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sense out of that.’”
    â€œI figured as much, Cec.” He told his second-in-command about the trucks of armed men they had seen and of the teams he had following them.
    â€œCurious, Ben. Very curious. You think they’re tied in with Willette?”
    â€œIt’s a possibility we have to take under consideration. What about Abe Lancer and his people? How do they stand?”
    â€œAbe is solidly with us. None of the mountain people trust Willette or any of his followers.”
    â€œCec? Keep in mind this coup attempt might get bloody. And that we may have to fire on some of our own people.”
    â€œI try not to think about that, Ben.”
    â€œI know the feeling. OK. I’m about to read the riot act to the Ninth Order. Tell me, what new intelligence do we have, if any, on this punk named Tony Silver?”
    â€œNot much new. Runs a paramilitary organization out of north Florida. Rapidly moving into south Georgia. Strong-arm stuff, slavery, forced work camps, prostitution. The whole filthy bag.”
    â€œWe settle matters with Willette, we’ll see about punching Mr. Silver’s ticket, too. And it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find him mixed up with Willette and the Ninth Order.”
    â€œYou getting your dander up, Ben?”
    â€œDamn well better believe it, buddy.”

EIGHT
    â€œGot some survivors in Macon, General,” the radio operator told Ben. “Scouts report they’re in bad shape.”
    â€œDiseased?”
    â€œNo, sir. Susie didn’t say that. Ragged, dirty, down on their luck. That type of bad shape.”
    â€œLosers.”
    â€œYes, sir. I guess that’s about it.”
    â€œWe going to meet any resistance?”
    â€œNegative, sir. Silver’s bunch was there, on a fishing expedition, but they left after taking some of the women.”
    â€œJesus Christ!” Ben said. “You mean the men just stood back and allowed Silver’s bunch to kidnap women and girls?”
    â€œThat about it, sir. Silver’s bunch took their pick and left.”
    â€œToo bad,” Ben said with a grin. “I’m in the mood to kick some ass.”
    The radio operator flashed Ben a smile. She said, “Me, too, General.”
    Ben laughed. “That’s the spirit. Christ, I wonder what happened to the men’s guts?”
    Gale stood by silently, listening. She had stopped trying to convince Ben that all men did not have his will to survive, did not possess his skills at fighting, did not have his knowledge of weapons, had not spent time in one of the roughest military units ever formed.
    Ben would look at her and reply, “What stopped them from learning the same things I know? Lack of guts, maybe?”
    She would throw up her hands and walk away, knowing that to argue further would be futile. Once Ben Raines’ mind was set, it was next to impossible to change.
    â€œWho is in charge of this team of Scouts?” Ben asked the radio operator.
    â€œSusie.”
    â€œTell her to hole up. We’re on our way.”
    The convoy approached Macon on Highway 129. The once-thriving city was no more than a hollow shell of what it had once been. Out of an original population—circa 1987 roadmap—of more than one hundred thousand, the Scouts were reporting perhaps no more than six to eight hundred people were left.
    â€œOh, Ben!” Gale said, upon sighting the first survivors.
    They were a pitiful bunch, ragged and dirty.
    â€œI feel so sorry for them,” Gale said.
    â€œWhy?” Ben asked. “It’s their own fucking fault. There is no excuse for them to walk around dressed in rags. I don’t feel a damn bit sorry for the adults. It’s the very young and the elderly who get my sympathy—and no one in between, who doesn’t have some physical infirmity.”
    Her eyes were hot on him. “That’s a pretty damned selfish and arrogant attitude,