210.

The old soldier by the door had to suppress a chuckle. He despised Ben Raines, but he admired greatly the man's courage and grasp of tactics.

And also how well he played on human egos.

Hoffman was so outraged he could not speak. He sat holding the microphone and sputtered.

Say something, you idiot! Frederich thought. Go ahead, step deeper into the trap General Raines is laying out for you. We had such high hopes for you, Jesus. But we failed to see your frailties. You were too coddled, kept too close to the breast. What you are is not your fault, but ours.

"You are a dead man, Raines," Hoffman finally found his voice and composure.

Someday, for sure, as all of us must face that long sleep, the old soldier thought. But not by your hands, Jesus. Resist those orders, Generals, Frederich silently urged.

The officer who had left the room returned, his face flushed with excitement. "Generals Kroesen and Schmidt will be heading south within the hour, Field Marshal," the officer said, waiting until after Hoffmanhad released the talk key.

"Very good," Hoffman said, then frowned as Ben's voice once more filled his head.

"Hey, Hoffman!" Ben called rudely. "Stop playing with your d.i.c.k and talk to me."

Hoffman clicked off the radio and turned to face his staff officers. "I will not dignify any remark from that barbarian with a reply."

Several hundred miles south, Ben grinned and handed the mic to Corrie.

"Did I talk long enough for them to pinpoint our location?"

211.

"They're probably halfway here by now," Corrie said drily.

Ben laughed and patted her shoulder. "Well, you said you were getting bored, remember? All right," Ben said, rubbing his hands together and pacing as he talked. "Hoffman is going to throw quite a number at us.

He's not going to take any chances on us slipping away this time. He'll throw at least one division and probably two at us. What divisions are closest to us, Colonel Garcia?"

"Hoffman's First division is the nearest. But I'd guess Two and Three divisions will be the ones chosen for this. Commanded by Generals Kroesen and Schmidt. They're professionals."

"Not SS?"

"No. That is Brodermann. And we wiped out nearly half his troops." He smiled. "And he was running a very short division, as you may recall."

Ben recalled. "Then for all intents and purposes, the SS troops are but a memory."

"I would guess that he has perhaps four to six battalions left."

"Can he rebuild?"

"Possibly. But not too quickly. He chose his people very well, over a period of years. And Brodermann was not among the dead. At least not that we could identify."

"No. We wouldn't be that lucky, Jorge. All right. We'll say he has five thousand troops left him. That's still a lot of SS c.r.a.p to have looking over our shoulders."

"I hate those people," a young captain from Garcia's command said. "I loathe them." He shuddered. "They're cruel and twisted men and women."

212.

"So were the ones who surfaced seventy-odd years ago," Ben replied.

"Nothing changes."

"So what do we do now?" Colonel Garcia asked.

"Why, we wait for the Blackshirts to get here," Ben said calmly. Then hesmiled and confused the colonel when he said, "Sort of."

Ben had forced Hoffman to spread his people all over a front that extended hundreds of miles, and Hoffman had no choice but to move his people around in an oftentimes futile attempt to plug holes. He had been forced to send additional troops north of I-20 to a.s.sist General Jahn in fighting Ike McGowan and his people. Hoffman's supply lines had been stopped cold in South America and whatever supplies he received had to be flown into the airport at San Antonio and trucked out into the field.

Hoffman's grandiose plans to conquer all of North America by fall had been tossed on the sc.r.a.p heap. Ben Raines and his Rebels had stopped him cold in Texas with little hope of getting out anytime soon.

Hoffman had marched into Texas with just under 200,000 troops, and Ben Raines and his rag-tag bands of malcontents had stopped him dead bang.

Now, to make matters worse, many of his troops were walling their eyes like frightened cattle at the mere mention of Ben Raines's name. There had been talk of some old man who called himself the Prophet popping up all over the place and calling down the wrath of G.o.d upon the heads of the invaders.

Nonsense, of course, but many of his troops were getting spooked. And Hoffman did not know how to combat the wild rumors.

213.

And his closer advisor and friend, Hoffman's Uncle Frederich Rosbach, had flown back to South America. Frederich had urged his nephew to abandon his dreams of conquering all of North and South America and return with him. Hoffman, naturally, refused.

One thing Hoffman did know for certain was that when his Second and Third Divisions reached Ben Raines's position in the south of Texas, he would be rid of that b.a.s.t.a.r.d forever.

Hoffman might have felt certain about that, but somebody forgot to tell Ben.

Dawn.

"The enemy columns are proceeding very cautiously," Corrie said to Ben.

"Placement of vehicles?" Ben asked.

"Strung out wide and using all accessible roads. ETA of advance troops 1300 hours this day."

"Everybody mounted up and ready to roll?"

"Sitting on ready."

"From this moment on, maintain tight radio silence. If something has to be transmitted, use burst only."

"Yes, sir."

"Let's pack it up and get the h.e.l.l out of here."

Ben had split his forces, half heading west, the other half east.

Colonel Garcia had stepped aside without a word, knowing this wasGeneral Raines's show.

When the Second and Third Divisions of Blackshirts had moved out, heading south, Ben ordered four battalions of his Rebels to move east and at his orders, mix it up with the small garrisons left behind.

Hoffman had not yet realized it, but he had committed one very large 214.

f.u.c.k-up. He had left his western flank wide open. Ben could not understand how the man could have made such a terrible error in judgement, but he had, and Ben was going to take full advantage of it.

It was going to be a race for time and distance, one that if Ben lost could spell disaster for his command. But if he could pull it off, he just might be able to knock the boots out from under Hoffman and really give his own people one h.e.l.l of a morale booster.

