watching and waiting, and still he lacked a plan of action. Each cab held a man — they had betrayed themselves earlier and many times as they held matches to cigarettes. The flare of the matches revealed no other faces beside them, and although he could not be certain, he thought he could distinguish the shapes of men lying on the ground beneath the trucks. There may be one man in the rear of each vehicle, stretched out on the boxes. Maybe. If so, that left two on the ground.
He was still there, patiently waiting an unknown time later, when a noise from one of the trucks alerted him.
The sentry of one truck put his head out the window and called back to the other cab. Although he kept his voice low, the words carried quite clearly.
“Hey — Jackson!”
“Yeah?” The second head appeared in the opposite cab.
“What time is it? My damned watch stopped.”
“Almost midnight.”
“That's close enough — let's wake these guys up and turn in.”
“I'm ready — damn near asleep now.”
There was a scuffling noise from the interior of the nearer truck, and hushed voices in the other. Gary crept closer. The sentries changed places in the seats of the cabs with noisy movement, awakening one of the figures on the ground. The man put his head out from under the truck and spoke sharply.
“What's going on up there?”
“Midnight, Lieutenant. Changing watch.”
“Well be more quiet about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The officer lay back on the ground, moved about as though he were hunting the spot where he had been sleeping, and abruptly rolled from beneath the truck. He stood up.
“I'm going to take five. Keep your eyes open.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant walked toward the spot where Gary lay, fumbling with his clothes. Gary hugged the ground and let him approach, waited until the man paused beside a tree. He rose up silently and smoothly when the officer's hands were occupied, and reached for him.
After an interval Gary tautly stalked into the clearing and slid under the truck, ready to open fire if he were challenged. He rooted about on the grass, sighed, and lay still. Above him the newly awakened sentry scratched a match on the dashboard to light a cigarette. Gary hugged the lieutenant's automatic under his shirt and waited for time to pass. His first act was to eliminate the other sleeping man beside him, and two were out of the way.
It required another half-hour to reach the sentry sitting behind the wheel, a tedious half-hour of creeping along the rocky ground without noise, of hugging the side of the truck and raising his body toward the window sill. He held a pebble in his hand. When he was standing upright slightly to the rear of the open window, he tossed the pebble over the truck and heard it strike the ground beyond. Clutching the barrel of the automatic, he curled his left arm around and through the window to catch the sentry on the back of the head. He caught the man before he could slump forward into the horn, and lowered his body to the seat. There was no other sound, no movement from within or from the second vehicle.
Slowly and carefully he opened the door to let himself inside. The sentry of a short while before was sleeping soundly, and then he wasn't sleeping at all. There remained only the two in the other truck.
He needed information, needed it badly if he hoped to cross the river alive. After turning over the problem in his mind, he suddenly opened the door of the truck with no attempt at concealment, and climbed out to walk back to the other cab.
A head appeared before him. “Keep quiet, dammit! You want the lieutenant on your tail?”
Gary rammed the automatic into his face. “Come out of there, slow and clean.”
The face stared at him in the night, moved back to look down at the gun. “For Ch—”
“Shut up and come out — now!”
The sentry scrambled out. “Don't shoot!”
“Get your buddy out here. Make it fast.”
The sentry beat on the panel of the truck and after a moment a second face appeared in the open door. “What the hell is—” He stopped, staring.
“This is going on,” Gary retorted. “Come on, outside.” He stood the two of them against the side of the truck, facing away from him, their hands atop their heads with fingers locked together. “
“I don't know nothing.”
“You know where you're going,” Gary contradicted.
There was a moment of silent hesitation. The two exchanged glances.
Gary prodded one with the automatic. “Where?”
“There's a bridge at a place called Fort Madison, Iowa,” the soldier told him sullenly. “We—”
Gary chopped him short by reversing the gun and bringing the butt down on his head. The man crumpled to the ground. His companion stared down at the unconscious form.
“The bridge at Fort Madison,” Gary said smoothly, “has a hole in it a mile wide. Now I'll ask you.” He stepped close to ram the barrel in the man's spine. “Where are you going?”
“It ain't Fort Madison,” the other answered shakily. “It's a bridge called the Chain of Rocks, or some name like that. It's around St. Louis someplace. They're waiting for us there.”
“Who is?”
“I don't know — honest I don't. The whole damned army, I guess. We're just supposed to deliver these trucks.”
“Why? What's in them?”
“Some gold. Gold bricks.”
“You're lying!”
“Hold it — I'm not! Go look for yourself if you don't believe me. We had three loads of that damned gold. We lost a truck back there in the mountains somewhere.”
“Lost it?”
“They jumped us — like those guys did today. The captain was in that one.”
“What in the hell does the army want that gold for?”
“I don't know. We just had orders to deliver it.”
Gary considered the matter, intently watching the man. “The government must be getting hard up; three trucks started out, eh? You guys are pretty green — I'm surprised you got this far. How's everybody in Washington?”
The soldier half turned to look at him. “We ain't from Washington — we're outta Fort Knox.”
“For…” Gary was instantly suspicious. “Then what the hell you doing this far north?”
“I don't know, fella, I didn't write the orders. The lieutenant said we come this way and follow route 50. And we was doing just that.” He added bleakly, “Until you enemy agents showed up.”
Gary let it pass. “What happens next — when you deliver the trucks to the bridge?”
“Well, we just drive across and join ’em, I guess.”
“Did they say you could?” Gary held his breath.
“If we don't catch the plague. We was supposed to wear the monkey suits all the time, but the lieutenant said we didn't have to unless some of you ene… unless you guys bothered around. They're supposed to test us at the bridge and if we're clean, we can cross over.” He cast another backward glance at Gary. “Me, I'm damned glad you're healthy. I don't want no plague. Have you really been around since the bombing?”
Gary nodded. “Couple of hundred miles south of Chicago when it happened.” He thought of another question. “What happens now — with the lieutenant dead, I mean? Yeah — he's dead all right.” The soldier had twisted around to study the other truck, seeking his companions. “All of them, except you and your buddy here — and he's in no condition to drive. What are you going to do now?
The soldier didn't answer at once. He stared at the side of the truck some inches before his face and then
