This could go on all night.
He had to get to a visiphone. Yet he couldn't leave here. The moment he did, the convicts has a wide-open road to freedom.
The man with the rifle was good, Bennington noted again. His shots were grass-clippers that could have substituted for a lawn mower.
Then a submachine gun chuckled crisply from Bennington's left. There was a howl of pain. The rifle stopped looking for the general.
Bennington began crawling along the edge of the moat. That submachine gun had spoken for his side of the argument and he had a big need for the author who had used its words so well. He stopped crawling. Someone was coming toward him.
"General?"
"Ferguson!"
"Yes, sir. You all right?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Fine, sir, but it was close for a minute."