“Say again, Airport.”
“The airport is secure. Captain Kruger is dead. Lieutenant Monroe has taken command. We are too few to assist those in Galway. Could you assist them? Over.”
“That’s affirmative, Airport. We are on our way to assist troops in city. Four Battalion out.”
At his CP, Jack Hunt, known as the Beast, smiled as he monitored the transmissions. “Beat the bastard!” he said. “Our people rallied and beat them. I knew that stand and die order would put steel in their backbones.”
“It’s a trick,” one of his men said “I fought Ben Raines in America for years. The bastard’s got more moves than a snake. I’m tellin’ you, Jack: this is a setup if I ever heard one.”
“Nonsense!” Jack said, smiling and rubbing his hands together. “Ben Raines just bit off more than he could chew, that’s all.”
“Galway to Four Battalion,” the words silenced the room.
“This is Four Battalion.”
“Rebel ships are leaving the harbor and taking a northerly heading. We have about two companies of Rebels cut off within the city.”
“He’d never do it,” the American mercenary said. “Ben Raines would never abandon his people. It’s a trick, Jack.”
Jack grabbed up the mike and consulted a clipboard, “This is General Hunt. Give me today’s code, Galway.”
“Dragonfire, sir.”
“That’s affirmative, Galway. Hunt out.” He turned to the American. “Your great Ben Raines is nothing more than a fart in the wind. He’s running with his tail tucked between his legs. Tell the lookouts at Clare Island to watch for those ships and report to me. I’m tired, gentlemen. I’m going to bed. Don’t disturb me.”
The American outlaw shook his head after Jack had left the room. “I’m tellin’ you, boys: it’s a trick. You don’t know Ben Raines like I do.”
“Ah, hell, Barton,” an aide told him. “Relax. It’s nearly over. Corrie have some breakfast and then we’ll get some sleep. This afternoon we’ll drive over to Boyle and check out those new cunts the patrols brought in. I was told they picked up some twelve and thirteen year old lassies that ain’t never been cracked.”
But Barton shook his head. “I’m not hungry. You go on. I’ll stay by the radio.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Arrange some of the dead so they appear to be manning their, posts,” Ben ordered. “Dress others in civilian clothing and Rebel tiger stripe and scatter them around—face down so they can’t be readily identified. Hang some of the bodies out of windows and so forth. Let’s make it look good.” He turned to Corrie. “What’s the latest report on Dan?”
“He’s coming in right behind the two battalions of Hunt’s people on N17.”
“Excellent. Have those prisoners we took ready to start waving the new battalions on through town toward the harbor area.”
“They’re going to cooperate,” Ike told him. “They’re so damn scared we’ll turn them over to the Free Irish they’d eat wet concrete and shit blocks if we told them to.”
“How many other Armbrusters did we find?”
“Six. That’s enough to knock out the tanks these two battalions have with them. They’ve got a lot of old British APCs. FV 432’s. We can handle them with what we brought with us.”
“Get everybody into position. They’ll be here in five minutes. Start popping some caps and tossing a few grenades. Let’s make this academy award time, people.”
The storm had reversed itself and the winds had once more picked up, the rain continuing to drench the land. Ben had decided not to use the helicopter gunships grounded on the big island in the Aran chain.
Those prisoners selected to meet the convoy of Hunt’s soldiers and wave them on through were in place, each knowing that a Rebel sniper had them in the crosshairs and would blow a hole in them if they screwed up in any manner.
“About three blocks from the waterfront,” the driver of the lead tank was told. “Hear the fighting?”
“Yeah. But not much of it going on.”
“We just about got them. It’s a cakewalk from here to the harbor. You can ride easy.”
“Bet you’ll be glad to get out of this weather,” the tank commander said with a grin, as the rain lashed his own face.
“You got that right. So hurry up, will up?”
“Keep your pants on.”
The convoy rumbled on through the body-Uttered and ravaged streets of the beautiful old town.
“Bump the commander of Four Battalion,” Barton said, back at Hunt’s CP. “It’s too damn quiet.”
“Jesus, Barton,” the radio operator said.
“Just do it!”
“All right, all right, goddamnit. Four Battalion, Four Battalion, this is CP One. Give me a status report.”
“Rebel and Free Irish bodies all over the goddamn place,” the words came through the speaker. “We’re almost to the harbor and have encountered no resistance. Some firing can be heard near the waterfront. Our people . . .”
The speaker went silent.
“What the hell?” the radio operator said.
Barton’s face was grim. He had a pretty good idea what had happened. That bastard Ben Raines had pulled another of his vicious little ambushes. “I warned you not to underestimate this man, Jack,” he muttered. “But you just wouldn’t listen.”
“Jesus God in Heaven!” the words screamed out of the speaker. “It’s an ambush. They’re all over us. Captain Lloyd’s APC just exploded right in front of me. I can’t . . .”
The speaker fell silent.
The lead tank turned into a ball of flames as the Armbruster rocket tore through the armor and seared those inside.
