One by one, Tom disassembled the first three bundles. The men crowding close at his back smelled rankly of dirt, sweat, and fear. “Careful, pig!” one hissed, as he dropped the blasting cap casually to the ground.
“I know what I am doing. I don’t want to die any more than you do.” He stood and rubbed his back. “The last one is in the dining room. Will you let me go when I finish disarming it?”
“Of course, my friend,” said the Grond commander, with the shadow of a smile. He didn’t bother to disguise the insincerity in his voice.
Tom reached the fourth and largest charge, attached to a wide, load bearing pillar that stood like a tree in the middle of a brick and cast iron meadow. He slowly knelt before it, hunching his shoulders so the men behind him could not see his hands. It should be e