"Brilliant," Colonel Garcia said, when Ben outlined his plan.

"Absolutely brilliant."

Ben didn't know how brilliant his plan was; he just hoped it would work.

Ben had left behind a small force, armed with howitzers taken from the demolished SS troops. When the two divisions came into range, the small force of Rebels and South American troops would open fire, engaging the Second and Third Divisions in an artillery duel for as long as possible.

Ben and his battalions and Colonel Garcia and his battalions would be driving straight north just as fast as road conditions allowed. When they reached the southern edge of Hoffman's First Division, the four battalions of Rebels would attack the small garrisons from the Second and Third left behind from the west. Ben and Colonel Garcia would then strike at Hoffman's First Division, catching them, they hoped, by surprise.

Scouts were already in place, waiting for Ben's orders to neutralize Hoffman's southernmost forward observation posts.

By the time the troops of the Second and Third Divisions overran the positions of the Rebel gunners left behind, who would, hopefully, have bugged out before 215.

that happened, the Blackshirt generals would realize they had been suckered. But they would be a good 175 miles south of the surprise attack on Hoffman's First Division, and unable to do anything except cuss Ben Raines. Which Ben felt sure they would do, with a great deal of pa.s.sion.

Ben was under no illusions concerning the attack. He knew he probably would not get anywhere near Hoffman's HQ. But just being able to strike within a few miles of the man would shake the n.a.z.i b.a.s.t.a.r.d down to his toenails.

But General Brodermann worried Ben. His intell people had not been able to pinpoint the man's location. And the thought of that SS son of a b.i.t.c.h launching his own sneak attack against Ben, while Ben was. .h.i.tting Hoffman with his own surprise attack, was not pleasant.

Then Corrie dropped the news on Ben."Brodermann is with the First Division," she said. "Meeting with Field Marshal Hoffman at his HQ. Apache scouts grabbed a Blackshirt recon team and got the information out of them. His battalions have been a.s.signed to Hoffman's division."

"Well, at least we know approximately where he is," Ben said. "Do we have an exact location of Hoffman's HQ?"

"No, sir. Only that he moves it daily. It seems the man is awfully paranoid."

"You have any idea what happened to the Blackshirt recon team?" Ben asked.

"I would imagine they probably tried to escape," Corrie said blandly.

"Uh-huh," Ben said.

"Our gunners are now engaged in an artillery duel 216.

with batteries of the Second and Third Divisions," Corrie said, after listening to her headset for a moment.

The convoy rolled past one of Hoffman's southernmost forward observation posts. Rebel Scouts were sitting by the side of the road, having a late lunch. They gave Ben's command car the thumbs-up sign as it rolled past.

Ben returned the thumbs-up as the convoy rolled on.

"No one's given any alarm yet," Corrie said. "The luck is still with us."

"May the Force be with you," Ben muttered.

"Beg pardon, sir?" Cooper asked.

Ben smiled. "It's from an old movie, Coop."

"Two minutes to artillery drop off, sir," Beth said, working the other radio.

They would drop off the artillery, wait until the guns were ready to fire, and then drive under the overhead arching sh.e.l.ls for just under twelve miles. By the time they struck at First Division, the Blackshirts would be softened up ... considerably.

Ben's forces would then liven things up a bit for the hopefully still-stunned Blackshirts.

"Everybody out and stretch for five," Ben said, as Cooper brought the Hummer to a halt. It would take the eleven man artillery crews just about five minutes to position the 155s and have them ready for firing.

Ben rolled a cigarette and stretched his legs while the artillery crews separated, formed up, and set up. He took a drink of water and checked his Thompson, then checked the bag filled with full drums on the floorboards of the Hummer.

"Colonel Garcia in place," Corrie said. "We will link217 up just outside the southernmost edge of First Division's encampment."

"Or what's left of it," Ben said, toeing out the b.u.t.t of his cigarette.

"Everybody knows what they're to do, so there is nothing left to say.

Mount up."

The now more than regiment size band of Rebels would roar through the devastation, firing everything they had, including Big Thumpers, until they reached the approximate center of the sprawling encampment. There, they would dismount and take the battle hand to hand.

Those Blackshirts left behind by the Second and Third Divisions had pulled back to the east and joined for greater strength. Four battalions of Rebels were now striking at that small garrison and the plan was for them to punch through and link up with Ben and Colonel Garcia.

Buddy and his battalion, along with the Outlaw bikers, were driving hard for San Antonio. They would stay there and hara.s.s the Eighth Division guarding the airport and the ruins of town. Such a small force had no hope of defeating a division, but they could keep them hemmed in and worry the h.e.l.l out of them.

While Ben was striking from the north, Striganov, West, and Danjou would be hammering hard from the north end of the First Division's lines. If all this worked, Ben's hopes were that Hoffman would be forced to withdraw to the east. Five battalions of Rebels, Dan, Tina, Pat O'Shea, Greenwalt, and Jackie Malone's battalion, were stretching out north to south along Highway 281 and setting up many of the batteries of artillery that Ben had been holding in reserve.

218.

Payon, Paul Gomez, Jim Peters, and Ned Hawkins's bunch were pushing hard to get in position to the south.

If this worked, they would have Hoffman and his men in a box.

If it worked.

219.

Chapter Five.When the first artillery rounds. .h.i.t, Hoffman was just sitting down for coffee with General Brodermann. His HQ was several miles from the explosions, but he still heard the booming.

"What the h.e.l.l?" he said, turning in his chair.

Then rounds started coming in fast and hard.