His fingers touched a ring in his pocket. One tug on that, and a few seconds later his hip would be smashed into a red mess, mincemeat pierced by shards of shattered bone …
‘There it is, Sean,’ muttered his companion, Martin Savage. ‘They're coming out.’
Sean turned his head, jerkily, and looked back at the station about half a mile away. The cars had started their engines, and stood there shaking and steaming in a line. Between the two, he saw a police sergeant, like a tiny puppet, saluting, and a number of khaki-clad figures strolling casually out of the station. At a little distance from the two cars was the army lorry, with the rifles of the soldiers bristling above it.
‘Don't look so sharp, Sean! We're just out for a walk, for the health of our lungs, remember?’
‘That's right. I'm sorry.’ He noticed with a slight academic interest that he felt warm. His mouth was dry, slight prickles of sweat formed on his fingers. I wonder what my eyes look like, he thought. I wonder if they widen. He seemed to hear everything very clearly, as one did before a thunderstorm. Someone was shouting.
‘You'll take it away, I tell you! 'Tis the Viceroy himself is coming through here!’
‘That we won't, old man!’
The voices came quite clearly to his heightened senses, although the speakers were nearly twenty yards away. At the road junction, the police constable was arguing with the three Volunteers who had control of the farm cart. The unhitched horse munched peacefully beside them. The cart was a vital part of the ambush. It was to be pushed out into the road to block the second car, which would contain the Viceroy. If they could run across the road with it quickly enough, it would cut Lord French off from the first car, and leave him stranded, at the mercy of their bombs and guns. More Volunteers were hidden on the rising ground behind the hedges opposite the pub, watching the argument with the constable.
‘They'll have to deal with that fool!’ said Sean's companion. ‘If he doesn't leave off this instant he's a dead man!’
As he spoke, Sean saw the argument develop into a tussle. One of the Volunteers grabbed the constable's coat, trying to drag him away. But the constable was a big man, and he threw his attacker off. The man staggered, tripped over a stone, and fell down. The constable stepped back, warily eyeing the other two who were moving towards him. Then all three turned their heads as an engine by the station roared into life and the first car started down the road towards them. The policeman glanced at it, and then stared back at his attackers. His mouth fell open in a wide O as the terrible truth burst like sunlight in his brain. He stepped back, raising one clumsy hand to wave at the car while he fumbled with the other for his whistle.
Sean saw the bomb coming through the air, but his mind did not register what it was. It came slowly, in a high lob from behind the hedge, turning end over end like a tiny rugby ball heading between the posts. It came over the policeman's head, hit the road between him and the cart, and rolled around in a little circle like a stone. Then it exploded.
The blast hit his face like a hurricane. But it was hot, as the Irish wind never is. He threw up his arm to shield his face, and stumbled back, hanging on to his friend, Martin, to stay upright. Then it was gone, and he saw the policeman writhing on the ground, clutching his leg. The three Volunteers were on the ground too, crawling oddly several ways at once.
‘For the love of Mary!’ shouted Martin. ‘Will the fools warn every peeler in the County Dublin ?’ Then they looked and saw the first car speeding towards them - faster than before, it seemed.
‘Come on, Sean!’ Martin shouted. ‘Get the cart!’ One of the three men around the cart had got to his feet, but the other two were still crawling feebly, like lost animals. The two young men ran to the cart and grabbed its sides, ready to push it out
‘There it is, Sean,’ muttered his companion, Martin Savage. ‘They're coming out.’
Sean turned his head, jerkily, and looked back at the station about half a mile away. The cars had started their engines, and stood there shaking and steaming in a line. Between the two, he saw a police sergeant, like a tiny puppet, saluting, and a number of khaki-clad figures strolling casually out of the station. At a little distance from the two cars was the army lorry, with the rifles of the soldiers bristling above it.
‘Don't look so sharp, Sean! We're just out for a walk, for the health of our lungs, remember?’
‘That's right. I'm sorry.’ He noticed with a slight academic interest that he felt warm. His mouth was dry, slight prickles of sweat formed on his fingers. I wonder what my eyes look like, he thought. I wonder if they widen. He seemed to hear everything very clearly, as one did before a thunderstorm. Someone was shouting.
‘You'll take it away, I tell you! 'Tis the Viceroy himself is coming through here!’
‘That we won't, old man!’
The voices came quite clearly to his heightened senses, although the speakers were nearly twenty yards away. At the road junction, the police constable was arguing with the three Volunteers who had control of the farm cart. The unhitched horse munched peacefully beside them. The cart was a vital part of the ambush. It was to be pushed out into the road to block the second car, which would contain the Viceroy. If they could run across the road with it quickly enough, it would cut Lord French off from the first car, and leave him stranded, at the mercy of their bombs and guns. More Volunteers were hidden on the rising ground behind the hedges opposite the pub, watching the argument with the constable.
‘They'll have to deal with that fool!’ said Sean's companion. ‘If he doesn't leave off this instant he's a dead man!’
As he spoke, Sean saw the argument develop into a tussle. One of the Volunteers grabbed the constable's coat, trying to drag him away. But the constable was a big man, and he threw his attacker off. The man staggered, tripped over a stone, and fell down. The constable stepped back, warily eyeing the other two who were moving towards him. Then all three turned their heads as an engine by the station roared into life and the first car started down the road towards them. The policeman glanced at it, and then stared back at his attackers. His mouth fell open in a wide O as the terrible truth burst like sunlight in his brain. He stepped back, raising one clumsy hand to wave at the car while he fumbled with the other for his whistle.
Sean saw the bomb coming through the air, but his mind did not register what it was. It came slowly, in a high lob from behind the hedge, turning end over end like a tiny rugby ball heading between the posts. It came over the policeman's head, hit the road between him and the cart, and rolled around in a little circle like a stone. Then it exploded.
The blast hit his face like a hurricane. But it was hot, as the Irish wind never is. He threw up his arm to shield his face, and stumbled back, hanging on to his friend, Martin, to stay upright. Then it was gone, and he saw the policeman writhing on the ground, clutching his leg. The three Volunteers were on the ground too, crawling oddly several ways at once.
‘For the love of Mary!’ shouted Martin. ‘Will the fools warn every peeler in the County Dublin ?’ Then they looked and saw the first car speeding towards them - faster than before, it seemed.
‘Come on, Sean!’ Martin shouted. ‘Get the cart!’ One of the three men around the cart had got to his feet, but the other two were still crawling feebly, like lost animals. The two young men ran to the cart and grabbed its sides, ready to push it out
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