The nose of the ship continued to pitch upward, and Jack leveled out the climb at forty-five degrees, checking to make sure the tail didn't drag. He saw the ground dropping away rapidly, and Pat raised a flask of vodka in salute.
The ship surged up slightly, and he felt his stomach drop and then flutter, beads of sweat breaking out on his face. He cranked open the forward windows to let the backwash from the engines swirl in. Using more left rudder, he swung the ship around to a southerly heading. The course would take him down southeast, across the Great Sea.
The ship surged yet again, buffeted by a shift in the wind. Unable to hold back any longer, he stuck his head out the side window and vomited. As he gasped for breath, he saw Pat waving from the ground, obviously laughing, holding up his flask and then taking a drink.
"Wish I'd hit you, you bastard," he groaned. He wiped the sweat from his face and set Flying Cloud on course, trying to block out his fears of all that could go wrong.
Dale Hinsen gazed intently at the terrified worker who stood trembling before him.
"And you say the escape is ready to go?"
"Yes, Gakka."
"How will they do it?"
"I don't know, Gakka. Just that there is an escape planned for tonight. The black men, I heard two of the black men speak while I was relieving myself behind the charcoal pile. They did not know I was there."
Dale smiled inwardly at the honorific normally used when speaking to one of the Horde.
"You know the Moon Feast is tomorrow. If you are lying to me I promise that you will be delivered not to the table of the Qarth but to that of Karga."
The Chin worker trembled. The barbarities that Karga performed went far beyond the slow death by fire.
"Who is the leader of this?"
The worker hesitated.
"Who?"
"The Yankee."
"Schuder?"
The worker looked at him, confused.
"The one man said, 'The Yankee has given the order.' That's all I know, Gakka."
Hinsen smiled. A decade-long dream of vengeance was finally at hand.
"If this is true, you'll be removed from the treadmill. If not …” He left the sentence unfinished as he motioned for the worker to withdraw.
Hinsen carefully considered his options. He could not just send a message to Karga. If he did that, and the rumor was false, he would pay. If the rumor was true, Karga would take the credit for unmasking the plot and leave him out. Nor could he go to Ha'ark, especially if the report should prove to be false.
The one alternative was to go to the factory. The freedom that he enjoyed allowed him to do that, but his mere presence would arouse comment. If some sort of escape were being planned, his arrival could tip Hans off, and again he would have nothing. No, it was best to wait, wait until dark. There would be time enough then to act.
Ha'ark stirred, breaking away from the sleeping embrace of his concubine. It was nearly time for the setting of the sun, and he sat up. But there was something else, something in his dreams, a troubled warning, a vague uneasiness. As he dressed, the warning continued to float in his mind.
“Pull the hatch."
Gregory glanced at the watcher standing by the side of the furnace, who nodded reassuringly. The one guard was still alone, halfway down the length of the foundry.
Ketswana stood silent beside him, his eyes bright with tension. One of the diggers set the crowbar into the corner of the flagstone cover and pried the rock up. Hands from down in the tunnel reached up, pushing the flagstone back, and Gregory knelt down.
“Everything secure?"
"We're ready to cut the last couple of feet."
Gregory took a deep breath. "All right, then."
He nodded at Lin to follow, and they scrambled down the ladder. Crawling on hands and knees, Gregory led the way, warning Lin not to brush against any of the supports. When he reached the inclined shaft leading up to the warehouse, he came up behind a digger who was looking back down the tunnel, illuminated by the flickering light of a lamp strapped to his forehead.
"How far?"
"Only a foot or two. You could hear them up there earlier. I think they just left for the day."
Gregory looked back at Lin's face, barely visible behind him. "We're going to punch through. As soon as we're in, you get yourself up there, and if anyone's inside you better start talking real quick. If one of them panics, it's all over."
Gregory looked up at the digger and said, "Go ahead."
He winced as the man reached up and with powerful jabs hacked his way through the' clay. Anyone inside the warehouse would have to be deaf not to hear the noise. He could imagine cutting through only to find himself staring into the face of a Bantag. The digger continued to cut, a rain of clay cascading down. The man paused occasionally to scoop the loose earth back with his bare hands, grunting to move forward another couple of inches and then cutting again.
"Through the clay. Sand now." And even as he announced the change, a cascade of sand tumbled into Gregory's eyes, blinding him, followed a few seconds later by something different, small hard pellets that rained down with a dry, rustling sound.
"Rice," Lin whispered. "It's rice."
Gregory opened his eyes and looked up. The digger was reaching up, tearing at the strawlike fabric of a rice bag, the precious granules flooding down on them like a river.
"How many bags were in there?" Gregory hissed.
"Nearly a thousand, but on the far side of the warehouse. I made sure this side was cleared."
If they've moved the pile we're doomed, Gregory thought.
