HOPE DOES A QUICK tour of the Eagle’s Nest, not stopping until she locates the rocket launchers. They’re positioned at the southern edge of the fortress, snuggled against the castle walls. There’s no way in the world Hope can get anywhere near them; soldiers are everywhere.
She notices the crates, the ones she saw back at the launch facility. They lie scattered across the ground, their contents now armed into the missiles.
She hurries back the other way, finding the garage she saw that first day. There’s only a lone Brown Shirt keeping guard, half asleep. He takes deep drags from a cigarette, his face cocooned in a chaos of smoke. She reaches him just as he’s stubbing out his cigarette and gives him a swift chop to the neck. He collapses to the ground.
Hope searches his pockets until she finds what she’s looking for, then makes her way to the gas pumps. The metal handle is icy cold, and she draws it as far from the pump as the rubber hose allows. She places the metal handle on the ground, then squeezes the lever until gas starts gurgling out. She locks the lever in place and backs away.
The gasoline spreads across the stone pavement, reflecting stars and moon like a calm and placid lake. The pungent odor wrinkles her nose.
She opens the soldier’s box of matches, removes a lone match, and strikes it against the side. It flares. When she tosses it forward—whoompf!—night is turned to day and the ground crawls with the jagged crowns of blue flame. Hope turns and runs, her shadow dancing on the walls.