Battle Hymn (24 page)

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 comer 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.

"We need the train schedules, it's the only way."

"I think you're insane. At least let me get started here first. That way, if you fail, some of us still might get out."

"Thanks for the confidence."

Alexi sighed, extending his hands. "Go ahead, then, you damn fool."

Without waiting for a reply he turned and crawled through the firebox door into the boiler, whispering for his two helpers to start passing wood in.

As Gregory rounded the comer on his way back to the warehouse, he saw that the guard at the tower was looking in his direction. Again, he raised his shotgun in acknowledgment. The guard did not reply for several seconds, as if coming to a decision, and then finally waved in reply and slowly turned away. As Gregory walked along the platform, he saw the Bantag turn and look at him again.

He must be suspicious, Gregory realized. After all, how many five-and-a-half-foot Bantag are there? He tried to walk casually past the warehouse door, slowed, then came to a stop. One of the weaknesses of their plan was already obvious. The sounds coming from inside the warehouse as it filled with escapees could not be contained—muffled whispers, the dull thud of something dropping, a badly concealed cough. Each noise sounded to him like a thunderclap.

In the next few minutes the guard turned around several times to look at Gregory and then back to the factory compound. Gregory slowly paced back and forth, the minutes seemingly dragging into an eternity. Every couple of minutes the guard peered at him again. He ignored the glances, trying to act as if he were numb with boredom, his head lowered, his feet shuffling. He'd have to make his move on the dispatch hut soon, but it was best to hold off as long as possible. He drifted to the end of the warehouse and checked the locomotive. It was starting to build up steam, sparks spiraling out of the stack as the heat from the fire increased the draft. Pops and hisses, like the sound of a teakettle heating up, echoed in the yard. He looked back again at the guard, who apparently had settled down. Gregory eased back toward the door.

"Lin?"

There was a moment's pause. "What is it?"

"How many so far?"

"Just over a hundred and fifty."

It was way too slow.

How much longer do we have? He walked back around the warehouse and saw a fiery glow flickering as the firebox door popped open.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed. To his right he saw a column of half a hundred Bantag guards come around the comer of the compound wall, moving quickly. He felt as if his heart would stop.

He waited for the column to turn toward him, but it continued straight past, running toward the main gate. He stepped back into the shadows, watching intently. In the middle of the crowd he saw a lone human. Though he had never laid eyes on him before, he sensed who it was and spat out the name like a curse.

"Hinsen."

Hans looked around the foundry floor. They had put more than two hundred into the tunnel so far, and nearly everyone was out of his own barracks. At the nearest treadmill, he saw, the pace had slowed. Several of those inside stared straight at Hans and then at the new crew of charcoal bearers walking past. They must have figured it out by now, Hans realized.

Hans walked away, moving up the floor in the opposite direction from number three.

"Hans!"

It was Ketswana.

"Gregory just passed a message back. Fifty armed guards at the gate. Hinsen's with them."

"Who?"

"Hinsen. Gregory just sent the message back up through the tunnel."

"Hinsen." In all the time here he had never actually seen the traitor. Why, why of all nights would he come here tonight?

The realization was like an icy hand clutching his heart.

"They know."

Hans tried to absorb the information. At least once every couple of weeks the Bantags pulled a surprise search during the night, looking for hidden food, weapons, any excuse to haul someone away to the pits. He wanted to believe that was the case tonight. But even if it was, they would soon discover that several of the barracks were half empty.

They had to know that something was up: Someone must have talked, most likely directly to Hinsen. Otherwise he would not be here for the kill.

Hans looked around at the factory floor. "The other guards?"

"At their usual posts."

"Get ready to kill all of them. Get ready as well to send the signal for a mass break to the other barracks."

"It's going to trigger a panic."

"I know."

He mentally tried to count off how much time had elapsed since the train crew had gone through. An hour perhaps, maybe an hour and fifteen minutes. Was that enough time to get up steam? All he could do was hope.

"Once we get our people in, slide the doors shut and wedge them. That should buy us a little time."

"What about the breakout?"

"If we're lucky, the bastards will focus here. Let's pray that Gregory keeps his head and waits as long as possible to rush the train. Now go."

He watched Ketswana turn to leave. He desperately wanted to ask for the one favor, just the one favor, but knew that he couldn't.

Ketswana looked back. "Manda's with Tamira. I'm going to get her now."

Hans felt his knees go to jelly and he nodded his thanks.

Sick at heart, he turned and waited by the door. When the rush broke into the foundry there would be a panic and somehow the door would have to be shut when the Bantag finally closed in. He waited anxiously, knowing that Ketswana might not get to her in time. And then what? He watched the entry gate and waited.

"If you are wrong," Karga snarled, "I'll personally see to it that your skin is flayed from your body while you are still alive."