“But what was that big light?” He was trembling.
“Magnesium flare — Harry fell over a trip wire and set it off, I guess. It means they got the shore wired. I'll have to remember that.” He burrowed deeper into the soil and moved the shotgun to a more comfortable position, preparatory to dozing off. “Yessir, poor old Harry actually made it. I didn't think he had it in him.”
So they had the shore wired — at that point. They surely didn't have it wired the entire length of the river — counting all the crooks and turns the damned thing must be two thousand miles long or more. The army didn't have that much wire. No — only the weak points were booby-trapped. They had wired the immediate area about the bridge either because the structure itself offered concealment to anyone attempting to sneak across beneath it, or because they were aware of the underwater cables and knew someone would eventually discover them. Such as poor old Harry — short of wind and not too sound of limb, but he had made it after a long time. And a baited trap plus patient prodding.
Why hadn't the army simply cut the cables?
He could think of only one sensible answer to that: they were still being used. Used, say, by those government people still alive and operating the underground fortresses beneath the Pentagon, beneath the rolling Virginia hills. And used perhaps by the survivors still clinging to Governors Island, the remnants of the First Army. The eastern and western halves of the nation evidently remained in communication. A point to remember.
The night's events somewhat narrowed his future plans. He knew now that all the cables still intact would be heavily guarded, wired and trapped. They would be waiting for him and any other like him at every cable snaking across the river, while Harry's spectacular ending had neither helped nor hindered his own future chances. Harry had been a competent test pilot, not only showing the stream could be crossed, but also that such crossings were expected. As yet, then, he had not broken his promise to the schoolteacher in Florida: he had not done any cable-crawling. A sucker had taken care of it for him. Whether or not the promise would be kept in the future remained to be seen. It all depended on whether or not he could find still another way to cross over.
The September night carried a chill. He pulled his coat tighter, turning away from the old man's sobs.
* * *
Gary was awake and moving before dawn, not wanting to be caught asleep in an open field when daylight came. He rifled the scavenger's bag for shotgun shells and a box of matches he found there. His two companions still slept, huddled together for warmth. Gary looked down at them for a moment and then swiftly stooped to place his revolver near the old man's hand. In the cold, stilly darkness he quit the field and left the sleeping men behind.
The air was frosty.