"We all knew something like this could happen at any time," Ben's son Buddy said, standing up. "Father took terrible chances but loved every minute of it. He lived for combat. But he also told both Tina and me, more than once, that his odds for catching a bullet were just as high asanyone else's, and if that happened, the movement had to go on.

Personally, I don't believe he's dead. He might be captured or wounded, but I don't believe he's dead."

Ike cut his eyes to Doctor Chase. "Ben's team, Lamar?"

"They'll all recover. Their wounds were numerous, but none of them life-threatening. I'll repeat this for any who missed it before-Anna said the last time she saw Ben, he was entering what was left of an old building. Then the mortars really started coming down thick and fast.

She said the building took about half a dozen hits. That's when she got hit, one bullet striking her helmet and knocking her unconscious. The next thing she remembers, she was crossing the Hudson. What I would really like to know is, what happened?"

"We grossly underestimated the strength of the gangs," Ike replied. "And more importantly, their ability to fight and to plan. We now know they are massing in three different locations outside this area. If we don't stop them now, we'll be the ones in a box. Not a very secure box, one that we could punch through almost at will, but it's a situation we have to deal with ... ah, before we can once more tackle Manhattan."

There was a low grumble of discontent from the ranks of the batt corns.

92."Be quiet!" Ike shouted, holding up a sheet of paper. "Those are Ben's orders. Right here!" He waved the sheet of paper. "You all know that Ben spells out every contingency before a battle. Well, here it is. And I'm not about to go against his orders. Now just settle down. Georgi, have your people start laying out mines in the southernmost part of your section, then back up and wait. All we can do is contain die gangs in Manhattan until we deal with the new fronts."

The Russian growled something in reply but reluctantly nodded in understanding.

"The rest of you have your orders," Ike finished. "Prepare to move out.

Dismissed."

Ben was hunkered down behind a wall of rubble, waiting for a large patrol of punks to pass by. It was the tenth patrol he'd seen since leaving his original position... four blocks back.

"Damn shore kicked their asses this day," one punk said, then laughed.

"Them Rebels ain't much, you ask me."

"And we got enough food and medicine and guns and ammo to last us for a long, long time," another said. "Maybe even long enough for us to hold out until the Rebels give up and move on."

When pigs fly, Ben thought.

"An' enough prime new pussy to las' us for a long, long time," another said. "If our leaders will ever get done pumpin' and hunchin' an'

wallerin' it out."

"Ah, hell, Royal. Pussy bein' what it is, that snatch'll snap right back and tighten up. We'll get our turn.""Nice thing about it all-" Ben caught the words from the last man in the patrol as they passed "-is the Rebs 93.93.done us a favor by killin' off a bunch of them stinkin' creeps."

"That's about the only favor them assholes ever done for us," another said.

The patrol rounded a corner and was gone.

Killed the men and took the women prisoner, Ben thought. Well now. I don't know what I can do about that little situation, but I can damn sure raise some hell with the punks.

All thoughts of escape from Manhattan left Ben as he crouched behind the pile of rubble. He did not realize it, but his lips had curved back in something that resembled a snarl.

Ben Raines, the ol' curly wolf of the Rebels, was about to go on the prowl.

Ben began once more working his way toward the west. But he wasn't as interested in reaching the waterfront as he was in reaching a couple of gang members who might be taking an evening stroll among die ruins.

If he found a couple, he could guarantee diem it would be the last stroll they would ever take.

Before he had gone half a block, Ben almost stepped on an object lying amid the rubble. He knelt down. It was an old piece of half-inch lead pipe, about two feet long. Ben smiled and picked it up, hefting the pipe. It would make a dandy shillelagh to bounce off someone's noggin.

And he didn't have to worry about cracking the skull of a friendly. On diis terrain, there were no friendlies.

Ben heard a low murmuring of voices and stepped back into the darkness of a building stoop and waited.

Two voices. Two men. Ben smiled as their words grew louder, filled with ugliness and profanity. When they reached his position, he stepped out and busted the closest one across the forehead with the heavy pipe, cracking the man's skull. The punk dropped as if hit with a pile-driver.

"What the hell!" the second one managed to say.

94.Ben stopped all further conversation by slamming the lead pipe against the side of the punk's head. He fell in a heap on the littered sidewalk.

Ben had hit a gold mine. One of the men was carrying a full medic's pack, and the other was carrying a rucksack filled with grenades. Both were carrying Rebel M-16s, with full magazine pouches and Rebel web belts widi two canteens.

