"BLIVET. It's something Ike taught me.

It's an old military expression."

"I'm not familiar with it. It means? ..."

"Ten pounds of s.h.i.t in a five-pound bag!"

Khamsin's eyes turned even more dark and evil.

He rose from behind his desk and calmly walked around to Nina's side. He slapped her out of her chair.

Khamsin reached down and grabbed Nina's bandaged feet. He squeezed her toes, laughing as she screamed from the pain.

"Scream, little bird," Khamsin said, his voice taunting. "Perhaps your Ike McGowen will hear you and come to your rescue."

"Wrong," she whispered. "Rebels are expendable. No matter how much Ike cares for me, he won't risk people coming after me." Nina knew that was not true, but maybe she could give Ike a fighting chance to get through to her.

She felt he was on the way. Perhaps very near. Butshe would never tell that to this camel-humper.

Khamsin stepped back, regained his composure, and gestured for her to get back into the chair. She did, slowly and painfully, almost falling as she fought the pain in her tortured feet.

She sat and stared up at him, defiance in her eyes.

Khamsin watched the woman. He knew, from years of active terrorism, that anyone and everyone could be broken. But sometimes, one had to weigh carefully what would be gained by it.

Khamsin believed the woman knew very little about the Rebel movement. So therefore there was little use in continuing her physical discomfort.

Khamsin felt a stirring in his groin as he stared at the fair-skinned woman. He felt himself begin to thicken as pa.s.sion took him.

He walked to her and picked her up effortlessly, placing her on a bunk. "I will not hurt your feet, little bird."

I won't die from rape, she thought. Come on, Ike-hurry!

Ike wiped the blood from his knife, sheathed it, and tossed a ragged blanket over what just vaguely resembled a human body lying on the dirty, rat-droppings-littered floor of the house.

He look at the two remaining IPA members.

They stared at him with something very close to horror in their dark eyes.

And something else, Ike picked it up. Fear.

"What are you thinkin', partner?" Ike asked the younger of the captives.

"That you are a savage!"

Ike laughed at him. "Me, a savage? You simple son of a b.i.t.c.h! b.a.s.t.a.r.ds like you have been waging a war of terrorism since before you were born, boy. You've killed innocent people, men, women, kids, all over this world. You've raped, kidnapped, tortured, maimed, and killed; and like some of those nuts that used to wage war in Ireland, you don't even know what you're fightin' for."

"Our homeland," the young IPA man said.

One Rebel laughed. Like Ike, he was old enough to remember the terrorism of the 1980's. "Why in the f.u.c.k don't you go back to your homeland, then, and leave us the h.e.l.l alone?"

"We are claiming this land in the name of Allah."

Ike knelt down in front of the young man, his knife in his hand. "You wanna meet Allah, boy? Okay. But I guaran-d.a.m.n-tee you, boy, the journey's gonna be a long and painful one."

The IPA man spat in Ike's face.

"Gag "im," Ike ordered.

"This is as far as we go," Hartline radioed.

"We form battlelines here. And here we stand and slug it out. Dismount and dig your holes. Tanks and artillery, Station up."

And that decision was to be Hartline's last and fatal one. The mercenary had the Rebelsoutnumbered three to one. He could have rammed through almost any point in Ben's thin lines. And by doing that, could have had the Rebels in a box, closing it with flanking movements.

But his caution overrode his solid military background.

And as he dug in, Sam Hartline wondered what had happened to those remaining loud-mouthed warlords.

Sonny Boy, Grizzly, Skinhead, Popeye, Piano, and the others were camped far from the battlelines. At this juncture, they wanted no more of Ben Raines. They all knew they would rebuild their ranks; the battered nation was full of sorry people who wanted something for nothing, and who would be more than willing to join the outlaws.

They had never gotten around to voting on a top general. Running for their lives from the Rebels, that had slipped their minds.

For now, the warlords and outlaws would simply wait. And stay far away from Ben Raines and his Rebels.

"Ben?" Cecil radioed. "Looks like you were right-again. We're going to stand and slug it out with Hartline."

"Not yet, Cec." Ben radioed his reply.

"What we're going to do is annoy the h.e.l.l out of Hartline. We've got the time; it's on our side in this operation. So we're going to pick and prod at Hartline and his men. We're going to put the needle to them. All day, and all night. A war of nerves.

They're not going to get much sleep, Cec. And some of our people will be so close to them, that when they relax their guard, they get their throats cut."

Cecil's chuckle was grim. "Ben, you are a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you know that?"

"Yep."

"Doesn't bother you at all, does it?"

