Waiting for his word. He wished he had one of those cavalry sabers so he could hold it high and slash it down to signal the charge. Fuck, he should have thought of that. Ah well, a fire axe would work. He raised his. The lines of Rovers on the far side of the ridge tensed. The east was as pure and untouched as that girl in Iraq had been. Ready for the big meat.

He raised his axe and then paused with it over his head. There was something weird down there on the field. Two of the Rovers in white hazmat suits were walking along the base of the wall, doing something he couldn’t quite see. The distance was too great.

“Jesus Christ,” he roared, and turned to one of his lieutenants, “what the fuck are those two jerkoffs doing down there? They’re going to be seen.”

“I . . . ” began the lieutenant. “It, um, looks like they’re checking on the ladders.”

It did look like that. The pair of Rovers were moving from one concealed ladder to the next and bending over them for a moment each.

“Get them the hell out of there, for Christ’s sake. They’re going to screw up the charge.”

“Wait,” said the lieutenant, “they’re moving off. Maybe they were just checking to make sure the stuff was good.”

“Why in the hell would they do something like that?”

“I . . . ”

“Never mind. Find out who they are,” said Big Elroy with a snarl. “I’m going to hang them by their balls.”

“Yeah, you got it,” said the lieutenant. “It looks clear.”

“Okay,” said Big Elroy. “Signal the teams. Light it all up.”

The lieutenant ran back to the edge of the woods where a runner was waiting. He waved his arms and them gave a fist-pump signal. Within seconds whistles began blowing in the woods. Not the same patterns as before, but a strident and sustained three-note signal.

***

The herding team outside of the front gate heard the whistle signal and everything went into high gear. They relayed the signals around the whole perimeter.

In the back, the sniper kept up continuous fire.

To the west, a team of Rovers rushed the wall with ladders while others fired guns and lobbed Molotov cocktails to give them cover. The attack had to look real, and so Big Elroy had picked forty Rovers who were too stupid to understand the concept of “cannon fodder.” They were given promises about first picks among any women captured inside, and other incentives; and they were amped up with amphetamines and cocaine, so they were wired to the gills. Like Viking berserkers, they bellowed and roared as they rushed the walls, throwing their ladders against the peach stucco and scrambling up.

Slow Dog was in charge of the west wall defense. He smiled as the berserkers rushed the wall. Five ladders with eight men per.