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Chuck's militia cut them down.
The fire from the timber abated, then ceased altogether. Ben yelled,
"Throw up security lines around the clearing. Then take a head count and
find out who turned. Alert your people in the park."
Chuck began yelling orders. Ben again checked his watch. When Chuck
finished, Ben called, "Planes here in seven minutes. Form up the light
lines."
Chuck walked up, cussing. "Dirty traitorous sons of bitches! I'll have
every damned one of them shot."
"Check the dead and wounded in the timber," Ben told him. "Any alive
might be persuaded to tell us something."
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"Bet on that," Chuck said grimly.
"Rest of us get the light lines formed up. We're running out of time."
It took four minutes to get the DZ lit up. In the timber the sounds of
an occasional gunshot could still be heard as Chuck's people found
turncoats and the traitors put up a fight ... very brief fights, in most
cases, for Chuck's people were pissed off to the max and not interested
in any sort of niceties.
"Planes!" someone yelled, and Ben turned toward the east just as the
lights of the first big transport could be faintly seen coming in low
over the hills and mountains.
"Lights on!" Ben yelled.
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Two long lines of light flashed on, marking the wide DZ in the valley.
The lead transport flashed its flight lights, signaling they had the DZ
in visual.
Thousands of feet above the transports fighters circled, in case of
trouble, but there was no more trouble in the huge park that night.
Dozens of parachutes suddenly blossomed in the night sky as the supplies
were dropped. Chuck's people raced to retrieve the supplies. There was
very little wind that night, and the supply drop went off without a
hitch. Several tons of much needed supplies floated soundlessly into the
valley, and then the night grew quiet as the huge transports made their
turn and headed back toward the east.
"Let's see what we've got," Ben called.
They had rockets and launchers, M-60 machine guns and M-16's. Machine
pistols with sound suppressors. Cases and cases of various types of
grenades. Thousands of rounds of ammo. Boots and BDUs, socks and
underwear. Berets and helmets and body armor. Medical supplies for every
need and emergency. Cases of field rations. Water filtration systems and
purification tabs. Portable stoves and heat tabs.
There were supplies strung out from one end of the valley to the other.
"Good God Almighty!" Chuck exclaimed. "When you call for a supply drop
you don't kid around, do you, General?"
Ben chuckled. "I didn't call for a lot of this. But my people want me to
be prepared for any eventuality."
"Well, we damn sure are now!"
"For a fact," Lara said.
"Let's get this stuff cached and take a head count," Ben suggested.
"I can tell you we've got four dead and several wounded,"
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Chuck told him. "How many turncoats we had is still up for grabs. But I
will find out. Bet on that."
There was no more time for conversation as men and women started coming
in and picking up the supplies and loading them in small trailers hooked
to three-wheelers and four-wheelers. They would diwy up the supplies
come daylight, and discuss the fates of the turncoats and how to deal
with them.
"I know how to deal with them," Lara said, considerable heat in her words.
Several other members of the militia groups in the park standing nearby
nodded their heads in agreement, a couple of them adding some very
earthy descriptive phrases along with the nods.
There was no way the turncoats were going to live very long after this
night, not unless they moved out of North America.
Sad, Ben thought. The conditions in the USA had come to this: neighbor
pitted against neighbor, father against son, brother against brother.
Ten times worse than during the first civil war, a hundred and fifty
years back.
The supplies were cached and the men and women of Ben's new command in
the northeast got a few hours sleep. At dawn they were up and taking
stock of what they had and how many men and women had turned on them.
"I'm getting reports in," Chuck said. "Ed was the ringleader. Nolan was
in on it, too. There were fifteen others. Three of them are dead, four
wounded, and we have them. One of them isn't going to make it ... if he
hasn't died already."
"Why did they do it?" Belle asked. "My God, I've known Ed for years."
"Money and power was Nolan's reason. Money and college for his kid was
Ed's reason."
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"I thought under Osterman's government anybody who wanted to could go to
college." Ben said.
"That was the claim," Lara replied. "And still is. But it didn't work
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