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Unquestionably loyal to General Raines. And dangerous.
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It was especially galling to Housemann to be defeated by an army made up
of all sorts of inferior beings. But defeated he had been, and defeated
soundly.
"I am to be summarily executed, correct, General Raines?" Housemann asked.
"Not by us," Ben told him. "Are you wanted for any crimes in France?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir. I do not think I am wanted by the authorities
anywhere."
"Then you are a prisoner of war and will be treated accordingly . . .
with all due respect to your rank and position."
"I thank you again."
Ben did not question the officer about Bottger's strength or territory
claimed, for he had a suspicion that he would get name, rank, and serial
number from the man and that would be all. When Housemann had finished
eating, Ben refilled both their coffee cups and sat back down behind his
desk.
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"Amazed that my people so easily took yours, Colonel?" Ben asked.
Housemann smiled, after a fashion. "To be frank, yes, I am."
"You are aware that the Rebels have never been defeated, Colonel?"
Housemann arched an eyebrow. '"No, General, I was not aware of that."
"We've lost a few battles, but never a campaign."
"That record might be broken when you cross over into Germany, General."
"I doubt it."
Housemann smiled. "If you are trying to anger me, General, you will not
succeed."
Ben returned the smile. "It was worth a try. You can go visit your men,
Colonel. We'll have hot showers up and ready to use in a few hours. And
as you have no doubt noted, supply planes are landing at the airport
now. POW camps are being made ready to receive you and your men. They
are not being staffed with my people. They are being guarded by European
Jews who escaped before Bottger's purge got into high gear-and some
during the actual purge. As long as you do not attempt escape, you will
not be mistreated. If you attempt to escape, you will be shot. And no
Rebel will interfere. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, General Raines."
After Housemann had been escorted out, Ben took a walk. Nimes was an
ancient city, first settled in 121 B.C. Many remains of Roman occupation
were in abundance in the form of old ruins, including a Roman
amphitheater located in the center of the small city, a
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William W. Johnstone
sight which Ben would not visit on this day because that part of town
had not yet been cleared.
Rebel intelligence had been correct: There were no creeps in the city
and had not been for some time. What people remained were mostly
middle-aged and elderly. Rene Seaux had sent some of his FRF in and was
arming the people. Any country that the Rebels had a hand in
freeing;-from whatever occupation force that was there against the will
of the majority- would never against be the same. Although Blanton had
almost blown a fuse and thrown a liberal temper tantrum, he had finally
agreed: two of the stipulations Ben had insisted upon with the
secretary-general of the United Nations before he would even consider
taking the job were (1) the complete arming of the general population,
and (2) his political teams could have a hand in setting up the
government and framing the constitution. Any nation that objected to
those terms would be not aided by the Rebels-so far, none had.
The prisoners were flown out to camps in western France, and the Rebels
waited until the other battalions had pulled up more or less even on a
north to south line with their position. But even then they could not
push on because of the prisoners the other battalions were taking. Many
of those punks who had boasted they would fight to the death were giving
up. The winter had been a brutally savage one, and many of the gang
members faced starvation and/or freezing to death in the bitter cold.
There were only a few holdouts left, and they were waiting in Ben's sector.
Mike had showed up and dropped that news on Ben. "These people aren't
going to surrender, Ben," the
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chief of intelligence told him. "We figure about eight to ten gangs
left, total strength about three thousand- maybe less. But they've come
together under one leader, they are heavily armed, and all have taken
blood oaths to kill you or die trying."
"Who heads the group?"
"A punk named Tony Green. Known as Big Stomper."
"Duffy Williams and those aligned with him?"
"On the French/German border, waiting for us."
"And you can bet they've been beefed up with other expendables from the
dregs of Bottger's followers."
"Right on the money, Ben."
Ben smiled at the man. "Drop it all on me, Mike. How strong a force are
we facing at the border?"
"Ben, they keep shifting around. It's a ploy to prevent my people from
getting any sort of accurate count. But I would guesstimate a force at
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least equal to our own. And this time they'll have armor and some
artillery. Lots of mortars."
Ben mentally digested that news for a moment while Mike poured a fresh
cup of coffee. When he had again seated himself, Ben said, "And the
creeps are between us and the border." It was not a question.
"You got it. They have no place to go and nothing but death facing them
in any direction. Nobody likes a creepie," he added.
After Mike had left, Ben sat at his desk for a time, studying maps.
There really was no hard decision to make; the Rebels had to push on,
regardless of the obstacles. Ben turned to look at the map behind him,
the red pens denoting the last position of his battalions.
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Two more days at the most, and the other battalions would be rid of the
many prisoners they had taken.
Then the Rebels would have no choice but to push on.
Those members of the world's press that Ben had kicked out had appealed
to the transitional government of France for permission to once more
enter the country. But this was a much different government than that of
the old. The members of this government owed their very existence to Ben
Raines and the Rebels. This government chose to ask for Ben's permission.
Ben had always believed that wars could be won much easier if the
boo-hooing, hanky-stomping, hand-wringing liberal press was kept out. It
had always infuriated him to view or read reports from members of the
press who visited enemy camps to interview members of the very army that
the forces of democracy were currently fighting. As far as Ben was
concerned, it was collaboration and treason and should be punishable by
death.
With a great deal of misgiving, Ben finally agreed to let the press back
into the country. With some very grim words of advice from him. "If I
catch any of you in front of our advance, collaborating with the enemy,
under the guise of getting a story, I'll have you shot on the spot. And
don't doubt my words for an instant. You stay behind our lines at all
times. You get caught in a cross fire, that's your problem. If a Rebel
gives you instructions, you obey instantly-or you'll be on the
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next boat back to whatever country you came from . . . providing you're
still alive."
"Is he serious?" Cassie was asked.
"Oh, yes," she told them. "Quite serious. Ben Raines is very easy to get
along with," she added with a smile. "Just do what he tells you to do."
Those listening to Cassie's words tried hard not to look in the
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