The Admiral had been right; although they saw ships in the distance as they passed through the Gulf of Mexico and steamed toward Key West, they were never closely approached and never fired upon, although on two occasions reconnaissance planes from the other carriers flew over, causing the Admiral to scramble his own fighter jets. Melanie worried about there being an inadvertent encounter; the Admiral assured her he was in constant touch with the Captains of the other ships, and the likelihood of that happening was small.

At Key West, Melanie received a hero's welcome. Thousands of people were on the docks as their landing craft made their way to shore; the mayor greeted her, making her an honorary "conch"--the local name for a native of Key West--and pledging the resources of the city to her cause. Melanie had expected a sort of a rag-tag army to be waiting for her; in her imagination she saw farmers with pitchforks, stevedores with their hooks, and fisherman with gaffes and harpoons ready to march on Washington.

Instead of that, she was presented with a surprisingly well-organized citizens' army--which, Harry told her, had been arranged by a man who stood by the mayor's side, a wiry gray-haired man whose name was Frank Lindner and who was known as "Conch" online--and whose daughter had been executed on television years ago. People from all over had been flying in, sailing in, and driving in to the Keys as word of her impending arrival went out over the Internet, and these people had brought a lot of weaponry, and a lot of support equipment like heavy trucks, with them. They even, she was told, had some armor; a part of the National Guard in south Florida had thrown in with them, and they were waiting along the highway leading to Miami with a few tanks, some artillery pieces, and several attack helicopters. With the Admiral's fleet cruising offshore and the massive air power the carrier could bring to bear, an easy passage into south Florida seemed assured.

From there, she was told, it wasn't going to be so easy. Another piece of the Florida National Guard, a large number of Federal agents from the FBI and BATF along with a crack division of regular Army troops from Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and a number of policemen from a variety of jurisdictions, were waiting for them just south of Florida City. The President had ordered the Air Force wing from McDill AFB to provide opposition to the Navy planes from the Jimmy Carter. At the moment the actions of that wing were unpredictable, they had as yet released no statement and postings on the Internet suggested that a fierce struggle for control was going on at the base--and at several other key military bases around the country, especially along their route from Miami to Washington.

Even so, they were all prepared for the worst as they set out from Key West the next morning, up U.S. 1 along the many bridges that connected the Keys. As expected, the breakaway National Guard troops and their equipment was waiting at Garden Cove, near the top of the Keys; here they stopped and pitched camp.

"I'd bet," Melanie said to Harry and to the Captain of the Guard as she studied a map of south Florida that evening, "that they're expecting us to come marching right straight on up US 1. I'd bet that'd go right into the teeth of their defenses."

"It would," the Captain, a young man named Miller, told her. He pointed to another sheet of paper. "But you have the recon right there from the Admiral's fleet. The line is rather thin. They don't have anywhere near as much as we thought they did. We can break through pretty easily."

Melanie scowled at the map. "I'm not trained in this," she said slowly, "but I don't like things that don't add up. All our communications, all the stuff coming over the Net, was telling us they had a force four times this large. Now Navy recon says it's much smaller. I think the recon was fooled."

"Fooled?"

"Yes." She pulled out another sheet of paper. "That group from Bragg, that's sort of their specialty. That's what it says here, anyway." She tapped the map with a pen. "I'd bet they're trying to lure us into a trap. They've got three-quarters of their forces hidden, here, here, and here. When we move forward to confront the group blocking the highway, they hit us from both sides and from the rear. I won't say we can't win a fight like that--we have more than they think we do--but it'll hurt us, bad. It'll be a horrible bloody affair."

"You might well be right," Harry said. "I've been worrying about the discrepancy too."

"Why can't we go around this way?" she asked, indicating the road to Fort Myers. "It'll take a little longer, but we can come around behind them if we do. Maybe win this battle without fighting it. I don't want any more people killed on either side than we can help."

"That," Harry observed, "isn't a bad idea at all. Maybe we can do a little better time-wise, though, and minimize the risk of the opposition figuring out what we're doing." He pointed to the map. "The Seminole Indians live here," he said, tapping the area shown as the Everglades. "I'd be really surprised if they weren't sympathetic to us. We might be able to get them to guide us straight across the Glades and we can come back down through Homestead and Florida City." He turned to Melanie. "Want me to get up with them?"

"Sounds good to me, Harry," Melanie agreed. The meeting ended at that point; it wasn't very long before Harry returned with word that the Seminoles were indeed in sympathy with them, and were not only willing to guide them but were interested in joining their ever-growing army. The next morning the force moved out. Following the plan Harry had laid out with the Seminoles, they were met by Seminole scouts in balloon-tired Jeeps and airboats just as they entered the Florida mainland, above four miles above the town of Jewfish. Directing them to turn westward, the Indians led Melanie and her troops into the "River of Grass" that covered much of south Florida, showing them paths along forest roads that even the Guard's heavy vehicles had no problem traversing. After crossing almost all of the Everglades they looped back eastward, planning a return to US1 and an attack on their enemies from the north.

But, when they were about five miles from US1, word came that the soldiers and Federal agents waiting to block their way had somehow gotten wind of their movements and were turning and advancing to meet them.

"But you were right, Melanie," Captain Miller said as they read the e-mailed message. "Three-quarters of their forces were waiting to ambush us when we confronted the remainder. They'll be late to the party now, they have to come back up from further south."

"And we need to move it," Melanie said. "Fast. We want to engage that first unit before the others get here, before they have time to reorganize themselves." She stared at the map. "But let's let them get through Homestead first," she added. "Fighting them in a city environment would actually be better for us, but we don't want a lot of civilians getting caught up in things. I'd guess they don't either--they don't need any more bad press and they're going to see themselves as having the advantage out in the countryside--so I'd expect they'd come on through town pretty fast."

