“Fall back to the river!” Juan yelled to those men who elected to remain by his side. Far in the distance he could see trucks rolling toward the bridge at Blair. He turned to his radio operator. “Order them to stop,” he told the woman.
She shook her head. “I have them now, sir. They say they are not defeated or running away. They say they will defend our homelands, but they will not kill women and babies and old people.”
Alvaro, Juan’s brother, hurried to his side. “Juan, we have about one minute before we meet eternity.”
The screaming and the crying of the children lashed to the front of the APC’S was now very clear. The old people were stumbling, almost down from exhaustion. They were being prodded forward by rifle barrels.
The taste of the defeat was ugly on Juan’s tongue. He gave the order he knew must he must give to save at least some of his forces. “Fall back!” he shouted.
As Juan rode in the Jeep, crossing the bridge over the Missouri River, he muttered, “God help Ben Raines.”
CHAPTER THREE
Ben listened grimly to the reports from the Rebel’s LETTERRP’S. He stood in his command bunker and cursed. When he ran out of obscenities, he looked at the woman manning the radio.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized.
She grinned. “I haven’t heard such cussing since the time my daddy caught me in a hayloft with a kid from down the road.”
Ben felt some of the anger leave him and he grinned at her. “I bet that was quite a moment.”
Her grin widened. “It was worth it.”
Ben laughed. “OK. Get on the horn and tell Colonel McGowen to cut and run. Head south. Instruct Colonel Ramos to break through his south lines and do the same. Order all forward units to hunt holes and get in them and keep their heads down until they receive orders from me to resume guerrilla activities. No last-ditch stands for any unit. No heroics out of anybody. Pull back. We’ll regroup along Highway 60 in southern Missouri, from Springfield to Poplar Bluff. Pull back with all speed.”
“We’re retreating, sir?”
“No,” Ben told her. “We are executing what the marines used to call a strategic withdrawal. Get to it, Sergeant.”
“This isn’t as much fun as the hayloft,” she said.
Chase walked into the battle-scarred bunker. “I’ve got badly wounded people, Ben. To move them at this time would be endangering their lives.”
“Move them,” Ben said. “It can’t be avoided, La-mar. We don’t have a choice.”
The doctor looked at the man for a long moment. Then he nodded his head. “All right, Ben. I’ll start pulling them out now.” He turned to leave.
“Lamar?”
The doctor turned around.
“I’m sorry, Lamar.”
“I know, Ben. I’m sorry, too.”
Gen. Georgi Striganov was furious. The deaths of the old people, the young women and the children did not bother him as much as what it had done to his self-image. The Russian perceived himself as a fair and just person. History might well paint him as an evil person for condoning something like this. That bothered him more than anything.
“I gave no orders to do anything this monstrous!” Striganov raged at Sam Hartline and Colonel Fechnor. “Killing old people and little children.”
“Only a few old niggers died,” Hartline said. “One nigger woman took a round in the guts and one got her brain cooked when her hair caught fire. There were a
few greasers killed over in Iowa. No big deal. Anyway, if you have to yell at somebody, yell at me,” Hartline told him. The deaths of the young and old bothered him about as much as swatting a fly. “Colonel Fechnor was assigned to my command and he was only obeying orders like any good soldier.”
Col. Valeska Fechnor breathed a silent sigh of relief. He would have to think of some way to repay Hartline for getting him off tenterhooks. This could have turned into a very ugly scene.
General Striganov calmed himself slowly by taking deep breaths and clenching and unclenching his fists. He turned away and gazed out the front of the open tent. He would have to tell his historians that it was the mercenary who ordered the old and the young used in such a horrible manner; let future generations know that he, personally, had nothing to do with anything so monstrous.
“Anyway,” Hartline said with a smile, “we won, didn’t we? Raines is pulling his people back, turning tail and running. So the victory is ours.”
“Ben Raines is most definitely
turning tail and running,” the Russian told the mercenary. “He is merely executing a perfectly logical military option. I would do the same if the situation was reversed. One battle does not win the war. And do not attempt to do with Ben Raines what you succeeded in doing with the inferior minorities. General Raines would not hesitate to shoot. He would not like it, he might weep while giving the order, but he would shoot. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
“Yeah,” Hartline agreed. “You’re right about that, I guess.”
Striganov withered him silent with a cold look. “I am almost always correct, Sam. And never again do anything of today’s magnitude without first consulting me. Is that clear?”
“Clear as rain,” the mercenary said, the scolding bouncing off him. Hartline had a hide of iron.
“Yes, sir,” Fechnor said crisply.
“Very well,” Striganov said. “The matter is closed. We shall count our dead, give them a proper soldiers” burial, then map out strategy for the upcoming campaign against General Raines. And it will not be an easy one. Do not-either of you-delude yourselves into believing otherwise. Unless we are lucky enough to kill Ben Raines-in combat-his people will fight forever, constantly a thorn in our sides.”
“Have some of your people down in Tri-States ambush him,” Hartline suggested.
“No,” Striganov said. “I will not stoop to Raines’s level of fighting. Not yet, at least. Besides, you can bet Raines will ferret those people out when he gets back. If he gets back. I was arrogantly wrong when I admitted to him I was aware of his Jewess bed-partner. My mistake. I shall be big enough to admit it. All right, now then, how great were the losses of the black people?”
“Fifty to sixty percent,” Hartline told him. “Maybe seven to eight hundred got away. Certainly no more than that.”
“Their leaders?”
“Al Maiden is dead. Mark Terry got away. Took Peggy with him and cut out.”
“Peggy?” Striganov questioned. “Who is Peggy?”
“No one of any importance.” Hartline waved the question aside.
“The Mexicans?” The Russian glanced at Colonel Fechnor.
“They fared a bit better. My men have counted some five hundred dead. We took less than two hundred prisoners. The rest ran away like cowards.”
“Pursuit?”
“None. My men stopped at the Missouri River. As you ordered.”
“Good. Very good, Colonel. I commend you.” He walked to the tent opening. “Now, gentlemen, let us honor our gallant dead.”
Ike was furious when he met with Ben. Ben let the ex-Seal blow his tanks until he wound down. Ben then waved his friend to a seat.
“I was plenty pissed too, Ike. But then I got the whole picture from a survivor out of Maiden’s command.” He told Ike what the IPF and Hartline’s mercs had done.
Ike sat in horrified silence for a few seconds. “Ben … that’s the worst goddamned thing I ever heard of. Jesus Christ! Kids and old people.” He shuddered his revulsion. “I will admit my guys pulled some pretty raunchy shit in “Nam, but nothing like that.”