“Yep,” Cal answered. He recognized Jory’s cowboy hat. Too bad for Jory. He’d give it maybe another ten yards to try to get a clean shot at Neal’s head, but after that… well, so long Jory.
That bastard Carey was doing a good job staying covered. Five yards, six yards… Cal trained the cross hairs on Jory’s head.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” Hansen whispered.
Seven yards, eight… Cal started to put pressure on the trigger.
Okay, he thought, you have to get two shots off quick. First Jory, then Neal.
Nine yards… ten. At least it will be quick, Jory. Cal squeezed the trigger.
The bullet blew the cowboy hat off Randy’s head and splattered blood, bones, and brains over Neal. Neal let go and dashed for the truck. He heard the footsteps as Jory broke out from the bunker and came running behind him. The searchlights came on and bathed the compound in harsh white light.
Cal saw what was left of Randy’s face as his body spun and hit the ground. In the half second it took him to see his friend die, he lost Neal in the scope.
“Shit!” he yelled.
He stood up to signal Carter in the southeast watchtower.
The brownshirt bodyguard behind the machine gun waited until the lights came on, then aimed the gun a few feet ahead of the big man who was staggering forward, carrying the wounded man. He’d give him a little lead and then snake his fire backward. It was going to be almost too easy.
He got his aim and pressed the double trigger. His world exploded in an orange blaze as the gunpowder flashed up from the breach and seared his eyes.
The Reverend C. Wesley Carter heard the shot and then the scream, so he stood up in the watchtower. He put his hand to the detonator box and waited for the signal.
Cal could hear the screaming coming from the main bunker. “Don’t shoot any of the new guns!” Cal hollered. That son of a bitch Mackinnon had probably booby-trapped every one that he hadn’t demonstrated.
One of the men in the tower heard Cal yelling but couldn’t make out the words. He had a perfect bead on Neal, though. He pulled the trigger and the gun blew up in his hands.
“Hold your fire, everybody!” Cal yelled. “Get your own weapons out of the bunker!”
He looked to the gate and saw Vetter swing it shut.
“I’ve got you trapped, you son of a bitch!” he yelled at the truck. I hope I can still take you alive, he thought. I’ll take months to kill you.
Neal dove into the back of the truck, pulled Jory up behind him, and shut the doors. A window slid open at the front.
“You all right?” Ed shouted.
“We both made it! How’s Graham?”
“He’s okay, but the bastards closed the gate on us!”
Ed turned the ignition, hit the gas, and started for the gate.
Cal watched as the truck lurched forward. It was still all right. There was plenty of time to get the old weapons. That truck wasn’t going to ram through that gate.
Ed pointed his black box out the window and hit the button. The mine went off and the gate blew off its hinges. He hit the gas harder and rumbled down the road.
Carter watched the truck go through the gate. He was almost happy it had made it. Now, he thought, I will blow you back to hell. He checked the diagram Strekker had given him. He started to count down from five.
Cal picked himself up after the blast went off. It was chaos in the compound-the wounded were screaming, men were running all over hell and back looking for guns. What the hell happened with the mine? he wondered. Did Carter push the button early?
He looked up to the tower and could just make out Carter with his finger on the detonator box. So either Carter had panicked and pushed the wrong button or…
He started running toward the tower.
Carter saw the truck get near the mine hidden under the snow on the road. He also saw Cal running toward him. Not to worry, Mr. Strekker, I’m on the ball.
Cal waved his arms wildly and yelled, “Noooooo!”
Carter saw Cal give the signal. He flipped the toggle switch marked AP, RC 2. And that, he thought, will blow them back to the devil.
The first bomb went off in the ammunition bunker. It blew the wooden door off and, as Ed had planned, set off at least fifty secondary explosions as mortar shells, rockets, and bullets blew up in the fire. The next blast crumbled a watchtower. The next set off the tear gas Ed had placed in the detonator battery in the main bunker.
Cal hit the dirt and kept his head down as debris flew and the secondary explosions from ammunition belts, grenades, and mortar shells turned the compound into a junkyard. So the bombs were in the batteries of the detonator boxes. And now that lunatic preacher had the override switches and was clicking them oft one by one. Cal buried his head in his arm and waited it out.
Craig Vetter lay in the snow. He took aim at the truck’s rear tires, said a quick prayer that his weapon wasn’t one of the sabotaged ones, and shot.
Neal felt the truck sink on its flat tires. He grabbed Jory by the collar, opened the door, and rolled out. Bullets smacked into the truck above him.
Ed jumped out, crouched behind the front of the truck, and scrambled over to the passenger side. He pulled Graham out and slung him back over his shoulder.
“Neal! Get ready to move!” he yelled.
Carter watched the world turn into a whirling chaos. Flames were everywhere, sulphur burned his eyes and his nose, screams filled his ears as the truck full of devils drove away even though he was madly flipping the switches. Another watchtower buckled and crumpled to the ground. Yahweh’s haven was falling apart around him. He ripped the detonator box off the post and gripped it next to his chest. He shook it angrily.
Then he flipped the last switch.
A second later, all of the mines around the compound perimeter went off, sending up blasts of earth, snow, and smoke.
Craig dove for the ground and covered up.
Neal crawled over to Ed. “There’s a ranch two miles north of here. It’s the only house. I’ll meet you there.”
Ed nodded, hefted Graham, and started toward the main road at a trot. Neal crawled back to Jory.
“How can we get to this place?”
“I usually ride there.”
Neal thought about it for a second. The corral was a good hundred yards south. They could make it if they started now, while the explosions were still keeping heads down.
“Let s go!”
They sprang to their feet and sprinted toward the corral.
A few minutes later Cal Strekker got up and went to inspect what was left of the compound. There wasn’t much-three towers were down, the ammunition bunker was destroyed with its $200,000 of new weapons, the main bunker was intact but inundated with tear gas. His troops weren’t in such good shape either. Most of Carter’s brownshirt bodyguards were on their hands and knees, coughing, choking, or vomiting. He had two badly wounded-the machine gunner with his seared eyes and the man in the tower who was missing three ringers.
Worse yet, he knew he wasn’t going to get the time to rebuild the compound or the company. ZOG had infiltrated the organization and laid a heavy hit on it. Next would come the official police with warrants and all the legalities. And there were three men running around out there who could testify.
He yelled around the compound until he had his own men assembled. Carter could take care of those useless LA neo-Nazis by himself.
Hansen came up beside him.
“Have you seen my son?” he yelled. “Have you seen lory?”
Cal looked around the compound. He didn’t see the boy. He looked out across the sagebrush flats and saw a horse with two riders in the moonlight.
“I don’t know,” he said to Hansen. He pointed at the horse and riders galloping toward the mountains. “Is that him?”
Hansen peered into the night and recognized his son. But who the hell was with him?
Dave Bekke limped up to Hansen. “There’s something you ought to know, sir.”