” Juan’s radio operator said. “Waiting for the enemy to show.”
“Good luck,” Ben told him. “Move out,” he told his troops.
Cecil’s troops slammed through the line of Ninth Order defenders. They took no prisoners. His troops, with Cecil leading them, moved through Higdon, Copper Hill, and McCaysville simultaneously: one long, hard, coordinated, violent punch. They struck the enemy and hit them totally without mercy.
After the Ninth Order had fled eastward in panic, and Cecil’s troops rolled in with APC’S and light battle tanks and Jeeps and trucks filled with troops, many civilians slowly came out of their homes, relief and welcome in their eyes.
“Are you people the army of the United States?” a woman asked. “God, I hope so. Who is president? Will there be help in here soon?”
“There is no government of the United States,” Cecil said. “It collapsed two years ago and has never been reformed. I’m doubtful it ever will. We are from
the army of Ben Raines. I’m Colonel Cecil Jefferys.”
“That’s even better, Colonel,” a man said. “At least Ben Raines had more than his share of common sense in running a nation. I’ll be more than happy to follow his rule. Those people from the Ninth Order been holding us virtual slaves in here for near’bouts two years. Them and their damned off-the-wall religion. If that’s what you want to call that mess.”
“Which way did the bulk of the Ninth Order troops go?” Cecil asked.
“They split up. “Bout half of them went thataway, to the east. The other half went thataway.” He pointed north. “Toward the gap and the Fields of the Woods.”
“Which group was Sister Voleta with?”
“The one headin” due north. Toward the Fields of the Woods.”
Cecil’s smile was grim. “Straight into Ben.” He turned around, held his arm straight up, and began pumping it up and down. He ended in a pointing motion, due east.
The column lunged forward.
“Luck to you boys!” a man shouted. He took a closer look at the Rebel troops. “And, uh, you girls, too.”
About three hundred men and women of the Ninth Order decided to cross Highway 11 at a small, deserted town just north of Lake Nottely. They made it as far as the old city limits sign. There they died in the single street leading into the town. They were not expecting an ambush; indeed, their scanty
intelligence reported no Rebels from Ben Raines’ army this far east.
About eighty of their members made it out alive and set up positions just west and north of Ivy Log. They dug in and sent word they were prepared to fight to the death.
“How noble of them,” Juan’s brother, Alvaro said. “I see no point in losing anymore troops to this nonsense, Juan.”
Juan and Mark looked at the tough little ex-street fighter from Tucson turned Rebel.
“Yes,” Alvaro said. “You see, the troops of the Ninth Order have further placed themselves in a most unenviable position. They are-was he smiled- “dug in in deep timber. In approximately one hundred acres of timber. The wind is quite brisk today, blowing from south to north. Why not just set it on fire and let nature take care of the rest?”
Mark smiled, teeth flashing very white against his dark face. “You have a cruel streak in you, my friend.”
Alvaro shrugged and smiled. “No doubt my Aztec heritage coming to the front.”
“We don’t want a raging forest fire on our hands,” his brother cautioned. “It could burn unchecked for weeks.”
“Of course not, hermano,” Alvaro replied indignantly. “I plan to set backfires to contain the main blaze. I have nothing against nature. Only the troops of the Ninth Order.”
“A splendid idea, Alvaro,” Mark said. “Why don’t we do just that?”
Raines’ Rebels shot the troops from the Ninth
Order as they ran screaming from the man-made inferno. General Raines had said no prisoners, and that was the order of the day.
When the killing was over, and the fires had been contained, Juan turned to Mark.
“I cannot understand why we have to fight. Why can’t we all just live in peace? What is it within the beast called man that prevents that?”
“When that question is solved, my friend,” Mark replied, “we will be entering the gates of heaven.”
“Here they come,” Colonel Gray said, removing his headset. “It’s Captain Willette and his bunch.”
Ike and his teams had linked up with Dan Gray and a small contingent of Scouts at the ruined and deserted town of Mineral Bluff. Tina Raines was among Gray’s Scouts.
Gray said, “They’re about three miles outside of town, traveling south on Highway 245. A full company of the bastards.”
“Haulin’ their asses, huh?” Ike said with the contempt of the professional soldier. Or, as in his case, the professional sailor.
“That would appear to be the case,” the Englishman replied calmly. “And heading south intrigues me. Preparing to link up with Silver, perhaps?”
“We’re gonna have to deal with that scumbag someday,” Ike said.
“Quite,” Dan said.
Ike turned to a young Rebel. “I want Captain Willette alive, son. Pass the word down the line.”
“Yes, sir,” the Rebel replied, lifting his walkie-talkie. He spoke softly, then looked at Ike. “Done, sir.”
Gray clicked his weapon off safety and onto full auto. He glanced at Ike. “What do you propose doing with Willette, Ike?”
Ike’s eyes were cold. “I propose to hang the son of a bitch-slowly.”
“Rather a nasty business, what?” Gray said with a slight smile.
“Quite,” Ike mimicked the Englishman.
“Closing,” the radio operator said. “Be in the center of town in a minute and a half.”
The Rebels waited motionlessly. They were concealed in old buildings, on the rooftops, behind junked and ruined cars and trucks, behind packing crates and in alleys. They softly clicked weapons off safety and onto full auto. The Rebels would be outnumbered three or four to one, but that was something they were accustomed to; it had helped sharpen their fighting skills. They waited.
The lead Jeep in Willette’s convoy swung onto the street. A man sat in the back seat, an M-60 machine gun at the ready. They were too confident, and that had led them into carelessness.
Ike figured Willette would be in the center of the column, for safety’s sake, and he had figured correctly. The Rebels let the column stretch out before they opened fire at the front and rear of the column.
Willette’s people never had a chance. They were more bully-boys than professional soldiers; only a few among their ranks had ever served in any hard military unit. And that worked against them. They did manage to trigger off a few wild rounds, which
hit nobody. But the ambush was so expertly done, it lasted only a few moments.
“Cease firing!” Gray yelled.
Several Jeeps and trucks were burning at the rear of the column. One gas tank exploded, and that triggered a chain reaction among the last few vehicles in the convoy. The gas tanks blew, sending smoke spiraling into the sky. Debris rained down on the street, adding its crashing noise to the moaning and screaming of the wounded and dying. Willette stumbled out of a car, his hands raised over his head.
“Don’t shoot!” he yelled, panic in his voice. “I surrender. I demand treatment as a prisoner of war.”
Ike walked toward him, a coil of rope in one hand. “Oh, you’ll get proper treatment, all right, Willette,” he snarled at the frightened man. “The same goddamn treatment you gave those unarmed men and women and kids back at home base. You do remember all that, don’t you?”
Willette threw up on himself at the sight of the rope in Ike’s hand. A dark stain appeared at the man’s crotch. “I was under orders!” he screamed. “I had my orders the same as any other soldier. Just like any soldier, I obeyed them.”
“Shit!” a woman Rebel said, contempt in her voice. She spat at Willette’s feet.
Willette glared at her. “You slimy fuckin’ cunt,” he said.
“You wanna swing, Willette?” she said with a grin.
