Ben stopped to rest twice, taking very small sips of water, then he was at the base of the landmark and changed directions, heading toward the south. He found the lightning-blazed tree and squatted down. The minutes ticked past; there was no more shooting.

  “Over here, Ben,” Jenny’s voice reached him, and he cut his eyes. She was standing at the edge of a small growth of timber about fifty feet away.

  She could move as silently as any skilled guerrilla fighter Ben had ever worked with. He moved over to her.

  “Runkel has reinforcements coming in from the north at a dead run,” she said. “We’d better hunt a hidey-hole and do it real quick. They’re platoon-size.”

  “Then we’d better make like the shepherd and get the flock out of here.”

  Jenny grimaced at the old joke.

  Ben laughed at the expression on her face. “It’s your country. Lead out.”

  She hesitated. “You want to try for the cabin and den up?”

  He gave her his lewdest look and it was her turn to laugh. “I’d love to, Jenny. But, no. Maybe we’ll get a chance to lay some more hurt on Runkel’s people. I wouldn’t want to miss that opportunity.”

  “Me neither. Okay. Follow me.”

  But they had taken all the toll they were going to take for that day. Finally, during a rest break, Ben made the comment that Runkel must have buried his dead, picked up his wounded, and then pulled back and dug in somewhere in the timber. And he was not chancing any fires.

  Jenny glanced at him. “You don’t know what Runkel does with his badly wounded, Ben?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Yes. He shoots them.”

  ELEVEN

  Colonel Hugo Runkel knelt down beside the body of his forward recon. The man was lying on his back, his eyes wide open, as if staring at the blue of the mountain sky. They stared in death, seeing nothing. What was left of Runkel’s men, and the new people who had just arrived from the north, were gathered around. They were all fixated on one thing: the arrow sticking out of the man’s chest.

  The morning had dawned bright and cool, and Runkel had been filled with anticipation for the upcoming hunt. With the addition of the reinforcements, he felt sure this time he would be successful in hunting down and killing Ben Raines and whoever the hell that was with him.

  But Runkel certainly hadn’t counted on running up against any wild red Indians.

  Runkel suddenly felt old beyond his years, and with this new development, any joy he might have been experiencing about the day’s hunt was gone.

  Standing a few feet away, one of the new men suddenly grunted, and sank to his knees, a strange look on his face. Then he screamed and fell forward. There was an arrow sticking out of his back, the head of the mini-spear imbedded in the man’s spine.

  “Down!” Runkel yelled.

  That was a rather useless command, for his men were already on the ground, behind whatever cover they could find, which was not very much.

  But no more arrows came whizzing out of the timber as the minutes ticked past. The ranking officer who had arrived with the reinforcements crawled over to where Runkel lay and stared at the man for a moment.

  “What, Captain?” Runkel asked.

  “We are getting our asses kicked all up and down the eastern front, Colonel. I told you the latest reports. We are blocked from retreating to the west or the south by Rebels. Those damn Canadians are rushing in to beef up their lines in the north.”

  “So?”

  “We are trapped, Colonel. We have no place left to run. Now the red Indians have obviously declared war on us. What happens next: do we get our scalps lifted while sleeping?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Runkel snapped.

  “It was not my intention to sound ridiculous, Colonel. I was merely pointing out that we have run out of all but one option.”

  “You are talking surrender, Captain?”

  “What else is left, Colonel?”

  Runkel sighed, knowing the captain was not yet finished. He waited.

  “We will run out of supplies by midsummer, or sooner. Probably the latter. The red Indians have been systematically looting the caches left us by Border’s people. Obviously they’ve known all along where the caches were. There will be no more supplies for us. Then what?”

  Runkel did not lose his temper, for the captain was only speaking the truth. “I have never surrendered, Captain,” he stated quietly.

  “Nor have I, Colonel,” the captain said. “Personally I find the prospect repugnant and degrading. But Raines is a fair man, and General McGowan has extended that option to us. We would be treated well.”

  “Marlowe,” Runkel suddenly whispered. “That’s who is with General Raines.”

  “Sir?”

  “Jennifer Marlowe. The mother-in-law of the young woman we captured some time back. She was killed trying to escape.”

  “That has some bearing on our situation?”

  “Oh, yes, Captain. Indeed it does. My men entertained themselves quite enthusiastically with the young woman. In various ways and using all orifices . . .”

  “I have never been involved in rape or torture, Colonel,” the captain said stiffly.

  “Well, you haven’t been a soldier for that long either, Captain.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other,” the captain countered.

  Runkel’s only reply was a noncommittal grunt, but his face reflected his growing contempt for the captain who espoused such high ideals.

  Both men cut their eyes as a grizzled sergeant crawled over and joined them. “The men are grumbling, Colonel.”

  “So? Soldiers always grumble. It’s when they stop grumbling that leaders should worry.”

  “Not this time, Colonel,” the sergeant who came in with the reinforcements said. “You have a growing mutiny on your hands, sir.”

  “I will shoot any man who attempts to desert!”

  “They are armed as well, Colonel,” the sergeant pointed out, his tone very dry.

  “My men are not talking desertion,” Runkel said.

