Armageddon Run

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Armageddon Run Page 15

by David Robbins


  Boar attempted to break the Doktor’s iron grip. He kicked and punched, to no avail.

  “But although I’m not mad at you,” the Doktor went on, as if he were giving a lecture instead of strangling someone, “I am upset with you. Don’t you want to know why?”

  Boar was gasping for air, his chest heaving.

  “I can’t abide liars,” the Doktor commented. “And you are a liar. Don’t you want to know how I know?”

  Boar gurgled and thrashed.

  “Look at this shirt.” The Doktor held the buckskin shirt aloft. “Take a good look at it.”

  Boar’s eyes were bulging from their sockets.

  “Notice the back of the shirt,” the Doktor directed. “The man wearing this shirt was jumped from behind. You jumped him from the rear, didn’t you? You didn’t give him a chance to defend himself or surrender, did you?”

  Boar wheezed, blood flowing from his nostrils.

  “You never tried to take him alive for questioning,” the Doktor said.

  “You were hungry. You thought you could kill him and eat him and no one would be the wiser. Am I right?”

  Boar’s body was convulsing and quaking.

  “Of course I’m right,” the Doktor stated. “If Thor hadn’t found you with the shirt, you wouldn’t have said a word. Correct?”

  Blood was now running from Boar’s mouth, down his chin, and dripping on the Doktor’s hand.

  “Well, you don’t disagree,” the Doktor remarked. “No, Boar, I’m not mad at you for consuming an impromptu meal. I might have satisfied my appetite too, given a similar set of circumstances. Had you only confessed the truth, I would have pardoned your monumental stupidity. But I can’t pardon a liar. When a person lies to another, it indicates a lack of respect. I’m saddened, Boar, to discover the low esteem in which you hold me.”

  Boar’s eyes were glazing.

  “I can’t trust a liar,” the Doktor said. “Whether predicated on respect or fear, trust is essential to any relationship. Without trust, there can’t be a mutual rapport. Without trust, how could I possibly rely on you? And if I can’t rely on you, then I don’t have any further need of you, do I?” The Doktor sighed. “You can see I’m right, can’t you?”

  Boar was limp in the Doktor’s grasp.

  “Our relationship, therefore, is officially severed,” the Doktor stated, and released his hold.

  Boar’s lifeless body sank to the hard ground.

  “Why didn’t you just fry the turkey?” Thor asked, referring to the slim metal collar around Boar’s neck. All of the Doktor’s genetically engineered offspring wore the collars; it was his infallible technique for insuring obedience. Thor had seen a number of malcontents subjected to the electrocution treatment over the years, their flesh crisped from the neck up by the collars.

  The Doktor was inspecting the buckskin shirt. “Applying the personal touch always boosts one’s morale. I needed that.”

  “Who do you think the guy was Boar ate?” Thor queried.

  “There’s no way of telling from this,” the Doktor replied, waving the shirt in the air. “Buckskins are commonplace apparel outside the Civilized Zone.” The Doktor thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Are you still sending out regular patrols as I ordered?”

  “Every quadrant is covered at least once every four hours,” Thor responded.

  “And they haven’t seen anything?”

  “Not a sign,” Thor verified.

  “How odd,” the Doktor commented. “And yet Boar finds a man with a horse hiding in a ravine. Why? What was this man doing there?”

  “Maybe,” Thor suggested, “this guy was passing through and had bedded down for the night in the ravine.”

  “A possibility,” the Doktor said doubtfully. “But why was he so close to Catlow? Surely he heard the battle waged yesterday.”

  “Maybe he came to see what all the racket was about.”

  “Another possibility,” the Doktor acknowledged. “But I can’t accept his presence as a mere coincidence. Was he a messenger of some sort? If so, was he carrying a message to the defenders in Catlow? Or was he taking a report from them to someone else?”

  “Does it matter?” Thor asked. “Either way, the message didn’t get through. And today we’ll finish off those bastards in Catlow.”

  “I find it difficult to believe there are only six of them,” the Doktor mentioned.

