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"We know that too. So how do we keep the garrison troops from coming after us again?"
"We send whoever the second-in-command is a message he can't ignore." Brodski gri
"We could even sell ammo. . . ." Jane considered.
"And if the CoDo comes in, cleaning up Docktown will give their security force something to do," added Van Damm.
"So we're obliged to carry the war to Docktown," said Makhno. "Ah, what the hell, you've got my vote." He turned his attention to the tan light showing through the window. "Right now it's technical midnight," he murmured, "Cat's Eye's waxing and setting. That means . . ." He doodled briefly in the margin of the map on the table before him. ". . . they've got to get here within twenty hours, start the assault soon after, win within forty, forty-three hours after that. So, we've got maybe sixty hours to settle this war, Jane."
"Why the time limit?" she asked, wiping a spot of grease off her chin.
"Because after that we'll be into second orbit, sunset, and turned away from Cat's Eye. Full night for forty-plus hours, remember? No light but the moons. Even Jomo has better sense than to attack unknown territory, in the dark."
Jane nodded slowly. "Right. So, sixty hours against . . . what, forty men? That means we have to kill roughly one every hour and a half."
"Uh, right," said Makhno. Van Damm and Brodski traded startled looks.
"Well, if we're agreed in this, I'm for bed," said Jane. "Coming, Leo?"
Makhno laughed, and shoved his chair back. Brodski and Van Damm looked at each other again.
"Y'know, Owen," Brodski considered, "we're go
"I think," said Van Damm, shoving his plate aside, "that as soon as Captain Makhno is out of bed, we should have him take us back to our posts on the shore."
Jomo glowered at the passing island shore, scarcely noticing the grumblings of the troops on the deck behind him. Greenthorn hedges everywhere he looked: from the waterline on up for five meters at least, nothing but greenthorns. How had the pesky settler ever gotten through them?
Well, with luck maybe the settler was long gone and they could take the island cheaply. If greenthorns were the only problem, he wouldn't complain. There were no signs of any human habitation so far.
Whoa, there was something: just as they came around the southern tip of the island, where a natural jetty of rock jabbed out into the river, dividing the stream. There was a piece of pontoon-dock pulled up on shore, almost hidden under the hedge of greenthorns.
Strange. Why had the settler done that? Expecting company, maybe?
Jomo shrugged and gave up on the minor mystery. They were coming around to the shadowy western shore of the island now, and he'd have to keep his eyes peeled if he wanted to spot anything in all these shadows.
The western shore of the island was likewise edged with greenthorns from the waterline to about five meters up.
"Where can we anchor?" Jomo grumbled to the pilot. "Can't see a motherless thing in this light."
"Best pull into the lee of the north shore," the pilot noted. "Looks pretty steep; probably nothing'll attack us in the dark. We can wait mere 'til sunrise."
"Fine. Do it." Jomo walked back to his personal cabin to get some sleep. He'd look at the map after a good rest.
"I don't believe it," Makhno whispered, peering down from the ledge. "The fool's just sitting mere, waiting for daylight. I swear, those sentries never look up. We could lob one of the mines down on the boat from here, blow it to kingdom come . . . ."
"We might not get them all. Then all they'd have to do is reach Docktown, come back in greater numbers."
"Okay, okay, so we wait. Damn." Makhno eased back on the ledge until his spine touched the rock wall of the capstone-fortress. "I just don't like the idea of letting 'em walk in here tomorrow."
"Just remember," said Jane, stroking his arm, "the important thing is that they never walk out again."
"Is everybody in place?"
Brodski glanced meaningfully at his radio. "That's what they said. So now we wait." He stretched out behind the log and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
In the dim light of the moons, Captain Feinberg crept softly across the deck of the Last Resort. It was dark, it was late, the sentries were nodding off at their stations, and he'd never have a better chance to escape than this. Just a few more steps to the gunwales, then over the side, then-
Then the zap of a stu
Jomo, smothering a yawn, strolled out of the shadows. The sentries straightened up and did their best to look as if they'd been giving Feinberg only enough lead to condemn himself. Jomo favored them with barely a sneer. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Feinberg's body.
"Pick up that garbage," he said. "And throw it over the side."
The sentries paused for only a moment, then hastened to comply.
Feinberg's body hit the water with a loud splash, floated a moment, then turned over and sank. A brief flurry of bubbles marked his fall.
Jomo slung the stu
"Goddammit, gimme a hand here!" Brodski panted, limping behind the others. "Got a damn bad leg."
"Can't wait for you," Van Damm retorted from somewhere up ahead among the trees.
"We be there when they come," agreed Muda, pattering along after Van Damm quick and sure as a goat among the thick foliage, for all that she was bent nearly double under the weight of her own gun and ammo and the swimming gear too.
"Here, lemme help." Joan MacDonald shifted the ballast-weights on her back, took Brodski by one arm across her shoulders, and half-carried him through the screen of trees.
Brodski bit his lip, used his cane as much as he could, and didn't complain.
Be
"It's ready," he puffed. "That makes two of them. I have them set for fifteen minutes before dawn." He turned off the flashlight and crawled out from under the blanket, grumbling about the dangers and inconveniences of bomb-making, and why this couldn't have been finished in his nice comfortable shop in the fort.
"You get the packing tight enough, Be
"Any tighter and I'd break the case."
"Then let's get them down to the customers."
"Easy for you to say. These damned things are heavy."
Falstaff wasn't the quietest person moving in the dark, and Donato was little better, but they didn't have to travel far. Mary Harp met them with a whistle, and guided them to where the rope stretched down to the river. They bent and unloaded their packages and tied them onto the rope. Another whistle toward the water, and the men turned to hurry back through the trees, their mission accomplished.
"Let us know if you don't get the mines to them in an hour," Donato tossed to Mary, looking at his watch. "I hope I don't have to take those fool things apart again. That'd be a real bitch."