Rebels manning heavy machine guns captured from Hunt’s troops turned the streets into a flesh-mangling, bloody slaughter house. Rebels hurled HE grenades from the top of buildings. Rebels fired rocket launchers at almost point-blank range. Rebels and Free Irish with weapons on full auto cut down any of Hunt’s troops who managed to escape the initial killing fire.
Dan’s people had pedaled bicycles and ridden horses and reached the city Justin time to block the highway leading out of Galway and chopped down those few scared troops who fled the city, thinking they had escaped the horror of the deadly ambush.
“Mop it up,” Ben ordered.
“This is Command Post One!” Barton had taken over the radio. “Come in, Galway Airport.”
“What’d you want, prick?” a Rebel replied.
“Who is this?”
“Lieutenant Alverez of the Rebel Army. Tricked your ass, didn’t we?”
Barton chose not to reply. “Four Battalion, Five Battalion. Come in. Over.”
“Sorry, partner,” Corrie told him. “But you might want to come down for the funeral. It’s going to be a mass burying.”
“Go get Hunt,” Barton said to the radio operator. “Now, goddamnit. Move.” He keyed the mike. “Monroe, if you can hear me, reply.”
“Monroe’s been dead,” a bored voice touched his ears. “We cut his throat last night.”
“Captain Dalley, Captain Hayden,” Barton radioed. “Come in, please.”
Jack Hunt walked into the radio room, his face pale with shock and anger.
In Galway, Ben shoved a very frightened soldier into a chair and pointed to the mike. “Talk to him, soldier. Tell him what happened.”
The man keyed the mike. “This is Sergeant Harrison, of Five Battalion, Company C, First Platoon. I’m just about the only one left, sir.” He was shaking so violently he could hardly hold the mike. He started crying, the tears dripping from his face. “They killed us all, sir. And they’re gonna turn me over to the Free Irish. They’re gonna hang me, sir.”
Ben took the mike. The weeping soldier was led away to face the people he had helped brutalize and terrorize over the long, bloody years. “This is General Ben Raines. To whom am I speaking?”
Barton handed the mike to a very shaken Jack Hunt. “This is General Hunt.”
<
br /> “General Hunt, listen to me. We have established a firm beachhead in Galway. The town is ours. I have thousands of troops and hundreds of thousands of tons of equipment being off-loaded this moment.” That was only a small lie. “I have squadrons of helicopter gunships. Soon the country will be restored to the Free Irish. I would rather not have to chase you all over Ireland. So I am offering you surrender terms.”
Jack Hunt held the mike away from him and looked at it, astonishment on his face. “Do you hear this asshole?” Jack finally found his voice. “This . . . bastard is offering me surrender terms. I have twenty-seven battalions of troops, tanks, APCs, artillery, and this jerk is telling me I better surrender. Who does this son of a bitch think he is?”
“Twenty-three battalions, Jack,” Barton reminded him. “Raines just slaughtered four battalions, remember?”
That got Barton a very dirty look. But that was all; Barton was right.
“Are you there, Hunt?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, you asshole! Now you listen to me, Raines. You got lucky, hotshot. That’s all. Just lucky. But now you’re on my turf.”
“Sounds like a street punk, doesn’t he?” Dan said, sipping on a mug of hot tea.
“Probably reverting back to his childhood,” Ben said. “I’m sure he was denied the right to play on the first team, or the most beautiful girl in the class wouldn’t date him, or his father spanked him, or some such shit as that.”
The Rebels gathered around the radio room all laughed at a few of the excuses that used to be accepted as to why a person turned to a life of crime. Excuses that only those who walked around with his or her head up their ass really believed.
“Are you there, Raines?” Jack screamed.
“Sounds quite irritable,” Dan said. “I’m beginning to dislike this fellow.”
“Yes, Hunt, I’m here. Are you willing to surrender?”
“Fuck you, Raines!”
“And quite profane, too,” Dan added. “My word, and all that going out over the air where little kiddies can hear it. Tsk, tsk.”
Ben laughed at Dan. He keyed the mike. “Is that your reply, General Hunt?”
“You goddamn right it is, Raines.”
“Then I suppose we have nothing left to say to one another. And I’m sorry about that, Jack. For unlike you, I don’t particularly care for war.” Buddy almost choked on his chewing gum and Dan arched an eyebrow in disbelief at that remark. “But you won’t win this one, Jack. The Rebels have left over three quarters of a million dead behind them. Think about that.”
That statement brought all of Jack Hunt’s men to attention. And Jack with them. “I don’t believe that, Raines,” he finally said, but his voice was shaky.
“I have no reason to exaggerate the numbers, Jack.”
There was no reply. Jack had tossed the mike down on the table and walked back to his quarters in a fine old home.
Ike and his people got some old tugs running and the first captain to bring his ship in for unloading was Thermopolis. Emil followed him as another area was cleared off along the old docks.
Many Rebels of Irish ancestry got down on their knees and wept when they touched Irish soil. Other Rebels thanked the Lord for safe passage. Still others simply thanked the Lord for getting them off those damn ships. The storm had tossed them around quite a bit.
“Mother of God,” Pat O’Shea breathed when he saw all the troops wandering around, getting their land-legs again, and all the equipment being offloaded. “Did you ever see anythin’ so beautiful in all your life, Bobby Flynn?”