"Nope." Cecil laughed and signed off.

Hartline's people dug in, deep and solid. They waited.

And waited.

The long hot days began to melt into each other.

Every fifteen minutes, on the dot, a round from mortar or tank or artillery would crash into or very near some position manned by Hartline's men.

And with every hour that pa.s.sed, Ben's Rebels became more secure and dug-in; moving several yards closer, tightening the deadly ring around the mercenary's bunkers.

Hartline's men could only move about at night, for Rebel snipers had the range, and they were dead-accurate.

Some people might have questioned Ben's tactics, wondering why, if he had Hartline boxed, didn't he just starve the mercs out?

In terrain such as both sides were holding, that's only done in the movies. Hartline and his men could have slipped out during the night, with many of them making it.

But they would have been forced to leave their artillery, their vehicles, their heavier machine guns and largermortars.

Hartline had dug himself into a safe hole, but not a very enviable one.

And the waiting game was beginning to tell on Hartline's men.

"What the h.e.l.l are they waiting on?"

one mercenary CO asked Hartline.

"For us to screw up," Sam replied calmly.

"Once we show the first signs of cracking, Ben's people will be all over us like ants to honey."

"Well... why don't we pull something like Raines done? Fake it?"

"Because Ben wouldn't fall for it," Sam grudgingly conceded. "He's too G.o.dd.a.m.ned smart for that."

A sniper round blasted into the log-enforced bunker of Sam Hartline. The CO winced; Sam stood impa.s.sive, his eyes staring at nothing.

"Jesus!" the CO whined. "Them people are tough with them rifles."

"Yeah. XM-21'S."

The young CO looked at him, waiting for explanation.

"Accurized M-14's, using an ART scope. Back in 'nam, 800, 900-yard first-round kills were common with that weapon. They're good."

Dusk was spreading her dark skirts over the land.

Sam called for as many section leaders as could make the run to his bunker to come on over.

"Boys," the mercenary admitted, "I screwed up. Staying in this place is like f.u.c.king for virginity. I hate to say it, but we're gonna have to bust out. Raines is not going to stand and slug it out with us."

Even though the risks were awful, the mercenary section leaders knew what Sam was saying was the only way any of them were going to survive.

"Where's the bust-out point, Sam?"

Sam pointed south. "Straight ahead. As near as I can figure it, Raines's people are spread pretty thin all around us. The n.i.g.g.e.r's up north with Third Battalion. They can keep the n.i.g.g.e.r busy. I'll take First Battalion and cut west, link up with Fourth Battalion. You take Second Battalion and cut east, link up with Fifth Battalion. As soon as that's done, we'll start inching back toward the border. With any kind of luck, we can hook up with Ira's boys."

"When do we bug out?"

"Midnight."

Chapter Thirty-seven.

"Something wrong, Dad?" Tina Raines asked, walking up to Ben's side.

Ben shook his head. "Nothing tangible, Daughter. It's just that I think we've held Hartline in a box just about as long as we're going to. He's an arrogant p.r.i.c.k, but a good soldier. He'll admit he made a mistake in digging in." "And then? ..."

"Well, if I were in his shoes, I'd order a bust-out. Question is, where and when."

Tina waited, knowing her dad had given this considerable thought.

Ben said, "Sam's got a battalion to the west, one to the east, and one that's pulled back into Youreka. He's got his battalion and one other dug in. Now, he could do any number of things.

He could retreat back to Youreka and bust through Cec's lines, linking up with that battalion. But he'll quickly reject that because of those blown bridges.

"Sam could bust out to the south, then swing around and join the western group. But that would put his back to the sea. He won't do that. If he moved both his battalions to the east, that would mean he'd sacrifice the western battalion. And he won't do that because he needs those people.

"If I were Sam, I'd split my forces, one battalion to the west, one to the east, link up, and begin retreating back toward the Oregon border."

"Then you think he'll be coming straight out of the chute, heading south, then split east and west?"

"That's what I'd do."

"And you want us to do? ..." She left the question open-ended.

Ben grinned. "Why, open the gate, dear. Just give him all the s.p.a.ce he needs." Ben's smile broke into a wide grin.

"Until he splits his forces, that is," Tina said. "And then we hit them hard."

"That's it, dear."

"But you don't know for certain when he'll try to bug out, do you, Dad?"

"No, not for sure."

"But you have a feeling it'll be soon, right?"

"Like ... tonight, daughter."

"What else do you have up your sleeve, Dad?"

Dan Gray had joined the group, standing quietly and listening. The Englishman began to smile.