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"You've talked to the kids?"
"Oh, yes, sir. Those that are capable of talking, that is. Some just
point to their tormentors."
"Are these men and women all ex-bikers?"
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William W. Johnstone
"No, sir. Actually, only a few are. The rest are just plain
old-fashioned scum."
"I see. The women with them, they took part in the sexual abusing, too?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well ... I mean, how? Women aren't exactly equipped for that sort of
thing."
"Artificial means, sir. If you know what I mean."
Ben sighed. "Son of a bitch!"
"Yes, sir. General, some of the prisoners wish to talk with you."
"I suppose I owe them that courtesy."
"If you say so, sir."
"Very well."
"We've set up a squad tent over there, sir." He pointed.
Ben walked over to the tent and sat down behind a portable field desk.
Jersey stood behind him and to his right, Beth behind him and to his
left. Both of them were stony-faced. Cooper and Anna elected to remain
just outside the tent. Corrie was busy with her radio.
Ben had a file on each prisoner in front of him, placed in alphabetical
order. He opened the first file, read the first few paragraphs, felt
queasy in his stomach, and closed the file. "Send the first son of a
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bitch in," he called.
The man stepped in and stood defiantly in front of Ben. "If you have
something to say, say it," Ben told him.
"I'm a prisoner of war and I demand to be treated as such," the man
said. "I know my rights and them kids lie!"
"A prisoner of war," Ben repeated softly. "I know of no declaration of
war that exists between our two groups."
"Don't have to be none. You and your army invaded our state. We got a
right to defend our sovereign territory."
"Really?"
"That's right."
"I suppose you are going to tell me you never sexually abused any of the
children?"
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"That's right. I never done no such of a thing."
"You're a liar! Some of your own people have rolled over on you."
"Them kids wanted it, General. They ain't nothin' but a bunch of lyin'
little faggots. Some of 'em's goofy in the head, anyways. They ain't
never gonna be good for nothin'."
Ben wrote two words on the first page of the file, then signed his name
below that. "Cooper!"
"Boss?" Cooper stuck his head into the tent.
Ben handed him the file. "Give this to the interrogation officer,
please. And take this walking piece of shit out of here."
"Yes, sir."
"What'd you write in that file, Raines?" the outlaw demanded.
Ben opened the file and held it up so the hulking oaf could see it. Just
above his signature he had written, in capital letters: HANG HIM.
The battle for the old national forest fizzled out after only one day of
fighting, with the dopers and the outlaws and the various other human
scum and crud turning themselves in by the droves. Some of them were
tried and hanged, but most were merely disarmed and turned loose, after
being photographed and blood samples taken for DNA identification . . .
should they ever again screw up in Rebel territory.
"You can bet they'll screw up in somebody's territory," Jersey opined.
"Just as long as it isn't in the SUSA or any town or settlement who
subscribes to our philosophy," Ben said.
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The Tri-States philosophy was becoming a real problem for newly elected
mayors and governors all over the divided nation. There were thousands
of people in all sections of
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America who wanted to live under the banner of the Tri-States doctrine,
but did not want to leave the place where they were born and reared. So
they decided to stay right where they had lived for most of their lives
and adopt the Tri-States system of justice . . . which was not at all to
the liking of anyone who subscribed to the hanky-stomping,
sobbing-sister, take-a-punk-to-lunch-bunch,
it's-not-the-criminal's-fault, give-me-something-for-nothing liberal
crowd who were once more surfacing in hand-wringing, snot-slinging whiny
bunches outside of the SUSA.
They knew better than to cross the borders into the SUSA with their
bullshit.
Unknown to either Cecil Jefferys or Ben Raines, the governors of a dozen
Northern and Eastern states had agreed to meet secretly to discuss how
best to deal with those people who insisted upon living outside the SUSA
but still refused to recognize any law other than the common sense laws
as set forth in the SUSA charter .... known halfway around the world as
the Tri-States philosophy, and practiced in many foreign countries.
But what really irked the governors and mayors and other elected
officials was while they were battling apathy and high crime in their
areas, in those areas that subscribed to the Tri-States philosophy,
neighbor helped neighbor to rebuild, and crime was practically nonexistent.
It was all very irritating to those officials who adamantly rejected the
Tri-States philosophy . . . and they were determined to smash the
movement before others could adopt it.
"Attempt anything like that," one newly elected governor said, "and
we're going to have Ben Raines and his Rebels breathing down our necks.
I don't want that."
"President Altman has pledged his support," another governor said.
"It will be years before Altman has an army of any size,"
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the mayor of a rebuilding small city said. "And Altaian is weak; he's
afraid of Ben Raines and the Rebels."
"And you're not?" a governor questioned with a smile. "I can tell you
all I am, and I'm not ashamed to admit it."
"The problem is," Governor Bradford, a newly elected governor from the
northeast region of the separated nation spoke up, "those who subscribe
to this Tri-State philosophy are well-organized and well-armed." He
grimaced. "Ben Raines has seen to that. And they seem to have no respect
for anyone who doesn't agree with them."
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Governor Willis, a newly elected governor also from the northeast, but a
moderate in his political views, shook his head. "I have to disagree
with that, Brad. It isn't that they don't have respect for others. I've
found Tri-Staters to be, for the most part, a very law-abiding,
hard-working, and respectful group of people . . ."
Bradford snorted in derision.
Willis ignored him and continued, "... They have agreed to pay their
fair share of taxes, they certainly are willing to help each other
rebuild-we've all observed many shining examples of that. It's just they
. . ." He paused and reflected for a few seconds; smoothed back his
thinning and graying hair. "... won't tolerate crime or people who
refuse to work and want something for nothing. In many ways, ladies and
gentlemen, they personify the spirit of America of three hundred years ago."
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