“Soon,” Seiko answered. He was five feet to Hickok’s right. “Very soon.”
Spartacus and Ares, as well as 138 other defenders, were absent from the line. So was Shane.
“I pray your plan works,” Seiko said to Hickok.
“You and me both, pard,” the gunman responded. He licked his lips and listened for the inevitable sound signaling the onslaught.
During the preceding evening Brutus had regrouped his forces, moving almost all of his troops into the forest on the west side of the Home. Only a handful remained to the north, east, and south, enough to serve as lookouts in case the defenders attempted to escape. The night had been moonless and tranquil, and shortly before dawn the sentries had joined their comrades in the trees.
“Don’t fire until I give the word!” Hickok reminded them.
Brutus wasn’t wasting any time. The section of the rampart above the ruined drawbridge suddenly exploded in a shower of brick and dust.
“Get ready!” Hickok shouted.
Two more rounds hit the west wall near the ruined drawbridge, widening the rift even further.
Hickok wondered what type of artillery they were using. He couldn’t hear the shattering blast of a cannon and their tank was now a home for the fish in the moat. So what was it? What could easily fire a projectile 150 yards, and with such relative silence.
Another shell smacked into the west wall.
The gunman mentally reviewed the military books in the Family library. He ticked off a list: siege artillery, howitzers, mortars, rocket laun—! Hold it! A mortar would fit the bill. The 81-millimeter mortar could fire a 12-pound shell close to 2500 yards.
More and more rounds were striking the west wall, sending large chunks crashing to the ground or into the moat.
Hickok nodded. Brutus was using all four mortars on the west wall.
Good. The bastard’s predictability would be his downfall.
The barrage lasted for half an hour. The 53 defenders on the inner bank were untouched by the zinging debris. The gap in the center of the wall widened and widened.
It took a moment for Hickok to realize the bombardment was over. His ears were ringing, and his nostrils were stinging from the dense cloud of smoke hovering above the wall, the moat, and the bank. He was thankful Brutus had limited the barrage to the walls instead of lobbing shells into the compound at the blocks. But then, what good would it have done Brutus to destroy a block or two if he couldn’t get past the outer walls?
There was a method to Brutus’s madness.
“I hear them,” Seiko announced, raising his Valmet M76 to his shoulder.
Hickok heard them too. The pounding of hundreds of feet on the hard earth beyond the west wall.
This was it.
Brutus was throwing everything he had at the breach in the west wall.
“Here they come!” Hickok barked.
“Take care, lover,” Sherry said tenderly.
The gunman glanced at her. She was staring at him lovingly, her affection reflected in her green eyes. “You take care,” he told her. He opened his mouth to say more, to let her know he loved her.
He was out of time.
The Civilized Zone soldiers surged through the breach in the west wall, a horde of green intent on the total destruction of the Home, the sunlight glinting off their M-16’s and their bayonets. A tremendous shout arose from the troops as they saw the defenders standing on the other side of the five-foot wall of bodies on the inner bank.
“Fire!” Hickok commanded.
Mayhem ensued.
Although the swirling smoke limited visibility, both sides could distinguish each other. The defenders opened up, pouring shots into the green mass in the breach, downing dozens.
For their part, the soldiers returned the fire as best they could. Some of them carried crude wooden platforms, actually small rafts. They tossed the rafts into the moat, one after the other, while others scrambled onto the platforms and frantically began lashing them together into a makeshift bridge. Their task was faciliated by the stacked wall of bodies on the inner bank; the defenders couldn’t see into the moat unless then ran up to the bodies and peered over the top, exposing their heads and shoulders.
Even as one group of soliders constructed their bridge, five platoons were scaling the west wall, using ladders to reach the parapet and scramble under the barbed wire to the rampart. The first dozen were immediately slain by the defenders, but as more and more of them reached the rampart, they spilled from the rampart onto the wooden stairs over the moat. Eight of them reached the top of the stairs and were promptly perforated with bullets. But the rest kept coming, and within minutes a steady stream of troopers was racing down the stairs to the inner bank. The wall of dead soldiers ran behind the stairs, posing another obstacle. Horrified at the sight of their deceased companions callously piled on the rough ground, the troopers hesitated, balking at the idea of touching the bodies. But the only avenue of approach to the defenders was over the wall of corpses, and after their initial hesitation the soldiers rallied and started over the bodies.
The defenders blasted them as the troopers clambered over the corpses.
For every soldier shot, two more took his place.
In the moat, the troopers had hastily finished their crude bridge. It wobbled and swayed in the stream, but by angling the platforms past the tank and securing several of them to the armored vehicle, they erected a functional bridge four feet wide.
Brutus was in the Home.
Hickok had emptied his Daewoo Max II into the attackers. He clutched the gun by the barrel and ran up to the wall of bodies.
A soldier was climbing over the stack of corpses.
Hickok swung the Daewoo, catching the trooper on the right cheek, splitting it open and knocking the soldier to the far side. He glanced in both directions.
The defenders were now fighting a containing action along the wall.
Many were embroiled in hand-to-hand combat.
One of the troopers was striving to lance a bayonet into Seiko. His Velmet empty and discarded, Seiko held a pair of sai in his hands, trident-like bladed weapons twenty inches in length. He dodged a stab of the bayonet and twisted, ramming his left sai into the soldier’s neck.
Without missing a beat, he wrenched the sai free and went after another soldier.
“Look out!” a woman screamed.
Hickok turned toward the wall of corpses, dropping the Daewoo.
A trooper was aiming his M-16 at the gunman, but he never pulled the trigger. The top of his head vanished in a burst of crimson, hair, and flesh.
Sherry reached the gunman’s side. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Hickok drew his Pythons and sent a slug crashing through the brain of a soldier almost over the wall of bodies.
The onrushing troopers were beginning to knock openings in the corpse wall. Some of the more enterprising soldiers bore to the right and the left as they crossed the moat. They realized that the wall of their fallen comrades only extended for 30 yards along the inner bank, and decided to take the path of least resistance and charge around the ends of the wall rather than take on the defenders in the middle.
Hickok saw he was being outflanked and smiled.
Perfect!
It was all going according to his plan!
Now for the hard part.
“Fall back!” he yelled, waving his arms. “Fall back!”
The defenders, with only 31 left of the original 53, sprinted to the east, abandoning the corpse wall, firing as they ran.
The soldiers, on seeing the defenders retreating, gave a great shout and rushed forward, swirling over the wall of bodies and surging around both ends.
“Hurry!” Hickok goaded his fighters.
The compound was partially obscured by the haze and gunsmoke.