had heard the scurrying of tiny clawed feet, and knew that rats had found them. Neither of them wanted any part of hordes of rats.

"We've got to get moving, Ben," Judy whispered. "Head back and take our chances. I can cope with the darkness, but not the rats."

"I'm with you. OK. Let's stand up. Snug the rope and let's go."

Securely roped together, with about six feet between them, they started back, both of them silently counting steps and trying to be as quiet as possible. Ben used the flashlight sparingly, fighting an urge to keep the tiny friendly beam of light on constantly.

As they neared the count's end, they both heard voices, lots of voices.

"We've had it, Ben," Judy whispered, near defeat in her voice."Not without one hell of a fight," Ben returned the whisper.

They walked on, the voices growing louder.

Ben clicked on his flashlight, startling Judy.

"They'll see us, Ben!" she whispered.

"That's the idea, Judy I want them to."

"You want them to see us?"

"Yeah. Those are my people, Judy. Those are Rebels in the cave. One of those voices belongs to my son, Buddy."

163 Seventeen Ike had seen a mutiny coming if he didn't at least make an attempt to rescue Ben, so he finally allowed Buddy and his special ops people to cross the river. They had smashed their way through the punk lines, opening up a hole. Ike then laid down smoke and several battalions of Rebels were now in the ruins of Manhattan.

"My people?" Judy asked.

"Safe," Buddy told her. "We found them about a mile down the tracks, behind a pile of rubble."

Although Buddy had not known it at the time, his people had hit the rock at the punks' weakest point, throwing the gangs back, sending them running in all directions. The next wave of Rebels hit practically no resistance for several blocks as they spread out, throwing up a protective line north and south of the old subway station.

Georgi Striganov and his people had crossed into Manhattan from the north and were pushing the punks south, trapping them between Rebel lines. Ike was pouring Rebels 164.

into the ruins, and the punks had no place to run and nothing to do except die, which they were doing in large numbers.

Ben sat quietly, smoking a cigarette, while Buddy made his report. He knew he should be angry, for his orders had been disobeyed, but he could find no anger in him.

"Doctor Chase has set up a hospital along the waterfront, Father," Buddy said. "He ordered us to bring you to him immediately."

Ben nodded his head, knowing it would be useless to argue. "Judy's people?"

"Already there, being checked out."

Ben stood up and smiled at his son. "If you ever learn to obey orders, you're going to make one hell of a commander, boy."

"Yes, sir," the young man replied, with no change of expression.

"Strip, bathe, put on this gown, and get your ass into bed," DoctorChase told Ben. "You're out of commission for a couple of days."

"You're a mean old man, Lamar," Ben said. "And your disposition is not improving with age."

"You can always fire me," Chase shot right back, grinning wickedly.

"Then I wouldn't have anyone to argue with, you old goat."

"Well, you couldn't fire me anyway," Chase replied, shoving Ben toward the portable showers. "I'm too damn old for active duty, so I have no military rank and therefore I am acting under the orders of President Jefferys. Now put that in your mess kit and shove it."

"You're impossible, Lamar. Jesus! This gown is open 165.

all the way down the back. I have never understood the reasoning behind that."

"No play on words intended, I'm sure. Move, Raines."

Ike came to see Ben several times during his hospital stay, bringing him up to date. Ben was kept in the field hospital for 36 hours, checked out from all directions by a staff of doctors. They could find nothing wrong with him, and that seemed to disappoint Doctor Chase.

"Are you happy now, you damned pill-pusher?" Ben asked Chase.

"I have to release you, Raines," Lamar grumped. "I need the bed for people who really need treatment."

"Good." Ben swung his long legs off the cot and reached for his trousers.

"Although I really should keep you for another day or two."

"Try it!" Ben challenged him.

"No thanks. It isn't worth listening to you bitch. Get the hell out of here."

"With pleasure."

Ben dressed as quickly as possible and stepped out of the front part of the warehouse, which was all that was left standing. Rebels were all over the place, but none saluted the general, for the no-saluting rule in a combat zone was strictly enforced by the Rebels. Ben stood for a moment, content just to breathe the air and watch his surroundings.

He had been informed while in the hospital that Judy and her people had been transferred over to the Jersey side. Ben did not anticipate ever seeing her again, so he put her out of his mind.

He looked up and smiled at the sight of his team walking slowly toward him. They had all been to see him in the hospital, but could not stay for very long due to all the tests Chase was having run on him ... all of which turned out to the good.

166"Well," Ben said, pushing away from the building and walking up to the five of them. "You people look all fat and happy."

"It's been boring, General Ben," Anna said. "When do we go back to work?"

"How about right now?" Ben asked, picking up his pack and CAR.

Bullets pocked the walls behind Ben and his team, blowing dust all over them. Ben, face down on the floor, turned his head and smiled at Anna.

"You wanted to get back to work, dear?"

She spat out dust and grimaced. Ben had taken his team out for what was supposed to be a routine patrol. It had turned out to be anything but routine. They had been working at the northern edge of what used to be called Mid town, and had run into heavy fighting just east of the ruins of the old Museum of Modern Art. They were in no danger of being overrun, for there were Rebels all around them. It was just annoying being pinned down, however briefly.

