NINE

 

Ben stayed where he was, not wishing to be spotted moving away.

“Herman?” the man working to what had been Herman’s left called. “Where are you?”

Herman softly broke wind in death as gasses escaped him.

“Herman?”

Ben waited.

The second soldier came into view, dim in the thick timber and brush, his outline too obscure for Ben to chance a shot. The man again softly called out Herman’s name and moved closer.

“What is it, Hans?” Another voice was added, this one coming from Ben’s right.

Shit! Ben thought.

“Herman has vanished, Nils. He is not responding to my calls.”

“Be careful, Hans.”

Hans did not reply. He took two more steps and Ben shot him between the eyes. The man died with a very strange expression on his face. He slipped to the ground almost noiselessly. Ben turned just as Nils was making his way through the brush, almost on top of Ben’s position. Ben shot him twice in the face and caught the body before it could hit the ground.

Ben shoved the .22 autoloader behind his web belt and quickly fanned Nils’s body, taking matches in a waterproof container, grenades, and field rations. He did the same with the other dead men. Now his rucksack was more than half full. He had nine days’ rations and nearly twenty grenades.

Ben fell back about a hundred yards, then cut straight north. He had gone about half a mile before he heard the first shout. He smiled and kept on making his way through the timber. He hadn’t done as much damage as he had hoped to do this day, but he had certainly given Runkel and his men something to think about.

He kept moving north for a time before cutting straight east. Come get me boys, he thought. I’ll be waiting.

 

Colonel Runkel stood over the bodies of his men, now wrapped in ground sheets in preparation for burial, and cursed Ben Raines. He had slapped one of his men for referring to Raines as a ghost, and a moment later had apologized to the man for striking him.

Runkel had inspected the bodies, peering closely at the tiny bullet holes. Raines had to have shot them at very close range, using a silenced small caliber pistol. No doubt about it, Raines could move as silently as a ghost. Runkel vowed to keep better control on his temper.

Runkel checked his map. This forest range continued for miles, and Runkel concluded, so must they.

“Bury the men,” he ordered gently. “Then we’ll move out.”

“Which direction, sir?” a sergeant asked.

“East,” Runkel said wearily. “East.”

Several miles away, Ben built a small fire from dead, dry wood that would be practically smokeless, and brewed a cup of coffee and heated some rations. He leaned back against a boulder and savored his coffee; the brand that Runkel’s men carried in their accessory packs was better than what the Rebels carried. He’d have to check that out . . . if he ever took a prisoner alive, that is.

Ben tried to plan his next move, but that was difficult because he did not know which direction Runkel planned to move. He made a silent bet it would be east.

From his position in the rocks, several hundred feet high, Ben had a clear view of the beginnings of the vast forest range. How quickly nature reclaims her own when there is no interference from man, Ben mused. This area should remain nature’s own, he decided, just as it is. Another place for the animals to run free and wild, just as God intended them to do. He’d see about that when this little private war was over.

Ben smiled. If I survive it, that is, he added.

Ben always liked to put a disclaimer on self-certainty, lest he become over-confident. Too much of that can very easily cause a man to become careless and make a misstep. And that could earn a man a very narrow place in the ground, very quickly.

Ben buried his food wrappers and carefully extinguished the small smokeless fire. He drank the last of his coffee and rolled a cigarette. Then he set about rearranging his gear so he could carry it more comfortably and move more swiftly.

That done, he strapped on and shouldered his gear and moved out. He stayed on the south side of the vast range of timber and covered a lot of ground before deciding to call it a day and begin searching for a place to make camp.

Ben felt sure he was at least several miles ahead of Runkel and his teams, for they would be moving very cautiously in the deep timber, placing each step carefully, wary of another ambush.

Ben found a tiny creek and after looking all around, decided to bathe and wash his BDUs, putting on his only spare set. He carefully shaved in the icy water, and then sat for a time, soaking his feet in the creek. As he wriggled his toes in the cold water, he became slightly amused at how such simple pleasures could fill a man with contentment. No TV, no radio, none of the amenities that he had long grown accustomed to.

We are not that far from the caves, Ben thought, turning philosophical. For the most part, we are still hunter/gatherers. The man who is the best hunter will claim the most attractive woman and the best and most secure cave, and he will have followers. The man who couldn’t hit a dinosaur in the ass with a spear would be relegated to living in a hollow tree, surrounded by losers of his own ilk, most without the comforts of a help-mate; or at the best, a female companion who whined and complained constantly and who physically resembled the first cousin to an ape, and who had the intelligence to match.