The first man Ben had hit died while Ben was removing the web belt. The second was still alive, but bleeding from the nose, mouth, and ears. Bendragged both of them into a building and left them.

Ben now had one hell of a heavy load, actually too much of a load for him. The canteens of water alone probably weighed 25 pounds. But he managed to go two more blocks before deciding he had to stash some of the gear. He hid the two M-16s, four of the canteens and some of the ammo in the ruins of a building and moved on, his load much lighter.

Two more blocks, and he ran into a line of punks. Somebody in the leadership was getting smart, for they had stretched the punks out in a line running south to north, effectively cutting off Ben's access to the waterfront. Every street and alley was blocked, and the punks were digging in for a long stay, fortifying every position.

"Interesting," Ben muttered to the night. "Why would they be doing that now?"

He thought about that for a moment, then concluded that the gang leaders suspected some Rebels had escaped the mortar attack, but had not been evac-ed from Manhattan. They were attempting to block as many avenues of escape as possible ... and doing a pretty good job of it.

Ben cut back east and made his way to what he felt sure was Broadway. A plan was taking shape in his mind.

He might be blocked from escape, but he sure as hell 96.95.wasn't blocked from taking action. But he couldn't just jump in and start shooting. That would be signing his own death warrant. He had to hole up somewhere out of sight and formulate a plan of attack.

It was doubtful that the two punks he'd killed would be missed. But when he started head-hunting in earnest, the leaders of the gangs would know they had a situation and come looking for the troublemaker.

That meant he must behave like a bunny rabbit and have several exit holes.

He had carefully marked on his map the location of the cache of weapons, ammo, and water. He did not want to leave food, for he knew the rats would find that. A rat might actually enjoy Chase's hi-energy bars.

97 Nine Gangs of thugs that had been hiding out in small groups all over the northeast massed and attacked Rebel positions. Ike called in every battalion in the Rebel army. But until reinforcements arrived, he could not worry about whether Ben was dead or alive in the ruins of Manhattan; he had a fight for survival on his hands.

Ben knew nothing of this. He had no radio and was cut off from the outside world. On the day he awakened in the gray light of his first early morning of isolation, he was hungry, thirsty, pissed off, and ached all over from bruises the falling debris had inflicted on his body.

Ben ate half of a hi-energy bar and thought longingly of bacon and eggs, home fries, biscuits and oatmeal and a pot of coffee.He washed down a couple of aspirin with sips of tepid water and stood up, suppressing a groan as his battered body protested the movement.

He walked over to what used be a window on the second 98.floor of the building and looked out. He could see smoke from hundreds of cook fires, some of the smoke distressingly close to his position.

Ben packed up his gear and struggled into the pack, then picked up his CAR and his lead pipe club and carefully made his way down the rickety stairs to the ground floor. Just as his boots touched the floor, he froze as a man's voice reached him. The man appeared to be muttering to himself.

Jesus! Ben thought. It's a good thing I'm not a restless sleeper or I'd be dead.

The man walked into view and in the gloom of the old building, Ben could see that he was armed with an AK-47 and wearing a blue bandanna tied around his head. Ben wondered if those were gang colors, for the two men he'd bashed on the head hours before had been wearing the same color bandannas.

The man stepped closer and Ben whacked him on the noggin. The punk dropped unconscious to the floor, losing his grip on the AK. The AK bounced and clattered to the floor.

"Hey, Willie!" The shout came from the outside. "What's the matter, boy?

Did you trip over your dick?"

Ben slung his CAR, shoved the lead pipe behind his web belt, and picked up the AK, checking it. He tore the ammo pouch off the man and slung it over one shoulder, straightening up just as the doorway filled with men.

"Goddammit!" one of the punks yelled, the sight before him registering in his brain.

The gang member didn't have long to think about it. Ben leveled the AK and pulled the trigger, clearing the archway of all living things.

Ben whirled around and was out the back door and in the alley before the echoing of the gunfire had died away. He ran up the alley and ducked into anodier building, 99.99.silently hoping the building's other entrances and exits weren't blocked by debris.

In the semi-darkness of the building, a man rose up from dirty blankets and said, "What the hell's going on?"

Ben butt-stroked him under the chin, scooped up a rucksack by the man's rifle, and kept on running. He had no idea what was in the canvas rucksack, but hoped it was something he could use. The man fell back inhis blankets for an additional and totally unexpected snooze.

Ben cut to his left and emerged in a courtyard between buildings. He cut to his right and stepped into the gloom and ruins of another building, then paused for a few seconds to catch his breath and look into the heavy rucksack. It was filled with grenades.