  “That is correct, Colonel,” the sergeant agreed. “The few you have left will stand by you and die needlessly in this Godforsaken wilderness.”

  “You’re out of line, Sergeant!” Runkel snapped.

  “Sue me,” the sergeant responded, and crawled away, back to his men.

  “Impudent bastard!” Runkel said. “You have obviously failed to maintain discipline among your people, Captain.”

  “We are soldiers, Colonel,” the captain replied. “Not brigands or rapists.”

  “You have killed niggers all over Africa, Captain,” Runkel pointed out.

  “Only those who resisted us, Colonel.”

  “Aren’t you the noble one, though?” Runkel sneered at him.

  “Not noble, Colonel. Just soldiers.” The captain suddenly stood up, holding his weapon high in the air, as far over his head as he could. Most of his men stood up, doing the same with their weapons. The captain looked down at Runkel. “Good-bye, Colonel. We are through. If we can make it to Rebel lines, we shall surrender.”

  “Go to hell!” Runkel told him.

  “In due time, Colonel. All in due time.” The captain took a white handkerchief out of his pocket and tied it to the barrel of his rifle, near the muzzle. The others followed suit. They began walking single file away from the others.

  Runkel watched them leave. For a moment, he entertained the thought of shooting them, then changed his mind. That would be a waste of ammunition, and the captain had been correct about the supplies. Once their existing supplies were exhausted, they had but one cache left, but it was not far from where they lay, and Runkel knew it was undisturbed, for he had buried it himself, and it had been intact only a few days ago.

  Runkel stood up and the men who elected to remain with him did the same. Twenty men, including himself. “Will there be any talk of surrender from any of you?”

  He was met with cold stares. These men left had been with him for a long time, or had served with him before. They were hard professional soldiers, dedicated to the ideals of Nazi Germany of decades past. There was no surrender in them, for they knew if any civilian survivors of this mountain campaign had talked, telling Rebels of their months of rape and torture, the Rebels would not hesitate in hanging them. To a man, they knew all about Rebel justice.

  “Let’s go,” Runkel ordered. “We’ll stock up with supplies from a cache I personally buried and then head for cover and keep down until this campaign is over. It is my belief that General Raines will not waste a lot of tune and effort looking for so small a group, and the brave captain and those cowards with him will be sure to tell his captors how few of us were willing to fight on.” He turned and walked away, the others falling in a single file behind him.

  Miles away, Ben and Jenny were unaware of the events of that morning. They were still in the sack, wrapped up in each other. Forming a closer bond, one might say.

  Those Indians who had elected to fight against Runkel and his men watched the new soldiers leave, while waving gestures of surrender tied on their rifles. They let them go. They had taken no part in the awfulness that Runkel and his men had wrought upon the people who lived in the small towns in and around this area. No point in making war on them. And now that Jenny Marlowe—who had been a friend to them all—had taken up with General Raines, they really did not need to look after her any longer . . . if indeed they ever had had to.

  Runkel had only a few men left, and together, Ben Raines and Jenny Marlowe would take care of them.

  The Indians went back to their own people, to live out their lives in peace. Maybe.

  “Well, now,” Jenny said, lowering her binoculars for a moment. “Would you just take a look at that.”

  Ben lifted his binoculars and viewed the scene on the valley floor far below them. About fifty uniformed men, all marching along, with white handkerchiefs or rags tied to the muzzle of their rifles.

  “I bet that’s most of the new bunch,” Ben said. “They’re packing it in, marching toward Ike’s western lines.”

  “That’ll leave Runkel with about thirty men,” Jenny said, a smile on her lips.

  Ben cut his eyes and returned the smile. “Wanna go pay the good colonel and his men a visit?”

  “You sure you’ve got the strength left?” she asked, a very mischievous look dancing around in her grey eyes.

  “Since I seem to have misplaced my walker, you might have to cut me a crutch.”

  She leaned close, whispered a very suggestive few words, and then jumped up and darted away before Ben could grab her.

  Five minutes later, they were on the trail, heading east.

  Runkel lifted a hand and then motioned for his men to take cover. Something had alerted him, but he was not at all sure what it was.

  He looked out across the long narrow valley that lay in front of them and cussed. “Damn!” he muttered. He had led his men first down a box canyon, then back-tracked and into this obscenity, with high rocky cliffs on both sides. What a perfect place for an ambush. Just the place Ben Raines would pick—that son of a bitch!

  “Two at a time, at the run to that clump of trees,” Runkel said, pointing. “And don’t stop. If you stumble and fall, stay down and crawl for a few meters before getting up. And should that happen, when you do rise, don’t hesitate. Get up running. Move out.”

  The first four men to attempt the dash to the safety of the trees made it. The lead off man for the next two got halfway across and stumbled, falling to his knees and staying in that position.

  “Get down, you fool!” Runkel shouted.

  But his warning came too late. Jenny’s old rifle cracked, the bullet dusting the man, going in one side and blowing out the other.

  Runkel cussed as his man disappeared from view. He glanced up at the sun. Far too early in the day to wait until dark to cross the valley. Raines and that bitch Marlowe could stay up in the rocks and kill a half dozen more simply by shooting randomly in their general direction, for the cover was not great. He looked back at his men. “Go!” he ordered the next two men.

