The scientists had justified their cold-hearted practices by claiming patriotism as a motive, since they were ensuring the safety of the United States against all aggressors. They had told Doc that, as an American citizenalbeit one from 1895he should share their motivations.
The old proverb “Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel” was never more descriptive of anybody in history than the overseers of Operation Chronos.
Doc wasn’t the least ashamed of the satisfaction he felt whenever he remembered how all of the scientists had perished in the nukecaust. Appeals to patriotism and advanced technology had not saved them, but the latter, misused as it was, had saved him.
He took a long, burning swallow of the liquor. A moral was in there someplace, he reflected.
There was a faint and distant popping sound, as if a faraway balloon had burst. Jak glanced quickly around. “Hear that?”
“Hear what?” Doc asked.
Then the tavern moved, as though a giant boot had given the foundation a ferocious kick. Mugs fell over, sloshing liquor on the tables, laps and the floor. The ceiling cracked, showering the room with sawdust and wood particles.
The sound of the explosion wasn’t painfully loud, but it was loud enough for Jak to realize a grenade had detonated either against or just outside the tavern.
Acrid smoke rolled into the one window, and as the Amicans coughed, wheezed and fought one another to get outside, Doc and Jak joined Micah beneath the bar, just in case the ceiling collapsed altogether. The bartender was shaking in fright, but both Jak and Doc had been under fire too many times to allow fear to control them.
When the tavern had cleared of people, Jak, Doc and Micah went outside. The wall facing the pass was blackened and chewed up by shrapnel, and a pumpkin-sized crater smoldered a scant five feet from the clapboard siding.
“Close,” Jak said, shading his eyes and gazing toward the hills.
The people milled in the street, shouting in fear and anger. Ryan, Krysty, Mildred and J.B. jogged from the hostel. When they spied Doc and Jak, they slowed their pace.
“Gren,” Jak said when they came abreast of him. “Almost direct hit.”
Ryan and J.B. eyed the hills but saw no one.
“About four hundred yards,” J.B. stated with grudging admiration in his voice. “Whoever aimed the launcher had a decent eye.”
“Half the fuckin’ town was in there!” Micah shrilled.
“A direct hit would have gone a long way to clearing Hatcher’s path,” Ryan commented. “How was he able to put men on top of the hill without raising an alarm?”
“Interesting question,” Krysty said. “Let’s take a recce.”
The six companions, followed by a dozen townspeople, ran down the muddy street toward the pass. Mose Autry met them at the opening, waving at them to halt.
“I called for the guards. Nobody answered.”
“How many on duty?” Ryan asked.
“The same as before. Two.”
“Two?” echoed Mildred incredulously. “With those scumbags creeping around outside of town, you posted two guards?”
“The Cadre has made no direct threats against us, have they?” Autry responded with some heat. “Their quarrel isn’t with us.”
“It goddamn well is now!” a female voice shouted from the rear of the crowd.
Ryan pushed past Autry and indicated with sign language that he, Krysty and Jak would climb the left-hand slope, while the other three scaled the one on the right.
As was customary, Ryan took the point. Clouds, low and heavy, scudded across the afternoon sky. They were too thin to bring rain, but they cast shifting shadows over the rocky hillside.
When Ryan cautiously topped the crest and looked out on the plain below, the first thing he saw was the bodies of the two guards. They lay about a hundred yards beyond the mouth of the pass. Naked, they were staked to the ground in spread-eagled positions. Their faces, or what could be seen of them, were livid with blood. Ryan figured their tongues had been cut out or their throats cut. Perhaps both.
John Hatcher and four of his pirates stood a hundred yards beyond the mutilated bodies. He cradled the gren launcher in his arms and when he saw Ryan top the rise, he lifted the weapon over his head and gave voice to a fierce, victorious howl.
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