Cursing, the digger reached up and tore at the bag. Gregory wanted to tell him to be cautious but knew that was ridiculous. This was the moment he had dreaded since the start of it all, the fear that their calculations were off and that they would come up outside the warehouse or that someone would be inside the warehouse when they broke through. The digger, swearing incessantly, tore into the next bag, and another river of rice poured down into the tunnel. Gregory scooped it up as the cascade all but buried the man struggling above him and tried to push it back down the slope. The irony suddenly struck him that he was cursing at a supply of food that would have moved him to tears of joy under any other circumstances.
The flow of rice continued as the digger cut into yet another bag and then another. There was no way to tell how much time passed, but Gregory sensed that they were already behind schedule and that their intricate timetable was falling apart. He could well imagine the tension back in the foundry as the first escapees moved into position in the charcoal pile but then were forced to wait.
“I think I'm through!"
Gregory felt a cool burst of fresh air. The digger struggled upward and suddenly his feet disappeared. Seconds later a hand reached back through and Gregory grasped it. Pulled up through the hole, he breathed a sigh of relief. He saw that they had come out on the side of a pile of rice bags that must have been laid down during the day. If the tunnel had emerged only a few feet more to the right they would have come up in the middle and been trapped for hours. Lin popped up out of the hole, muttering a soft curse, and Gregory held up his hand for silence… someone was opening the warehouse door.
Crouching low, he waited, feeling for the knife blade strapped to his right leg. The digger squatted beside him, his hands wrapped around the handle of his shovel.
The door slid open.
"Jakgarth, jakgarth?"
It was a Bantag guard.
Gregory waited. The guard stood silhouetted in the doorway, holding a lantern and peering into the building. Gregory saw the glint of a barrel in his right hand… a double-barreled shotgun.
He waited, praying. The guard stood silent, his head cocked, as if listening. Suddenly a trickle of rice slithered out of a cut bag, pouring down into the tunnel.
"Jakgarth!"
The guard stepped into the warehouse, and the distinctive click of a gun being cocked echoed through the cavernous building.
Why doesn't he see us? Gregory wondered.
He took another step and stopped.
"Baktu!” The word was a drawn-out hiss.
Gregory sprang up over the bags of rice, leaping straight at him, blade raised high. Startled, the guard stepped back, trying to swing his shotgun around, dropping the lantern.
Gregory slammed into his chest, the blade scraping against the Bantag's leather jerkin, the guard grunting in surprise. Gregory fell to one side and tried desperately to scramble back to his feet. The shotgun continued to swing around, and even in the shadows Gregory knew the barrel was poised only inches from his head. He tried to spring back up with his blade, but he knew the race was lost.
A dull thump resounded in the warehouse, followed an instant later by a gasp of pain. The Bantag staggered to one side, his head snapping forward. Another blow resounded, and something warm and sticky splashed onto Gregory's face as the Bantag sagged to his knees, the shotgun clattering to the floor beside him.
The digger stood behind the Bantag, his shovel blade flashing in the dim light as it cut a deadly arc, slamming into the Bantag's neck and severing his head, which tumbled to the ground by Gregory's side. The body kicked spasmodically as it slowly crumpled into the sacks of rice.
Gregory staggered to his feet, his knees like jelly. Trembling, he examined the Bantag, and then, with a rising sense of panic, he realized the door was open. He scooped up the shotgun. The weight of the gun, the feel of the oiled barrel in his hand, filled him with sudden elation.
Training the weapon on the door, he saw that the digger was grinning at him. Gregory nodded his thanks and then motioned toward the door. "Close it."
"Wait," Lin hissed. "There's always a guard wandering outside through the yard. Someone might notice him missing."
Damn! "Pass the word to start them through," he said to the digger. "I'm going outside."
Gregory reached down, and fumbling with the chin strap, he tore the helmet off the guard's head and then worked the cape loose from the body. He donned the helmet and cape and started for the door.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lin asked.
"Playing guard."
"You're two feet too short. They'll spot you in a minute."
"Got any other suggestions?" Gregory hissed. "You're even shorter. Now help me close the door!"
Pulling the cloak tight around his shoulders Gregory stepped out onto the warehouse platform and looked around.
Damn!… the train wasn't there! Lin started to tug the door behind him.
"Wait!"
Trying to look casual and avoid tripping over the cape, which dragged on the ground, he walked slowly down the length of the platform. At the end of it he paused, listened for a moment, and then drew a deep breath. He peeked around the edge of the building toward the rail yard. A lone train with five boxcars stood on a siding. He studied it intently. The engine was cold. He felt as if his heart would burst. All this effort for nothing. There was no way they could pull back now, cover up the hole, and wait for tomorrow night—not with a decapitated guard in the warehouse. When the watch shifted in the middle of the night, his absence would be noticed and the search would be on.
He walked slowly back to the door, and from the corner of his eye he saw a guard on the watchtower overlooking the entryway into the foundry. The guard was looking straight at him.
Gregory slowly held his shotgun up as if saluting. The bastard's got to be blind if he doesn't figure it out, Gregory thought, even as he reached the door and started to slide it shut.
The guard raised his gun and then turned away.
