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Grarrgrarrgrarr.
"Dan, that is stupid! Think. What good is a rescue attempt that never arrives? You will all die for nothing. What you must do is smash the Croats attacking the town first. Then you can send a rescue expedition."
Grarrgrarrgrarr.
Rebecca's lips tightened. "Dan—listen to me! They are coming—now. Get off the telephone—now. See to the town! We will hold them off here as long as possible. Do not make any attempt to rescue us until you have defeated the Croats in the town!"
With a motion as decisive as her voice, she placed the telephone back on its cradle. Immediately, she turned to Jeff.
"The most dangerous place will be the gymnasium. We will not be able to keep the Croats out of the ground floor of the building for very long. The buses will slow them down, and make a mass charge impossible, but—"
Jeff nodded. "They'll smash in the windows to the cafeteria, first thing. There's enough space between the buses and the wall to move single file. Once they're in the cafeteria, all bets are off."
He glanced at the large vestibule beyond the administration office. The door to the cafeteria led directly into it. From there, the enemy would be able to reach the gymnasium as well as the administration center itself. To reach the classrooms on the second floor, they would have to use the stairwells. Jeff could hear the clattering sound of desks and cabinets being moved into place, blocking those access routes. The obstructions could be removed, but there were enough sidearms—and the two rifles in the hands of James and Julie—to make that a bloody business for cavalrymen trying to force their way up a flight of stairs.
But there was no way to block the gymnasium, beyond locking the heavy doors. The doors and locks were solidly built, true. Impossible to break through simply with shoulders or boots. But the Croats would smash them in soon enough. There were simply too many ways they could improvise a battering ram.
Jeff grimaced ruefully. He had provided them with battering rams himself, he realized, by knocking down the pillars supporting the weather awning. He drove the thought aside. The fog of war, Clausewitz called it. The friction of a battlefield, where actions produced unintended consequences.
"Will do," he announced firmly. He hefted the shotgun. "This is the best weapon for that area, once they break in."
He gave Rebecca a stern look. "You're going upstairs. Now."
She nodded. "Yes. I had thought to remain here, where we have communications—"
"No way, Rebecca! Once they break through, this office is a death trap!"
Ed and Len Trout charged in. Both of them were holding pistols. "They're coming!" shouted Piazza. "From the north, over the ridge. One of the kids just spotted them."
"Hundreds of 'em," growled Trout. "Over a thousand, probably."
Ed marched forward and took Rebecca by the arm. "Let's go. You're going upstairs, young lady—this second!"
Unresisting, Rebecca allowed herself to be led away. Her eyes remained on Jeff. Soft, dark, gleaming with sorrow and apology. She had condemned him to death, and knew it.
He gave her a cheerful grin. Made the attempt, anyway.
"Relax, Becky! It'll be okay." He propped the butt of the shotgun on his hip and tried to assume his best Clint Eastwood spaghetti Western imitation. The good, the bad and the ugly—all rolled into one. With spectacles.
Rebecca's eyes teared. "Hidalgo, true and pure," she blessed him.  Once they left the office, Piazza gently handed Rebecca over to Trout.
"Get her upstairs, Len. I'll stay with Jeff and the kids in the gymnasium."
"No."
Ed was startled. He stared up at the tall, balding figure of the school's former vice-principal. Trout was glaring down at him.
"I'm the principal of this school now, Ed, not you." He jerked his head toward the stairs. "Upstairs. Becky and the teachers will need you up there."
Jeff was emerging from the office. Trout started walking toward him. Over his shoulder, repeated in words of iron: "Upstairs, Mr. Piazza."
Ed stared at him, his mouth half open. Rebecca placed her hands on his shoulders, turned him, and started moving him toward the stairs.
"Come along, Edward." She managed a little smile. "We are in a school, you know. We dare not disobey the principal."
Piazza's mouth was still open when Jeff and Len Trout entered the gymnasium. A moment later, hearing the heavy locks sliding into place, he closed his lips. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I've known Len Trout for twenty years."
The sentence was like an epitaph.  "We'll give the bastards another Matewan," Dan snarled. "With cherries on top."
He pointed to the bridge over Buffalo Creek. The bridge was now blocked off by one of the school buses which served the town as its public transportation. "Get the recruits over there, Gretchen. You stay with them, you hear? As long as you're there, they won't lose heart."