  Both of them made it. Runkel lifted his walkie-talkie. “When the next two start their run, two of you in the trees take off. We’ll double our chances of making it that way.” He motioned for two more to make the run then keyed the radio. “Go!”

  No shots echoed from the rocks, and that puzzled Runkel. “What the hell are you up to now, Raines?” he muttered.

  Using a series of clicks on their walkie-talkies, Ben and Jenny had moved, staying in the rocks along the steep sides of the cliffs, heading down the valley. The next good cover was at least a good two-hundred-yard-run from the clump of trees. And the men would be forced to jump a small creek that ran through the valley. Ben and Jenny stationed themselves on either side of the creek and waited.

  Runkel and the first three pairs in the clump of timber to try to long run across the creek made it to the trees and caught their breath. Ben and Jenny let them go.

  The next two men failed in their jump across the creek and both rifles cracked. Ben’s shot struck his target in the center of the chest, killing him instantly. Jenny’s shot went low and took the man in the stomach, leaving him lying by the creek, screaming hideously.

  “Goddamn this country,” Runkel cussed. “Goddamn Ben Raines and that bitch with him.”

  “And goddamn Bottger for sending us on this fool’s mission,” a senior sergeant added, not giving a damn whether the colonel liked his comment or not.

  Runkel thought about that for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. “Yes. We should have stayed home. That fool Border was sure to fail anyway.”

  Seventeen of us left, Runkel thought. How pathetic. We came in here strong and proud and sure we could not be defeated. And look at us now. Being slowly cut to pieces by one man and one woman.

  “We can’t stay here in this tiny clump of trees,” Runkel said, looking around him. “If we do that, those two in the rocks will just start shooting randomly in here and take us out that way. Has anyone spotted their positions?”

  “They’ve moved about a hundred or so meters down the valley,” a man said. “They’re about twenty-five meters on either side of the creek. That’s as close as I can tell.”

  “We could lay down covering fire as each team makes their run,” it was suggested.

  “A waste of precious ammunition,” Runkel replied. “And we can’t spare it. Set all weapons on single fire.”

  Ben and Jenny missed their next two shots, both of them taking a chance on nailing running targets. It was close, but close only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes.

  Ben glanced up: the sky was rapidly filling with ominous-looking clouds, hanging low, filled with moisture.

  His radio crackled. “Let’s get out of here, Ben,” Jenny’s voice came through the tiny speaker. “This storm has all the makin’s of a bad one.”

  “I’m with you,” Ben radioed. “Meet you at the head of the valley.”

  The valley widened from that point on, until it was over a mile wide at the head. Ben and Jenny met in the center of the valley floor just as a light drizzle was beginning to fall. Lightning was licking around the high ridges, the thunder rumbling in the distance.

  “I know a cave about a mile and a half from here,” Jenny said. “Well, it’s sort of a cave. But it’s large enough for the two of us. Come on. This storm is gonna be a piss-cutter, baby.”

  Ben grinned at her language. “Lead on . . . baby.”

  She winked at him and took off at a trot, Ben right behind her.

  They just made the tiny cave before the heavens opened up and obscured the land with a deluge of water. They had both picked up bits and pieces of dry wood along the way; each carried an armful. It would be enough for a tiny fire that day and part of the night, if they were careful.

  “Runkel and his men will be sure to take advantage of this storm and get clear of us,” Ben said.

  “We’ll find them,” Jenny said, raising her voice to be heard over the hammering and howling of the mountain storm. “We cut them down a little bit this day.”

  “And we’ll cut them down a little bit more tomorrow,” Ben said. “I’d like to take Runkel alive, if possible.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can watch the son of a bitch hang.”

  “I’d like to see that myself,” Jenny said, adding water to the tiny, two-cup coffeepot and setting it carefully on the rocks around the fire.

  “But I’ll settle for seeing him shot dead.”

  “Yeah. If we get a chance, give me the shot, Ben. Okay?”

  “You got it.”

  The storm grew in intensity and Ben and Jenny spent the rest of the afternoon talking . . . when the roar of the storm would permit normal conversation. The lashing at the earth slacked off a bit, but showed no sign of reaching its zenith any time soon.

  Warm and dry, Ben and Jenny dozed in each other’s arms.

  Two miles away, Runkel and his men marched through the torrent, knowing they were reasonably safe as long as the storm continued its ripping at the land. Once, during a rest break, one of his men asked, “If we do make it out of these mountains, Colonel, where do we go to find our way back to our Homeland?”

  Runkel did not immediately reply. He finally sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, Skyler. I doubt any of us will ever again see the new Homeland. I imagine we shall have to remain here, in this torn-apart land, and try to fit in somehow.”

  “I despise this place,” Skyler said, water dripping off his face.

  The others in the group nodded in silent agreement. They were all soaked to the skin and cold and uncomfortable. They could not risk a fire even if they had the dry wood to start one or a place out of the elements.

  “At least no one is shooting at us,” another of Runkel’s men added a positive note.

  “Yet,” another added glumly.