The others passed him demo charges one by one, and Zant placed two of them in the impeller nacelles, one under the dashboard, and one in the engine compartment. If even one of them went off, the flitter would never fly again. He set the last timer, lowered the engine cover, and found his frontiersmen waiting for him.
"What are you doing?" he stage-whispered urgently. "Get out of here! Spread out and plant those bombs and booby traps, and then make for the forest or the river."
"What about you?" one of the men said.
"Don't worry about me," Zant whispered furiously. "I've got some packages to deliver myself, and then I'll make for the river. Now, split up and get out of here!" He turned and jogged for a building without looking back. Besides their main demo charges, each man carried a supply of bombs and home-made booby traps. If possible, they were to set them on their way out, though they had been cautioned not to waste them on farmers; the target was the militia.
Zant had identified two places where he particularly wanted to leave souvenirs: the Great Hall, and the only warehouse bordering the landing pad that had a guard patrolling around it. Zant was almost certain that a man with Ochoa-Mariden's ego would take over the colony's multipurpose building, the large building called the Great Hall, as his headquarters, and he had a nice incendiary pack ready for it.
As for the warehouse, the fact that it was guarded told him it contained things the General wanted protected. And if the General wanted them protected, Zant wanted them destroyed.
But the warehouse was on the other side of the landing pad. Zant headed for the Great Hall first. He relaxed slightly as he moved farther from the lights of the landing pad.
He had no trouble working his way to the Great Hall; the colony's central area was deserted and dark. He set a shaped-charge incendiary pack against a wall, with a trigger on the door. Anyone opening that door would get a surprise, and turn the building into a burnt-out hulk.
He checked his wrist comp. Eight minutes until all the demo packs began going off. He would need every minute to reach the warehouse and set the explosives while evading or killing the guard. He quickened his pace. He crossed the central plaza, and started up the side of the warehouses farthest from the landing pad. This put him dangerously close to the perimeter road, but it was worth the risk.
At the third warehouse, he dropped flat and waited for the guard. He had decided to simply evade the guard, instead of risking an attack. The guard came around the corner of the big building, and Zant cradled his crossbow and tried to make himself small as the guard's night-vision glasses scanned casually toward the road. He breathed a sigh of relief as the guard continued his boring rounds.
Zant waited until the man disappeared around the corner of the warehouse, then, taking a bomb in each hand, he slipped out of his now-empty pack and hurried to the building. He had planted and set the first one when there was a sudden flurry of laser bolts and the crackling of blasters far across the landing pad. Lights flared and shouts sounded.
Suddenly the building's guard came jogging around the corner. He skidded to a stop as he saw Zant, Shouted "Hey!" and started to swing his laser from its slung position.
With no time, Zant thumbed the bomb's timer and threw it at the guard before spinning and pounding off in a zigzag toward the river. A line of light glared, and a sudden burst of agony flared in his left shoulder. He expected a follow-up shot that would be more accurate, but a sudden boom! and blaze of light behind him relieved some of his fear.
The explosion would bring others, though. He dropped his crossbow as he pounded across the perimeter road. He needed speed more than armament. There was a vacant area some thirty yards wide between the road and the riverbank, and Zant neither slowed nor looked back for pursuers. Ignoring the searing pain in his upper arm, he simply lowered his head and sprinted for the water.
He was almost to the water when he realized that he was a hundred yards north of the bridge. The river's current was going to take him directly beneath a bridge that was certain to be crawling with soldiers by this time.
The dun-colored mountain man's garb he was wearing would help, as would the waterproof color he'd smeared on his face. Still, the soldiers on the bridge would be alert, and would be looking for swimmers.
He paused on the riverbank, and quickly scanned for twigs, leaves and small branches, particularly dead ones. Conscious of every second and with a crawling sensation between his shoulder blades, where he expected a laser or blaster bolt at any second, Zant hastily wove a rough pad of branches and twigs about a foot in diameter. After risking a quick scan of the area, he took off his night-vision glasses and slowly lowered himself over the six-foot bank and into the cold water.
The Great River was just that. Jumbo's light gravity had permitted the waterway to widen over its entire length. The colonists had built their bridge at the narrowest part near the Cursed Lands, but even here, it was several hundred meters wide, though slow flowing and turgid. Zant lowered himself into the water inch by inch, trying desperately to avoid making even the smallest splash. Finally, he was all in, and was relieved to find that the twig bunch floated high, as he'd hoped. He flattened himself into the water face up, using two fingers to hold the twig pad directly over his face.
He hugged the bank as he allowed himself to float noiselessly with the current, using only small hand movements to keep himself on course. He hoped that those looking over the edge of the bridge would simply see a tangle of vegetation drifting downriver instead of a swimmer in a desperate bid for freedom. It was far from ideal, but it was the best he could do. If he was spotted, he was dead. It was that simple.
At first, the weight of his sodden clothing tended to pull his face beneath the surface. He fumbled around and released his weapons harness, hoping the extra buoyancy would let him keep his nose and mouth above water while the wet clothing kept his body out of sight. It seemed to work. He now had no trouble breathing, and he could still occasionally feel his boot heels drag lightly on the river bottom.
He guessed he was still ten yards from the bridge when flashes of light began to lighten Jumbo's moonless gloom. Zant couldn't really hear the explosions. His ears were beneath the water. Only his nose and chin were in air. All he could hear was a vague rumble.
But he'd have been smiling if he could. The number of flashes and the flickering light of fires told him they had at least hurt the General. He'd have to wait for orbital high-res photos and vids to know how much. Assuming he was able to stay alive long enough to view them. With any luck, he thought, the explosions would divert the attention of the soldiers on the bridge, and the blinding glare in their night vision glasses would let him slip past.
The hardest part, he decided, was suppressing the urge to raise his head, to gauge his progress and to check for soldiers. He continued to force himself to stillness.
It was the fires that let him suddenly realize that he was under the bridge; the sudden increase in the darkness almost made him smile. He had passed the upstream side without being detected! The downstream side, while probably having its own watchers, should be easier. The shadow of the bridge against the brightness of the explosions and fires would probably cover him long enough for the pad of twigs to fade into Jumbo's inky night.
It worked, or at least something did, but Zant took no chances. He counted off an extra ten minutes in his head before straightening in the waist-deep water. He closed his eyes and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
He considered his situation. He realized that this side of the river bordered the Giant Forest. He could probably emerge from the river and follow the riverbank until he reached the fishing village, some five miles south of the colony. Or, he could emerge and try to hide in the underbrush until morning, or stumble into the forest itself, hoping the hunters would find him before the rainbow cats. Finally, he could stay in the water and swim/drift downstream. He was completely unarmed after dumping his weapons harness; it had contained even his knife. Swimming the wide river to the more open western side would be difficult and futile; he would be on the opposite side of the river from the fishing village.