Ben carefully dried his feet and sprinkled on some foot powder before pulling on fresh dry socks. He felt at least a hundred percent better. He had inspected the many bruises on his body—those that he could see—and was pleased to find they were changing colors, healing rapidly.

He packed up and moved a mile or so away from the creek, making his night camp well away from the tiny stream. He spread leaves thick on the ground to soften his bed before he spread his ground sheet. He was camped under a low and thick overhang of leafy branches, and judging from the sky, there was no chance of rain.

Someday I’ll write a journal about all this, Ben thought. Or perhaps allow some skilled interviewer to tell the story about how I played a small part in pulling this nation out of the ashes of defeat and despair. I could explain in depth and detail what has become universally known as the Tri-States philosophy of government. Might be fun to do that someday, he concluded. But I’d have to pick the interviewer carefully.

Ben stretched his frame out, sighed in contentment, and snuggled into his covering. Just before sleep took him, he smiled at his use of the word “someday.” If he wasn’t real careful and if luck didn’t stay with him, there was a good chance his somedays could end in a matter of a few hours.

So don’t get too cocky, Raines, were his last thoughts just as he settled into sleep.

Ben slept deeply, far too deeply, but he was very tired, and his body still had not fully recovered from the battering it had taken in the fall off the roadway in the motor home.

When he awakened, it was already grey light and someone was watching him—standing, or sitting, very close to him.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re asleep, General,” the female voice said, coming from behind him. “I know you’re awake. Your breathing changed. Relax. If I was an enemy, you’d already be dead.”

Ben turned and stared. The woman was kneeling down about three feet from him. “Good morning,” Ben said, struggling out of his coverings and reaching for his boots.

“Mornin’, General. You have been leadin’ those people chasin’ you on a merry chase, now, haven’t you?”

“I have certainly been trying.”

The woman laughed softly. “You’ve been doin’ more than tryin,’ General. I’ve been listenin’ on the radio and sometimes watchin.’ You’re damn good in the woods.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m better,” she stated matter-of-factly. “But I was raised in these parts.” She leaned over and stuck out a hand. “Jenny Marlowe.”

Ben took the hand. It was as hard as his own. “Ben Raines. What in the world are you doing out here alone in the wilderness, Jenny?”

“It isn’t wilderness to me, General. Told you, I was raised not too far from here. My pa used to run cattle just south of here. You want me to start a fire for coffee? I could use a cup.”

“If you have some dry wood.”

She smiled. “I reckon I know that much, General.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s all right. Why don’t you go take a leak and wash your face and hands and I’ll get things going here.”

Ben chuckled. “I’ll just do that, Jenny. The rations are in my pack.”

“Don’t need ’em, General. I got bacon and eggs and potatoes. How does that suit you?”

Ben’s mouth started watering at just the thought. “It sounds wonderful!”

Jenny reached behind her and pulled a pack closer. She pulled out a battered skillet and coffeepot and then started gathering up wood from the small pile Ben had put together and covered the night before.

By the time Ben had finished his morning business, Jenny had built a small fire, sliced the bacon, and it was sizzling in the pan. The aroma was absolutely delicious.

She tossed Ben a couple of potatoes and without question, he pulled out a knife and began peeling and slicing. Jenny filled the battered pot with water and set it on the inner edge of the crude circle of stones that kept the fire from spreading.

Ben stole several looks at the woman as the light got better. He guessed her to be about forty. Not beautiful, but, well, very attractive in an outdoorsy way.

She moved the fresh-sliced bacon over to one side of the skillet and dumped in the potatoes. Then she looked square at Ben. She had beautiful grey eyes. Her hair was light brown, and cut very short. “Alone, you said awhile ago? Good guess. Yeah, I’m alone. Me and my horses and a few pigs and chickens and cattle I got hid out. You’re lookin’ at what I guess is the last livin’ member of what used to be known as the Montana Mountain Militia.”

“I’m familiar with it. Quite a group before the Great War.”

“That it was, General. That it was. Blacks and whites and Indians and Orientals and Hispanics all mixed up and workin’ together without nary a hitch. Then the Great War fell on us.”

