bullet magnet, however. It had weapons of its own. Slots in the cabin’s shields dropped open—and the muzzles of machine guns poked out, firing up at the fort’s defenders. Guards flailed and fell under the hail of fire. The machine rumbled on, flattening a car into unrecognizable scrap.
Eddie called to the prisoners. “Okay! That’s your way out of here—there are trucks coming to the gate. When I tell you, run for it!”
Boodu raged impotently. “English bastard! You’re helping these traitors escape? You’ll die for this—no, you’ll beg me to kill you after I’m finished with you!”
The prisoners’ own fury rose as they realized who he was. Eddie reasserted who was in charge by cracking his gun against Boodu’s head. “Keep your fucking mouth shut—or I’ll give you to this lot. We’ll see who’s begging then.” Seeing the vengeance-filled eyes of the men surrounding him, Boodu wisely decided to stay silent.
A thunderous explosion shook the building, and the lights went out. Eddie saw the killdozer backing away from the blazing remains of the prison’s generators. Through the gates, he spotted a pickup truck barreling down the dusty road to the fort. “If you’ve got a gun, get ready to use it!” he called. “If you haven’t, then run for the gate … now!”
He broke from the doorway into the courtyard, gun at the ready. Strutter followed, forcing Boodu along at machete-point. The prisoners spilled out behind them.
The killdozer was growling back to the gate, but Eddie was only concerned with the remaining guards. A man leaned around a corner and fired into the fleeing crowd—then dropped with a spurting chest wound as Eddie returned the favor.
Another two guards rose from cover behind a wall and opened up with rifles. There were screams as prisoners were hit. Eddie turned to deal with the new threat, but the men in the killdozer beat him to it, the machine guns unleashing furious bursts of automatic fire. The wall pocked and splintered under the barrage, both guards tumbling amid bright red sprays of blood as bullets ripped into their bodies.
Shots cracked out from the escapees. The other guards realized they were overmatched and tried to retreat. Spitting lines of fire from the killdozer tracked them.
Eddie was almost at the gate. The pickup had stopped outside, more vehicles pulling up behind it. Inside them were resistance members opposed to Zimbabwe’s brutal government, many of whom had been driven to direct action by the imprisonment of family or friends in places like Fort Helena. A man jumped from the pickup and waved frantically to him: Banga Nandoro, one of those with whom Eddie had planned the whole operation.
“Come on, hurry!” Banga yelled as Eddie charged through the gate, the prisoners following him. More men jumped from the arriving trucks to help pile the escapees aboard.
Eddie ran to Banga, gun still raised as he watched the fort’s walls for snipers. “Glad you could make it,” he told the Zimbabwean as Boodu and Strutter caught up.
Banga nodded, eyes fixed on the men emerging from the gate. At the sight of one in particular, he gasped. “Chinouyazue!” he cried, running to his brother.
Eddie patted his heart. “Makes you feel all warm in here, doesn’t it?” Boodu’s expression twisted into a glower.
The killdozer reached the gate, the remaining prisoners streaming past as it turned on its tracks to prevent any surviving vehicles from leaving the compound. A steel slab dropped from the cabin’s side, hitting the ground with a bang. Two Zimbabweans holding machine guns emerged, followed by a huge Caucasian man who unfolded himself from the cramped confines and squeezed out. He saw Eddie and gave him a cheery wave, then hopped down and produced a hand grenade, pulling the pin and tossing it over his shoulder into the killdozer as he jogged away. An explosion ripped apart the controls, turning the makeshift tank into an extremely solid barricade.
“Little man!” Oleg Maximov called as he approached Eddie. “You okay, da?” The bearded Russian scooped him up in a crushing embrace.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Eddie grunted. “Okay, okay, that’s hurting now!” Grinning, Maximov released him. Eddie saw numerous red marks on his face and arms: He had been scorched by the spent bullet casings pinging around inside the cabin. “Did you get burned?”
“Da, a little,” said Maximov, tugging out a pair of silicone earplugs; without protection, the gunfire inside the metal-walled cabin would have been deafening. He smiled. “It felt good.”
“You’re weird, Max.” Years earlier, the muscular giant had survived a bullet