Henry

Henry looked across the quarter mile of water to the mainland. He was looking downhill, as the island, built with earth excavated from the moat surrounding it, was a little under forty acres in size and about twenty or so feet higher than the surrounding land. The moat was quite deep in places, over fifty feet, but a couple of ridges running to the mainland were covered by only about twenty feet. Each ridge covered a tunnel of reinforced concrete, one running almost due north and the other east. Each ended well beyond the moat, in the dense forest surrounding the area.

"Wonder what they're thinking about now?"

He hadn't heard Michael approach. The ground was soft and covered with recently mowed bermuda grass, or he would have.

"Sneakin' up on me, you damn Indians. Hard to say, I'd guess they're discussing things."

Michael Rainwater was as Henry's grandmother and her generation called a 'full-blooded' Indian. Henry was one-sixteenth Cherokee, Michael was a hundred percent. They kidded each other about it, and he often wondered how far back the branches of their family trees touched.

"Most likely," Michael said. "It doesn't look like they're finished with the setup yet."

"Yeah, you can see vehicles moving in on the back side. Not as many now. Looks like another day or two at least."

"And then they have to decide how they're gonna do it."

Henry grinned, took a package of cigars out and offered Michael one. He took it and they lit up.

"Well, they can't starve us out," he said. "I doubt they can get much in the way of a cordon around us anyway. They've had patrols circling us since early yesterday, but I doubt they have the manpower to up any kind of a barrier."

"Unlikely," Michael said. "Likely they'll post guards at intervals, keep patrols running 24/7, to prevent anyone from leaving."

"It is tempting to evacuate, just to tie them up here for weeks for nothing. How many men do we have outside?"

"Thirty to forty. They're staying well into the woods, just keeping a few observers to see what the patrols are doing."

"Are they paying any attention to the woods?" Henry asked.

"Not a bit. There's a good three hundred yards of cleared space. None of the patrols so far have even approached, just driving along the edge of the lake."

"How do they look?"

"Typical," Michael replied. "Maybe worse than usual. They're down to the dregs now, conscription is failing and they're having to lure the rejects in with promises of loot and fun killing people and burning things."

"Pretty much what our inside people are saying. Apparently the survivors of Zulu-6 are among them."

"I'm surprised they didn't desert. Not that there were very many."

"They may be motivated by revenge," Henry said. "They had a pretty sweet deal there, pretty easy duty, with plenty of civilian prisoners to abuse, and otherwise just getting drunk and otherwise drugged."

"Drugs are a big part of it. And some of them don't even know what some of them are getting."

The federal armed forces had almost from the beginning been supplied with alcohol and recreational drugs. Many of them were addicts when they joined, and it was necessary for maintaining even nominal control. What they did not know was that the drugs they were given were adulterated with even more insidious ingredients. Almost all of them were at any time near to being uncontrollable, kept in check by chemical means.

They were to be feared when there were large numbers of them, with an advantage of weaponry as well, but Henry and Michael had mixed it up with them enough to know they could be dealt with. They had a couple of spies in the camp, men who had been infiltrated months before. Their ability to communicate was limited, but they got the information out. Jack Sabre was one of them, and had given them a good picture of the situation.

"Jack gave us an estimate of strength last night," said Henry. "Said there were around six hundred at most, and the only new arrivals are those driving in supplies and equipment."

"That's probably it, personnel-wise," Michael said. "I'm surprised they have that much. Did he have anything on the chopper?"

A Blackhawk helicopter had landed at dusk the previous day and was on the ground with the engines shut down for about two hours. It was too far away for them to see the activity around it, but personnel choppered in suggested importance.

"Just that there were four of five, he couldn't be sure from where he was. He believed at least one was not in uniform."

"Figures," Michael said. "There's rarely an operation this big without a high-level operative overseeing. He knows not to take chances, so it may be a while before he has anything. Probably have to wait for the scuttlebutt to settle on something. In any case, it suggests they're getting close."

"There are only two ways to do it," Henry said. "Either an amphibious assault or by air. If they have the equipment, which I doubt, they'd be sitting ducks while they cross the water."

"They want prisoners, apparently they believe there are a number of high-value types in here. I'd expect them to pretty much level everything, knowing - or at least believing - that their targets will survive in the underground shelters."

"Probably. We'd best get the non-combatants prepared to move. We need to get them out well before the attack. The egress points could be discovered, by accident if not because their presence is suspected. And we might as well advise Alex."

"He's coming?"

"Of course. He wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Ballsy," Michael said, "but I'm not sure he's as smart as I thought."