blown up, shot off mountains and fallen God knows how far. Name it, and it’s happened to Ben Raines. But he won’t die.” A frightened look replaced the doubtful look in her eyes. She again searched his face. “Mark, are you sure of what you’re saying?”
“Yes.” His reply came quickly and quietly and surely. “I am positive.”
“Then I think we should join your Mr. Raines.”
And the legend of Ben Raines surged forward.
Mark and Peggy stood by the side of the road and waited for the troops to reach them. When they drew close, Mark stepped into the center of the weed-filled, cracked old road. He held up his hand.
The convoy stopped and the troops got out to face Mark.
Some four hundred men and women stood facing him; many would not meet his hard eyes.
“Here it is,” Mark spoke firmly. “As far as I am concerned, New Africa is no more.” He noticed only a few stirring at his words. “Those pf you who wish to follow me, you’re welcome. Personally, I am linking up with Ben Raines and his people. If he will have me, I will live where he lives, and live under his rules. Do not think that Ben Raines would have behaved as I did a few days ago. If Ben Raines had ordered you to shoot, and you refused, you would not be standing on this highway this day, for Ben Raines would have personally shot you for disobeying an order. I’m not that hard; I should have done that, but I couldn’t. Ben Raines would have done it without blinking, and so will I if it ever occurs again. You will never disgrace my command again-and live to speak of it. Ben Raines is
hard; that’s why he is a survivor and you people are slinking along the road with your tails tucked between your legs like whipped dogs. And if you’re not afraid to fight, if you think you can obey orders, and if you love freedom and liberty, follow me. I’ll take you to Ben Raines.”
Juan Solis, his brother, Alvaro, and several hundred followers pulled into Ben’s new command post and base camp six days after their defeat. Juan walked up to Ben and the two men shook hands.
“These are all I could convince to join me, Ben,” Juan said. “When my troops witnessed that … awfulness, it seemed to take the fight out of many of my men. I told them they were making a mistake.”
“Don’t they know that eventually General Striganov will move against them?”
Alvaro shook his head and said, “We tried to tell them, General Raines. Both of us. But they were too numbed by what happened for it to sink in. I am afraid that for many of them, when if finally does sink in, it will be too late.”
“Mark Terry pulled in yesterday with about five hundred troops,” Ben said. “He told me if I’d have them, they want to join us, not temporarily, but on a full-time basis. New Africa is, according to Mark, no more. He gave quite a speech to his people, so I hear. Said we were wrong-all of us-in living the way we were. You and I have spoken of that, Juan.”
The Mexican shook his head. “Yes, and to a point I agree with Mark. I am very disappointed in my people, Ben. I can understand what they did-their refusal
to fire-but I cannot forgive it. I simply cannot. So, Ben Raines, we are here. I will not return to lead a people whose men have lost their cojones. I, and these hundred who follow me, now wish to pledge our loyalties to you, General. You lead; we shall follow and obey.”
And again, Ben asked the silent question to which he had yet to receive a reply: Why me?
CHAPTER FOUR
The IPF had not come out of the battle with Raines’s Rebels smelling like the proverbial rose. They had lost more men than all three brigades fighting against them combined. But Striganov could better afford the heavy loss of personnel and equipment, for he had fresh troops coming in from Iceland, and still more behind those in reserve. If he chose to go in that direction.
But the Russian general who dreamed of a master race did not choose to go that route. He knew, now, the fierceness of President-General Ben Raines. He knew, now, that those who followed Ben Raines would follow him and fight to the death. And he knew, from scouts’ reports, contingents from the Mexican and black brigades had once more linked up with Raines, and those racially inferior people had also pledged to fight to the death alongside Raines’s Rebels.
Well, Striganov mused, let them fight and let them die. Their struggles would be in vain. The Russian had
no doubts about that; nothing clouded his mind; nothing within the Russian suggested that his dream of a master race would be unsuccessful. He felt, from studying history, that if Hitler had not committed so many troops to the Russian front, the little paper hanger would have won the war and chased the Allies right back into the English Channel.
But Striganov was no Hitler. The Russian knew he was not insane, and would make no such costly errors in judgment.
He gave his orders. “Prepare to move out. We move in two days. Leave only a token force behind to guard our perfect people and the other breeding stock. This time we throw it all at General Raines.”
They met in Ben’s suite of rooms at a motel in Poplar Bluff. Cecil, Ike, Hector, Juan and Mark.
“All right, boys,” Ben got the ball rolling. “I’m open for suggestions as to our next move. Let’s toss it around and see what we come up with.”
“Looks like to me,” Ike said, “we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Any move we make is going to cost us in blood.”
“Yes,” Mark said. “I agree. If we elect to cut and run, try to set up a stable government anywhere, Striganov will just find us and we’ll still have to fight.”
“Root hog or die,” Juan mused aloud. “I believe we are in this to the death. I cannot see any other way.” He looked at Cecil.
Cecil sighed and then nodded his head in agreement. “Even if we could make some sort of peace arrangement with the Russian, none of us would be able
to live with our conscience, not knowing what was taking place with so many people. I think it would drive me insane knowing Striganov was putting his master race plan into operation, with all the horrors therewith, and we were sitting back safe, allowing it to happen.”
“I felt physically ill when I first saw that tattoo on Peggy’s arm,” Mark spoke softly. “I believe that hit me harder than seeing the young women and the old people that day on the ridge. It… it drove it all home to me.”
Ike drummed his finger tips on the meeting table. “What bugs me is that we can’t get an accurate picture of just how many troops Striganov has. If we knew that, then we could make some firm plans.”
“No way yet of really knowing that,” Ben said. “But I’ll wager he’s got two divisions to back him up-at least.”
“Felt like he was throwing that at me,” Hector said with a very slight smile. “But I know he wasn’t.”
Hector had been wounded in the side and in the arm, but his wounds were more painful than serious.
What was more agonizing to Colonel Ramos was the fact he had taken such awful casualties: Almost seventy-five percent of his troops were either dead or wounded, with many of the wounded not expected to live.
“They were tryin’ to flank you, Hec,” Ike said. “Come up under us. Their intelligence was bad; they thought you had the smallest force, when in reality, Ben had the smallest troop contingent.” He looked at Ben. “Two divisions, Ben?”
“Yes. But I don’t believe they are all stateside; I
think they’re still coming in from Iceland. And there is this to consider: Russian divisions have always been smaller than American divisions. But even with that knowledge, I’d make a guess Striganov has between eighteen and twenty thousand troops. After all, people, Striganov’s had better than a decade to work this out.”