William W. Johnstone Read Online Free PDF Page B

cut me to the quick.”
    Dan set the coffee mug aside. “Doubtful.” He looked at Ben. “To insult someone of his boorish nature would require a much more eloquent person than I.”
    “Don’t he talk pretty, though?” Ike said, grinning.
    The men joked and insulted each other for several minutes. They’d been friends, good friends, close friends, for years, and they were the type of men who did not, or would not, allow their feelings to show in any type of overt manner. This was their way of showing affection for the other.
    The rain continued falling, harder now than before. Ben cocked his head and listened to the drumming of the raindrops. “Dan. Double the guards. Tell them ‘heads up.’ If we’ve got unfriendlies out there, this would be an ideal time for them to hit us.”
    “Right, sir.” Dan left the small hut.
    “Expecting trouble?” Ike asked.
    “No. But I do wonder if all those eyes out there are friendly ones.”
    “Good point.”
    Dan returned in a few minutes. He had a small tin of tea with him. “Now we shall enjoy a gentleman’s drink,” he announced.
    “Does that include me?” Ike questioned.
    “Heavens no!”
    The water boiled, the tea steeping, Ben said, “Ike and his bunch will be going in from the south, Dan, as we agreed. You and your Scouts still want to play it the way we planned?”
    “Wouldn’t have it any other way, General,” Dan cheerfully replied. “We shall have a gay ol’ time doing our bloody bit.”
    “Always knowed there was something funny about you,” Ike said.
    “Imbecile!” Dan told him.
    “Flea brain!” Ike returned the cheerfully given insult.
    Ben shook his head and took his mug of steaming tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey from a jug.
    Sugar was very nearly a priceless commodity.
    The men sat and sipped, enjoying the tea, as the rain drummed on the roof.
    “Something puzzles me, General,” Dan said.
    Ike picked up on the serious note in the question and did not stick the needle to Dan. Yet.
    Ben waited.
    “In less than fifteen years,” the Englishman said, “how could intelligent men and women revert from civilization back to the caves, as these so-called underground people have done?”
    “You’re asking me a question I don’t have a ready answer for, Dan. Maybe they thought underground would be safer. With the roaming gangs of thugs and punks and assorted creeps prowling the land, these people returned to the caves, perhaps driven by some primal urgings. I just don’t know. Maybe on this run we’ll find out, since they’ve indicated they’ll fight with us.”
    “And maybe they just gave up on the promise of civilization,” Ike interjected. “A lot of folks have. You both know that; we’ve all seen it.”
    “I shall surely never understand that kind of thinking,” Dan said. “I do not understand people who just give up without a fight.”
    “And speaking of that,” Ike said, after draining his mug of tea. “I’m gonna ask one more time, and then I’ll shut up about it. Ben … stay back on this one.”
    “No. I’m taking my team in, dead center. We’ll be jumping in as planned. And have you heard from your Pathfinders, Ike?”
    “Only that they all made it. They’re probably busy laying out the DZs.”
    Ben nodded his head. “Now comes the hardest part, boys.”
    And they knew what that was: the waiting.
    The Rebels waited all that day, that night, and the following day. Still the rains continued. Ike’s Pathfinders called in from their positions. The drop zones were laid out, the coordinates given. Yes, it was raining there, too. Had been for two days. It was a bitch!
    The building where Sylvia’s riggers had worked so feverishly leaked; the chutes would have to be unpacked, dried out, and repacked.
    If it ever quit raining.
    Another full day lost.
    And the battalions coming in from the east were bogged down, having to make many detours due to the bad roads. More delays.
    And Ben knew that Striganov was not