"The gods of war must be smiling on me this day," Ben muttered. He heard a shout, followed by running feet. Several punks had entered the courtyard. They paused, looking all around, trying to determine who, or what, was causing all the commotion.

Ben popped the pin on the grenade and chucked it, the mini-bomb landing right in the middle of the knot of punks.

Ben didn't wait around to see what carnage he caused; he turned and ran toward a stream of dim light pouring through a blasted hole in the wall.

He could see empty street beyond that. He wished he had some thin black wire, and some time, so he could rig up booby traps for the unwashed.

He also wished for a pot of coffee.

His wishing abruptly vanished as a huge woman stepped in front of him.

The woman was not fat, just big. About six feet tall and a good two hundred pounds.

"Who the fuck are you?" the woman asked, her extremely bad breath fouling the air. Ben also caught a whiff of body odor that would stop a stampeding ox.

100."Jesus, lady," he said. "Did your mother forget to introduce you to soap and water?"

"Haw!" die near-amazon said.

Ben kissed her with the butt of the AK and the big woman hit the floor.

"I really would like to stay and continue this sparkling conversation, lady, but I have pressing matters elsewhere," Ben muttered.

The big woman farted in her unconsciousness, and that put wings on Ben's boots. He headed for the light and, he hoped, a breath of fresh air.

What he got, standing in the light of the side street, was a half dozen punks. Ben ran into them, knocking several off their feet and sprawling in the dirty alley.

Ben recovered first, not due to any skill on his part- he just ran into a wall that stopped his forward motion. He spun around and leveled the AK, holding the trigger back and spraying die lead.

When die magazine emptied, Ben didn't wait to see how many gang members were out of action permanendy; he just took off running into the next building, into an alley, into die next building, changing magazines on die trot. His face was dirobbing from die impact against die brick wall and he could feel die blood trickling down his face from several cuts.

He exited diat building and found himself in a brick-walled courtyard of some sort widi no way out."Shit!" Ben said, and entered die building he'd just exited. This time he headed, he hoped, for die front of die building and die street, but he couldn't be sure-his sense of direction was all screwed up from die twisting and turning he'd done.

Ben slowed when he saw die blown-out shop windows pouring light into die gloom of die interior. Squatting in die stoop of die doorway for a moment, he caught his breatii and listened.

101.

101.

All of the shouting seemed to be coming from his right, several blocks down. He did some fast figuring. He must have traveled, since the evening before, about eight or ten blocks north and two or three blocks west. He pulled out his map and studied it. He was on West Broadway, and the street directly to his left was Canal.

But why no punks in this area? Why hadn't they pursued him?

He thought about that for a moment.

Then the answer came to him.

Night People.

He was in creepie territory.

"Oh, hell!" Ben muttered.

He slowly rose to his boots and looked behind him. Nothing there but rubble. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned to his left, jogging up the street. If his calculations were correct, he was just south of the SoHo historical district-smack in the middle of creepie country.

Not a very comfortable situation.

He crossed Canal and ducked into the ruins of a building. The familiar smell assailed his nostrils. Grimacing, Ben backed out of that building, turned to his left, and kept walking for several blocks. He saw no punks but smelled plenty of creeps.

He stopped to rest, for his head still throbbed slightly and his body ached form the pounding of the bricks. Once more, he consulted his map.

Useless, for the map didn't list all the smaller streets. Ben wasn't sure where he was.

Rested, he continued on north, moving cautiously. After several blocks, the smell of creepies faded and Ben guessed he was once more in punk territory. He slipped into a building and carefully inspected the ground floor, the only floor that remained. It was clear of punks and there was no telltale odor of creeps. Ben sat down on the floor, took a sip of water, rolled a cigarette, and pondered his 102.

situation, which was not good, no matter from which side he mentally approached it.He was holding the unlit cigarette in one hand, lighter in another, when a voice behind him said, "You're no punk, mister. I can tell that much.

But that doesn't mean you're not the enemy. You just sit still and don't move. You move, and I'll kill you."

A woman's voice. Not old, not young. "Do I have your permission to light this cigarette?" Ben asked.

"Yeah. I guess so. But do it slowly."

Ben lit up. "I'm going to put this lighter back in my pocket-okay?"

"All right."

The voice moved around to one side and Ben cut his eyes, following her movement. His eyes widened at the sight. A very attractive lady stood holding an M-16, and Ben had no doubt she knew how to use it-and would.