  “I saw Blade myself,” Thor mentioned, “and some woman behind a tree.

  From the descriptions given by some of our troops, we know Hickok and Geronimo are in Catlow too. Two others were also seen. Some fat guy with a beard and another one who wears all black.”

  “But there was no sign of Lynx?”

  “No one reported seeing him.”

  “What are they trying to pull?” the Doktor mused aloud. “Why hasn’t Lynx shown his face? If Lynx is in Catlow, that still means there are only seven of them. Where are the rest?”

  “The rest?” Thor repeated quizzically.

  “Use your brain, Thor,” the Doktor said testily. “Blade isn’t a moron. He wouldn’t place himself and the others in jeopardy without a sound reason. Catlow is obviously a trap. The question remains: why haven’t they sprung it?”

  “There could only be the seven of them,” Thor stressed.

  The Doktor glanced at Thor and sighed. “I can see where she was right. Leaving you in charge would be a grievous mistake.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Suffice it to say there must be more of them. Reinforcements must be nearby.”

  “Why haven’t our patrols seen any sign of them?” Thor asked.

  “How far afield have our patrols been ranging?”

  “About two or three miles in every direction,” Thor said.

  The Doktor ran his right hand through his shock of dark hair. “Logic would dictate reinforcements be close to Catlow so they could assist Blade as promptly as possible. But if the reinforcements are beyond the three-mile limit, they couldn’t hope to reach Catlow before we…” The Doktor’s face brightened and he snapped his fingers. “Of course!”

  “What?” Thor inquired.

  “That must be it!” The Doktor started laughing.

  “What?” Thor persisted.

  “It’s the classic fencing ploy! The feint and thrust!”

  “The what?” Thor’s confusion was evident.

  “Catlow is a feint,” the Doktor said. He saw the consternation on Thor’s features and decided to elaborate. “In fencing, in boxing, or in any type of combat, you feint when you make a move in one direction, hoping your opponent will concentrate on that move, when all the time you were simply setting up your foe for the real thrust. The Warriors initiated a foray into the Civilized Zone by taking Catlow. But the move is a feint, designed to draw me out so they can launch their main thrust. That’s what the rider was doing hiding in the ravine.”

  “The rider?”

  “Certainly. He was the one who would contact the reinforcements at the proper time. There’s no other rational explanation!”

  Thor pondered the Doktor’s words.

  The Doktor laughed triumphantly. “The fools! They have unwittingly played into our hands! Without their messenger, they are stranded in Catlow. They are at our mercy!”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Thor complimented the Doktor. “I would never have figured it out.”

  The Doktor’s chest puffed outward. “This is a valuable object lesson. Remember it always. The Genetic Research Division wouldn’t last two seconds without me at its helm.”

  “I will always remember,” Thor promised, “and be loyal to you.”

  The Doktor placed his hand on Thor’s shoulder. “I appreciate your devotion. It’s why I made you my second in command.”

  “Do we attack soon?” Thor asked eagerly.

  “After my breakfast.”

  “Can I lead the charge today?” Thor requested.

  “No.”

  “But you didn�
�t let me lead it yes—” Thor began, and then caught himself before he aroused the Doktor’s volatile temper.

  “I did not allow you to participate yesterday because I wanted to observe their defenses before committing my best men,” the Doktor elucidated.

  “I held you and the twenty-four members of my personal guard in reserve. Today, though, everybody goes in. All of my G.R.D.’s and the Auxiliaries.”

  “Why can’t I lead?” Thor inquired, pouting.

  “Somebody else will be leading today,” the Doktor said.

  “Who?” Thor questioned, peeved, annoyed at the prospect of the Doktor favoring someone else over him.

  “I am personally commanding our troops today,” the Doktor revealed, grinning. “You will ride with me in the half-track.”

  “We will crush them!” Thor enthusiastically cried.

  The Doktor gazed in the general direction of Catlow. “I hope Blade is enjoying a hearty morning meal. It’s the last one he will ever eat.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Where the blazes are they?” Hickok demanded impatiently.

