"Not yet," Rhes said. "We wait for the signal."
One of the men carried the radio. He sat it down carefully, then threw the aerial over a branch. The set was shielded so no radiation leaked out to give them away. It was turned on, but only a hiss of atmospheric static came from the speaker.
"We could have timed it—" Rhes said.
"No we couldn't," Jason told him. "Not accurately. We want to hit that wall at the height of the attack, when our chances are best. Even if they hear the message it won't mean a thing to them inside. And a few minutes later it won't matter."
The sound from the speaker changed. A voice spoke a short sentence, then cut off.
"Bring me three barrels of flour."
"Let's go," Rhes urged as he started forward.
"Wait," Jason said, taking him by the arm. "I'm timing the flame-thrower. It's due in ... there!" A blast of fire sprayed the ground, then turned off. "We have four minutes to the next one—we hit the long period!"
They ran, stumbling in the soft ashes, tripping over charred bones and rusted metal. Two men grabbed Jason under the arm and half-carried him across the ground. It hadn't been planned that way, but it saved precious seconds. They dropped him against the wall and he fumbled out the bombs he had made. The charges from Krannon's gun, taken when he was killed, had been hooked together with a firing circuit. All the moves had been rehearsed carefully and they went smoothly now.