gone through. “Was the man, ah, bothering you, Lora?”
“Tryin’ to rape me.”
It was obvious she did not wish to discuss it, so Ben didn’t push it. “Have either of you had lunch?”
Sylvia shook her head. “We haven’t had time. Lora, ah, well, it took some time to get her cleaned up. She, ah, had fleas. Among other tiny vermin. If you know what I mean.”
Ben knew. Lice. He resisted an impulse to scratch. It was a problem with all the woods-children.
It was not that they shunned baths, for they didn’t. But to a person they preferred the ground to a bed. The open starry sky to a building or tent. And back at the base camp, they all had dogs. Which they slept with.
Ben grinned as Sylvia scratched first one arm and then the other.
“I’m glad you think it’s so funny, General,” she said sourly.
“I’ve been there, Lieutenant,” he told her. “We all have. Remember the fleas and rats from not that long ago?”
She shuddered as she recalled that particular horror. “Only too well.” “Well, on that happy note, let’s have some lunch.”
The IPA was pushing their lines of control out of the Savannah area. And they were savage and murderous in their advance. Those men and women and children they did not kill were taken prisoner, to be used as slaves on the farms they planned to put back into production. And since women had become a valuable commodity, world-wide, women under forty were spared, taken prisoner, and carefully guarded. Almost all the very young were spared. They would be schooled in the Islamic way and after a time accepted into the IPA’s society.
The Islamic Peoples Army now was in firm control of everything between Interstates 20 and 26, from Columbia back to the coast. Their advance had stopped at the Georgia line—for the time being.
There had been pockets of resistance, but those were few and very ineffective against the overwhelming numbers of the IPA. Only a few Americans had escaped, and those headed straight for Ben Raines’s Base Camp One in north Georgia, bringing with them whatever they could hurriedly grab and carry on the run. And they brought horror stories. Stories of rape and torture and murder.
Terrorism in the twenty-first century.
Something else that Ben and his Rebels would someday very soon have to deal with.
But for now, Colonel Khamsin and his IPA seemed content with the land they had seized. They would spend some time indoctrinating the people they spared, and get the land back in shape for production. When that was done, then they would move out to claim more land in the name of Allah.
“Everybody ready?” Ben radioed to his commanders.
Everyone was in position and ready to go.
The Rebels were dug in tight, their positions deep and expertly camouflaged. Machine gun emplacements were angled to afford the best possible field of fire against approaching troops. And the bunkers had rabbit holes which would allow the Rebels to slip out and away.
They waited.
The first recon teams from Striganov and Hartline moved close to the western perimeter of Big Lake, approaching on either side of an old, once-state-maintained road. They moved cautiously, very alert for mines and booby traps, for the team leaders had been warned about Ben Raines and his Rebels. They had been warned to expect anything; for Ben Raines did not adhere to conventional rules of warfare. Ben Raines was mean and dirty and vicious; a man thoroughly trained in the art of guerrilla warfare. They were armed to expect anything.
They found nothing.
And the recon teams of Hartline and the Russian could not understand this development. It confused them. What was happening here? Where were all the dirty tricks they had been warned to expect? And where in the name of Lenin were the Rebels?
The team leaders radioed back to the staging areas of their commanders, asking, What was going on? What to do?
Advance cautiously, came the order.
The recon teams moved out. And out. They encountered
“Tryin’ to rape me.”
It was obvious she did not wish to discuss it, so Ben didn’t push it. “Have either of you had lunch?”
Sylvia shook her head. “We haven’t had time. Lora, ah, well, it took some time to get her cleaned up. She, ah, had fleas. Among other tiny vermin. If you know what I mean.”
Ben knew. Lice. He resisted an impulse to scratch. It was a problem with all the woods-children.
It was not that they shunned baths, for they didn’t. But to a person they preferred the ground to a bed. The open starry sky to a building or tent. And back at the base camp, they all had dogs. Which they slept with.
Ben grinned as Sylvia scratched first one arm and then the other.
“I’m glad you think it’s so funny, General,” she said sourly.
“I’ve been there, Lieutenant,” he told her. “We all have. Remember the fleas and rats from not that long ago?”
She shuddered as she recalled that particular horror. “Only too well.” “Well, on that happy note, let’s have some lunch.”
The IPA was pushing their lines of control out of the Savannah area. And they were savage and murderous in their advance. Those men and women and children they did not kill were taken prisoner, to be used as slaves on the farms they planned to put back into production. And since women had become a valuable commodity, world-wide, women under forty were spared, taken prisoner, and carefully guarded. Almost all the very young were spared. They would be schooled in the Islamic way and after a time accepted into the IPA’s society.
The Islamic Peoples Army now was in firm control of everything between Interstates 20 and 26, from Columbia back to the coast. Their advance had stopped at the Georgia line—for the time being.
There had been pockets of resistance, but those were few and very ineffective against the overwhelming numbers of the IPA. Only a few Americans had escaped, and those headed straight for Ben Raines’s Base Camp One in north Georgia, bringing with them whatever they could hurriedly grab and carry on the run. And they brought horror stories. Stories of rape and torture and murder.
Terrorism in the twenty-first century.
Something else that Ben and his Rebels would someday very soon have to deal with.
But for now, Colonel Khamsin and his IPA seemed content with the land they had seized. They would spend some time indoctrinating the people they spared, and get the land back in shape for production. When that was done, then they would move out to claim more land in the name of Allah.
“Everybody ready?” Ben radioed to his commanders.
Everyone was in position and ready to go.
The Rebels were dug in tight, their positions deep and expertly camouflaged. Machine gun emplacements were angled to afford the best possible field of fire against approaching troops. And the bunkers had rabbit holes which would allow the Rebels to slip out and away.
They waited.
The first recon teams from Striganov and Hartline moved close to the western perimeter of Big Lake, approaching on either side of an old, once-state-maintained road. They moved cautiously, very alert for mines and booby traps, for the team leaders had been warned about Ben Raines and his Rebels. They had been warned to expect anything; for Ben Raines did not adhere to conventional rules of warfare. Ben Raines was mean and dirty and vicious; a man thoroughly trained in the art of guerrilla warfare. They were armed to expect anything.
They found nothing.
And the recon teams of Hartline and the Russian could not understand this development. It confused them. What was happening here? Where were all the dirty tricks they had been warned to expect? And where in the name of Lenin were the Rebels?
The team leaders radioed back to the staging areas of their commanders, asking, What was going on? What to do?
Advance cautiously, came the order.
The recon teams moved out. And out. They encountered
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