  “They’ll be here,” Geronimo stated. “What’s your rush?”

  “They should have been here by now,” Hickok groused. “The sun was up hours ago.”

  “Why is it,” Geronimo philosophized, “the white man is always as ready to get into trouble as he is to get out of it?”

  They were standing at the corner of a brick house located on the western outskirts of Catlow. Blade had divided the defenders into pairs, leaving Lynx behind again at the command post. Blade and Bertha were somewhere in the southeastern part of the town, while Rudabaugh and Orson were watching to the north.

  “Hey,” Hickok retorted, miffed, “the white man doesn’t go looking for trouble, pard. We’re peaceable folks at heart.”

  “Tell that to Custer,” Geronimo quipped.

  Hickok opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, staring to the west over Geronimo’s left shoulder.

  Geronimo turned.

  Over a dozen forms were moving toward the town, slowly advancing across a sagebrush- and weed-covered field.

  “Looks like we got us some company,” Hickok declared.

  “Astute observation, eagle-eye!” Geronimo said. “Do we fall back or take them here?”

  “I ain’t one for running,” Hickok stated. “Let’s take ’em right here.”

  Geronimo hurried to the other end of the house so they could cover both flanks. He cautiously peered around the northern corner of the home, spotting more of their adversaries coming toward Catlow, noting the assault force was composed of G.R.D.’s and soldiers. He looked down at the light green pillowcase dangling from his belt, the pillowcase containing his 2 bundles of dynamite. After Rudahaugh had prepared the 14 charges, 13 of them comprised of 4 sticks of dynamite and the final one including only 2, he had distributed them among the others. Blade, meanwhile, had entered the command post and emerged shortly thereafter bearing seven pillowcases taken from the cots the garrison had slept on. He had dispensed the pillowcases and a pack of matches to each of them. The matches had been taken from a drawer in the command post kitchen. Geronimo decided he wouldn’t use the dynamite until it was absolutely necessary. He glanced up.

  A trooper was within 25 yards of the brick house, inching forward on his hands and knees.

  Geronimo sighted the FNC, his fingers on the trigger.

  Hickok’s Henry suddenly boomed, and in the distance there was a loud shriek.

  Geronimo fired, the FNC recoiling against his shoulder.

  The soldier jerked backward and flipped over, then lay still.

  That should stir them up! Geronimo conjectured.

  He was right.

  A hail of lead tore into the brick house.

  Geronimo ducked back as a bullet bit into the corner of the building and a brick fragment dislodged and whizzed past his eyes.

  Hickok’s Henry thundered again, and once more.

  Geronimo crouched and risked a hasty look-see.

  The G.R.D.’s and troopers were rushing the house.

  Geronimo shot twice, downing two foes, and then looked at Hickok.

  The gunman waved to him, motioning for them to retreat.

  Geronimo jogged to his friend, and together they ran 20 yards to a white frame house and swerved behind it.

  None too soon.

  Soldiers and G.R.D.’s poured around both corners of the brick home.

  “How about a little cat and mouse?” Hickok whispered.

  Geronimo grinned.

  “Hold this,” Hickok said, and handed his Henry to Geronimo. He drew his Colts, winked at his partner, and stepped out into the open, his Pythons leveled.

  One of the troopers saw him immediately and attempted to bring his M-16 to bear.

  The Pythons blasted two, four, six times in rapid succession, and with each shot an opponent dropped, felled by a slug to the head.

  Unnerved, the remaining soldiers and G.R.D.’s raced to the rear of the brick house and disappeared.

  Hickok jumped from sight and twirled the Colts into his holsters. “Piece of cake,” he said.

  “Let’s play some hide and seek,” Geronimo recommended, giving the Henry to Hickok.

  “Lead on,” the gunfighter said. “You’ve always been better at gettin’ lost than I have.”