Rebels on the left and right flanks of them tossed a couple of grenades.

That was followed by sustained bursts of gunfire, then an unnatural silence settled over that little area of Manhattan.

"OK." The voice came from across the street. "We've had it. We're givin'

up. We don't wanna fight no more. Understood?"

"Then leave your weapons on the ground and stand up," Ben shouted.

"Hands in the air."

"And if we do that?"

"You'll live a little bit longer," Ben replied coldly.

"We got women with us. Not fightin' women. Women we grabbed or swapped for. What about them?"

167.

"Send them out first."

Half a dozen women, most of them dressed in no more than rags, began climbing out of the rubble. When they cleared the piles of rubble, they stood with their hands in the air, frightened and confused looks on their faces.

Rebel medics called out to them and the women quickly moved out of the line of fire and disappeared into the ruins. They would be transported to Chase's MASH units along the waterfront, checked out, and given treatment.

"Now stand up and move into the street!" Ben called.

They were a sorry-looking bunch. It was the fifth day of fighting since Chase had kicked Ben out of his hospital and Ben had returned to the field. The Rebels had been fighting the gangs day and night for over a week, cutting them no slack, and the gangs were exhausted.

This group of gang members numbered 20, their ages ranging from earlytwenties to late forties, a mixed bag of black and white. Back in the old days, before the world fell apart, certain liberals would have immediately begun sobbing and moaning and making excuses for the behavior of the gang members. Some members of the press would have written and broadcast that their behavior could be blamed on a poor diet as children. Or perhaps they felt rejected while in school because the coach wouldn't let them play or the homecoming queen wouldn't date them or the next door neighbor's kid had a fancier bicycle or their father spanked them, or some such crap as that.

Ben didn't buy that nonsense back then and he sure as hell didn't buy it now.

Ben sat on a pile of rubble and rolled a cigarette. He didn't have to tell his people to question every prisoner about the whereabouts of Ray Brown; those were standing orders. But Ray Brown, if he was still on the rock, had proved to be very elusive. Ben was beginning to think the man had somehow managed to slip out of the ruins.

168.

No matter. Someday he'd find him. And when he did, he'd kill him.

Ben watched as the prisoners' hands were tied behind their backs and they were led off to a Rebel interrogation point. There, they would be fingerprinted and blood would be drawn for DNA work-ups. Prints and DNA samples would be sent back to Base Camp One for possible matchups.

Ben wasn't being soft-hearted. He just didn't want to be accused of shooting or hanging the wrong people.

Since the second assault on the rock by the Rebels, gang members had been surrendering in increasingly larger numbers, and that was something that Ben had not anticipated. It led him to believe that many of the more hardcore gang leaders and their followers had somehow slipped out of the ruins and were on the run.

But so far not one prisoner had been able to confirm that suspicion.

Now, what to do with the prisoners was beginning to be a real problem for the Rebels.

The prisoners weren't giving dieir names, weren't admitting anything, and if they hadn't been mugged, fingerprinted or had samples of DNA previously taken, the Rebels had no way of knowing the severity of their past crimes.

The surrendering gang members were getting to be a real pain in the ass.

Ben walked over to the ragged line of punks, all standing with their hands tied behind them. Most of them refused to meet his hard gaze, but a few were still defiant, open hate in their eyes as they glared at him.

'' Aren' t you going to tell me all about your terribly tragic childhood?" Ben asked one man. "I'm sure that's why you embarked on a life of crime."

"Screw you, Raines!"

169169.

It had long since ceased to surprise Ben that his face was so well known. Everything from gold to women had been offered for his capture over the years.

"I do wish you people would become a bit more original," Ben told him.

"Although I'm sure that's due to a lack of something or another in your diet while young. It amazes me that Shakespeare ever managed to get a word written, considering the dietary fare of those days."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Raines?" the man asked.

"Not especially. I'd much rather be home, to tell the truth."

"Me, too, if I had a home to go to."

Ben stared at the man for a moment. He shifted his gaze to a Rebel standing close by. "Cut him loose," he ordered.

The man rubbed his wrists for a few seconds, then asked, "You gonna hang me now, general?"

"No. I'm going to talk with you. Come on."

Ben turned his back on the man and walked away, toward the ruins of a building.

"Move!" Jersey told the thug menacingly, lifting her CAR. The man moved.

Ben shrugged out of his pack and sat down on what remained of a windowsill. He dug in his pack and came up with the Rebel's version of the old MRE-Meals Ready to Eat-and tossed the package to the man.

"I thought a condemned man got his choice of food for his last meal,"

the man said.

"Be glad you're getting that."

The gang member, in his late thirties, Ben guessed, opened the outer wrappings and selected a pack, tearing it open. He ate hungrily.

"You're old enough to remember what it was like before the Great War,"

Ben prompted. "So tell me your sad story about why you chose a life of crime."

170.

The man chewed, swallowed, took a drink of water from a canteen, and said, "You know, Raines, you're a real asshole."