No one argued with that assessment. With the main unit headed down the highway and the Guard's armor, still being guided by the Seminoles, rolling over marshland and through the forests on either side, the rebel force charged toward the opposition. Less than an hour later, they encountered it--in the form of Army attack helicopters swarming toward them, the same sort of helicopters Melanie had seen back on the island.

This, however, surprised no one. Almost as soon as the choppers were visible, the Navy fighters from the Jimmy Carter made their appearance, screaming out of the skies toward them. Melanie, nude as always, perched atop the trailer of an eighteen-wheeler and watching through binoculars--she'd insisted on it, in spite of everyone's advice that she maintain a more protected position further back in the column--saw the choppers slow their flight.

But they did not turn around, and a moment later, it became obvious why not. More jets, different ones, made an appearance, shrieking up from the northwest horizon. Bringing her binoculars to bear on them, Melanie could clearly see the "USAF" logo on their wings. Making wide turns, the Navy planes wheeled away from the helicopters and turned as if to face them; Melanie held her breath, waiting for an exchange of missiles that would bring many of them crashing down from the skies.

But the exchange never came. Instead, the Air Force planes ignored their carrier-based cousins and pointed their noses down at the seemingly waiting helicopters, and the Navy planes continued their turn until they'd joined up with them in a formation three times the size of the original one. From down along the line, someone was yelling that radio traffic indicated the Air Force planes were warning the helicopter pilots that they'd fire on them if they did not turn back. A massive, thunderous, cheer went up from the rebel column. The conflict at McDill had, apparently, been settled--and it had been settled in favor of the rebels. Sitting atop the truck, Melanie felt like she was choking. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the buzzing, insect-like helicopter gunships were turned away by the silver birds that were now a part of their movement.

Atop the now-stopped truck, Melanie stood up. "Go!" she screamed, pointing forward. "Go, now! This is our day!"

Then she fell hard on her butt as the truck surged forward.

Laughing, she picked herself up and seated herself again while the truck--along with the rest of the column--picked up speed. Within a very short time they came to within sight of their opponents--who, knowing that without any sort of air cover the odds were not at all good in spite of their much superior weaponry--were in full flight up US 1 toward the north. Picking up the radio unit she'd been given by one her recruits in Key West, she issued a general order not to fire on them, to let them go.

For the next hour, the column just waited while their enemies fled--a "strategic retreat," she was sure their officers would call it. Harry, Rachel, Dave, and Michelle joined her atop the truck, and for a while they sat in silence, just watching the federal force pass by. Now that they were back in the States, Rachel and Eileen had, for the most part, adopted a more modest shorts-and-T-shirt uniform. Michelle, however, like most of the veterans of the Preserve, continued to decline the use of clothing.

"Miller feels we should have demanded a surrender," Harry noted. "He's saying we may have to fight them later, in circumstances more favorable to them. We can't really hope that every Air Force wing will throw in with us."

Still watching the passing column, Melanie shook her head. "No. For the most part those are just men and women doing their duty as they see it. We know that the government wants to see as many of us dead in the fighting as possible; it's very possible those soldiers and policemen are aware of that, they may have even been given 'no prisoners' orders. I want to set up a contrast, I want to show them we're better. I want them coming over to our side, and I think some of them will."

Harry smiled. "Optimist."

She flashed him a bright grin in return. "I have a right to be. Who would've expected I'd have a Navy task force and an Air Force wing on my side?"

"It's sure as hell more than I ever expected," Harry agreed, shaking his head. "I was imagining years in the forest, guerrilla tactics, hit-and-run."

"All thanks to Dave and his web page," Michelle noted.

"You're giving me too much credit," Dave replied. He looked out over the road, which by then was almost empty. "We need to go on up there now," he suggested. "They probably didn't take everything with them in that retreat, and they probably left a lot of stuff we can use."

"They may have," Harry cautioned, "left some booby traps, too. Like land mines."

"That's a point," Melanie agreed. "We should go ahead, yes. We should also take all possible precautions." She picked up her radio again and gave an advisory, suggesting that everyone follow Captain Miller's suggestions concerning traps and mines.

Slowly, the truck, along with the rest of the convoy, rolled up to now-vacant US 1. Melanie and the others climbed down from the top of the truck as Miller and some National Guardsmen began inspecting the roadsides, looking for signs of mines. Nothing was found; as the next few hours slipped by, it became apparent that the fleeing federal troops had not taken the time to mine the area--or perhaps had merely decided not to. They had, however, left a virtual treasure-trove of equipment and ammunition, including several modern artillery pieces, strewn at random up the highway. Taking their time, following the advisory about mines and traps, the rebel soldiers began collecting the equipment, and the column moved slowly northward up US 1 as they did. No traps were found--the material had, indeed, simply been abandoned by panicked soldiers. Much more well armed than they were before, they continued onward. A few hours later, as they rolled past Miami, their force was swelled again, by new recruits from the city.

This, as far as Melanie was concerned, presented a possible problem. She wasn't naive enough to think that all the recruits coming in from a city like Miami would represent people who were actually concerned with her cause; some of them, perhaps a lot of them, were merely interested in a drunken looting party up the coast. To answer it, she sent out officers from the National Guard to organize and control the groups of civilians that had joined them--and, following their recommendations, most of these men and women were not allowed to carry arms, they were assigned to support tasks. This didn't sit well with some, and, as they pushed on northward, several large groups of these recruits left them, headed back to the city. Melanie wasn't worried about it; their army was, as she saw it, large enough, especially with the support of the Admiral's fleet and the Air Force wing. She wasn't naive enough to think, though, that every battle would end as this one had. As they drew closer and closer to Washington, resistance was almost sure to stiffen. She had no illusions; bloody battles and significant loss of life lay ahead.