  Geronimo recognized a cut when he heard one, but deferred retaliating for the moment. Instead, he led the way as they ran through several yards and reached a two-story structure with a stone foundation on the bottom and brown siding on the top. There was a large window in the middle of the second floor with a balcony on the outside.

  “Do you see what I see?” Geronimo queried.

  “I sure do, pard,” Hickok said, then reached out and grabbed Geronimo’s right elbow. “Listen!”

  Geronimo heard it too. Sporadic gunfire splitting the morning air.

  “Let’s do in these wimps so we can go lend a hand to the others,” Hickok suggested.

  Geronimo nodded. He hurried to the back door and tried the knob. To his surprise, the door opened. Together, the two Warriors entered and Geronimo closed the door behind them. They found a flight of stairs at the other end of a narrow kitchen and ascended to the second floor.

  “I kind of like this spread,” Hickok commented. “It’s a lot bigger than the cabins us hitched types get to live in at the Home.”

  Geronimo hastened to the window he wanted. He discovered a latch in the center of one side and slid the window open.

  In unison, the Warriors dropped to the carpeted floor and crawled out onto the wooden balcony. They eased to the railing and peeped between the rails, which were spaced about six inches apart.

  There was no sign of pursuit.

  “Where are they?” Geronimo inquired in a soft tone.

  “Maybe they’re takin’ a potty break,” Hickok replied.

  Geronimo reached down and removed a bundle of dynamite from his pillowcase. “I’ll do the honors. We might be able to get them all at once.”

  “Here they come!” Hickok warned.

  Geronimo looked up. He began counting, but gave it up when he reached 31. There were more of them than he had thought! They were moving forward very slowly, searching every nook and cranny, their eyes alertly scanning the terrain.

  But very few of them were bothering to glance up.

  Geronimo extracted his pack of matches from his right front pants pocket. He studied the bundle of dynamite. Rudabaugh had instructed them in its proper use, and had cautioned them they would have about half a minute between the time they lit the fuse and the charge going off.

  Not much time.

  Hickok nudged Geronimo.

  The troopers and G.R.D.’s were only 15 yards from the balcony.

  Geronimo quickly lit one of the matches and applied the flame to the fuse. It sputtered and crackled as it caught on fire.

  Move! his mind screamed.

  Geronimo rose and threw back his righ
t arm, intending to lob the charge directly at the group nearing the house.

  Hickok, on his stomach at Geronimo’s feet, detected a motion out of the corner of his left eye. He twisted, surveying the yard below, and even as he did he heard the crack of an M-16.

  There was a trooper not more than five yards from the house!

  Geronimo felt the bullet rip into his left shoulder, and he was slammed backward by the impact, crashing into the window and tumbling to the balcony.

  Hickok aimed the Henry and fired, putting a slug into the soldier below.

  The other troopers began shooting at the balcony.

  Geronimo, his senses swimming, gaped at the charge in his right hand.

  The fuse was continuing to crackle and sparkle.

  Dear Spirit!

  Geronimo struggled to rise, to get rid of the dynamite. His body refused to cooperate with his dazed mind.

  Hickok was conducting a raging gun battle with the enemies below.

  Geronimo shook his head to clear it, and managed to laboriously lift himself to his knees. The strain of his exertion prompted a surge of dizziness to engulf his consciousness. Unable to control his equilibrium, he pitched forward, the fuse over half gone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Lordy! What in the world is that thing?” Bertha exclaimed in alarm.

  Blade, squatting alongside of her behind a low stone wall not far from U.S. Highway 85, recognized the vehicle from photographs contained in several of the military history books in the Family library. “It’s called a half-track,” he told her.

  “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it!” Bertha declared nervously.

  “The Doktor’s pulling out all the stops,” Blade commented.

  Bertha was gawking at the green half-track. “I think we’d best go get the SEAL!”

  The armored half-track was slowly proceeding north on U.S. Highway 85 toward Catlow. Its rear caterpillar treads were clanking and creaking.

  At least six soldiers were riding in the open back section, one of them manning a mounted machine gun.

  “We’ll try and take it out with our charges,” Blade stated.

 

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