this so-called god among men.”
“He’s a god, all right.” Hartline looked down at the land. “He’s a goddamned nuisance. But, in a strange way, I’ll be sorry to see him killed.”
“He has been a fine adversary,” Striganov agreed. “But there will be others.”
Some of the Russian’s bubbling confidence was beginning to rub off onto Hartline.
“I feel better about this upcoming operation, Georgi,” Hartline said with a smile. “Kick-ass-and-take-names time.”
“Crudely put but certainly fitting the situation. Sam, have you been receiving any … well, rather odd transmissions from the east lately?”
Hartline was silent for a moment, staring out the window of the expensive twin-engined aircraft. He turned to Striganov. “Come to think of it, yes. My operators keep saying they’re picking up some foreign-language transmissions they think are originating from South Carolina or Georgia. But they can’t make any sense out of them.”
“Have you heard any of them?”
“Yes. It’s Islamic. I don’t speak it.”
“What about this ‘hot wind’ that will blow over the land? What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard that one. The only thing I’ve heard about is some guy who calls himself Colonel Khamsim … or something like that.”
“Yes. Well. A
khamsin
is a hot wind. It originates in the Sahara and blows in the spring.”
“How interesting,” Hartline said, totally uninterested.
“You might become more interested when you learn the troop strength of this Colonel Khamsin.” “Oh?”
“Something in the neighborhood of thirty to fifty thousand.”
That got the mercenary’s attention very quickly. He stared at the Russian. “Did I hear you right?” “Two divisions. Yes.”
“Jesus God! Raines has maybe, at the most, five thousand Rebels, and that’s stretching it. And he’s been kicking our ass every time we meet.”
“Don’t remind me. Besides, all that is about to change. I think Raines is rapidly becoming a secondary matter. I want joint teams of IPF recon and men from your command sent east. As soon as possible. I want this Colonel Khamsin checked out. They will have to go in by vehicle. Since Raines seems to have effectively grounded what remains of our air force.”
“You’ve reached that conclusion, too?”
“Yes. I tried this morning to reach our people at Redding and Red Bluff. More unintelligible garble.” He sighed. “Well, we fell for it for a time. And now we’re paying for our folly. Dearly. I don’t know how many people we’ve lost. But it will not happen again. We move against the Big Lake Rebels in two days, Sam. Get your people ready and in place.”
Ben felt the Russian had fallen for it. He was ninety-five percent sure of it. But he knew he was taking a very large gamble. A gamble that would cost the Rebels in blood should it fail.
Therefore, it must not fail.
He looked up from his studying of maps as Sylvia and Lora entered his squad tent. At first he didn’t recognize the young girl.
She was clean, her hair freshly washed and shining. The Rebels had found clothes to fit her, from her feet up. She no longer looked like a ragamuffin. Sylvia grinned at Ben.
“Here’s your newest aide, General.”
Ben smiled at the woman and the girl. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Lora grinned, proud of herself. “I look like one of them kids in the pitcher-books!”
“Oh?” Ben said. “What, ah, picture book is that, Lora?”
“I left it in my pack. But I found it back in … wherever it was we got on them planes. Found it in a building. It was all right for me to have it, wasn’t it?”
“Of course.” Ben had noticed the child still carried her carbine. “Where’d you get that rifle, Lora?”
“Took off a guy about a year back. He didn’t have no more use for it.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. I killed him.”
When she was ten years old. Jesus Christ, Ben thought. Jesus and God alone only know what this child has
“He’s a god, all right.” Hartline looked down at the land. “He’s a goddamned nuisance. But, in a strange way, I’ll be sorry to see him killed.”
“He has been a fine adversary,” Striganov agreed. “But there will be others.”
Some of the Russian’s bubbling confidence was beginning to rub off onto Hartline.
“I feel better about this upcoming operation, Georgi,” Hartline said with a smile. “Kick-ass-and-take-names time.”
“Crudely put but certainly fitting the situation. Sam, have you been receiving any … well, rather odd transmissions from the east lately?”
Hartline was silent for a moment, staring out the window of the expensive twin-engined aircraft. He turned to Striganov. “Come to think of it, yes. My operators keep saying they’re picking up some foreign-language transmissions they think are originating from South Carolina or Georgia. But they can’t make any sense out of them.”
“Have you heard any of them?”
“Yes. It’s Islamic. I don’t speak it.”
“What about this ‘hot wind’ that will blow over the land? What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard that one. The only thing I’ve heard about is some guy who calls himself Colonel Khamsim … or something like that.”
“Yes. Well. A
khamsin
is a hot wind. It originates in the Sahara and blows in the spring.”
“How interesting,” Hartline said, totally uninterested.
“You might become more interested when you learn the troop strength of this Colonel Khamsin.” “Oh?”
“Something in the neighborhood of thirty to fifty thousand.”
That got the mercenary’s attention very quickly. He stared at the Russian. “Did I hear you right?” “Two divisions. Yes.”
“Jesus God! Raines has maybe, at the most, five thousand Rebels, and that’s stretching it. And he’s been kicking our ass every time we meet.”
“Don’t remind me. Besides, all that is about to change. I think Raines is rapidly becoming a secondary matter. I want joint teams of IPF recon and men from your command sent east. As soon as possible. I want this Colonel Khamsin checked out. They will have to go in by vehicle. Since Raines seems to have effectively grounded what remains of our air force.”
“You’ve reached that conclusion, too?”
“Yes. I tried this morning to reach our people at Redding and Red Bluff. More unintelligible garble.” He sighed. “Well, we fell for it for a time. And now we’re paying for our folly. Dearly. I don’t know how many people we’ve lost. But it will not happen again. We move against the Big Lake Rebels in two days, Sam. Get your people ready and in place.”
Ben felt the Russian had fallen for it. He was ninety-five percent sure of it. But he knew he was taking a very large gamble. A gamble that would cost the Rebels in blood should it fail.
Therefore, it must not fail.
He looked up from his studying of maps as Sylvia and Lora entered his squad tent. At first he didn’t recognize the young girl.
She was clean, her hair freshly washed and shining. The Rebels had found clothes to fit her, from her feet up. She no longer looked like a ragamuffin. Sylvia grinned at Ben.
“Here’s your newest aide, General.”
Ben smiled at the woman and the girl. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Lora grinned, proud of herself. “I look like one of them kids in the pitcher-books!”
“Oh?” Ben said. “What, ah, picture book is that, Lora?”
“I left it in my pack. But I found it back in … wherever it was we got on them planes. Found it in a building. It was all right for me to have it, wasn’t it?”
“Of course.” Ben had noticed the child still carried her carbine. “Where’d you get that rifle, Lora?”
“Took off a guy about a year back. He didn’t have no more use for it.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. I killed him.”
When she was ten years old. Jesus Christ, Ben thought. Jesus and God alone only know what this child has
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