Breathing a silent prayer of thanks to Kesus, Gregory left the door open by a crack.
"Listen carefully, Lin. The nearest train's a hundred yards away on the siding and the engine's cold. Send word back to Hans, tell him we need Alexi up here now. Tell him we've got four hours at best before the guards change and they find out."
Cursing silently, Hans crumpled up the dirty scrap of paper that had been passed back through the tunnel and then turned to Alexi.
"You've got one train out there with a cold engine. Get to work."
Alexi swore vehemently.
"This would be the night the train gets in late. They won't be done loading till near dawn."
"We can't wait till then. Gregory just killed a guard. Once they change guards at midnight, they'll know. We go with the engine out there."
Motioning to his fireman, Alexi disappeared into the tunnel.
Hans stuck the scrap of paper into his pocket and started down the length of the foundry. Karga was nowhere in sight, and the spotter motioned toward the main door out the barracks compound.
Damn. Now what?
He slowed to watch as four more escapees from his barracks casually came into the foundry, bearing sacks of charcoal, and walked toward number three. He looked over at the treadmill walkers. One of them was looking straight back at him, and he wondered if anyone in the mills had caught on yet that there was a steady stream of people coming in but no one going out.
With his heart in his throat, Hans stepped out of the building and onto the loading platform, where a work crew was shoveling charcoal into wicker baskets. Four more escapees came from around the side of the pile, grabbed the baskets, and started into the warehouse.
He slowed as he approached a waterboy and stopped for a drink from the boy's bucket.
"Karga?" he whispered.
"Passed here twenty minutes ago."
Hans nodded and casually continued on, walking around the train and out toward the number one barracks. A watcher by the door nodded, then jerked his head toward the gate.
"Karga left ten minutes ago."
Why would he leave the factory? Hans wondered.
"The other guards?"
"At their usual posts."
No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. How many times had he told Andrew that? Easy enough to say when there was an officer to deal with the headaches, come to a conclusion, and give the orders.
Hans stepped into the barracks. The floor was crowded with escapees, all of them waiting expectantly.
Hans looked over at Tamira. He would have given his life at this moment for her to be already through the tunnel. He knew as well that no one would have objected if she had gone first, but his own sense of pride and his understanding of what had to be done prevented him. She would be the last to leave the barracks. He squatted by her side and looked into her eyes. He could sense the fear that was about to explode, but she forced a smile.
Reaching out, he let his fingers brush across Andrew's cheek. "He's asleep?"
"I gave him the draught a half hour ago."
Hans looked anxiously at the child in her arms. He could only hope that they had guessed right on the number of drops of opiate. Once into the tunnel she was going to have to crawl the length of it while pushing Andrew ahead of her. If he should cry at any time, either in the foundry or in the warehouse, everything was lost.
"We'll be going soon," he whispered.
She grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed it fiercely. "This all started because of me, didn't it?" she whispered.
Hans smiled. There was no sense in lying. "Our son will be free," he whispered back. "That's why."
She nodded, tears clouding her eyes, and finally let go.
"Ketswana will bring word when we can get the rest of you out."
A muffled cry from a child struggling not to take the opium greeted his words. He stood silent for a moment, sensing the panic that was about to erupt.
"Remember, neither Tamira nor I gets out until the rest of you do."
He headed back to the door.
"Now!"
The door slid open just long enough for three men to slip out and then slammed shut again. They looked at him, wide-eyed with fear.
"Don't worry, it's all right," Gregory whispered.
"Hell, I thought we'd just run into the world's shortest Bantag."
Gregory grinned, glad to hear a familiar Rus voice again.
"Walk in front of me. Try and hunch over a bit so we don't look quite the same height. The train's in the main yard."
The three set off, Gregory waiting several seconds before following. From the corner of his eye he studied the watchtower and saw that the lone guard was still looking inward, not having bothered with a second glance in his direction.
Rounding the side of the building, he breathed a sigh of relief as they set out through the shadows of the rail yard. The three reached the engine and scrambled up into the open cab. Alexi pulled the firebox door open, and Gregory winced at the metallic grating sound.
"Thank Kesus, there's still a bit of a fire in there," Alexi announced. "She's not stone-cold."
"How long to get up steam?"
Alexi stood up and in the darkness peered intently at the gauges. "Water's still warm." He said. "Good supply of wood in the tender."
Gregory almost wanted to weep with relief. He hadn't even thought of the wood until now.
"Hour at the most. Problem is, we're bound to draw attention. Smoke from the stack, and once she starts cooking up, steam will be venting off. Where's the nearest guards?"
Gregory looked up and down the track. The nearest structure was the control and dispatch building, barely visible in the starlight, a hundred fifty yards away. The light from a dim lantern was reflected in the window.
"Must be at least one up there," he whispered.
Alexi looked out from the cab. "They're bound to hear it.
Gregory nodded.
A desperate plan started to form. He quickly outlined it to Alexi, who shook his head.
Battle Hymn Page 18