Free Anarchy in the Ashes by William W. Johnstone

well-trained and well-disciplined. The Russian equivalent of the German Herrenvolk may consider themselves to be the master race, but they damn well want to survive in order to prove it.
    Ben motioned Judy, Roy and Katrina to his side. “What was done to you?” he asked the young Russian girl.
    â€œThey beat me,” she said softly, her accent giving her voice a pleasing lilt. “They made me take off my clothes and then beat me. They were going to rape me but they were afraid of what might happen to them should they do that. Tell your men they are wasting their time looking for more members of this contingent of the IPF. They are gone. At the arrival of your people, they would have assessed the situation, decided they could not defeat your troops, and pulled out. Do not construe it as any act of cowardice, it is merely good sense.”
    â€œMikael is the leader?” Ben asked.
    â€œYes.” She looked at the unconscious young man. Blood streamed from his broken mouth and from one ear. “What is left of him, that is.” She added, “He is a pervert.”
    The young people who had elected to remain at the school with the IPF, who had decided to adopt the philosophy of the IPF, now sat sullenly, defiantly, silently. Katrina gave them little more than a quick glance of dismissal.
    â€œThey are what we call hard-core recruits. They needed very little persuasion. You could not reconvert them now, no matter what you said. So far, we have found many like these.”
    Ben suspected as much. “All of them young?”
    â€œOh, no,” the girl replied. “Many people, of all ages.”
    â€œAnd you?” Ben asked her.
    â€œI have not been content with General Striganov’s views of matters since I found books,” the seventeen-year-old said. “I read books. In them I found a much different world than my superiors described. I began to think – and that is something our leaders and cell coordinators do not like for us to do. They do not like for us to think about anything other than what we are told to think.”
    â€œEducation, then,” Ben prompted, “is what swayed you?”
    â€œOh, my, yes. As much of a broad education as I could give myself with the crate of books I found in Reykjavik.” She smiled. “And some of the books were authored by you, President-General Raines.” She met his gaze. Even badly bruised, the girl was beautiful. Her pale eyes held one.
    â€œAnd how do you know I am the same Ben Raines, young lady?” Ben smiled at her.
    â€œTwo reasons, President-General. One: When I mentioned the name to Roy, he smiled. Two: Your picture was in one of the books. It was, I believe, taken some years ago, but it was you.”
    â€œDon’t compliment him too much,” Gale said, standing just outside the group. “It’ll go to his head and he’ll be more impossible than ever to live with.”
    Katrina shifted her pale eyes. “You live with President-General Raines?”
    â€œGod, no!” Gale said. “That’s a figure of speech.”
    Katrina smiled. “Bot kak!”
    Walking away, Gale asked Colonel Gray, “What did that girl say to me back there?”
    Dan smiled; he spoke some Russian. “Let’s just say she questioned the validity of your statement.”
    â€œI wonder why?” Gale asked innocently.
    â€œYou three get to Doctor Carlton,” Ben told Judy, Roy and Katrina. “We’ll pull out as soon as James is through.”
    â€œHe won’t find a thing,” Katrina predicted.
    She was right.
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    The convoy took Highway 63 out of Rolla and rolled to just outside of Jefferson City, pulling into a motel complex in midafternoon. They had seen a few survivors, but Ben knew more had seen the convoy from hiding places along the highway. The people were wary and scared. The great unknown had reached out and slapped the nation twice, hard, in