Bobby was speechless. And for an Irishman to be struck dumb—even for a few seconds—was quite a feat. “And that’s just two ships,” Bobby finally said. “There’s a dozen or more still out yonder in the bay.”
People had gathered from all over the county to watch the American troops disembark. For the first time in years, the people had reason to celebrate, and celebrate they did. The Rebels feasted on fresh-baked bread and real home butter. They ate cakes and pies and then danced and sang songs into the night with the Irish people.
“No more,” Ben gave the orders to his commanders the next morning after the street festival. “The food we ate was probably all these good people had. Just remember that and share what you have with them.
“Now, then. The first thing we do is remember this: this is not our country. Many of these people are going to be appalled at the harshness of Rebel law. But I’ve hashed that all out with the Irish leaders I’ve met. They’ve had a decade of lawlessness and they’re ready to try Rebel justice. Once we’ve done our work here, whether they continue to maintain our system of justice is up to them and none of our business.
“First we help them to clean up this town. While that’s going on, some of us will be meeting with county leaders to find out what they need in the way of grain for fanning and so forth. Fortunately, there are a lot of unemployed ship captains in this area. They’ll be taking the ships back to America for resupplying and freeing us to fight. That’s what we came here to do.
“All right. Galway County is clean. Jack has taken his men and moved over to Dublin, Cork, Wexford, and up into County Donegal. You all know what that means.”
“He’s linked up with the damn Night People,” Tina said.
“You got it. And that’s all the firm intelligence we have on him at this moment.”
“So when we do get lined out and ready to go,” Georgi said, “we’re going to be fighting on at least four fronts.”
“That is correct. Probably more than that. Jack is an experienced soldier. We’ll never be as lucky again as we were here in Galway.”
“When we do shove off?” Rebet asked.
“One week from today.”
EIGHTEEN
Ben stood on the dock and watched as the last ship left for the return voyage to America. The sight filled him with a myriad of emotions, ranging from joy at one mission accomplished and another just beginning, to a feeling of being orphaned.
He recalled an old song, something about a stranger on the shore. The lyrics escaped him.
“The people are in surprisingly good shape, Ben,” Doctor Chase broke into his thoughts.
Ben turned. “What?”
“I said the people are in surprisingly good shape,” the chief of medicine said. “Considering how they’ve been forced to live for the past decade.”
“No serious illnesses?”
“None have turned up yet. We’re starting vaccination programs for everybody, especially the children. What’s wrong, Ben? You looked troubled when I walked up.”
“Nothing, really. I was just lost in thoughts, that’s all. Thinking about all that we’ve done and what lies ahead of us, among other things.”
“Not worried about us being outnumbered by Jack Hunt’s army, are you?”
Ben smiled. “Hell, Lamar, when haven’t we been outnumbered? No, no. We lost some people this time, and that always bothers me. But you know something? Every Rebel we lost taking this town was of Irish descent. Every one of them. And that gives me an odd feeling.”
“Eerie.”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel, physically?”
“I feel great, Lamar. Even after being soaking wet for twenty-four hours, I didn’t even catch a cold.”
“Soaking wet has nothing to do with it, and there is no such thing as a cold, it’s a virus.”
“Right, Lamar.”
The two old friends stood in silence, watching as the last ship began to fade from view. Behind them, in the old town—and it was very old, having first been incorporated by Richard the Second—were the sounds of hammering and sawing and nailing as the townspeople began attempting the first stages of repairing their own lives and that of the town.
Scouts had cleaned out County Galway. They had found pockets of Night People—the hated creepies—and dealt with them in typical Rebel fashion. The Free Irish had pointed out the collaborators among them and Ben had told
them to deal with them as they saw fit. It was their country.
The most serious offenders were tried in a court of law and hanged.
Every citizen of the town was armed. And heavily armed, with weapons taken from the dead troops of Jack Hunt’s army, and a civilian militia was formed.
“Don’t ever let anyone take your weapons from you,” Ben had told them. “No man, no law, no government.” And from the looks on their faces, Ben knew that would never again happen.
And as Ben had seen so many times in the past, his Rebels were getting restless. His people were highly trained, staying almost on the razor’s edge, highly motivated, and they were not accustomed to inactivity. It was time to strike before they started fighting among themselves. And highly trained people will sometimes do that just to relieve and release the tension.
Ben huddled with his intelligence people for several hours, going over intercepted radio broadcasts and maps.
On a very pleasant late spring morning, with the land all around him green with new life, Ben walked the sprawling encampment of Rebels around the airport. Smoot was right beside him. The husky greeted in its own fashion the Rebels they encountered during the stroll.
“Ready to go, Nicky?” Ben called to a tank commander.
“Let’s go give ’em hell, General!” she returned the shout.
“How about it, Sergeant-Major?” Ben called to Adamson.
“Standing tall and tough, General.”
Ben’s son and daughter fell into step with him. Two generations of Raines walked the encampment.
“This campaign is not going to be an easy one, is it, Father?” Buddy asked.
Ben smiled. “It never is, son. But freeing a people is right and just, and that’s all that matters.”
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