She stirred the potatoes and turned the thick-sliced bacon. Four eggs were sitting off to one side, ready to be cracked and dropped into the hot grease.

“And? . . .” Ben prompted.

“Oh, those of us that made it through the first few days held together for several years. Then one by one we grew smaller and smaller. Ambush, gangs, illness. Then it was just me and my husband and two sons, and my oldest son’s wife. One day my husband went out hunting and never came back. His horse came back late that day, blood all over the saddle. I never did find his body. Then my youngest got all tangled up with a grizzly one day. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. David should have known better than to get as close as he did, especially when that grizzly had cubs with her. He lived for five days afterward. It was a hard death. Then came Simon Border and his religious nuts, followed shortly thereafter by Colonel Runkel and his bunch.”

That startled Ben. “Runkel’s been in here that long?”

“Not in this area, but he’s been with Border for over a year. Maybe a lot longer than that. I’m not sure. Runkel’s men killed my oldest boy and took his wife, Betsy, prisoner. They had their way with her, until they tired of her. Then they killed her when she was trying to escape. One of them told me all this, after I used the hot end of a runnin’ iron on him a time or two.”

Ben smiled. This was one woman to, as he used to write in his Westerns, ride the river with.

Jenny caught his smile and blushed. Ben had seen very few women blush since the age of so-called female liberation. Being somewhat of an old-fashioned sort of man, Ben rather liked it.

“I got a little carried away with that runnin’ iron,” Jenny admitted.

“Perfectly understandable.”

She speared out the bacon, scraped out the potatoes, and then cracked and dropped in the eggs. “Scrambled or over easy?” she asked.

“Either way is fine.”

Ben could not recall when a breakfast tasted so good. He took his time, chewing slowly, savoring each bite. Then they both leaned back, coffee mugs full. Ben rolled a smoke and offered the makin’s to Jenny. She hesitated and then took the bag and papers.

“I ran out of smokes some months back. Never did smoke much. But I always enjoyed one after a meal. Thanks.”

She rolled her cigarette slim and tight and quick. Then the man and woman spent a couple of moments just staring at each other.

Ben broke the silence. “Do you live far from here?”

“‘Bout ten miles. I got me a cabin in a little valley. It was me and my husband’s getaway place. No roads, no electricity, no runnin’ water ’cept what you pump up yourself, wood-burning stove, no indoor plumbin.’ But you got to be right up on it before you can spot it. Not far from the cabin is a little hidden meadow. That’s where I keep the horses and a few head of cattle. The hogs is sort of on their own and they’re ’bout half wild now. You got to hunt ’em.”

“So you’ve been following me?”

“Yeah. In a way. I was curious as to who it was takin’ on Runkel and his men. I couldn’t believe it was you at first. Then I thought you might be about half-nuts when I heard you stickin’ the needle to Runkel the way you did. Then I finally realized you were tellin’ your people you were all right and about Runkel’s reinforcements comin’ in. Smart.” She took a sip of coffee and a drag. “But you don’t have to be doin’ this, General Raines . . .”

“Call me Ben, please.”

“Okay, Ben it is. So I figure you’re ’bout half curly wolf, the other half puma, and you’re not goin’ to let anybody push you around. Then I remembered all your books. My husband had them all. I still got most of them up at the cabin. I hauled them out and read a couple. You got in trouble with the government over a couple of series of books, didn’t you?”

Ben chuckled. “I sure did. I was visited more than once by federal agents from various departments, agencies, and bureaus.”

“Well, screw ’em if they can’t take a joke. I never did have much use for big government. And I can’t hardly tolerate these cry-baby liberals.”

“I think we’re going to get along, Jenny.”

She fixed those grey eyes on him. “I ’spect we will, Ben.”

Ben helped with the cooking and eating utensils and then rolled his bed and packed up while Jenny carefully put out the tiny fire and covered it.

“That’s a hell of a load you got there, Ben. Let’s share it. Let me have the rifle and the rucksack. It’s a long walk to my cabin. We might not even make it this day. Rain comin’ in. Gonna be a storm.”

Ben looked up at the sky. Clear and blue.

She smiled at him. “I can smell it.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Jenny. It’s your country.”

“Was,” she corrected. “And will be again, soon’as we kill all those Nazi bastards and run Simon Border and his fruitcakes out. You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

As Ben followed the woman away from the camp, he couldn’t help but observing: Nice view from the rear, too.